Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the depths of despair, where shadows dwell,
I unravel the concept of loss, a tale to tell.
For in the silence of absence, there lies a void,
A haunting reminder of what once was enjoyed.

Lost in the labyrinth of memories untold,
I search for solace, but find only cold.
Each heartbeat a whisper, a mournful refrain,
A melody of sorrow, etched with pain.

For in the concept of loss, there's a darkness deep,
A weight that crushes, a soul to keep.
In the depths of despair, I'm drowning too fast,
Longing for the moments that never have passed.

The echoes of laughter, now silenced and still,
A silent reminder of the void I feel.
Each tear a testament to love's bitter cost,
A fragile heart shattered and lost.

For in the concept of loss, there's a darkness deep,
A weight that crushes, a soul to keep.
In the depths of despair, I'm drowning too fast,
Longing for the moments that never have passed.

I'd give anything, just for one more chance,
To hold you close, to share one last dance.
But time marches on, relentless and cruel,
Leaving me stranded, a broken-hearted fool.

So I'll carry your memory, a burden to bear,
A silent tribute to a love beyond compare.
And though the pain may never cease,
In your absence, I'll find my peace.

For in the concept of loss, there's a darkness deep,
A weight that crushes, a soul to keep.
In the depths of despair, I'm drowning fast,
Longing for the moments that have passed.

Chapter Text

Love, a tangled web of joy and strife,
A constant battle between death and life.
In the depths of my soul, the question looms,
Is love a beacon, or a harbinger of dooms?

A tapestry woven with threads so fine,
beneath its surface, a jagged line.
For in the dance of passion, there lies a truth,
That love can be both a blessing and a bruise.

In the silence of night, I feel your absence keen,
The echo of your laughter, a distant dream.
Each breath a reminder of what once was mine,
A love so fierce, frozen in time.

For all I feel, there's a shadow cast,
A pain that lingers, a love that's past.
In the depths of despair, I'm lost at sea,
Longing for the touch that once set me free.

The memories haunt me, like ghosts in the dark,
A cruel reminder of our love's stark.
The warmth of your embrace, a fleeting bliss,
Now replaced by the void, the ache, the abyss.

I'd give anything, just for one more day,
To hold you close, to chase the pain away.
But time is cruel, and fate unkind,
Leaving me stranded, lost in my mind.

So I'll carry your memory, like a burden to bear,
A testament to a love beyond compare.
And though the pain may never fade,
In your love, I'll find my serenade.

Love, a symphony of joy and pain,
A journey that leaves us forever changed.
This love makes me stumble, and falter along the way,
But in it I find the strength to face another day.

So is love a weakness, a flaw to be shunned,
Or a strength that carries, when all is undone?
In the depths of my soul, I wrestle with the truth,
Is love my salvation, or my bitterest rue?

In the heat of battle, I've seen love's sway,
A warrior's heart softened, in its gentle display.
But in the face of loss, love's grip tightens,
A relentless torment, a soul that frightens.

I've seen love's power, its tender grace,
But also its cruelty, in the tears we face.
So tell me, love, what do you hold?
A lifeline to salvation, or a tale untold?

In the depths of despair, will I find my answer,
Are you a force that binds, a healer, a cancer,
Are you the strength to fight, keep going, my will to defend
Or the weakness to bring me to my knees and bring me my end.

Chapter Text

Running.

I’m always running.

From the battles, from the blood,  
from the faces of the dead I couldn’t save.  
Running from the weight of leadership,  
the choices that claw at my soul,  
pulling me under.

But this time—  
this time I’m running from something else.

Her.

Lexa.

The way she looked at me,  
like I wasn’t a monster.  
Like I wasn’t stained by everything I’ve done.

Her kiss—  
just a brush of her lips against my scars,  
and they faded.  
Faded like they were never there.  

What does that mean?

Why does that scare me more than any battlefield ever could?

I can still feel it.  
Her touch.  
Light as air but heavy as the past I carry,  
the past I can’t escape no matter how fast I run.

And I am running—  
through the woods,  
through my thoughts,  
through the twisted, tangled mess of everything I thought I knew.

Because what if she’s right?  
What if I’m not the monster I see in the mirror?  
What if the scars weren’t just on my skin,  
but on my heart,  
on my soul,  
and she—she just erased them?

