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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 47: Jon Prime

Jon awoke abruptly from a sound sleep and sat up before he thought about it. Martin mumbled something and shifted against him, but didn’t otherwise stir. Jon bent over to kiss his temple in wordless apology, then carefully extricated himself from his fiancé’s arms, picked up the torch, and moved silently over to the door. Something had roused him, he didn’t know what, but he’d be damned if he let it get to Martin. Clicking the torch off so as not to alert whoever or whatever might be out there, he put a hand on the knob, counted silently to three, and yanked the door open.

The first thing he registered was the beam of light playing on the wall opposite. The second thing was the person holding it. “Melanie?”

Melanie swung around and accidentally—or at least Jon presumed it was an accident—shone the torch directly in Jon’s eyes. He yelped and tried to protect his eyes. “Oh, God, sorry, sorry!”

“Jon?” Martin’s voice from behind him was worried, even through the fuzzy half-awake

“It’s all right, Martin. It’s Melanie.” Jon barely managed to keep from saying it’s only Melanie, which would have been a sure way to infuriate her. “It’s safe. Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Melanie said. She actually sounded like she meant it. “I didn’t—know you were still out. It’s almost lunchtime.”

Jon stepped out of the little room and closed the door behind him, hoping Martin would be able to get back to sleep. They’d had a rough night, for reasons he really ought to tell Martin but hadn’t admitted yet, and he needed his rest. “We’re living underground, Melanie. And most of what we do aboveground we have to after hours, to keep hidden. We keep a bit of odd hours. It’s fine. Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. If I’d known you were still asleep, I’d probably have tried to wait.” Melanie waved what was in her off hand at him, and Jon’s eyes locked onto it. A statement, and from the sharp hunger that lanced through him, a real one. “It’s just—they’re all trying to restrict themselves to one statement a week, you know? Martin told me he and Tim talked to Jon last night, and he’s getting too dependent on the statements. Like, he went too long without one and got really sick.”

Jon sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that. I really thought they were monitoring things better…and I’m sure it wasn’t this bad this quickly for me.”

“Yeah, well, apparently Snoop God doesn’t think patience is a virtue. Anyway, he’s all right now, but nobody else wants to get that bad, so they’re trying to…”

“Restrict their caloric intake?”

“Basically, yeah.” Melanie smirked at him, but the smile faded almost instantly. “Sasha took a statement live last week before she went home for the week. Tim took one on Thursday. Martin took Georgie’s last week and recorded another real one yesterday. Then we found this one today.” She hesitated. “I was going to read it, but everyone’s…pretty unanimous that I shouldn’t.”

“They’re right. As soon as you start reading them aloud—I mean, just reading them to yourself, just working on them, is going to be bad enough, but reading them aloud will just tie you more and more to the Eye.” Jon cocked his head at Melanie. “So what are you doing down here? Trying to sneak past and read it with no one knowing?”

“No,” Melanie said indignantly. “I was bringing it to you. I mean, if Jon gets sick going too long without reading one, you must need them, too. And if we leave it lying around loose up there, someone who shouldn’t is going to not be able to resist temptation. So, two birds, one stone, all that. I just figured it would help.”

“Oh,” Jon said, a bit surprised. “Thank you. I—I have been a bit…I do need one. Thank you.”

“Do you need a recorder or anything?” Melanie asked, handing over the statement. “Or do you just…speak into the void?”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes, yes, I do. I’ll be fine. If whatever is behind the recorders feels it’s important, one will…appear. Otherwise I’ll consume the statement and hand it back, and from what I understand, the next person to actually try and make a recording of it will be able to record it without issue.”

Melanie eyeballed him. “How many times has it happened that you got one and the recorder didn’t appear?”

“Hasn’t yet,” Jon admitted. “Thank you, Melanie.”

“Sure. See you next time you pop out. Tell your Martin I’m sorry I woke him.” Melanie gave him a sardonic salute and made her way back to the steps.

Jon watched her go, then turned to go back into the room he and Martin had claimed as their own and hesitated. Martin had always hated listening to him do the statements, and Jon frankly had always hated doing them in front of other people. Now that he knew that the presence of another person—especially someone Eye-aligned—meant the energy was shared out, it explained a lot more. Normally he waited until after hours, went up into the Archives, and did whatever statements they left for him in the Archivist’s office, but something under his skin itched and he didn’t want to wait.

He told himself he was just being courteous, that he was just letting Martin get his rest by going to another room to read this one out. He knew himself well enough, though, to know he was lying.

He slipped further down the tunnels, looking for another of the rooms his counterpart had marked as being an actual room. There were plenty, but he ignored most of them. The one he eventually chose was outwardly no different from any of the others, but it was closer to one of the other exits from the tunnels.

That, Jon had no idea why it was so important.

He slipped into the room, settled down on the floor, and set the torch next to him. With practice, he’d learned to balance it so that it formed a sort of lantern effect; it wasn’t optimal, but it was enough to let him read if he needed to. In its light, he set the folder down and began to open it.

The whirring caught his attention, and Jon looked around. A tape recorder sat just outside the circle of torchlight. Sighing, he grabbed it, checked that it was recording and not playing, and brought it to the familiar position.

“Statement of Anya Villette,” he began, “regarding a cleaning job on Hill Top Road.”

Jon had said once that, as a child, he had hated to read anything he felt he had read before. The first time the team had given him a statement to record—or more accurately to re-record—he had worried that he would feel similarly about the statements, that they wouldn’t satisfy him because he knew them already. He’d quickly learned that he needn’t have worried; while he remembered them, they were relatively new to the Eye, and he usually didn’t realize he remembered them until he was done recording. This time was no different. The name ticked at his mind when he first read it, but once he uttered those words—statement begins—he was lost to the real world. All that existed was him, the statement, and the Eye peering over his shoulder and drinking the fear through him like the lid of a toddler’s spillproof cup. The only difference was that, maybe because he was in the tunnels and the Eye had to strain, he was aware of something else paying attention to him. Likely whatever was behind the recorders.

“Statement ends,” he said finally, lowering the last page to his lap. For a moment, he stared blankly ahead of him at the wall opposite, the statement settling into the nooks and crannies of his mind.

Hill Top Road. He remembered this statement now, of course he did. Martin had been the one to find it for him prior to the Unknowing. He still remembered the apologetic look on his face as he told him I couldn’t find anything new on circuses, but I know the Hill Top Road stuff interests you too and I thought, well, it might be something. Jon had wanted to hug him for that something awful, but he’d restricted himself to a warm smile and a thank you, Martin that had made Martin’s ears go pink.

“Supplemental,” he said at last. “I…I still have no idea what to make of this one, to be honest. I know that if we do additional research, we will come up with nothing, even more than usual. Anya Villette does not exist. The cleaning agency she purports to work for does exist, but does not employ her and has not been contracted to clean the house at Hill Top Road. That house is certainly not student housing; it’s been abandoned for God knows how long. And”—he sighed heavily—“if I go there, I will only find a tape playing a statement recorded long ago and a new one on official Institute forms.”

Or would he?

Jon froze and turned the question over in his mind. He’d never been clear how the Web even knew he was going to go to Hill Top Road when he went. The sly wording of her statement indicated that it had likely been written while he was on his way there, so it wasn’t as though it had been sitting around for years waiting for him, and the point the tape had been at likely meant she’d set her trap just prior to their entrance. He had no idea how the Web had monitored him, if the Web had monitored him, but if it had been, it was probably monitoring Past Jon now. It likely didn’t know about him. Whatever was at Hill Top Road, whatever Annabelle Cane had warned him away from in his own time, she might not know to warn him now.

“Regardless,” he said slowly, “for the good of…everyone I care about, I think it is important that I do go to Hill Top Road. The sooner, the better.” He swallowed. “End recording.”

He turned off the tape recorder and got to his feet, recorder in one hand and statement in the other. The correct thing to do would be to take this back to his and Martin’s room, curl up with Martin for a bit longer, and then put the statement and tape on the Archivist’s desk. And God, he wanted to. If he was really going to Hill Top Road, going alone would probably be the stupidest thing he could do.

At the same time…

He’d felt very strongly at the time that he recorded this statement the first time that he ought to stay away from the house at Hill Top Road. He felt that way now. The only other time he’d felt this strongly that he needed to stay away from something, that there was something the Eye didn’t want him to know, it had been when he’d first listened to the tape of Gertrude Robinson’s talk with Eric Delano.

And if the Eye didn’t want him to know something, it was probably something that would be to its detriment. Which could only help their plan to stop Jonah Magnus and his damned…ritual.

He stared down at the objects in his hands, then set them neatly on the floor next to the door, picked up the torch, and headed for the exit from the tunnels.

Fortunately, there was no one about to see him emerge from the service entrance in the South Kensington station. Nor did anyone look twice at him as he paid his fare and got on the train. It was almost a two-hour journey from there to the house at Hill Top Road—two hours to worry about what he would find, two hours to fret about doing this alone, two hours to reproach himself for not waking Martin to tell him where he was going. Two hours to decide to turn back.

He didn’t.

Two hours later, he stood in front of the house at Hill Top Road and stared up at it. It was exactly as he remembered it: brand new, relatively modest, well-appointed, and totally abandoned. Nobody had lived in this house for years. Nobody would live in this house, ever, if Jon had to make a guess. It wasn’t even owned by anyone.

Breaking into it was a lot easier than it had been the first time. In the first place, he knew the house now, knew its weak points and easy access spots. In the second place, he was alone rather than being burdened with an angry ex-cop who thought every problem could be solved with a combination of obstinate logic and a certain amount of pressure, an even angrier ex-Internet celebrity who thought that both he and the entire idea of trying to hunt down Annabelle Cane was stupid, and a Hunter who knew that every step she took into the building, no matter how good her intentions, made it that much harder for her to stop listening to the blood. (He also didn’t have to contend with the other three all assuming he was too staid and weedy to know how to gain access to someplace he wasn’t wanted, like he’d never done a spot of breaking and entering in his life. Georgie had once accused him of being a cat with opposable thumbs and social anxiety.) In a way, he wished he had Daisy with him—she’d been something of a comfort at the time, which was a bit of a surprise—but at the same time, he had to acknowledge that the Daisy he missed was the one he’d rescued from the Buried, not the one who’d threatened his and Martin’s life seven months ago.

Jesus, had it only been seven months?

Shaking his head, Jon slid the bobby pin he’d found on the Tube out of his pocket, picked the lock on the back door in a matter of seconds (not his best time, but he was out of practice), and slipped inside. He took another deep breath, then coughed as that drew dust and…other things he’d prefer not to think about into his lungs. Once he had himself under control, he turned and swept the beam of his torchlight around the place.

The interior, like the exterior, was exactly like he remembered it. Cobwebs covered virtually every surface, far more than should have built up even in nine years of disuse, clinging to curtain rods and disused furniture and empty cabinets. Jon swallowed against the sudden rise of nausea at the reminder of the Web’s presence. He tried to remind himself of what Martin had told him once, when they’d first been at the safe house and he’d seen the cobwebs in the corner and almost gone feral—that cobwebs were old and abandoned webs full of dust, that the presence of them meant that the spiders themselves were long gone.

Somehow, though, he didn’t think they were. Not completely.

Careful not to breathe too deeply, Jon moved cautiously into the house. Obviously it wasn’t the same house Agnes Montague had grown up in, but he had a fairly good idea of the place from the statements. Anya Villette had described a cupboard under the stairs that led to an unmarked basement. Daisy had claimed not to have noticed one, but…

Something creaked overhead. Jon froze, hand on a door that seemed likely to lead downward. The house was empty, he was sure of that, there shouldn’t be—

The creak came again, like someone was moving around. There was definitely someone upstairs. Jon’s curiosity overcame his caution, what little of it he had left. It wasn’t compulsion from the Eye. The Eye very much wanted him to leave. Any desire to see what was upstairs was one hundred percent Jon, and it was that that drove him to investigate. It was nice to want to know something without needing to Know it. Gripping the torch like a weapon, he started up the stairs.

It was a spiral staircase, something he hadn’t noticed the first time he was there. Something ticked at the back of his brain, something about a parlor up a spiral stair, but he couldn’t quite remember. As he hit the top step, though, the knowledge slammed into his brain.

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, “’Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to shew when you are there.”

“The Spider and the Fly,” by Mary Howitt. First published in 1829. Meant to be a moral lesson about the dangers of flattery and falling for seductive words and a silver tongue. It had been the second poem Martin ever memorized, after his Year Two teacher reduced him to tears by lecturing him in front of the entire class for “showing off” by learning—

Jon quickly shut the mental door against the flood of knowledge. Martin and Past Martin might be different people now, but they’d had the same experiences—up to a point—and he owed them both the courtesy of staying out of their heads. He had enough knowledge to be getting on with. He was about to walk into the Web’s cunningly-laid trap.

