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crispysnake · 1 year

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I'm doin it:) ok yall here is a list of all the more obscure hobbies I think modern au Keyleth gets up to plus examples! goin under the cut cause it's gonna get a little long!

first of all she is an Eco Friendly Girl almost everything she makes or does is for repurposing and reusing other things:)

• Rebinding books! Keyleth gets almost all her books from second-hand stores so usually they're pretty beaten up and damaged, so she rebinds them and makes her own covers with old fabrics or sometimes patterned paper she feels fits the vibe more! I think for the twin's birthday, Keyleth found two copies of Elaina's favourite book, one she used to read to them all the time that eventually got harder and harder to find, and she rebounded them and added little touches on the cover so it was something even more personal to them:,) (Also Percy forged Keyleth her own personal book embosser and its one of her favourite things on the planet)

• I think this girl definitely learned how to cut glass. listen she is clumsy and tries to carry far too many things and once and often drops and breaks her cups. So she takes old glass bottles and cuts and sands them down to regular cups! on bigger ones like wine bottles she turns those into plant pots. I think she kept the wine and pop bottles from her and Vaxs first date and now those are her most treasured glasses. But she also over the months stole some of Grogs bottles, all of his favorite beers and ales, and turned those into a set of glasses for him:)

•Kind of hand in hand with the last one but I think for more recreation she also knows how to make and cut stained glass, they are hung up in almost every window in their home (Vax loves being up for the sunrises and sunsets cause it casts a whole lot of rainbows all over the walls and floors) for Pike she made a piece involving the Everlight colours to hang up on the window she prays under, and when Percy was having a particularly rough time, she made one for him where the centrepiece resembled the sun tree.

• ofc she knows how to embroider, she tries to make all her clothes last as long as possible, so usually when they get holes or rip, she patches them but embroiders a little flower or plant to cover up the stitching

• Keyleth definitely knows how to dry and press flowers, she loves being able to preserve that beauty, you just know she's talented at making bouquets that hold a whole lot of meaning, but DRIED flower bouquets are just so beautiful and she likes thinking that since all those flowers are preserved, that the meaning behind them stays preserved too. (in this au Vilya went missing and then presumed dead. so they still had a funeral for her. and keyleth visits regularly to replace the dried flower bouquets.)

• HANDMADE NOTEBOOKS. Keyleth does not like wasting paper, so she collects all her scraps, dilutes and blends them, presses them, makes her own covers, coils them, and creates them into something new:) Scanlan has his own handmade customized notebooks for all his songs, and eventually commissioned one for Kaylie too:)

•(BONUS) When Keyleth does eventually start going to therapy, she had yoga recommended to her a few times but it just didn't really work for her, she doesn't like her mind being that quiet and letting all her not pleasant thoughts run rampant. She still tries and does it most mornings to wake her body up and take deep breaths though. I think she just prefers having these hobbies as a form of expressive therapy etc, I'm not quite sure what I want her job to be in this au yet but yall this girl is a hard worker and afraid of failure, she definitely had an unhealthy work-life balance and needs these hobbies to have time for herself and her family.

OK THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW, if anyone has literally any other ideas please lmk I would love to hear them! I will definitely be adding on to this when I think of more :)<3

#she also stress bakes and cooks like #all the time #and often experiments with plant-based stuff!#mira talks cr #critical role #modern au #vox machina #keyleth of the air ashari #keyleth

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kinetic-elaboration · 5 years

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August 8: Bellarke, I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home

Bellarke, Modern AU, ~1100 words, for anonymous

90s/2000s song inspo: #32, Closing Time - Semisonic

Gotta be honest, I was not up for writing tonight, but you know what, I was up for self-introspection even less. So here we are. Barely edited because I’m just not in the mood.

Currently taking requests for 90s/2000s inspired fics; send me a pairing and a number between 1 and 217 and I’ll write a scene based on a song from my Nostalgic Childhood Music Playlist

My tag list: @ciewill @dealingdreams @shadowheron2013 @julyrubyrose @wonderland-promises @hanav @rycewritestrash @thelittlefanpire @musicnote902 @stonybnatural @earthgay2052 (lmk if you would like to be added to or deleted from this list)

Bellamy and the blonde woman are the last two kicked out when the bar finally closes at 2 a.m. He's been watching her all night: first drinking with her friends at one of the tables, then by herself at the bar after the rest of her party leaves. She has short hair that reaches not quite to her shoulders, and she keeps running her hands through it and then frowning, a cute little pout that he feels in his heart, as if she expected it to be longer. She spends a little while looking down at her phone, then puts it away in her jacket pocket and doesn't take it out again, which surprises him. Either she has some impressive self-control, he thinks, or she's studiously avoiding something or someone.