No.  
I can’t think like that.  
I can’t afford to believe in something like healing.  
Not when I’ve built my armor out of pain.  
Not when the running is the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

So I run.  
Because if I stop—  
if I let myself feel that warmth,  
that hope—  
I don’t know if I’ll ever want to leave.

And I can’t stay.  
I can’t stay,  
because staying means trusting.  
Trusting means risking.

Risking me.
Risking her.  
Risking us.

So I run.

Faster, harder, breath tearing from my chest,  
but it’s not enough.  
I can still feel it—  
her kiss,  
her faith,  
her belief that maybe,  
just maybe,  
I’m something more than the broken pieces I’ve been holding together for so long.

But I can’t stop running.

Because if I stop—  
I might have to believe it too.  

Chapter Text

Chasing.

Always chasing.

After duty, after peace,  
after the ghosts of those I couldn’t save.  
Chasing after a world where blood no longer stains my hands,  
where the dead no longer whisper their names in my dreams.

But now—  
now I’m chasing something else.

Her.

Clarke.

The way she looks at me,  
like she’s ready to run before I even speak,  
like love is a danger she can’t afford.

I kissed her knuckles.  
Her scars—gone,  
like they were never there,  
like the weight of her past slipped away in that brief, fragile moment.

I thought I could comfort her,  
but instead, she ran.

And I—  
I chase.

Not with my feet,  
but with my heart,  
with everything inside me that aches to tell her:  
You don’t have to run.  
Not from me.

But how can I ask that of her?

How can I chase love when I am the one who caused so much of her pain?  
When my decisions—  
my commands—  
put those scars on her soul?

I see the guilt in her eyes,  
but does she see mine?  
Do I deserve to chase her,  
to ask her to stay when I know I’ve hurt her too deeply already?

I want to tell her,  
don’t run from me, Clarke.  
I’ll chase you through every battle,  
every shadow,  
if it means you might one day stop,  
turn around,  
and see that I’m still here.  
That I always will be.

But what if I’m chasing a dream?

What if this is all my fault—  
the fear in her eyes,  
the distance she keeps?

I told myself I was strong enough to protect her.  
Strong enough to carry her burdens as well as my own.  
But now—  
now I wonder if I’m only pushing her farther away.  
Chasing her into the darkness when all I wanted was to bring her to the light.

I can’t stop chasing her,  
even if it hurts,  
even if the guilt twists like a knife in my chest.  
Because if I stop,  
if I let her go,  
then I lose everything.

I lose us.

But I can’t catch her—  
not yet.  
Not until she’s ready to stop running.  
Not until she believes she’s worthy of the love I’ve been chasing all this time.

Chapter Text

I was supposed to protect her.
That’s what warriors do.
That’s what I do.
That’s what I should do.

I had my knife.
I had my hands.
I had my eyes open so wide—
But I still didn’t see.

She’s strong.
She’s the strongest.
She smiles and says, I’m okay.
But she’s not.
I know she’s not.
I see the hurt.
I see the stillness.
I see the way Lexa watches her,
like the sun might go out.

I was supposed to protect her.
I should’ve seen.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve done something.

But I didn’t.
And now she’s sleeping.
And everyone keeps saying, She’ll wake up soon,
but what if she doesn’t?
What if she’s too hurt?
What if she needs me to protect her, and I—

My hands are too small.
My knife is too short.
My legs aren’t fast enough.
My arms aren’t strong enough.
But I can stay awake.
I can watch.
I can make sure nothing happens,
not again, not ever again.

I just have to stay awake.
Just a little longer.
Just a little—

…

Lexa says I already did.
That I already kept Clarke safe.
I don’t understand.
But her hand is warm on my hair.
And she says my spirit will still watch over Clarke,
even when I sleep.
Even when I can’t be awake.

I was supposed to protect her.
Maybe I still can.
Even now.
Even in dreams.

Chapter Text

I've leaned to shoot a bow when young, learned to string it, aim it, make it fly.

Now it's all wrong.

The arrow does not fly, for there are knots in the string no matter how much I try, they simply do not unweave.