For just a second, he hesitated. There was still time to turn back…but he’d come this far. He couldn’t very well take a four-hour journey, undoubtedly worry Martin, and then go back and say it was pointless. He might as well learn something.

There was a door opposite him, slightly ajar. He took a slow, steadying breath, resolutely shored up his mind to keep out the Beholder, and opened it.

It was a bedroom, simply furnished, as if for a little girl. There was a four-poster bed with carved columns, a low dresser, and a vanity and mirror, all painted white. The seat of the chair in front of the vanity, the comforter and bedskirt, and the ruffled canopy on the bed were all a delicate shade of pink, or had been before the dust settled on them. And sitting on the top of the bed, leaning back against the headboard and playing with something in her hands, was a woman Jon knew far better than he wanted to.

“Hello, Jon,” she said pleasantly. “Do you mind if I call you Jon?”

Jon exhaled heavily. “Annabelle Cane. Why am I surprised?”

Annabelle sat up, cross-legged on the bed, a sly smile on her lips. “You’re looking well. I’m so glad you came to visit.”

“Really,” Jon said flatly. He almost called her out for not having wanted to see him before, but he held his tongue. She couldn’t know he was from the future. He still wasn’t sure what the Web wanted, or what Annabelle herself had wanted, but he wouldn’t risk the world by tipping his hand.

“But of course! The Mother of Puppets has watched you very closely.” Annabelle tugged her hands apart, and Jon realized what it was—a length of some kind of string, looped around her fingers and forming a sort of open shape reminiscent of a teacup. It didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to guess it was made of spiderweb.

“So what does the Web want with me?” Jon crossed his arms over his chest, which would have been a lot more effective if he hadn’t almost clobbered himself in the jaw with the torch.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that.” Annabelle passed a few loops from finger to finger, pinched in a couple of places, twisted, and spread her hands again; now instead of a cup and saucer, it looked a bit like a witch’s broom. “That’s not why you’re here, anyway.”

Jon stubbornly remained in the doorway. As long as he didn’t cross the threshold, he’d be fine. Probably. Maybe. “And why am I here?”

Seemingly uninterested, Annabelle brought her hands back together and began shifting the loops again. “Have you ever played this game before?”

“What game? The Web’s game?”

“No, silly.” Annabelle held up her hands, revealing a latticework like a suspension bridge. “It’s called Cat’s Cradle. More often played with two, of course, but you can play by yourself if you want. Did you never play it?”

“No,” Jon said, and it was only partially a lie. He’d never known there was a name for it, or a formal method of playing, but he’d once done something similar with a bit of yarn he’d found in his desk. It had distracted him enough that he’d failed to pay proper attention in class, and his teacher had first yelled at him for not answering her question and then for playing with the string, scolding him that he would cut his fingers off if he wasn’t careful. He hadn’t exactly believed her, but he’d also never tried again.

“Shame. It’s a pleasant way to pass the time.” Annabelle began working the loops again. “Why are you here? Because you’re curious. Because you want—no, because you need to know.” She looked up at him. “Because you need my help.”

“Your help?” Jon said incredulously. “Your help with what?”

“Your plan. Gertrude had one, too, you know. So many people have plans. And those plans depend on so many things, so many little strands woven together. It’s almost like—” Annabelle spread her hands apart again, fingers splayed wide. In the center of the span was a perfect eight-pointed shape. “—a spider’s web.”

Jon stood his ground, with difficulty. “So you know what my plan is.”

Annabelle’s eyes glittered. “I know what your goal is. Not how you plan to do it. Not necessarily. The Web isn’t like the Eye. It doesn’t Know. It just sees…patterns.” Another twist of her hands, another slip of a loop, and suddenly she was seeming to transform her hand into a marionette, or else creating the framework of a hut. “And I see the pattern of a goal, and the threads that could lead to it. Do you think you have the power to succeed?”

“Yes,” Jon replied immediately. “We do?”

“We?” Annabelle looked up at him with a smile.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Not you.”

“Oh, no, of course not me. No, you’re talking about Martin, aren’t you?” Annabelle’s smile broadened. “Of course. You can’t hope to succeed without him.”

Jon froze. Fear lanced through him. She couldn’t know, she couldn’t possibly know…he’d been watching, he knew his counterpart and Martin’s weren’t together yet. Patterns or no patterns, she couldn’t know what he meant to him.

In a low, dangerous voice, he said, “Don’t you touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.”

“Perish the thought! I want you to succeed, Jon. I want to help you. I can help you.” Annabelle held out the string towards him. It just looked like a mess. “Take this.”

“So you can bind me in the Web? Not a chance.” Jon reached for the door handle. “I never should have come here.”

“It’s not a trap. Martin can’t give you help as it is.” Annabelle’s voice stopped Jon in his tracks. “Not if you can’t find him.”

Slowly, Jon drew himself up to his full height. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

Annabelle was still holding out the strings in his direction. “It’s not a threat, either. Patterns, Jon.” She drew her hands back, slipped one of the loops quickly off a finger, and stretched them wide, producing a tangled mess. “One slipped thread can throw them all off. And if it breaks…well.” Dropping all the loops from her fingers, she began quickly and deftly unpicking the knots, talking all the while. “You have a bond. It needs to be…stronger. Otherwise there’s a risk of neither of you surviving what you intend to do. It will protect you as well as him.”

Jon watched as she began looping the strings over her fingers again. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you refuse. You walk out of this house, we go our separate ways, and you hope your plan succeeds without that bond.” Annabelle shrugged. “It won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt Martin.”

“It hurt Gertrude.”

“Gertrude did it herself. And she also was bonding with the Desolation. How could that be anything but painful?” Annabelle pointed out. “But I know how to weave the threads. It’s a perfectly harmless bond. It will just give you both the strength and power you need to survive what’s coming.” She spread her hands again. Somehow, she managed to pinch and twist the strings just right so that there was a clear and obvious M in the middle of it. M for Martin. A few more flicks of the fingers, and then she was stretching her hands out to Jon again. “Do you trust me? Then take the strings.”

Jon hesitated. Did he trust Annabelle Cane? The simple answer was no; she was of the Web, the entity he’d feared the longest. He knew now that none of the entities had humanity’s best interests at heart, but some were worse than others. Was the Web better or worse than the Eye? Than the Hunt? Than the End? And for that matter…was this Annabelle acting on behalf of the Web, or acting on her own?

The other issue was this bond. Could Jon really make this decision for Martin, bind them together, without asking? Martin may have liked spiders once, but he trusted Annabelle Cane and the Web even less than Jon did. He genuinely worried about its manipulations, about the possibility of it controlling either of them. And Jon had no right to make decisions for him. They were a team, they had to decide together…

The problem was that, like attacking Jonah, this was a now or never situation. Jon had to make a decision, and he had to make it immediately. If he walked away, he would never get this offer again. He had to choose between accepting the bond and hoping Martin would forgive him for it, or rejecting it and hoping he survived for Martin to scold him. He had to decide whether he believed he was strong enough on his own to protect the ones he loved, or whether he would need Martin’s strength. He had to decide whether or not this would bind him to his Martin or to Past Martin, or if it would bind Past Jon and Past Martin together, or if he even believed Annabelle would actually do it.

But if it would protect the man he loved…

Jon came to a decision. He stepped all the way into the room, stretched his hands out, and let Annabelle transfer the strings onto his fingers.

“Good,” Annabelle said, sounding satisfied. “Quickly, there’s not much time.” Her hands were a blur as she moved loops and threads from finger to finger. The string bit into the scar on his hand, but Jon gritted his teeth and bore it up. Finally, she clapped her hands. “Now then…pull.”

Jon separated his hands to the furthest extent the string would let him, and the world seemed to explode in a swirl of static.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #annabelle cane #canon-typical web content

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talesofafangirlwithadvr · 5 years ago

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REVIEW: EMMA (2020)

Anytime a new adaptation comes out I’m always very hesitate to watch it. Will it live up to its previous incarnation? Why are they making another when there’s already so many? And if it’s based on a book+has had many films already=I can be a very harsh critic. However, with the more reviews I read about Autumn de Wilde’s new take on Jane Austen’s novel, the more pumped I got. (I was upset I had to wait till March as it was in select theaters this February.) I am very happy I got to see it because I enjoyed it a lot. So whether you are a Jane Austen/Emma fan, have seen Clueless once or twice and are curious about the source material or want to escape from all the Corona virus news for a bit, I would highly suggest venturing to your local movie theater to see it. More than likely you will have the theater basically to yourself, like I did.

Spoilers for the source material are bound to come, so if you are still reading the novel or want to be a bit surprised I would suggest skimming this section.

Bill Nighy portrayed a fantastic Mr. Woodhouse.

The way this film was marketed it continually brought up how Emma is Jane Austen’s comedy. Now, all of Austen’s work is comedic, but Emma could have some things we will find especially funny as it could be the farthest from our lives (just like it was back then for Austen’s readers). In this adaptation I really could feel the humor attribute making this a true comedy in my eyes. Most of that is thanks to Bill Nighy’s performance.

Mr. Woodhouse’s hypochondria is his biggest character trait and is always a laugh as he is often given some of the most ridiculous statements. (ie: Cake not being good for children.) Nighy strongly delivered on this and also brought a new characteristic to him (and I’m not just talking about the amazing patterns he wore). He did a great job with physical humor. I loved his interactions with the servants. Which, speaking of...I really liked how much involvement the servants had. This version, specifically, had the most servants shown (compared to previous Emmas) and while they never spoke (as would be expected during this time period) there was SO much humor present. From finding the draft for Mr. Woodhouse out the window (”Miss Taylor would have felt it”), moving all the screens (still a great way for Mr. Woodhouse to show he knew something was going on between Emma and Mr. Knightley) or quickly turning their backs. They also helped to show how rich these characters really are. As social class is a huge part of this story.

Anya Taylor Joy is poised and highlights Emma’s social class.

With Joy’s portrayal of our lead heroine, I felt like we got an Emma that was very accurate to the novel, but one we do not often see. Here, you got a true sense of Emma’s wealth (as her maids are seen dressing her or fitting her for a new outfit, as well as the ornaments in her hair) as well as her selfishness. By this I mean we got a look into Emma’s world and how she wants to see what she desires. This was seen very early with Emma’s reaction to Miss. Bates in church and then also when they meet Miss. Bates in the shop and hear of Jane’s letter. Other adaptations seem to give her the air of compassion (even if it is just in her face and then she talks badly later). As a very big fan of BBC’s 2009 Emma and of Romola Garai’s Emma it was hard for me to not compare the two versions. Of course, starting with Emma in this role allows for a larger character development, but I still would have liked to see a little more interest in others.

I loved how many lines were super accurate to the novel. I could often recite what was coming up next. (Yes, I know I’m a big nerd.)

Johnny Flynn quickly becomes one of my favorite Knightleys.

Again, another hard thing about so many adaptations, seeing so many versions of these literary characters. As I mentioned with the section on Emma’s character specifically, I am a big fan of the BBC’s 2009 mini-series, so whenever I think of Mr. Knightley my mind goes to Jonny Lee Miller (or Brent Bailey from Emma Approved).

*swooning*

But where was I... oh yes! After watching the trailer I wasn’t sure about this Mr. Knightley (I wasn’t super familiar with Flynn), but he quickly grew on me early on in the film. I really like the early allusions of him and Emma liking one another. His “rivalry” with Frank Churchill made me chuckle every time. I thought it was strange they never brought up how he knows Emma or why he’s over all of the time. Especially when her sister came with all of her kids. Her husband is Knightley’s younger brother, but it’s never mentioned. That could help with not focusing on Emma and Knightley’s large age difference. I like how here we didn’t hear any of those creepy statements like how he remembers holding her when she was a baby. I LOVED their dance (as I expected I would. It’s a HUGE moment) and their reaction afterward was precious: watching them both come to terms with what just happened and how they were feeling. I honestly thought they would admit their feelings right then. It was a PERFECT addition. When Emma asks Frank to stay, and Knightley is obviously upset, but she’s clearly asking for Harriet. Oh the drama! It was great. I was worried the strawberry picking at Donwell wouldn’t have happened, but it followed this scene, which was great because now Emma was aware of her growing feelings and then Harriet is swooning over Knightley who is ignoring Emma. It feels like something straight out of high school (no wonder why Clueless works so well).

While I loved the addition of this scene, I did feel like the end was a bit rushed, especially once we get to Box Hill. For me Frank and Jane’s reveal always feels weird, but that felt even more forced (although you do get more glances from them in the film) and I understand we don’t have a full 4 hours to show everything, but it just felt like a lot all at once. Despite all of this the proposal was still great and very accurate to the novel. I just don’t understand the nose bleed.

