( SATURN??? FUCKING, SATURN RUBIE? HOW ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME, I AM WRECKED. ANYWAYS, THOUGH MY TEARS I WRITE YOU —
it will take a lot, a lot of work to reign in the self sacrificial tendencies of someone who's found a comfortable grave in the shape of i bear it so they don't have to and chosen to slowly, methodically bury herself alive. clarke has come to dread the weight of responsibility she shovels on top of her own chest as much as she needs it. her mind still perpetually swims like she's looking at their troubles laid out on a chessboard, plotting which pawns are expendable in order to protect the king, but she's not so ruthless as to commit to any of these moves until certain they'd yield a win. would honestly rather sweep the whole board off the table. but keeps playing.
all that to say, sorry mizuki, the status quo isn't going to change just because you tell her to use you. clarke griffin takes and takes and takes, just not direction.
and in rare moments, she pauses to take in. whatever paranoid urge has had her regularly sweeping the treeline for a threat is dampened, like a flame guttering out in pooled hot wax. just for a moment, fleetingly, but in the moment entirely keyed in on mizuki and listens intently to every lyric dripping over his lips. the tune is unfamiliar, like many. and the affection in his tone is suffocating, but the words themselves...
how is one supposed to interpret deeper meaning behind what someone choses to sing to them? is there some underlying reverence, the implication she'd taught him anything so grand as the infinite nature of the universe? or was it the other way around — is mizuki the teacher here, trying to get her to take note and peel away defensive strategies of self preservation in an attempt to appreciate life here? as if it were somehow sacred, not just a fleeting inconvenience rife with pain? with shortness of breath, and oh does her breath catch.
but also what if it's neither and just his favorite song. clarke doesn't know what to ask here, how to seek clarification for those budding nervous thoughts in the back of her mind and thus just. listens. and when he finishes that last melodic note, she tilts her head. smiles, small but open. sincere, bordering on intimate. and the only sentiment she can return pales in comparison to song, but it's the only she can think to offer. )
You have a really nice voice, Mizuki. Sing more often, okay?
no subject
it will take a lot, a lot of work to reign in the self sacrificial tendencies of someone who's found a comfortable grave in the shape of i bear it so they don't have to and chosen to slowly, methodically bury herself alive. clarke has come to dread the weight of responsibility she shovels on top of her own chest as much as she needs it. her mind still perpetually swims like she's looking at their troubles laid out on a chessboard, plotting which pawns are expendable in order to protect the king, but she's not so ruthless as to commit to any of these moves until certain they'd yield a win. would honestly rather sweep the whole board off the table. but keeps playing.
all that to say, sorry mizuki, the status quo isn't going to change just because you tell her to use you. clarke griffin takes and takes and takes, just not direction.
and in rare moments, she pauses to take in. whatever paranoid urge has had her regularly sweeping the treeline for a threat is dampened, like a flame guttering out in pooled hot wax. just for a moment, fleetingly, but in the moment entirely keyed in on mizuki and listens intently to every lyric dripping over his lips. the tune is unfamiliar, like many. and the affection in his tone is suffocating, but the words themselves...
how is one supposed to interpret deeper meaning behind what someone choses to sing to them? is there some underlying reverence, the implication she'd taught him anything so grand as the infinite nature of the universe? or was it the other way around — is mizuki the teacher here, trying to get her to take note and peel away defensive strategies of self preservation in an attempt to appreciate life here? as if it were somehow sacred, not just a fleeting inconvenience rife with pain? with shortness of breath, and oh does her breath catch.
but also what if it's neither and just his favorite song. clarke doesn't know what to ask here, how to seek clarification for those budding nervous thoughts in the back of her mind and thus just. listens. and when he finishes that last melodic note, she tilts her head. smiles, small but open. sincere, bordering on intimate. and the only sentiment she can return pales in comparison to song, but it's the only she can think to offer. )
You have a really nice voice, Mizuki. Sing more often, okay?