Knots on knots on knots on thoughts on crushing thoughts that haunt that hurt that aim at my heart in a way my own arrows cannot because there are knots in the string of my bow.

I should have done more. It lands in my shoulder, makes me cry out in pain; I should've known more, it hits my chest, a crimson stain; I should've seen, I should've stopped, I should've been more; hits without constrain, hits on my heart, my chest, my brain, hits that leave me to blame blame blame blame blame!

I aim my bow to fire back but the knots leave me defensless for another arrow to come searing towards, agony leaves me senseless.

I should have been faster.
I should have run, should have flown, should have torn through the trees like the arrow of my bow, but I was too slow slow slow slow slow.
Too trusting. Too still. Too late.

Now Clarke does not run, does not fly, does not move.
She lies there, breath soft, too soft—
too pale, too quiet, too wrong.

I grab my bow, I cannot fight, the knots leave me stranded, no cover to hide.

I should have done more, should've found a way to soar.
I should have seen it, felt it, known it.
The air was too thick, the silence too sharp, the shadows too deep. But the string was tangled, so I did not help her, did not stop him, did not warn them.
I should have seen the lie before it became an arrow and struck. And now she's stuck, out of luck, couldn't duck, couldn't - FUCK!

I let her go.

I Let her step forward, let her fall.
Let her bleed, let her break, let her sink into the dark before I could pull her back.
I wonder did she call - call for help, call for Lexa, call for me?
Before I could warn Lexa. Before I could save her. Before I could—
Before I could.

Now my thoughts twist like vines, tangle like rope,
tight like a snare, choking like smoke.
The string of the bow I cannot aim, the useless tool now strangling blame.
There's so much guilt guilt guilt guilt—
sharp like an arrow, deep like a wound, endless like the night swallowing the moon.
If I had been quicker, had run, had screamed, had known,
she would be awake, she would be warm, she would be here.
Not trapped in the stillness, not teetering on the edge.
Not this.

Lexa saved her, but I should have saved her first.
Should have carried her away, should have pulled her to safety.
But I was too slow.
Too weak.
Too late.

And Lexa—
Lexa carries enough.
Too much.
More than she should. More than anyone can.

She walks tall, but I see the weight.
She speaks strong, but I hear the ache.
She stands unshaken, but I know the fear beneath her ribs, curled up, waiting.
Because she looks at Clarke like she is her heart outside her body.
Like if she stops watching, stops guarding, stops fighting, it will slip away.

I would take it from her if I could.
The weight. The fear. The burden she will never set down.
I would carry it, bear it, hold it close until my hands bled.
I would fight.
I would run.
I would be more.

But I am not Lexa.
I am not Clarke.
I am not enough.

So I will do what I can.
I will guard the others.
I will keep them safe.
I will not sleep. I will not fall. I will not fail.

Because Clarke must wake up.
Because Lexa must stay standing.
Because they are everything.
Because I love them.

Chapter Text

I climbed the tower, scaled it high,
left blood and bone on stone and sky.
Broke my hands with every try,
bit my tongue ‘til it ran dry.

I cried—once.
Hesitated—twice.
Regretted—thrice.
Then never again.

Because mercy does not build empires.

They tell you strength is in the spine,
in how you stand, in how you rise—
but I learned better.
All it takes is a well-placed lie,
a whisper, a sigh,
a secret pried from lips too dry
to taste the blade before it bites.

I fought—once.
Murdered—twice.
Tortured—thrice.
Then never again.

Because dirty work does not build empires.

Who climbs a tower when they can tear it down?
Who scrapes their nails against stone and crown
when the game was never fair to begin with?
Why crawl, why cling, why bleed, why break,
when you can learn to shape the quake
and leave the world beneath you shaking?

I have spent a lifetime playing gods.
Knew their hunger, knew their rot.
Knew the way a man will sell his soul
for one last taste of power's gold.

And yet—

You stood there. Elara.
On a witness stand, no throne, no blade,
no armor to protect the way
you shook.

Like we weren’t raised the same.
Like you didn’t know this world was fire,
and we had to learn to burn first
before it could devour us whole.

Like you had never climbed the tower at my side.

I trusted—once.
Forgave—twice.
Waited—thrice.
Then never again.

Because love does not build empires.