Justice for Harriet with Mia Goth

Emma and Harriet Smith’s relationship is one that I always find problematic. If Emma didn’t feel lonely after losing Miss Taylor/Mrs. Weston she more than likely would not have met Harriet Smith and taken her “under her wing.” Harriet’s life gets turned upside down. She goes from getting proposed to by the farmer, Robert Martin, to turning him down, thinking she’s in love with Mr. Elton, getting her heart broken, falling in love again, but then being wrong about that one too. Then in the end she winds up with Robert Martin, who she would have been happy with in the first place. Mr. Knightley says it well, when he mentions how the more time Emma spends with her, the more she will be out of her world and not apart of Emma’s. Often, I don’t feel justice for Harriet at the end of the film because of the way they treat her character. She is a main focal point at the start of the novel, but then other matters seem to become more serious. In this film, I think I have finally seen one of the best ways her character is handled, specifically at the end of the story. When Emma abruptly stops Knightley during his proposal, it is because (at first) she thinks he will tell her that he loves Harriet (as she just professed to Emma), but in this film we see Emma have this realization as she is about to say her true feelings to Knightley in response to his proposal. Something clicks in her that it is not right. Now my first thought was because of her father. Mainly because of how against change he is. But it is actually for Harriet, which I thought was really refreshing. And then the next scene is us seeing Emma telling Harriet what happened. But it doesn’t stop there. We get to see Harriet finish her story and even share a loving moment with Robert Martin before Emma and Knightley truly unite. It was a very nice touch to this film.

Go see Emma. You’ll love it as much as I did and then want to watch a bunch of different adaptations afterwards because you can never get enough!

#emma #emma woodhouse #emma 2020 #autumn de wilde #jane austen #historical dramas #period pieces #bill nighy #anya taylor joy #johnny flynn #emma approved #emma 2009 #mia goth

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kloxbian · 5 years ago

Text

To the Fire I Fall

Synopsis:

Clarke has been confined her whole life. To the Ark, and then, to Arkadia.

She’s done being confined.

Or maybe it would have been better to stay confined instead of accidentally wandering into enemy territory.

-AU with a twist: Elemental powers!

Notes: IMPORTANT: Though this contains nothing sexual, the relationship between Clarke and Lexa contains some not-so-subtle dom/sub undertones. This is my first time joining in on clexa week, and I have to say I’m very proud of myself for doing this. I started this as soon as possible because forbidden love is my weakness and I was goddamn ready to get on with it despite the fact that I had five (six?) fics going on at the time. I will also be making a second chapter to this after clexa week. Despite my love of open endings, this one deserves a more closed-off, certain one.

Ever since the Ark had fallen to Earth, Clarke had wanted to explore the world.

But she couldn’t because the fucking grounders wouldn’t let them.

The peace that was between Arkadia and the clans was… fragile. They had a treaty, but it was nothing more than ‘if you don’t bother us, we won’t bother you.’ There was a five-mile radius around Arkadia that the Trikru had generously gifted, but anything more was off-limits. The only people even allowed within the limits were the hunting parties and those that tended to the fields outside the fence.

Their peace had held for the past year since it was brokered, and, with a bit of support during the cold season, it hadn’t wavered. Neither side wanted it to.

Clarke didn’t want it to, either. But she at least wanted to explore their territory. Was that too much to ask?

According to her mother, it was.

So she did it herself.

“Shit, I never realized the trees were so tall.”

Well, not just herself.

“Raven, we could see them from inside Arkadia. They’re only, like, fifty feet from the border.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “Are they really that amazing?”

“Yes! I mean, look! This trunk is wider than I am!”

“Okay, you aren’t that fat.”

Raven pouted and Clarke laughed. She hadn’t laughed until she reached the ground. Not after her father was murdered.

“Ex-cuse you. I am sexier than you’ll ever be, bitch!”

Clarke smiled widely at her friend’s antics but was more admiring the forest than listening to them. The forest was alive with birds singing, brush rustling as small animals moved within them, and it was a beauty Clarke had never experienced. The forest had such diversity, such color, it was more than she could ever have dreamed.

“You still there, Clarke?” Octavia playfully knocked the side of her head, and Clarke smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah. This is all just… beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Ha! See, I told you, Octavia!”

“Shut up, Raven, that was not what you were telling me!”

Clarke’s smile was more genuine than it had ever been, in the forest with two of her best friends. But they were loud, exuberant, and, dare she say it, obnoxious.

So Clarke slipped off alone, her disappearance unnoticed by her bickering friends.

As their voices faded into the background, Clarke closed her eyes and just breathed. The air was fresh and tasted sweet on her tongue, the sunlight beaming through the trees warming her face and shoulders, the soft breeze caressing her face. It was the most amazing thing she had ever and likely would ever experience.

She wandered on, surrounded by the environment of the forest, for a long time. She knew she could walk on forever and it would never get any less exhilarating.

That was her last thought before she felt herself pulled against a body and cold metal press against her throat.

She felt breath wash over her ear. “Look at this; a Skai girl on the wrong side of the border. Did you get lost, idiot child?”

Clarke cursed internally. She was going to be in so much trouble when she got out of this.

The knife moved away from her throat, hovering just in front of it. “Talk.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I intruded. I didn’t even know where the border was!” She pleaded, not even trying to escape from the woman’s strong grip.

“You didn’t know?” The woman laughed harshly. “Branwada. You should have.”

Clarke was about to retort before something hit her hard in the side of the head and her vision went black.

When Clarke wakes, she’s behind bars lying in the dirt.

She’s alone. There are no guards, no sounds, no nothing. Clarke wonders where the other prisoners are if they have any. She’d been told the grounders don’t take prisoners, that all offenses are punishable by death. They say it so harshly, like it’s the most terrible thing, even though they had done the same thing on the Ark. She’d always hated how they talked of the clans like they were a virus to be exterminated. She hopes she won’t agree after this experience.

If she survives the experience.

She hears footsteps coming down the corridor and a grounder steps in front of her cell. He looks at her passively, speaking over his shoulder. “Honon ste stomba raun, Oneda (The prisoner is awake, General).”

“Os. Bants osir. (Good. Leave us.)” A woman stepped past the guard, looking at Clarke with contempt. Clarke recognized the voice as the same woman that had captured her.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Clarke asked, wincing at the sound of her raspy voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

The woman tilted her head. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn’t that what you do to your prisoners?”

She snorted. “Your leaders know nothing of us, yet they tell their people that we are savages. I shouldn’t have expected any more from such arrogant leaders.” The woman shook her head, leaning casually against the bars. “No. You will not be killed. We have no proof that your intrusion was anything more than an innocent mistake made from Skaikru ignorance.”

“So are you going to let me go?”

She was silent for a moment. “No. You still are an intruder. You broke the treaty.”

Clarke gasped. “Please don’t hurt them because of this. I didn’t know, I swear!”

The woman considered her. “You protect your people. I do not see many Skaikru willing to do that. Are you one of the leaders?”

Clarke was taken aback. “Of course not! I’m not even eighteen yet!”

“Does that mean you cannot be a leader?”

“You can’t be on the council unless you’re over twenty-five.” Clarke sighed. “To them, I’m still a child.”

The woman looked amused. “Your ways are… intriguing, to say the least. Though you are still very much irritating, you are more competent than most of your leaders.”

Clarke decided to take that as a compliment.

“As for what will be done with you, I shall have to consider. You have broken the treaty accidentally, with no malicious intent. Not something fit for punishment, but to let you go free without repercussion would encourage more purposeful intrusions.”

The woman tilted her head thoughtfully. “You are an odd case. I will have to think this over, but I can assure you we will not kill you, and that you will, at some point, make it home.”

Clarke sighed. “Thank you…”

“I am General Anya. You will address me as General.” With those last words, Anya turned and said something to the guards in their language before striding out of the prisons. A guard brought a plate of food to her and then the entire prison cleared out.

Clarke groaned as she tasted the meat. Despite it being food they were feeding to a prisoner, it was the best meat she’d ever had. Sure, Arkadia had hunting parties who brought back meat, but it wasn’t nearly as good as this. She swiped her finger over the coating of flakes on top of the meat and figured it must be what old-world called ‘spices.’ She was thankful for such a good meal.

She settled against the wall at the back of the cell. Who knew how long she would be there for.

Clarke was awoken by two men grabbing either arm and hoisting her to her feet. She struggled. “Hey! Where am I going?”

“Quiet, honon,” a guard said, yanking roughly on her arm.

Clarke hissed, getting a hold on the ground and walking between them instead of being dragged. Outside, Anya was waiting on a horse with four other guards mounted around her. Another horse, this one without a rider, stood next to Anya.

The guards tossed her onto the horse, and she scrambled to sit on it correctly. “Where are we going?”

Anya spared her barely a glance. “I am taking you to Heda. She will decide your fate.”

Clarke was confused. “Don’t the guards call you heda?”

“They call me Oneda. It means ‘under Heda.’ Heda is the commander.” Clarke paled. She’d heard stories of the commander, how he was a ruthless murderer who wanted complete and total control, though considering what she’d seen here, it probably wasn’t accurate. She hoped.

Anya told her how to ride in the least amount of words possible before they were off. This was the first time Clarke had actually seen the village and she couldn’t help but gape. It was nothing like the council had described. Nobody looked miserable or angry, they all looked happy. Children ran around chasing each other, some carrying fake swords that they would pretend to fight with. Stalls were set up with merchants, bartering goods. There was a large pavilion off to the side that had smoke running out the side from a fire in which smoked meat lay. The chef tossed spices over the top of it and handed it out to people in exchange for what looked like trinkets.

Anya gave her an amused look from over her shoulder. “We aren’t savages, skai girl, no matter what your ‘council’ told you.”

No, they weren’t. Everything Clarke had heard about the grounders has so far been proven wrong. These people didn’t look like heartless brutes. They looked like normal people. Sure, most were bigger and far more muscled and maybe they wore different clothes and spoke a different language. They are still the same in the end. Just people trying to find their way in the world their predecessors created around them.

They passed through two large wooden gates that closed behind them and they went into the forest.

Only an hour in and Clarke’s legs were aching.

She’d never in her life ridden a horse. She’d heard of them, even seen a couple, but never came close, much less sit atop one. At first, it was nauseating, the swing of the horse’s steps swaying her back and forth, but she learned to let her hips swing with the rhythm, to move with it instead of against it. As long as she sat back and relaxed, everything was fine. Except for the fact that sitting like this for an hour was not so comfortable. Clarke couldn’t imagine doing this for the entire day, much less think about how the grounders were able to perform inexplicable stunts on them. Sitting and walking was one thing. Putting your trust in a two-ton creature that could crush you under its feet? Not so easy.

They rode for the rest of the day, stopping once in between for a slight rest before they were back on the path. They passed many other travelers, most merchants trying to sell their goods. Most seemed put off by her, and Clarke wondered if the grounders viewed Skaikru in the same way as Skaikru viewed them.

Clarke was relieved to be off of her horse. The mounts were tied up to a tree and the grounders set up tents, four of them, on flat, even ground. When everyone had eaten and drank, two guards took up positions on either side of the camp and the others each took a tent. “Try anything, Skai girl, and the guards will not hesitate to knock you out,” Anya warned before she sent Clarke into one of the tents. She passed out the moment her head hit the pillow despite sleeping half the day.

The following day proceeded much the same. Nothing of note happened, and that night they set up the same way. Clarke grew more comfortable around the grounders, though she still didn’t trust any of them, and her thighs weren’t as sore as they were yesterday, much to her relief.

On the fourth day, they reached their destination. The first thing Clarke saw was a large tower sticking out of the trees, towering above them higher than anything she’d seen. As they grew closer, she could see that the tower stood in the center of a city, a city that stretched wide on all sides. The wall surrounding it was at least twice the size of Arkadia’s, perhaps more.

The people in the city were the most diverse she’d ever seen. People of all colors walked the streets, many waving politely to their small party. She saw people covered in tattoos like Trikru, people with scarred faces and pale skin, people with dark skin and braided hair, and many more. She couldn’t see into the stalls from where she was, but she couldn’t imagine what sorts of things they sold.

The tower, at the foot of it, reminded her of an old-world skyscraper. From the bottom, it was impossible to see the top, the many windows blurring together into fuzzy shapes.

Anya spoke softly yet harshly to her in the elevator, which Clarke was startled to discover worked. “The commander is not someone to take lightly. You will show Heda proper respect, and if you do not there will be severe punishment. Do not speak unless spoken to, but do not bow to Heda. This one, in particular, is not fond of the gesture.”

Clarke fidgeted nervously as they stepped out of the elevator, staring at the large set of doors at the end of the hall. Four guards were positioned in front of it, large men with menacing spears obviously meant to intimidate. It worked.

