Lots of face touching
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At 65, Ben Solo dies of a heart attack, leaving behind a wife and daughter. He doesn't expect to wake up again a young man, and certainly not in bed with his former lover.
A man who was publicly executed by the Republic thirty years earlier.
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Bellamy’s used to being objectified. He’s a good looking guy, and when he was younger, he wasn’t shy about showing it off. Still, the word of choice has never been “cute.” And it’s never been Clarke saying it, either.
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No Man is an Island, Entire of Itself by MoominValleyGirl for ellierain3
Fandoms: The 100 (TV)
29 Mar 2021
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“Hanahaki disease?” He looked at the pages before him, thankful they were in the ship and out of the harsh wind outside.
“That’s what Lincoln called it.” Her mask was low enough that he could see her bite her lip as she leaned over their shared table, pointing to one of the drawings in front of him. It was a basic outline of lungs, the tracheae prominent as a harsh dark flower sprouted at the base of the throat. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn't seen the flower petals myself.”
His fingers lightly pressed the etching, thankful the picture didn’t smudge. He strained his eyes a bit to read the words, bending over the table.
Hana-Flower
Hakimasu-Throw up.This is Bellamy's POV from There are more things in heaven and earth. I tried to write it as a stand alone so you definitely don't have to read the other one first but they basically go hand in hand.
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He considers asking the artisan that spoke to him yesterday where he could get something to eat. Maybe he can offer him something. If not food, his guidance to learn how to make vases. Jackson is not a painter, but he can learn. It is not too different from sculpting, right?
Yet the man could find endless differences. Jackson does not paint. Painting is building. Jackson does not build. He destroys. He takes a hammer to living stone and beats it until he frees what's inside.
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A retelling of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea where Jackson is a wandering sculptor that has lost all of his money and inspiration travelling across Achaia.Written for the Rewind Fest