I see you now, old friend, old enemy.
Tearing bricks from my walls,
stone from my throne,
truth from my name.

I should be angry.
I should rip the wings from your back
before you try to soar over me.

But I am not angry.

I only wonder what it was you expected.

Did you think truth would make you free?
That justice would hold you tenderly,
that the gods would weep and take your side
as if they were anything but blind?

I climbed the tower, Elara.
I bled for each and every step.

You think your words will send me crashing?
You think the fall will break my neck?

No.

I have fallen before.
And I have climbed again.

Chapter Text

Octavia – Shattered Sword

She was steel once—
tempered, sharp, relentless.
A blade forged in fire, wielded with purpose,
cutting through fate like it was nothing.

But steel can break.

And I—
I am holding the pieces.
Edges jagged, splintered, biting skin,
but no hilt, no grip,
nothing to wield, nothing to strike.
What is a warrior without her sword?

I want to scream.
To drive what’s left of her through the ribs of the man who did this.
To carve the sky with my fury and hear it shatter back.
But the blade is gone—
only dust in the wind, and I am screaming into empty hands.

She was unbreakable.
She was—
And yet she fell,
like steel brittle in winter’s bite.
And I am left standing in the wreckage,
holding a hilt with no blade,
a fighter with nothing to fight.

Raven – Broken Engine

It doesn't make sense, it shouldn't be real,
like gears that refuse to turn in steel.
The engine of her, strong and sure,
was built to last, designed to endure.
So why is it silent, why won’t it start?
Why does it feel like she just fell apart?

I’ve rebuilt a thousand things before,
burned my hands, my bones still sore.
I can fix anything if I just try,
but I can't bring back the girl who died.
The math is wrong, the weight’s not right,
the numbers blur, they twist in spite.

Maybe if I run, I’ll find a way,
disassemble the past, force it to stay.
But the wires are frayed, the spark won’t ignite,
there’s nothing to salvage, nothing to fight.
And the world just spins like she was never—
like she was only a ghost in metal and leather.

Ontari – Snowstorm

The snow fell soft the night she died,
cold and weightless, white and wide.
A quiet hush, a frozen breath,
the world at peace in silent death.

Then the wind came howling through,
sharp as ice and just as true.
I clenched my fists, I bared my teeth,
but rage just melted underneath.

She was not weak, she never bowed,
yet now she’s buried in the ground?
Tell me, how does snow just fade?
How does she just slip away?

And now it’s raging—tearing, screaming,
blinding cold, the world is bleeding.
I cannot stand, I cannot breathe,
I swore to fight, but she just leaves?
Titus lies, and Nia kills,
and Clarke just lets them break her will?
No. No. I refuse. I won't.
She wouldn’t go, she shouldn’t—
She won’t.

But the storm just rages on.
And in it she is simply gone.

Asa – Medicine

Her pulse was there, then it was not,
like slipping silk, a thread unwrought.
I pressed down hard, I tried to mend,
but life is no wound that time can tend.
She was too strong, too fierce, too right,
for death to steal her in the night.

I have seen her bleed and rise again,
seen fire burn beneath her skin.
She should not die, not here, not now,
not in this way, I don’t know how.
I saw her break, I felt her slip,
like poison swallowed, bitter sipped.

And I see it now in Roan’s stare,
in Ontari’s rage, in Aden’s prayer.
They all are waiting, lost, unmoored,
seeking answers, finding sores.
But I am only what I am,
a healer’s hands, an empty plan.

(But medicine cannot mend the dead.
And some wounds fester where hands won’t tread.)

Roan – Churning River

The current pulls—fast, unyielding,
dragging time like bodies downstream.
I see Asa’s face,
and I know.

Before the words, before the silence,
before the weight of it drops like a stone.
She is gone.
And I—
I am lost.

I want to claw against the tide,
to force the river back, rewind.
But water does not listen,
and time does not wait.

I should have kept her close,
should have known this fate.
Titus breathes, and Nia stands,
and Clarke—
Clarke is nothing but a whisper in sand.

But I swear, I swear on this rushing tide,
they will not stand, they will not hide.
She is gone.
And I am not.
So beware, those who dared cause her loss.