Their eyes fixed on her as she walked behind Anya, eyes on the ground. She heard the men knock twice on the doors before pushing them open. Anya walked in confidently with Clarke straggling behind her.

She felt a new gaze on her, one much less harsh and more curious than the guards. “Heda, this skai girl invaded our territory just a few days earlier. She claims to have not known where the borders were.”

“Is this true, Skai girl?” Clarke felt a jolt of surprise at the voice. She had expected a hard, masculine tone, harsh and rough, not this smooth yet demanding feminine one. She looked up for the first time since entering the room and laid her eyes upon the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

The commander lounged lazily on her throne, a knife spinning between her fingers. Her hair was a dark chocolate, slightly wavy and entwined with intricate braids. Her outfit was black leather, all padded and protected, with a large pauldron on her shoulder sporting a red sash. Her face was smooth and soft, her skin tanned nicely, yet her eyes were hard and serious.

Clarke dipped her head politely. “Yes, commander.”

“Why were you unaware of the border? You should have known not to come close.”

Clarke nodded. “Apologies, commander, but the Skaikru forbid anyone except the hunting parties and field tenders to leave the camp. That was the first day I’d been outside the walls since they were built. I hadn’t been aware I’d walked a full five miles.”

A man was standing to the right of the commander, just behind the throne. His face was adorned with a permanent scowl. He scoffed. “These Skaikru are problematic, Heda, just like I told you they were. They are so inordinate they don’t even bother showing their people the rules. I say we drive them out.”

“Shof op, Titus. If I want your opinion I will ask for it.” The commander looked back to Clarke, who suddenly felt so insignificant under her gaze. “So you went against your people’s laws to leave camp?”

Clarke flushed red. “Yes,” she said sheepishly. “After being stuck in the Ark, and then Arkadia, we wanted to explore what was out there.”

The commander raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Ah-yes,” she stuttered. “Two friends left with me. I separated from them and I expect they turned around before reaching the border if you haven’t seen them, or maybe were caught by our guards.”

“I see.” The commander turned to Anya. “And why couldn’t you figure this out yourself?”

“I was unsure of a fit punishment for the girl,” she replied. “Her crime is not her own fault but that of her people, though the only option is to punish her in some way to show that we will not tolerate trespassers.”

The commander nodded. “You are right. Join me and my advisors for dinner tonight. We will discuss the matter then. For now, give this girl arrangements in a guest room. She is not a prisoner and I will not treat her as such, at least not until an outcome has been decided.” She signaled to the guards, who gestured for Clarke to go with them, though before she could, the bald man spoke up.

“Wait.” All three hesitated, and the commander turned to him. He looked at her pleadingly. “Heda, she is a trespasser. We do not accommodate trespassers.”

“And whose fault is it that she trespassed?”

“It is her own,��Heda! I beg of you, please consider the fact that she may be lying to gain information.”

“I don’t believe she is,” Anya said. “I saw her when she crossed the border. She was not looking for any guards, much less expecting an attack. She truly did not know she crossed the border.”

“You cannot be sure!” The man insisted. “For all we know, she is a spy! A deceiving woman feigning innocence to keep her in good favor!”

“Titus, she is not-”

“Enough!” The commander rose from her chair, throwing her arms out to the side. The braziers caught fire, the flames roaring up until they brushed the ceiling. Titus and Anya both froze. “We will settle this matter over dinner instead of arguing about it like children. Guards, take the girl to her rooms. Titus, Anya, remain.” Clarke looked at the commander fearfully, her piercing eyes boring right through her before the guards led her out of the throne room, the doors shutting behind them.

Clarke’s rooms were large, thrice the size of her old one on the Ark, even with her parent’s status on the council. She had an incredible view from the balcony, a comfortable fur bed instead of a hard cot, and, to her surprise, the drawers of the desk contained items in them. Most were simple, everyday things, nothing you would think twice about, but Clarke was surprised and delighted to find out they had paper and charcoal. They had practically none at Arkadia, and the resources on the Ark were scarce. She wondered how plentiful paper was to the grounders. They must have a lot if they would leave it laying in a guest room like this.

And so Clarke drew. The first thing she drew was Polis. It was grander than any city she’d seen, with the tower looming in the middle, a flame perched precariously atop it. She sketched it out and shaded it enough to form shape and distinction before she itched to move to something else. There were so many things to draw, she was impatient to get them all out. She’d finish that one later.

To her surprise, time passed quickly. By the time the guards brought in her dinner, she’d sketched out a picture of the forest, of a horse, and was in the middle of sketching the intricate throne she’d seen the commander sitting upon. The meal smelled heavenly, and she wolfed down the smoked meat and deliciously seasoned corn. If this was what she got to eat here, she’d happily stay a while.

After her meal, she finished her sketch of the throne and was trying to decide on what to draw next when the doors opened. She looked up from where she sat at the table to see the commander walking in. Her pauldron was gone, but the red ribbons twined into her hair still marked her as the commander.

Clarke stood up, brushing her drawings to the side. “Commander,” she said, inclining her head politely.

“We have come to a decision about your fate,” she said, skipping over pleasantries. “You are allowed to leave whenever you wish to return to your people with no punishment. However,” she paused, “you will deliver the message that any skaikru caught beyond the border, accidental or not, will be punished accordingly by my people.”

Clarke tilted her head. “Punished accordingly?”

“If it was a misunderstanding or curious children, the worst they would face might be captivity for some time or maybe working as an indentured servant, if the crime was so bad. If we have reason to believe they had malicious intent, they will be killed.”

Clarke was a bit startled by her casual stance on such a thing but nodded. “Of course. I will tell our leaders when I return.”

“And when will you return?”

Clarke was surprised. “I get a choice?”

“Yes. You are my guest for the time you remain at Polis. You may leave whenever you wish.”

She blinked, staying silent for a minute. “Can I stay a few more days?”

“If that is what you wish.” The commander walked over to her, looking down at her drawings before nodding to the couch. “May I?”

Clarke shifted over, allowing the Commander to sit with a few feet of space between them. The commander dragged one of her drawings over to look at, speaking without looking up. “Can I ask why you wish to stay instead of return to your people?”

She had to take a moment to process the question. “Um, yeah. I guess I just want to be somewhere new. As I told you, I’ve never left Arkadia since we came to Earth.”

The commander looked disturbed by that. “Not even once? You never explored the trees around your home?”

“Never. Unless you were hunting or gathering materials or some other task, you were forbidden from going past the treeline.”

The commander pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You were forbidden to explore the trees despite that you had grown up in a metal box your entire life.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I cannot say I pity you at all,” she replied. “I would much despair at such a life. It’s a wonder no one else has wandered out of your camp.”

“Security’s tight. It’s hard to leave without getting noticed.”

“Then how did you?”

Clarke shrugged. “One of my friends helped design the fence around Arkadia. She knew all the loopholes.”

The commander still looked a bit confused. “I’ve been told your fence is nothing more than wires. I do not understand how hard it could be to leave.”

Clarke hesitated at this. If she told the commander the strength of their fences, it was possible she’d use that against them. Then again, from what Clarke had seen, the commander had no intention of attacking. Even so, the grounders were likely strong enough to bring down the fence anyway. “The fence is electric. If you touch the wires, you’ll get shocked with a hundred volts at about a fifteen hundred milliamps.”

The commander looked even more confused. “I do not know what any of that means.”

“Oh. Right. If you touched it, it would hurt. A lot.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Would it?”

“Yeah. I know your warriors are tough and all, but trust me, they would definitely feel it.”

“If you say so.” The commander had tugged a couple more of Clarke’s sketches over to look at. “Would you mind if I asked about your life on your ‘Ark’? I find such a life hard to understand.”

“Uh, sure.” Clarke fidgeted in place. Though this woman couldn’t be much older than herself, she radiated an aura of power that made Clarke want to bend to her every command. It was no wonder she was the leader around here.

“Your ‘ship’ was in the sky for over a hundred years. How did it stay afloat?”

“Oh, um, well, up in space, there isn’t any gravity, which basically means there’s nothing pulling you toward the ground. The problem with space is that there isn’t any oxygen, so if you leave the ship without a suit, you’d die.”

“Like the maunon,” the commander muttered.

“The mountain men? Exactly like that.” Clarke leaned back against the cushions and sighed, memories flashing through her mind. “We had no dirt to grow our food in and no animals to get meat from, so everything was artificial. It all tasted bland. Even the water felt impure.”

“How do you get meat without animals?”

Clarke shrugged. “I have no idea how they did it, but they used the plants that they grew in this odd kind-of-dirt material to make it into something like meat. It was terrible, but it worked.” Memories of her first taste of real meat came back to her. “The half-raw rabbit we ate our first day was the best thing I’d ever had.”

The commander had a look of disgust on her face, and Clarke couldn’t blame her. The food an average grounder ate was a million times better than what the Ark had made. “What made your people come to the ground if you were surviving in ‘space’?”

“We were running out of air. When the Ark first launched from Earth, it was packed with a ton of oxygen, enough to last for centuries, but after living in it for two hundred years it began to run out, and so we had to leave. We didn’t even know if we’d survive on the ground, but likely death is better than certain death.” Clarke remembered feeling terrified as the Exodus ships launched, blasting them to the ground with no assurance of even making it down alive. She shuddered at the thought.

The commander hummed and was about to ask another question before there was a knock at the door. “Heda?”

She looked up sharply. “Chit ste em yu gaf (what is it you need)?”

` “Bandrona kom yujleda gada don kom op. Em seiso hit kom yu taim na kom au (An ambassador from Yujleda has arrived. She asked to meet with you as soon as possible).”

The commander nodded, standing from the couch. “I appreciate the knowledge you’ve given me and hope you will feel welcome for the next couple of days. Have a good night, skai girl.”

“Clarke.”

She turned back around, her eyebrows furrowing, and Clarke noticed just how bright of green her eyes were. “What?”

“You keep calling me sky girl,” she said. “My name’s Clarke.”

The commander nodded. “And I am Leksa kom Trikru, though, as is protocol, you must call me commander, or simply Heda.” She went to leave but paused a moment. “Would you mind if I came back around this time tomorrow?”

That wasn’t something Clarke was expecting. “Uh, sure, if you want.”

“Good. You’re a very interesting person, Klark kom Skaikru. I do hope you realize that.” With that final statement, she pulled open a door and left.

Clarke was left wondering if a person could be any more confusing.

Despite being alone in her room the entire next day, Clarke enjoyed her day. She cleaned up her drawings from the night before and began new ones, sitting on the balcony outside and drawing Polis from an above angle. She’d snagged some books from a dusty shelf in the corner, most in the grounder language but a couple of old-world books tucked in among them. She’d picked out something that was described as a ‘sci-fi thriller’ and began to read that.

The food was even better than she’d had previously. A steak of meat, wheat biscuit, a collection of fruits, and a goblet of light wine with her dinner. She’d never had alcohol, wasn’t allowed to at Arkadia, but it was slight enough that she wasn’t bothered.

True to her word, Lexa knocked on her doors about an hour after dinner. Clarke let her in and they sat down as they had the night before.

“Klark. How was your day?” Lexa began, stretching her arms over the top of the couch. Clarke ignored the fact that her hand was close enough to brush her shoulder.

“It was good. Not much to do in a single room, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. We don’t have actual paper at Arkadia, so I’m grateful for that.”

“I’m glad,” Lexa said. “If you’d like tomorrow, you may explore the city. The guards will accompany you, assist you if necessary, but they will not bother you. Do not feel as if you must remain in your room your entire stay. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

Clarke blinked. “I appreciate your kindness, Commander.”

“You are my guest. I will not have you restricted like a prisoner.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

Lexa nodded toward her papers. “You said you had no paper at Arkadia. If you did not have any, how do you draw so well?”

“We had chalk up on the Ark, and my dad, being an engineer, had charcoal that he used to teach me. I learned from him. Down here, we don’t have anything. I haven’t been able to really draw in months.” She fingered the charcoal, rolling it until a fine black coat covered her fingertips. “It’s refreshing to be able to draw again.”

“If you’d like, I can have some of our watercolors brought here for you.”

“Watercolors? You mean colors I can draw with?” Clarke had seen such pictures in books, paintings done in all shades of the rainbow, colors she wished she could replicate. “You have those?”

“Yes. They are a form of dye mixed with water. Fairly easy to make, if you know what types of plants produce what color.” The corners of Lexa’s lips twitched up as she watched Clarke’s face morph into a mixture of awe and excitement. “I shall have them brought to you tomorrow.”

“I- would love that. Thank you,” Clarke breathed, unable to keep the smile off of her face.

Lexa scanned over the room. “I see you found the books.”