Instead of mindlessly scrolling, she leans on the top of the bar and drinks her vodka on the rocks slowly, twirling it around sometimes to hear the ice clink against the sides of the glass, watching the other patrons or staring, instead, at the array of bottles and glassware behind the bar. She does look over at him sometimes, once even looks him up and down, a good boost to his ego, but she never makes eye contact long enough to show real interest. Every time someone else tries to approach her, she brushes him off. In these interactions, she has a particularly tired air about her, as if swatting away flies on a hot, muggy, summer afternoon.

Bellamy came in tonight mostly to talk to Miller, but the bar is crowded and understaffed and Miller is too busy, for the most part, for chatting. Bellamy stays until closing time, thinking maybe they can talk then, but Miller shoos him out with the other stragglers, claims he's tired but Bellamy knows better. Miller probably has his boyfriend coming over and doesn't need to waste time on some rehashed old conversations. Fair enough.

Through the windows, he can see a light drizzle has started to fall. The blonde woman takes her time sliding down from the bar stool, not because she is unsteady on her feet but as if she had wandered, in her thoughts, far from her own body, and she's stunned now by the difficulty of returning to it again, of finding herself a real person in the flesh and blood world. About to be shoved out the door and sent on home.

Bellamy's been amusing himself all night, trying to figure out what's going on in her head. She's beautiful but the creased and lightly purple hollows beneath her eyes and the way her fingertips scratch absently against her glass make her look worn. Bad breakup? he wonders. Just fired? Obvious possibilities but he thinks her troubles are something else. She has a sorrowful and tragic air about her, almost guilty, like she's here to burn away some regret. Something she's done that hurt someone else. Maybe because she had to, maybe to help some other person, maybe just for her own selfish reasons, or some complicated combination of all three.

Complicated combination of all three is how it usually goes, in his experience.

Outside, he sees that the rain is slightly more than a drizzle, the sort of fine, cool, precipitation that can only be seen by the marks the raindrops make in puddles and by a fine distortion in the air, that feels like thin needles. Bellamy watches the way the rain slashes down through the fuzzed out glow of the streetlamp, how the light reflects in the small puddle that is growing in the uneven pavement at his feet. This neighborhood at this hour is quiet and nearly deserted, feels like a nowhere place stuck in a nowhere hour, and the blonde woman is making no move to go home. She's standing under the shelter of the overhang with her hands in her pockets, watching the rain.

"Hey," he says, gets her attention despite the creaky, disused quality of his voice. "You want to split a cab or something?"

She tilts her head. He can't tell if she's amused or bored with him. "We don't even know if we're going in the same direction."

He hears just enough challenge in her voice to think that, perhaps, this is a hint or at least a dare, so he takes a step closer, still a safe distance between them, and says, "North side. What about you?"

He wants to say, I'm going where you're going but that would only be a good way to get pepper spray in his face, and anyway he only feels, now, as if he were in a dream. The buildings form hulking, ill-lit shadows, the streetlights along the road burning.

She doesn't answer for a long moment. Then: "I was just going to walk." And: "I don't do the rebound thing."

This sounds to Bellamy's ears like some sort of impromptu confession about herself, and he wonders if his first theory, the breakup, was right after all. Then he realizes that she is talking about him.

"I heard you talking to the bartender," she adds. "About that Octavia."

That Octavia.

"O is my sister," Bellamy says, an unexpected fondness to his voice—fondness not for the prodigal sibling but for the woman standing with him in the rain, who has the grace and the self-confidence, despite her deep air of fatigue, to laugh at herself, not a trace of embarrassment about her when she smiles her first genuine smile.

"Your sister," she echoes.

"Yeah."

In the long, quiet moment that follows, the rain briefly picks up, a cacophony against the sidewalk and the street. Bellamy watches the woman's face, memorizes it: the steel blue of her eyes, the hint of a smile, still lingering, that lessens the brutality of her squared shoulders, her hands that she's been keeping in her pockets, curled up into fists. He's not certain that he'll ever see her again.

She reaches out, without warning, and fixes the collar of his jacket: a particular form of intimacy he has not felt in a long time, had mostly forgotten even exists. The bit of smile has faded now, a thoughtful expression, regret-tinged, in its place. She pats down the corner of the collar. His breath stutters.

The rain has let up again, the brief hint of storm over as quickly as it began, and now beyond the safety of the overhang is a steady but near-silent downpour.

"I'm Clarke, by the way," the woman says, as she pulls the hood of her jacket up and pulls her sleeves down over her hands. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Bellamy," he answers, almost too late. He is too caught up in watching her turn away. "I really hope you do."

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake #mine #my writing #modern 100 #the year 2019 #2019: answers #nostalgia songs #i honestly kind of hate this #i had it better in my head earlier i think #the pacing just seems so off #but aaaaaaah my brain just needs to rest #clarke griffin

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