Chapter Text

// grief_compile.cpp

#pragma once
#pragma warning( disable : C4912, justification : "Warning works against breakthrough" )

#include "Monty.h"   // main one to engage  
#include "Jasper.h"  // subject is in a critical stage  
#include "Maya.h"    // reason the subject must be saved  
#include "Person.h"  // fallback if all else misbehaved  

#include "Memory.h"  // triggers pain or loops despair  
#include <iostream>  // for every scream that fills the air  
#include <vector>    // to track the cracks, the fights, the scars  
#include <thread>    // delay to mimic healing in parts  
#include <chrono>    // time drips slow, like blood from hearts  

#define MAX_TRIES 1000            // because giving up just ain't allowed  
#define DRUNK_THRESHOLD 0.85f     // too far gone, too drunk, too proud  

using namespace std;

int main() {
    // instantiate the ghosts I knew  
    Person* jasper = new Person("Jasper");  
    Person* monty = new Person("Monty");  

    bool savable = true;              // still betting this can bring him back  
    float sanity = 1.0f;              // mine's intact — for now, no crack  
    float faith = 0.5f;               // already halved by what he’s done  
    int tries = 0;                    // loop 'til hope or breath is gone  

    // list his glitches, state decay  
    vector<string> symptoms = {
        "empty stare",               // looks through me like I’m not there  
        "reckless laugh",            // joyless noise, sharp as a snare  
        "joining Pike",              // betrayal burns beyond repair  
        "not recognizing me",        // friendless eyes, too lost to care  
        "talking to ghosts"          // as if the dead still breathe his air  
    };

    while (savable && tries < MAX_TRIES) {
        // scan for flags the soul has died  
        if (jasper->hasFlag("DeadInside")) {
            monty->log("He’s gone. He’s *gone*.");       // comment too big to override  
            savable = false;
            break;
        }

        float drinkLevel = jasper->getStat("Alcohol");

        if (drinkLevel > DRUNK_THRESHOLD) {
            monty->warn("You're drowning, not coping."); // not healing — just choking  
        }

        if (jasper->isFollowing("Pike")) {
            monty->shout("That’s *not* who we are!");    // I won’t let him fall that far  
        }

        if (!jasper->respondTo("Monty")) {
            monty->whisper("Please. Say *something*.");  // silence cuts where blades can't mar  
        }

        for (const auto& symptom : symptoms) {
            monty->observe(symptom);                     // I see the cracks, record the rot  
            monty->record(symptom);                      // if I can't fix, at least I've fought  
        }

        tries++;
        this_thread::sleep_for(chrono::milliseconds(500)); // delay, pretend that time still buys  
    }

    // the end result, when prayers exhaust  
    if (!savable) {
        cerr << "ERROR: Friendship unreachable. Core dump at 'The Dropship'.\n";  
        cerr << "Traceback: Maya.cpp -> Pain.h -> Hollow.cpp\n";  
        cerr << "Suggestion: Stop trying.\n";               // I won't. I won't. Not him. Not yet.  
    } else {
        cout << "Hope still compiling...\n";                // one last thread — don’t cut it yet  
    }

    delete jasper; 
    delete monty;

    return 0;
}

Executing task: cmd.exe /c ""C:\Program Files\Microsoft Visual Studio\2022\Enterprise\VC\Auxiliary\Build\vcvars64.bat" && msbuild Wrapper/Wrapper.vcxproj /p:Configuration=Release"

...

fatal error: 'Jasper' declared but not found
warning: unhandled grief in function 'breakDown'
note: 'hope' was deprecated after Maya.h was removed
warning: possible memory leak — 'Monty' left holding all the pain

line 1: trust failed to compile
line 2: friend called null pointer

runtime exception: segmentation fault — he aimed at himself
triggered by: bottle.cpp, line too many to count

assert failed: (best_friend != weapon)
terminating: compassion overflow in thread 'Monty'

hint: try rebuilding — but the pieces won’t link
note: last seen laughing in version 2.16, line ‘Think!’

I wrote him in lines, indented with grace,  
But the void in his eyes was a blank interface.  
He parsed no joy, just scripts of despair,  
Ran loops of silence, found nothing there.  