“Yeah. Most are in- whatever language you speak, but a couple are in English.”

“I have not practiced my Gonasleng reading in a while,” Lexa mused, tugging the book Clarke had been reading to her and flipping it open to a random page. The sun was setting beneath the horizon and darkening the corners of the room enough that reading the words on the page was impossible. With a flick of her wrist, Lexa had all the candles in the room alight with their tiny flames.

Clarke yelped at the sudden burst of light and Lexa gave her an odd look. “Are you alright?”

“What-how-” she took a moment, breathing in deeply. “How the hell did you just do that?”

“You mean light the candles, yes?” She nodded. Lexa seemed just as confused as she was. “I summoned the flames. Do you not have fayahakas (fire-makers) in Arkadia?”

“You summoned them?” Clarke had to stop a minute, reining in her mind. “You can summon fire?”

“Yes.”

“Can everyone summon fire?”

“Of course not,” Lexa said, her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively. “Only the strongest control fire. The others control weaker elements.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Clarke said. “Your people can control elements.”

“Yes. Yours cannot?”

“No! I’ve never even heard of such a thing!” She exhaled heavily. “What about your general? Anya? What does she control?”

“Anya is a graunhaka. She controls the earth beneath our feet.” Lexa tilted her head. “You have no keryonakas? None at all?”

“If you mean people that can control stuff like earth and fire, no, we don’t. Everyone can control elements?”

“Yes. It is something you are born with. Children are taught to harness their powers at a young age.”

“Harness their powers,” Clarke muttered. “Do you think we would be able to if we were taught how?”

“It is possible,” Lexa said. “Do you wish to try?”

“I- yes, I would. Hell yes.”

Lexa looked her up and down, taking her in, and nodded. “Okay. We begin tomorrow.”

“Wait, really? What’s going to happen?”

“I will complete my duties as Heda and collect you after I have finished training with the natblidas, likely mid-afternoon. I will by then have chosen a place to go.” Lexa twitched her wrist, the flames from a single candle flowing to her and twirling around her finger. “Keryonak is not something to be treated lightly. A single mistake can be lethal to the controller or those around them. You must enter this seriously. Do you swear to do so?”

Clarke wasn’t sure she could say no even if she tried, with those eyes boring down on her. “I swear.”

“Good. Be ready tomorrow.” Lexa stood, her fingers brushing lightly over Clarke’s shoulder as she retracted her arms. “I will have the colors delivered to your room tomorrow morning, as promised.”

The watercolors. Clarke had forgotten about those. The excitement over such a thing was overshadowed by the idea of the grounders being some sort of magic. She dipped her head politely. “Good night, Heda.”

“Reshop, Klark.”

Lexa knocked on her door exactly when she’d promised she would.

“I will be taking you to a remote location just outside of Polis,” Lexa said as she led Clarke to the elevator at the end of the hallway. “There are still many who are opposed to keeping Skaikru alive and would not appreciate me revealing our powers of keryonak. We will be taking one of the lesser-traveled roads to one of the side gates. Try not to draw attention to yourself.”

Lexa turned out to be a hypocrite. She drew enough attention for both of them.

Clarke was in awe at how much the people revered her. Many came up to them offering Lexa their praises, gifts, or asking for a blessing. At one point, a small child of no more than five ran up to them and tugged on the side of Lexa’s coat. “Yu krei meizen, Heda. En yuj. Ai gaf ge belaik yu (You’re very pretty, Commander. And strong. I want to be strong like you)!” Lexa chuckled, ruffling his hair and whispering promises in his ear before sending him away. Her tenderness with the child did nothing but boost Clarke’s respect for her.

Their guards stopped at the side gates, joining the other gatekeepers as Lexa continued into the forest. She took the time to admire the scenery around them, not much different from the woods they’d traveled through to get to Polis, but still breathtakingly beautiful nonetheless. She noted the small smile on Lexa’s face when she looked back at her. “The trees amaze you.”

“Yeah, they do.” Clarke did not need to explain why. Lexa already knew.

“You will have time to admire them later. We are here.” They had only walked for maybe five minutes and now emerged into a small clearing, looking as if it had been created by man rather than naturally. There were racks of wooden swords to the side and thick lines traced in the dirt, forming a small arena.

“Working with the spirit powers is a delicate task. If you waver even slightly, you may lose your grasp, something which can be deadly when working with something such as fire,” Lexa said, drawing a line of fire out of thin air. “We will start small. Anything larger than the size of your palm is generally hard for anyone inexperienced to keep control of.”

Clarke shifted, unable to keep still. “How do I know what I am?”

“That is what we will figure out. All elements are usually an indicator of personality. Water is calm and soft but can turn deadly in an instant. Earth is a realist, someone who is firm in their beliefs and stubborn to the core. Storm is anger, people who are often unable to contain themselves. Fire is power, strength, a sign of great leadership. There has never been a commander who did not harness flames.” Lexa masterfully weaved tendrils of fire in and out, creating an intricate dance in the air. The sparks that came from then had Clarke taking a step back.

Lexa pulled the flames back into her. “We will try each element until we find which one you are. Water, fire, and storm can all be summoned using the same basic method, so we shall begin there. Are you ready?” Clarke took a deep breath and nodded. As exciting as this was, it scared her. She didn’t let that put her down.

Lexa began her instructions. “Draw the energy from the air. Feel the power around you, the spirit that chose you, and summon its power to you. Imagine it clustering above your palm, hovering there, still and unmoving.” Lexa demonstrated, a small ball of fire forming above her open hand.

Clarke did so and realized that she could feel something. The air around her seemed to hum, calling softly to her. “I can feel it.”

“Good. Draw it to you.”

Clarke tried to reach out, grasping for something she couldn’t reach. She tried tugging it closer, but it didn’t budge. “It isn’t coming. I can’t reach it.”

“Don’t reach for it. Ask for it. Call it to you. Be gentle with it. Show it the respect it deserves.”

She opened herself to the power, asking for it to come to her, treating it like she was coaxing a shy child. It edged closer to her, relenting to her requests and surrounding her in comfortable warmth. She urged it to gather in front of her, to form something solid.

It all moved forward and drew itself together into a ball of power that the moment it formed exploded into a blast of searing light. She yelped, blinking quickly to regain her sight after the sudden blinding light. Lexa was a bit disoriented, staring in disbelief at her.

Clarke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Did I… did I do it?”

Lexa was silent for a moment, composing herself before answering. “You did… something.”

“What do you mean? Did I do it wrong?”

“No, no, you did everything right. It was perfect. It’s just-” Lexa took a deep breath, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples as if she had a headache. “What you summoned was not as I expected. Not water, storm, fire, or earth.”

Clarke couldn’t seem to grasp what that meant. “Them what did I summon?”

“I believe,” Lexa said slowly, “that you have just unearthed an entirely new element.”

Clarke was hyperventilating. Lexa barely seemed able to contain her emotions.

“What the hell do I do?” Clarke asked, her voice quiet. “This changes things, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lexa admitted. “Such a discovery has not been made since Bekka Pramheda. This is groundbreaking.”

“Are you still going to let me go?”

“I will not have you kept prisoner here,” Lexa insisted. “You have done nothing wrong. Though, I would ask of you to stay a bit longer after this.”

“Why? What’s going to happen to me?”

“I will have to inform my people. There are many who would want to harness your power themselves, to take you and claim you as their own. But we will not tell them yet.” Clarke stood straighter at that. “We do not even know exactly what this is. With your permission, I would like to start active lessons between you and me, working with your spirit. Discovering what it is and what it holds. I will not have them informed until after you are back within the safety of your own people.”

Clarke felt a rush of sudden emotions toward the young commander, understanding just how much she had risked for her already. To house her even with the threat of others trying to kill her, to show her their secret powers, to train her in such powers, and now she was putting her life on the life to make sure she remained safe. “I cannot express how grateful I am to you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

Lexa seemed a bit miffed at the sudden announcement but smiled back. “Of course, Clarke. The lessons?”

“Oh!” As she could see it, Clarke had two options: accept the commander’s offer of teaching her more about her mysterious powers, or going home. The choice seemed obvious. “Of course. I’ll work with you.”

“Good. Could you find your way back to the gates we exited through tomorrow without my guidance?” Clarke nodded. “Then I shall meet you there two candlemarks after noon.”

“Candlemarks?”

“Yes. I believe you call them ‘hours.’ Have you noticed the candles the handmaiden brings in when she delivers your food?”

“You mean the ones with the nails in them? Yeah.”

“When a nail falls, it strikes the hour. The maid arrives at eight, so the sixth nail would be two after noon. Do you think you can be here by then?”

“I think so.”

Lexa nodded. “Very well. We must return. I have a few more duties to attend to before dinner.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clarke didn’t move to follow her, though, and Lexa turned to give her a confused look. Clarke focused around her, feeling the hum that somehow already felt familiar. This time she drew only a small bit, condensing it above her hand and forming a small glowing ball.

Lexa rushed back toward her, stopping a foot away. She hesitantly reached forward, her hand going right through the ball. “Light,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You are a sonchaka.”

“Light,” she repeated, trying to move the ball as Lexa had with her flame only for it to dissipate back into the air. The two women stood in silence for a moment, taking it all in.

Lexa gripped Clarke’s shoulders roughly. “Tell no one. Not a soul. This cannot get out, do you understand?”

“Yes, commander.”

“Good.” Lexa let go, sighing heavily. “And please, call me Leksa.”

Clarke froze mid-step. “But protocol-”

“Is not necessary when the only one I am around is you. Please, Klark. I would like to consider you a friend, especially if we are to continue meeting day after day.”

She nodded. “Okay. Lexa.”

They exchanged small smiles before finally beginning their return to Polis.

To Clarke’s surprise, Lexa visited her again that night, same time as she always did. She carried books in her hands.

“I had my fleimkepa scan our records on elementals,” she began once they were seated, placing the books on the table. “He found books on the discovery of the elements when the first people began to believe in the spirits from over a century ago. It was so long ago that many were written in English.” Lexa patted the books. “These are a few of them.”

Clarke took the top one. The cover said The Science of the Spirits, written in intricate cursive. Flipping to a random page, she saw that the entire thing was in English, more like a notebook than a novel. Sketches and graphs were scattered in among the words. She smiled at Lexa. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to look through them.”

Lexa dipped her head. “Have you worked any more on your soncha?”

“A bit.” She pulled up an orb of light, something she’d done so many times in the past couple of hours it came easily. “I can’t do much with it, though.”

“That’s to be expected. We will work on that more tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Okay.” The light dissipated, leaving the room in shadows.

They sat in silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say. “If you’d like, I can give you a tour of the city after tomorrow’s lesson.”

Clarke sat up. “I thought you had duties.”

Lexa shrugged. “I always have duties. They can be put off. I’d be glad to take a break from them for a little while, though I will be pressed on time. Unless you’d rather have one of your guards give you the tour?”

The thought of one of the large, quiet men who stood outside her room day and night giving her a tour was not very appealing. “No, no. I’d love if you would give me a tour of the city.”

“Very well.” She stood. “If there is nothing else to say, then I’ll be leaving. I shall do my own research on your soncha and inform you if there is anything you need to know.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Lexa nodded stiffly and left the room. Clarke sighed, adjusting to lean against the arm of the couch and tugging one of the books into her lap.

Her life had just become a hell of a lot more interesting.

Clarke and Lexa met at the gates and carried on to the arena. At first, their interactions were stiff and polite, nothing more than formal. Clarke managed to break that in a less than conventional way.

She held a ball of light in her hands, carefully increasing its size until it was twice the size of her fist. She added another pulse of energy and it exploded in her face.

Lexa snorted, barely able to contain her laughter as Clarke fell flat on her ass in surprise. She stood up, brushing the dirt off and looking at Lexa, who now had a playful smirk on her face. “Are you alright, Klark?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said, and Lexa exhaled sharply to keep from bursting out laughing. Clarke glared at her and Lexa’s grin only widened.

“Shall we try again?”

Clarke tossed a ball of light at Lexa’s face. It did nothing but amuse her more. Clarke buried her face in her hands and a soft glow began to waft off her body. Lexa informed her of such.

“Great, now I’m a fucking lightbulb.” Clarke stared at her arms with as much intensity as she could until the light flickered away. She grumbled about it under her breath and turned back to Lexa. “So, the tour?”

Lexa had gotten ahold of her expression, but her eyes still glinted with laughter. “Of course, Klark. Come.”

The guards followed behind at a distance as they stepped off the side streets and into the main market. It was filled to the brim, people from all tribes bustling around. Clarke stared slack-jawed at everything around her. Peering into one of the stalls, she saw someone drop a little bone necklace into the shopkeeper’s hand in return for a small carved figurine of a deer.

She felt Lexa brush up beside her. “Come, Klark. There is one place I think you will enjoy.”

Lexa led her into an art shop.

The walls were lined with pictures, done in charcoal, watercolor, paints, so vibrant and smooth that they looked unreal. Clarke gaped at them, reaching up to trace her fingers along a painted river flowing across. The texture was rough and layered, the foam sticking off the page just a bit more than the rest of it. She heard Lexa talking to the shopkeeper behind her but didn’t pay any attention to what they were saying. Walking through the racks of paintings, they were all she could focus on.

She paused at one. This was of Lexa. She was covered in thick armor, her red sash flowing out behind her, flames lighting it up. Lexa held balls of flame in her hand, the background being a reddish-brown background that looked more volcanic than anything she’d ever seen. Lexa’s face was covered in black warpaint, making her look terrifyingly striking.

She heard a laugh from behind her. “You will find multiple paintings of myself, I am sure. The commanders are viewed more like gods than humans, even myself. Some even say the commanders are the fire spirit itself.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No. I am Heda because I killed children, not because I’m a goddess.” Lexa’s lip curled. “I would much rather have ascended that way.”

“You did what you had to do.” Clarke sighed. “Why were you chosen to be commander?”

“I am a natblida. All natblidas are trained from a young age until the commander dies, in which they will fight to the death. The winner ascends to be commander and the hunt for a new generation of natblidas begins.”

Clarke winced. “Are all the natblidas fayahakas?”

“There are only two fayahakas in this generation, but there has never been a commander who was not one. The most promising of the natblidas is one.” Lexa’s lips twitched up into a grin. “You will have to meet them sometime. You will adore them.”

“How young are they?”

“The oldest is thirteen. The youngest is ten.”

Clarke felt a pang in her heart. “And they have to kill each other.”

“When I die, yes. I wish it did not have to be that way.” Lexa sighed. “I have suggested changing the tradition multiple times, but no one else agrees with me. It is a show of strength, they say.” She exhaled, reaching to the back of her neck.

Clarke rested a hand on Lexa’s bicep. “I’m sorry you had to do that, but you had no choice.”

“I did.” Lexa’s eyes unfocused as she thought back. “There were eight other natblidas in my generation, and contrary to belief, I was not the top of my class. There was another girl who could beat everyone she fought, including myself. I looked up to her as an older sister. When the conclave came, each fought our way through the other children. When it came time to fight each other, she fled. Disappeared from Polis. She didn’t resurface until two years ago as the leader of the floudonkru.”

“Two years ago? How long have you been Heda for?”

“I have been Heda for eight years. I ascended when I was twelve summers.”

“Twelve years,” Clarke murmured. She squeezed Lexa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. It is something I regret, but to be stuck on their death would be to dishonor them. I can only be the best I can be.”

Clarke smiled softly at her. “And you are. You’re possibly the only person who actually treats me like a human here. Even at Arkadia, I was treated like a child, scolded for trying to be my own person. So thank you, Lexa. I’m sure the other novitiates are proud of what you’ve done with their sacrifice.”

Lexa chuckled quietly, her eyes glistening. She had a sad smile on her face that made Clarke’s bones ache. Lexa made her feel in a way no one ever had.

It was addictive.

They continued to meet outside every day. When Lexa started to get behind on her duties, they resigned to meeting after dinner in Clarke’s rooms like they had the first couple days.

Clarke couldn’t get enough of her. Lexa’s nightly visits were the highlight of her day. When they were alone, Lexa could strip off parts of her mask, and Clarke was slowly getting her to remove more and more. Beneath it all, Lexa was just a young girl who wanted to enjoy her life.

Clarke had basically mastered her powers. Drawing from her energy reserve took barely even a thought now and manipulating the light took just a twitch of her finger. Clarke was obsessed with it, and Lexa was too, though she didn’t let it stop her from lighting all the candles in the room whenever she came in.

They had draped themselves across the couch in Clarke’s solar, Lexa complaining about her work and Clarke listening intently. “The ambassadors refuse to see sense,” she groaned, making abstract shapes in the air with her fire. “Louwoda Kliron is complaining that they are outgrowing their land and is demanding that Yujleda surrender a portion of theirs. They are demanding too much for too little a price and refuse to negotiate past that.”

“Did they decide that?”

“No. I ended the meeting before it could escalate.” She dropped her head onto the back of the couch, sighing heavily. “The ambassadors will be returning to their clans in three days' time to make their seasonal report, thank the spirits. I will have almost a fortnight without them.”

“Why so long?” At Lexa’s scalding look, Clarke corrected herself. “Not that I’m complaining, but why would they be gone for so long?”

“Because the Ingranrona Kru are almost a week’s ride away from Polis. It is a break I have been looking forward to since the last one ended.”

Clarke snorted, leaning close enough that their shoulders brushed and adding a strand of light to Lexa’s dance. Lexa gave her an amused look, twirling her fire around the white ribbon. Clarke condensed it into a thicker glow and escaped from its fiery cage, brushing the edge of the flames.

Lexa paused. “Wait. Do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“Just keep still,” she commanded. Clarke balled up her light and held it in place. Lexa prodded at the light with her fire. Nothing happened. Lexa sighed.

“What are you trying to do?” Clarke asked softly.

“I just… thought I saw something. It was probably nothing.” She shook her head.

Clarke looked up at the disappearing stroke of fire. “Wait.”

Lexa looked up. “What?”

“Put the fire back.”

Lexa frowned but did as she asked. Clarke took her little globe of light and it flowed right into the core of the fire. It glowed white, the fire softening into a warm gold.

Clarke hummed. “That’s pretty cool.”

Lexa’s brows furrowed. “Cool? It is fire. Fire is not cold.”

Clarke chuckled. “No, no, not like that. It’s Skaikru slang. It means ‘amazing’ or ‘interesting.’”

“Then yes, I suppose it is ‘cool.’” Clarke grinned. Hearing Lexa say something like that wasn’t something she’d ever expected to hear.

A loud clang alerted them that the twenty-first candlemark had hit. Lexa sighed. “I must go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Clarke said, standing up and offering Lexa a hand. She took it. Instead of releasing immediately after, Lexa tightened her hold and, after a moment of hesitation, leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Clarke’s cheek. She left with a small smile gracing her face.

Clarke stood in place for a couple minutes after Lexa was gone. She reached up and touched the spot Lexa had kissed, staring at the door, stunned into silence. The commander of the twelve clans just kissed her. Lexa just kissed her.

She couldn’t think of a better way to end her evening.

Lexa came an hour later than usual the next day. She refused to meet Clarke’s eyes when she let her in.

“I’ve arranged for you to meet the natblidas,” Lexa said, standing by the couch awkwardly. “You had said you’d like to meet them, so I had it arranged. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Clarke said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

Lexa fidgeted, her gaze down at the floor. Clarke took note of her flushed cheeks. “Wonderful. I, um, will retrieve you tomorrow at the fourteenth candlemark. If that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.” Clarke shifted closer, reaching out to skim her fingers over Lexa’s wrist. She flinched. “Lexa, look at me. Please. You’re acting odd.”

“I’m probably just tired.” Lexa backed away from the couch. “I should retire. Goodnight, Klark.”

“Lexa, wait.” Clarke stood, walking over to her. “Look at me. Beja, Lexa. You don’t need to hide from me.”

Lexa took a shuddering breath, angling her face away. Clarke rested a hand on the small of her back, feeling her stiffen under her touch. “Lexa.”

Lexa spun around suddenly, making Clarke stumble back. “What?” She demanded, her eyes red, lips trembling. “What do you want?”

“I want to help you.” Clarke stepped closer, carefully taking one of Lexa’s hands in hers. She shook and Clarke wrapped both hands around it. She sought out her eyes, forest green, which were looking everywhere but Clarke. “Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

Lexa’s eyes flickered up to her face, widening in surprise. Clarke understood then. Understood what Lexa wanted but was too afraid to ask for. What she was afraid of facing. Something Clarke was afraid of, too. But she would take the plunge. For both of them.

Clarke reached up and rested a hand lightly on Lexa’s cheek. She brushed her thumb over the corner of her lips, watching Lexa’s eyes dart between her face and the floor. Clarke slipped the hand beneath her chin, tilting her head up, angling her head slightly. Leaning in, she brushed their lips lightly. It was light, barely felt, but she tilted forward again, the feather of a touch merging into a kiss.

Lexa didn’t move for a moment, her body stock still, until with a single breath she practically melted. Their bodies melded together, sliding into place like two pieces of a puzzle. Clarke released Lexa’s hand, wrapping her arm around her waist and tugging her closer, the other hand massaging her jaw. Lexa’s hands wandered up, hesitantly brushing over Clarke’s shoulders, but Clarke squeezed Lexa closer and she relented, wrapping her arms around her neck.

They broke apart, panting, Lexa with tears dripping down her face. Clarke brushed them away, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Are you alright, love?”

Lexa closed her eyes at the pet name, leaning into Clarke’s hand. She hummed. “Mhm.”

Clarke felt her heart racing, threatening to beat out of her chest. She’d just kissed Lexa. God, she couldn’t process it. She hadn’t even been here a fortnight and she’d just kissed the commander. The fucking commander. Though at the moment, it wasn’t the commander she held in her arms, soft, warm, heavy.

Clarke led her back over to the couch, sitting down and pulling Lexa down on top of her. Lexa pressed a messy kiss to her cheek, arms tightening around her neck. Clarke brushed her lips over Lexa’s jawline, mouthing at the sharp jut that made her look so damn tough. Lexa groaned, dropping her head onto Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke tore herself away from her neck, sitting back against the couch, keeping her arms loosely wrapped around Lexa’s waist. Lexa sat back as well, fingers twirling the baby hairs on the back of her neck. On her face was a wide grin. Sparks flew off of her, a section of her hair catching aflame. Clarke chuckled, patting it out. “You’re sparking, love.”

Lexa bit her lip. “And you’re glowing, hodnes.” Clarke scowled and Lexa dug her teeth into her lip to keep herself from giggling. She was the commander. She did not giggle.

Clarke leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her nose. “You like me?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Then it’s obvious that I like you?”

“Mm, I should hope so.” Lexa brought a hand around to stroke down her face. “You’re stunning, ai soncha. It was hard to keep my hands off you.”

Clarke exhaled with a small puff. “If I’d known you wouldn’t kill me for it I would have had my hands on you a long time ago.” She laughed quietly. “And to think that only two weeks ago I thought the commander was some giant, rough scar-faced man who would kill me on sight.” The absurdity of it all only made her laugh harder. “And now I have the commander sitting in my lap, a beautiful, terrifying woman who I can’t fucking resist.”

Lexa sighed, nuzzling her nose into Clarke’s cheek. “Flatterer.”

“It’s true. You’re lovely.” Lexa purred, kissing her neck. Clarke groaned as she started nipping at her skin. “Lexa, we should talk about this-”

“Later.” She lapped at the red skin she left after a particularly harsh bite. “Let us enjoy this. Just this moment.”

And how could she resist?

Lexa left a half hour later. Clarke’s mind was blurry and dizzy and she swore she couldn’t see straight.

They hadn’t had sex or anything; Clarke wasn’t at all prepared for that. It was all touches and kisses and caresses and the affection that they both had been denied for too long.

They hadn’t talked. About what this meant. About what it would do to them. About how it would work with them being who they were - an intruder skai girl and the grounder commander. An odd couple, to be sure.

Lexa came by at the fourteenth candlemark the following day, just as she had promised. The smiles they shared were different. More open and affectionate. Happier.

“The natblidas come up here to train every day,” Lexa told Clarke as they stood hundreds of feet above the city, the view even more impressive with the addition of the commander tower. “Usually Titus trains them, as I normally have duties to attend to, but the ambassadors departed today, so I offered to take over.” A smile graced her face. “The natblidas hold a place close to me.”

Clarke reached over and took her hand. “I’m excited to meet them.”

Lexa squeezed her hand. “You’ll love them. They’ll love you, too. Children are much more open-minded than adults. They won’t let your clan get in the way of who you are.”

Clarke huffed. “That’d be a first.” She raised an eyebrow at Lexa’s look. “You can’t deny that it doesn’t matter to you. It does. It matters to us.”

“I wish it didn’t,” she sighed. “For me to take you would make me look weak because you are an outsider. And I doubt your people would appreciate it either.”

“Fuck what my people have to say. They aren’t here right now.” She leaned closer. “And yours aren’t here right now, either.”

Lexa gave her an amused glance. “As much as I want to, the natblidas are here. We will have time later.”

“You’d better keep that promise.” The greenery behind them rustled and the two separated. The first to walk into the clearing was a boy, only a couple of inches shorter than Clarke, with tousled blonde-red hair and pale skin. He had slim muscle packed into his arms and legs, a show of strength despite his skinniness. He grinned. “Heda! You have not visited in a while!”