I called him, friend(), but he never returned,  
Just a dangling pointer — the world he burned.  
He linked with monsters, forgot who we were,  
Drank away logic in a poisoned blur.  

I debugged his pain, I tried to reframe,  
But he’d thrown out the source, deleted his name.  
Still I compiled hope, rebuilt what I could —  
Somewhere in memory, the Jasper who stood.  

But time threw exceptions I couldn't catch,  
And rage became code no love could match.  
Still, I clung to the thread, wouldn’t let it unwind,  
Because even in ruin — he’s still my define.

Chapter Text

I tore the back from tyranny —
ripped sinew from throne,
strung ribs like harp strings
so the gods would hear their song.

Blood steamed in cold air,
red mist rising like incense.
That was the offering.
That was the prayer.

Let the old spirits eat.
Let them drink deep.
This is not cruelty.
This is the keeping of balance.

Their lungs bloomed like wings,
petals of punishment,
and I stood barehanded beneath them,
dripping in judgment.

They called me Wanheda.
Now they know why.

I am not Clarke of the Sky People.
I am not the girl who weeps for her choices.
I am the end of bloodlines,
the scythe in the shadow,
the name the dying whisper
when gods have turned their faces.

Two souls torn and strung to the wind —
their screams were not pain,
they were passage.
The soul must scream to be heard.

Let the eagle fly.
Let it rise from the cage of bone.
Each rib a feather.
Each gasp a farewell.

Nia ruled with frost —
but even ice must melt under fire.
Titus? A shadow on his queen's leash.
He died not just for his sins,
but because compliance is a choice.

I gave them the old death,
the sacred death,
the one the spirits remember.
Not for vengeance.
Not for spectacle.
But because the world demands an answer
and I am the tongue that speaks it.

No remorse.
Only ritual.

The blood eagle opens —
and the sky takes notice.

Chapter Text

I used to think love was a fuse: short and stupid; all spark, no fire, just a countdown to ash.

That’s what it was with him, right?

Finn.

Pretty eyes, promises like pocket change — easy to toss, easy to forget.
He gave me the world and then handed it to someone else
like it was recyclable.
Like I was recycable.

So yeah, I built walls.
Wired them with trip mines,
said fuck feelings and meant it
because love meant being left behind
meant watching someone choose softer over stronger
(but joke’s on him, i’m both now)

But then there was you.
I hated you.
A storm-browed war machine, silent like the moment before lightning
and just as sudden, just as bright, just as fucking terrifying.

I hated how quiet you were
how you looked at me like you’d seen every version of me and didn’t flinch
didn’t blink
like i was already known.

(I think that scared me more than anything)

Yet when you touched me
—not even like that, not yet just fingers, just presence— 
I felt all the noise in me start to still.
Which pissed me off, honestly because how dare you be calm where i am chaos?

And then you kissed me.

And the scar that thin white thread of memory across my collarbone
—the one I got trying to fix a broken satellite while Finn kissed Clarke down on earth—
it disappeared
just like that, like it had never been, like it never mattered.

Soulmates, huh?
Guess that wasn’t just bedtime bullshit after all.
Guess the universe actually does have a cruel sense of humor.

Because I used to dream that someone would fix me.
But you didn’t.

You just stood there
and let me fix myself
and when I was done shaking
you held out your hands like
okay. now come fly

How was I ever afraid of that?
Of you?
You, with your carved-silent strength.
You, who saw the wreckage and called it beautiful, not broken.
You, who kissed my scars until they forgot they’d ever been pain.

I think maybe you’ve always been the reason I kept building wings even when the ground kept pulling me down.
Maybe every broken thing was just waiting for your hands

And maybe love isn’t a fuse at all.
Maybe you’re the fire that stays.

Chapter Text

She came like winter in a blood-soaked veil,
a whisper carved from frost and hail,
a healer’s hand with killer’s grace,
the ghost of mercy on her face.

They called her Wanheda — soul of death,
yet Lexa felt her living breath
ignite like flint upon her skin,
a war not fought, but lit within.

Clarke moved like dusk — slow, sharp, divine,
her touch a blade, her lips like wine.
She wore her silence like a cloak
and set the world alight with smoke.

But Lexa — oh, Lexa burned for her,
a wildfire chained to sinew, fur,
to oaths and crowns and steel-laced fate,
yet bent for her at every gate.