“I know. I apologize. I’ve been busy,” Lexa said, stepping forward to hug him. Six other kids crowded around her, the youngest clinging to her arm. Clarke almost cooed.

“Heda, who’s she?” All eyes turned to Clarke. She shifted her weight, smiling nervously.

Lexa ruffled the young girl’s hair. “This is Klark. You may have heard of her. She is Skaikru.”

Aden was the first to step forward. “Pleasure to meet you, Klark kom Skaikru. I am Aden kom Podakru.”

Clarke relaxed. “The pleasure’s all mine, Aden.”

He smiled at her. The other six natblidas introduced themselves, no two being from the same clan. Clarke was particularly drawn to a young brunette girl of eleven from the Sankru named Kalya. The young girl seemed genuinely happy to meet her, offering her arm in greeting, a sign of respect among their culture.

Lexa herded them away to train them and Clarke watched from the sides. First, Lexa fought each of them individually. Aden was the only one who got a hit on her; likely why Lexa claimed he was the most likely successor. It was incredible to see how they fought with their powers. Water, electricity, earth, fire, each of them had a beauty to them. Electricity was like a bullet; if you didn't know it was coming you couldn’t dodge it. Water was smooth and flowing; not solid but a good way to disorient. Earth made the entire arena a tricky place to maneuver. The ground would jut out or retract in, not something that happened quick but deadly if you didn’t avoid it. Fire was a whole different story.

Lexa and Aden fought with fire. It was a deadly dance, both fighting for control. Aden would lash out and Lexa would snap it away, sending her own projectile. Fire couldn’t hurt either of them but it could burn through armor, melt weapons if hot enough and could act as a blindfold. By the time Aden was down, the entire clearing was filled with smoke.

After that, they paired up to fight, Lexa working with one herself. She was harsh in her teachings but always kept her students safety in mind.

When it was all over, most of them collapsed to the ground to rest. Lexa walked back to her, slick with sweat that made Clarke’s core pulse. She leaned over, muttering in her ear. “You’re hot when you’re all sweaty.”

Lexa furrowed her brows. “Hot? Of course. Exercise always warms the body.”

Clarke snuffed a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.” She leaned back in. “In our culture, ‘hot’ means attractive.”

Lexa flushed. “Oh.”

Clarke snorted, shifting slightly away to a more respectable distance. One of the natblidas came over to them. “Heda, why did you bring the skaigada?” The other nightbloods crowded closer to hear her answer.

Lexa rested a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “I wanted you to meet her. Klark has become a friend of mine. I thought you would like her.”

The youngest, a boy of Asian descent from the plain riders, tugged on her sleeve. “Can you tell us about Skaikru?”

Clarke smiled. “Of course. What do you wish to know?”

Clarke spent a good part of the next half-hour talking to them about Arkadia and the Ark. They seemed horrified at her life. “You don’t have keryonakas?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t even know such a thing existed until I came here.”

“So you don’t have a spirit?”

Clarke sent Lexa a questioning glance. Lexa’s eyes flickered to the nightbloods and she nodded.

“I do,” Clarke said. “Lexa taught me how to find it.”

“What are you?” The young boy was bouncing on his heels. “I bet you’re a wodahaka.”

“I think she’s a graunhaka!”

They turned eagerly back to her. “Which one are you?”

She chuckled. “Neither. Nor am I a fayahaka or a strakahaka.” She pulled out of the air a globe of white light, like a mini star held in her palm. “I am what you might call a sonchaka.”

“A light-maker.” Aden stepped forward, eyes wide. He reached forward. “Can I?” Clarke pushed the globe to him.

His fingers slipped right through it without any resistance. His face filled with wonder as the light trailed after his fingertips when he retreated. The other children pushed closer to get a better view.

Clarke pulled out a ribbon of light, twirling it around Kalya and making her look like some sort of ethereal goddess. She laughed, reaching up to touch the swirling glow. It recoiled from her touch, forming into a little fox and nuzzling her palm before dissipating.

She released more ribbons, the light spiraling around the clearing, dipping up and down and in and out. Lexa held up a hand, tendrils of flame joining in with the light show. Her fire sparked into a golden hue. The natblidas gaped at the impressive display of power.

Clarke pulled back, feeling the use of so much power take its toll on her. Lexa drew hers back as well, stepping up beside her. “Listen to me. You cannot tell anyone about this. I trust all of you to understand the importance of keeping this hidden.” The natblidas nodded along with Lexa’s words. “Good. Now, I believe you are late to Titus’s lessons. Tell him if he has a problem to take it up with me.”

The children rushed off, hastily saying their goodbyes to Clarke. Silence fell quickly.

Lexa reached out to grab her hand, not saying anything. Clarke turned to her. “You really want to deal with Titus?”

Lexa laughed at that, a sound that made Clarke smile widely. “Nobody wants to deal with Titus, but if anyone is to do it I might as well be it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” Clarke tugged her closer, planting a messy kiss on her cheek. “You’re young. You should live your life, not be weighed down by the needs of the people.”

“And yet that is the life that was chosen for me the moment I was born.” She wiped a drop of black blood off of her face, where a small cut sat on her cheek just beneath her eye. “I was cursed with nightblood. It was my destiny to ascend or die.”

“Has a commander ever retired?”

“Retired? No. They die before they can.” She sighed. “I imagine it would be impossible to retire anyway. If I did somehow manage to grow old, I would be assassinated for being weak. If I tried to retire, I would be assassinated for being weak.”

Clarke hooked their arms together. “Maybe once you get your peace you can work toward fixing that. Fixing your stupid weakness rule.”

“It is not stupid, Klark,” Lexa complained. “It keeps us strong. The weak die, the strong live on.”

“What do you consider weak? Sickness? Injury? Wanting to relax for a single fucking minute?”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “It is flawed in that sense. But we’ll deal with that when we get there.”

Clarke smiled. “I like the sound of that. We.”

Lexa turned to her. “Does that mean you wish to stay here?”

It was something she’d had on her mind for a while now. When she’d have to return. “I wish I could. I hope I can. But I can’t just leave my family and friends behind.”

Lexa’s happy expression dropped a bit. “I understand.”

“Hey, love, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I want to. But I have an obligation to my people, just as you do to yours.”

Lexa smiled shyly. “Perhaps we can incorporate Skaikru into our peace. From what you have told me of their capabilities, they would be valuable trade partners, and your fayagons would be a useful long-range weapon of war if one were to come about.”

Clarke grinned and leaned over to press a kiss onto her lips. “I would love that. I’m sure my people would, too.”

Lexa’s smile widened and she surged forward, catching her lips once more.

It would be some time before they returned to the city.

Lexa visited her that night as usual. Her dress was different.

She wasn’t in her usual commander coat and armor, instead dressed in a thin nightgown with a long slit in the leg. Clarke let her in, eyes wandering, but Lexa didn’t care. Almost as if she’d done it on purpose. She probably had.

The first thing Clarke did was pull her down onto her lap, pulling her in for a proper kiss. Lexa grunted, mouth parting slightly, and kissed back, shifting to straddle her hips. Clarke rested a hand on Lexa’s leg, feeling the bare skin that radiated warmth on the cool evening. The other hand slipped into Lexa’s hair, scratching at her scalp. Lexa purred, smiling into the kiss.

Lexa pulled away first, hands resting on either side of Clarke’s neck. “Klark, how can we do this?”

“Hmm?” Clarke hummed, her mind still slightly disoriented from the sudden rush of attraction.

“Our relationship. How can we manage it?” Lexa rested her cheek against Clarke’s temple. “Our people will both despise it, and they already hate each other. Along with the fact that you cannot stay here forever and it will be hard for you to come back.”

Clarke sighed. “I know. This can’t end well, not as it is now. I’ll have to leave soon, and you’ll be alone here again, and I’ll be locked up in Arkadia again. So let’s just enjoy this while it lasts.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Lexa said sadly. “It will have to be enough, won’t it?”

Clarke didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

Lexa pulled away, their lips meeting ever so gently. With such thoughts at the front of their minds, they remained gentle and light, but it became a mere afterthought within the throngs of their affection.

Lexa wasn’t a very touchy-feely person, but Clarke was completely hands-on. She traced muscles through the gown, slipped a hand to her arm to feel the raised flesh of the tattoo, of which Clarke had never seen. She’d have to ask Lexa about her tattoos later.

Clarke prodded at Lexa’s lower lip with her tongue, skimming over it with her teeth. Lexa obediently parted her lips, allowing Clarke to feel her out. She bit down lightly on her tongue and Clarke dug her nails into Lexa’s arm. She let out a low moan, sinking down into her.

Clarke pulled back, eyes dark with lust. Evaluating Lexa’s behavior, she hoped she was reading this right. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against her ear. “I want you to sit still like a good girl and take what I give.”

Lexa shivered, a gasp escaping her mouth. She nodded quickly, arms tightening around Clarke’s neck. Clarke kissed her on the lips and snagged her fingers in Lexa’s hair, tilting her head to the side. She began planting kisses up and down her jawline, sucking on her pulse point enough to leave the faintest of marks. It wouldn’t do to ruin the commander’s reputation.

Clarke kissed up and down her neck, nipping and sucking on the soft, delicate skin of her throat. Her free hand went to Lexa’s back, splaying across the bare skin to hold her tight. This was the first time she’d ever been in a relationship even remotely sexual, and she was surprised at how naturally her dominance came through.

Who would’ve thought the commander would be a damn sub.

Someone knocked on the door to Clarke’s room an hour after breakfast.

A handmaiden was standing at the door. “Klark kom Skaikru,” she began, dipping her head. “I come with a message from the commander.”

“What is it?”

“You must collect your things,” she said. “Heda has gifted you this sak to carry anything you wish to take with you. She says you will be departing in a candlemark.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows. “Did she say where I am going?”

“She gave no hint of the destination or purpose.”

Clarke nodded stiffly. “Thank you.” The handmaiden bowed slightly and turned to leave. Clarke closed the door, leaning her forehead against the thick, rich wood.

She was leaving Polis. Likely being delivered back to her people. Why? She doubted Lexa would make this decision without consulting her first unless there was something else playing into it. Had something happened?

She had no way to get her answers. She grabbed a change of clothes, her drawings, and, as a last minute thought, grabbed Lexa’s other gifts. The watercolors and the keryon books. She hoped she was allowed to take those.

The better part of the hour was spent pacing her room in silence. Her steps weighed heavy on the floor, her face scrunched up in thought as she went over the various scenarios of what could be happening. Did it have to with Skaikru? With Polis? The Kongeda? The questions rang in her mind with no way of answering them.

Another handmaiden came to fetch her, leading her outside of the tower and to a building at the edge of the city. It was a stable, filled with the smells and sounds of horses.

There were a dozen horses outside, all tacked up and ready to depart. All of the riders were warriors except one.

Clarke strode over. “Lexa,” she said quietly. The girl looked up from where she had been securing the horse’s girth. “What is going on?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. We have to arrive as soon as possible.” Lexa handed her the reins to a sturdy chestnut mare and turned to address the entire party. “Mount up.”

Clarke had to hold the stirrup in place with her hands to be able to get her foot in and swing herself over. Luckily, the mare was small, just short enough that she could do it herself, which saved her a bit of dignity. Lexa sat tall on her dark stallion, nodding for Clarke to flank her.

They rode out of Polis, pushing the pace to a slow lope. Lexa fell back to ride beside Clarke. “A messenger just arrived from Onya this morning. The Skaikru have been searching for you, and have begun to extend their search outside of their territory. Patrols on the border have turned them back, but they grow persistent. We fear they will turn to violence if you are not returned to them.”

It wasn’t until then that Clarke understood what she had been doing to them, staying in Polis. She’d known it wouldn’t do to live away from her family and friends, but she hadn’t considered the immediate consequences. They’d assume the worst. Most of them already hated the tribes, and if they thought the Trikru had kidnapped her…

Okay, technically, they had kidnapped her. But no one needed to know that.

The message had been vague, so Lexa couldn’t tell her much more than that. They rode side by side, occasionally picking up small talk but keeping a comfortable silence for the majority of the ride. They stopped every hour or so to rest the horses, slowing to a trot as the sun began to dip closer to the horizon.

They camped for the night by the riverside, the ground flattened by two graunhaka warriors in a way that she recognized had been done by Anya on their journey to Polis. She hadn’t realized how much the grounders depended on their powers to get things done more efficiently. Lexa sparked up an easy flame, adjusting it as needed to cook the deer meat to perfection. The water was purified by one of the wodahakas and the horses were given fresh patches of some of the best foods just grown from the ground.

Clarke discreetly lit up the tips of her fingers, letting the glow dance over her hand. She wondered about what it would mean for her back home.