No word was needed when she came,
no prayer, no throne, no whispered name —
just skin to skin and breath to breath,
and fire dancing close to death.

Clarke touched her not like others do —
she mapped the scars, she read them through.
She kissed the places pain had grown,
and Lexa bloomed beneath her moan.

Their souls had met in blood before,
on fields where none came back from war —
but here, their bodies wrote a truce,
in tangled legs and fingers loose.

Lexa, fierce and war-born flame,
spilled like honey at Clarke’s name.
The Commander trembled, stripped and still,
undone by hands that came to heal.

And Clarke — that shadowed, colder tide —
drowned in the heat she tried to hide.
For every wound she’d ever nursed,
Lexa touched her — and reversed the curse.

The night held witness: stars gone blind,
to see two gods in flesh entwined.
And time forgot to count the cost
as Clarke reclaimed what war had lost.

No blade. No vow. No threat. No creed.
Just love, unarmed, and raw in need.
No thrones between them. No disguise.
Just two names sighed, then swallowed by sighs.

So fire met ice, and ice gave way —
not burned, but warmed until it stayed.
And where their scars had once been kissed,
the soulmarks bloomed — and did not miss.

Chapter Text

They called me warrior, scout, outcast, traitor —
but when I saw her, I became a creator.
Not of weapons, not of wounds or war,
but of beauty I’d never known before.

She was light through branches, feral and free,
a girl born in shadow, but shining for me.
And I, a child of blood and bone and blade,
could do nought but paint because she stayed.

I sketched her smile in the dirt with coal,
each curve a hymn, each line my soul.
I carved her name in silence and stone,
and for the first time, I wasn’t alone.

The sky had never looked so wide
until she stood right by my side.
She was born where names are whispered low —
a secret girl, from above and below.

And yet she danced like no walls held her in,
as if every breath etched rebellion into her skin.
She wore her rage like a flowered crown,
and kissed me like the world burned down.

I call her muse, though that’s too small,
she is wind and weapon and waterfall.
Her laugh is a spark that lights the snow,
her fury’s the storm our prophets know.

She touched me as though I were art,
each kiss a map, each breath a start.
And when she laid her lips on mine,
my soul burned bright — the ancient sign.

That’s what they say: when fated meet
soul burns and blooms as though it's freed.
And gods be damned, it bloomed for her —
in flame, in light, in silent stir.

My people carved on cave and wall,
but she? She carved through every wall.
Octavia Blake, grounder by choice,
shattered my chains with just her voice.

She made me more than flesh and fight,
she turned my pain into something right.
Now every sketch, each line I trace,
leads back to her defiant face.

I’ve drawn her laughing, I’ve drawn her bare,
I’ve drawn the way she braids her hair.
I’ve drawn the night she first said stay,
and every time I begged her stay.

I am the artist, bruised and wise —
she is the wild in every rise.
And if the world demands I choose,
then let it break — I choose my muse.

Chapter Text

At first, it felt like silence.
Not the sharp kind that comes after a scream,
but the soft hush of dawn
when nothing hurts yet,
and even the shadows
seem to exhale.

The war ended with fanfare.
A podium, banners, a closing act.
What followed was jus... stillness.
The kind that tastes like clean water after blood.
The kind that doesn’t ask for proof.

You don’t remember the exact moment
when pain stopped being the shape of your name.
Only that one day
you laughed —
and nothing inside you shattered.

The ghosts stopped shouting.
They sit quietly now,
folding origami out of old grief
and placing them gently on the windowsill
like offerings to a past
that no longer owns you.

Some days you still flinch at joy.
Like it might vanish
if you look too closely.
But it doesn’t.
It stays.
Like light through trees.
Like warmth in bones.

You water your plants.
You answer the door.
You sleep without armor.
You wake without dread.

There are no fireworks.
Just tea that doesn’t go cold.
Laughter that doesn’t sting.
Love that doesn’t ask for blood.

This is not the ending.
There are no endings.
But if there were —
if you had to call it something —
you could call it this:

the moment where the story
stopped trying to survive
and finally
started to live.

This is what happily ever after looks like.

Quiet.
Warm.
Yours.