She and Lexa didn’t have a single moment alone the entire four days it took to travel to TonDC. By the time they arrived, Clarke was aching for her in a way that seemed impossible.

They arrived back at dusk, setting up tents just beside the village walls. Most people gave them warm greetings, but Anya was less than pleased to see Clarke. “It is her fault we are in this situation in the first place,” she argued.

Clarke snorted. Anya scowled at her. “Have something to say, skaigada?”

“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t forced me into custody.”

They could have gone back and forth for hours. Lexa knew that. She stopped it before it could even begin.

When they returned to their tents, Lexa tapped her wrist lightly and hooked their pinkies together, drawing her towards the commander’s tent.

Lexa sat down on the fur-covered cot and looked at Clarke. Clarke looked back. They both knew what this was.

This was goodbye.

Clarke walked toward her and removed her pauldron, setting it on a table behind her. Lexa stayed silent, hands ghosting over Clarke’s arms as she undid the many buckles of the commander’s coat, laying the heavy fabric on the table as well. She turned back, watching Lexa. Her eyes glistened and Clarke could feel tears pricking at the edges of hers as well. She leaned down, pressing her lips to Lexa’s forehead, hands coming up to cradle her face.

Lexa seemed to choke on her words. “Klark, I-”

“Shhhh,” Clarke mumbled, lips still against Lexa’s face. “No words. Not tonight. Nothing that will remind us of what is to come.”

Lexa wrapped her hands around Clarke’s wrists and squeezed lightly. Clarke sat down beside her and pulled her into a soft kiss, hands gentle and caring. Nothing of the hot passion they’d shared previous nights, and yet it was all the more powerful.

They fell asleep together in Lexa’s bed, shoes still on their feet, hair still braided tightly to the back of their heads, armor still strapped to their chests. When they woke once more come morning, neither moved, only soaking in the closeness of the other. Silently dreading what was to come.

Someone knocked on one of the poles of Lexa’s tent.

Clarke clutched Lexa tighter.

Their goodbyes outside are nothing short of formal protocol.

Lexa keeps her face schooled, chin raised high, though Clarke can see how her lower lip trembles, how her hands shake, how her eyes shine. She imagined she was much the same. Neither said more than was expected and Clarke was thankful. If Lexa had tried to say anything more, she wouldn’t have been able to keep her facade.

She was escorted to the border of Arkadia. Anya was thankful to be rid of her.

She walked alone back to the fallen Ark, feeling her heart close in on itself as the walls came into view. She pushed Lexa to the back of her mind. She knew she’d break down later when she was alone.

Someone called her name and people began to gather at the fences, looking out at her with surprise, relief, awe.

Her mother rushed up to the gates, standing just over the threshold. Raven and Octavia were there as well.

She was happy to see them. She would be, at least.

The flicker of the torchlight against their face only served to remind her of the red flames that spiraled from Lexa’s hands.

#clexaweek2020 #clexaweek2020 day 1 #Day 1 Forbidden Love #Forbidden Love #clexa fanfic #clexa deserved better

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rifroleplays · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, dear! You've been visited by the random character question fairy! :D ~☆

Does your character's name have any meaning? Is there a reason why they were named this? How much significance does your character's name have to them?

Hello there random-OC-questions-fairy, how lovely of you to drop by! I think the concept of your blog is super sweet and I’m excited to see you around! :D

I kinda have too many characters and since you didn’t specify what character I will take this opportunity to just introduce a bunch of characters!

As a disclaimer: all of my characters’ names have a meaning and they were carefully selected, but I can’t recall a lot of them due to time past and some were chosen with a little less care than others. So, here a list of those that 1) I do remember and 2) are interesting enough to share, categorised in their character main trait!

Grumpy

Zao Gao

Zao Gao is an orphan born in a time of war that doesn't have an actual name. He was named 'Gao' for the place he grew up in, along with the rest of his orphaned peers. 'Zao' was given to him because 'Zao' means bad and Zao Gao together sounds like: 'chaos' or 'temper' which he is both. In any case, the name is given to him more as an indicator of his character than anything else and he stuck with it.

Maxwell Stirling [Argus]

While his given name was arbitrarily given his stage name was carefully selected. After his first failure as the frontman of his band and the scandal that eventually had him fall down Maxwell chose 'Argus' as his name of rebirth. It refers to a giant with hundred eyes; the all-seeing one. Maxwell (or Argus as he prefers now) will never let himself fall down the pededistal again, not by himself or by his closest friends. That's the promise he made when he chose his new stage name.

Mallory Devlin

Mallory is born with bad luck and her name represents such as well. She always manages to get hurt, or her explosive character gets herself or another hurt. In any case, both her first and family name refer to this legendary ill luck and bad omens surrounding her. Whether this was intentional from her mother's side or not is something Mallory hasn't figured out yet, but that it is cursed is agreed upon by all.

Mischievous

Wayland Turing

As an engineer stuck and condemned in the penial colony of Atlantis Wayland made the swift decision to change his name when he arrived. Turing, after the genius mathematician Alan Turing. He feels a certain kinship with the man as he hides away his intelligence and talents under a façade of wild child antics.

Gui

Literally translated his name becomes 'Stranger' and it reveals how it isn't really a name. The guardian of the spiritual borders between life and death and reincarnation has long forgotten his name, or he rather not recalls as it is easier to pretend that he is a stranger to all.

Thomas Baris

Her parents wanted a son, after five daughters that's after all a good aim to have. Some variety. Instead they got Thomas, daughter number six. Seeing as her grandfathers really wanted to pass on their family name, and seeing as no one had actually thought of yet another girl's name the youngest Baris was named: Thomas, or more accurately: Tomasa. Luckily Tomasa, or Thomas, grew up rather wild earning her the position as 'the only son that isn't'.

Jane Plane

Jane died, she was murdered. By whom, she has no idea, but she does know that she was very plain as a human. Unnoticed and ignored, Jane decided that she will never again be that human again, except now she is a wandering ghost terrorising a particular kid that happens to be able to see ghosts.

(put straightforwardly: Jane's name is a pun on 'Plain Jane'.)

Anya Nosferatu

What her name was before 'father' took her in Anya rather not says, or she doesn't remember. Anya was the name 'father' gave her because she needed something to fill in the space before she would become 'Nosferatu'. A name picked from a list of names at random and one Anya grew rather more attached to than she should. As such the meaning of her name is rather more sentimental rather than truly meaningful.

Nosferatu is the name she was to adopt. The name representing the librarians of the vampire society. The one meant to record their history and their tales, but never involve themselves.

Cocky

Eremurus

The eremurus, also known as cattail or foxtail lilies, is a plant that symbolises endurance. Eremurus, born Gabriel Engelbert (angelic names befitting his angelic appearance) chose this symbolical stage name when he came of age in the House of the Fallen Star. To represent the hardships he had to endure, to remind him of the sacrifices he has made, and the decisions the adults made for him when he was a child and he had to endure.

Anxious

Emrys Jernigan

Emrys was another name for Merlin, the mythical figure that stood next to the King that would be: Arthur. Emrys has no Arthur in his life, or so he believes, but he does possess magic, like Merlin. It is a constant joke and a promise of greatness that the warlock doesn't believe in.

Ophanim Hayyoth

Both Ophanim’s given and surname are derived from Jewish mythology and refer to a class of heavenly beings also known as: angels. Ophanim are the wheels, the many-eyed chariot that move beneath the throne of God. Hayyoth is the name of their heavenly class. It stands to reason that with all these angelic references Ophanim also has an angel theme ongoing, what with him being an avian creature with wings.

Bubbly

Ondine Fear

Ondine's curse is a sleeping curse from the myth that takes away the breath of a beloved wife. No one would have thought that this name would be so foreboding with the birth of her younger sister. The surname Fear means 'human' and not necessarily the emotion, though it is ironic how it is exactly the emotion 'fear' her family sees when they see Ondine and that she isn't part of 'man' as her name suggests her to be. Ondine is a changeling who got swapped in the cradle with the actual human girl that was meant to be 'Ondine'.

Romantic/Flirty

Eirian Keegan [Ambrosia]

When Eirian grew up she had vowed herself to be desired. Now that she is grown Eirian chooses Ambrosia as her monicker to show the world that she has succeeded. God's fruit, the irresistible food of Olympus few can survive. It is the promise of a femme fatale who is unafraid to use all of her assets to reach her goals.

Hardworking/Caring

Shinju Maeda

Literally translated her name means 'pearl' looking deeper into it her name also sounds like 'truth' and can be interpreted as such looking at the kanji. A seemingly simplistic name holding layers of wishes and hopes from her parents. Shinju is fortunate to honour her name indeed as it was given to her.

Leto Sheridan

Lethe is the name of the river of forgetfulness in the underworld according to Greek mythology, one drop of the river is said to be enough to forget all sorrows of life. Leto is named after that river and not after the deity that gave birth to Apollo and Artemis as popularly believed. Her parents' gave her the name with the hope that the female would grow up without sorrow, or not having to know it. Unfortunately life took a turn.

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years ago

Text

Autumn in my heart (krisbaek) (chanbaek)

One shot - angst/fluff

Krisbaek -chanbaek

Warning : mentions of kris wu, will bring you back memories of our best "chicken nae style anya" brother 🤧🤧

(Posted on wattpad before, so yeah this is my original work)

Enjoy

The picturesque scene of red and orange trees cannot fool the dull and somber race of falling leaves pulled by the gravity. Be honest, autumn is depressing. See the falling leaves, dying every time a gush of cold wind tingles. Baekhyun hates seeing the piles of dead leaves on the ground, he feels like the trees are selfish that they let the leaves die in order to survive.

The clock strikes six when Baekhyun has put on his tailor fitted Pea coat from Schott's. Tonight, his favorite fragrance from Clean accompanies him. He inhales his favorite floral woody musk mixed with a slight hint of fresh soap and gets himself ready as his smart watch rings with a caller ID he loves dearly. His lover has rung him up saying he is downstairs waiting for him to take his time. Baekhyun makes his last tuck on his Pea coat and he pockets his phone as he slipped his feet to his leather boots and Baekhyun makes sure to kiss his corgi good bye before keeping the key in his pocket and slightly run to meet the waiting prince; his waiting prince!

The elevator ride almost killed Baekhyun; he frowns whenever the door opens and what greets him are the foreign faces of his neighbor from other floors; after pressing the close button five more times, Baekhyun finally reaches his destination. With his crescent eyes he scans the whole room and finds his prince in no time. His fashion and his tall body make him easy to spot.

"Kris! I'm here, let's go!" Baekhyun clings into the taller man's arm and giddily drags him out of the warm lobby. The early cold wind harshly welcomes them outside; Kris clears his throat and pulls the brunette closer. He takes in his small hand, holds it firm in his big hand, and pops it nicely into his toasty pocket of his Burberry trench coat. "It's starting to get cold," Kris smiles.

Baekhyun blushes, even when Kris had done this for three consecutive autumns, his heart will always beat like it was his first time. He did nothing though and just follow his long legs that bring them to a place Baekhyun knows a bit too much.

"Usual place Kris?"

The tall blonde man nods and after walking through the busy streets, they found themselves in a restaurant district. Baekhyun's stomach growls when the delicious smell of his favorite food can be smelled from a meter. They sit down on their usual chairs, place the same ordinary menu; a Hawaiian pizza slice for Baekhyun and a Pepperoni for Kris. Though Kris never agrees that pineapple goes with pizza, he never speaks his opinion out loud to Baekhyun, he just can't. Try and say that to a man who really enjoys it and do you dare see his heart breaks? No Kris doesn't want to break his heart; it's the last thing he wanted to do to Baekhyun.

Dinner is amazing. Over two slices of giant pizza and soda, they exchange stories, laugh over new jokes, and secretly treasure this sweet moment. They end their pizza date with a split bill and with the warmth of a full stomach. The two men make their way out of the bright, fragrance road and move to another crowded and romantic district.

Baekhyun told Kris about a new milkshake shop opening in here in Gangnam, and Kris will do everything that brings a smile to Baekhyun's face. With Baekhyun standing close by his side, Kris naturally slides his arm to hug Baekhyun's slim waist from the side as he reads the menu in the TV from the queuing line.

The café is full of sweet couples, the atmosphere here is so warm and comfortable, Kris knows this will 99% become their favorite hangout place.

"We're so sorry, but we sold the second last cup already... We only have one left for the special house favorite's chocolate," the man with a name tag reading Yixing, smiles apologetically to the two sweet couple across him.

Baekhyun runs his eyes to the TV screen to look for another substitute, but Kris was faster.

"No problem, an extra straw will do. How much for the last cup?" Kris hands Yixing his card and swipes the bill.

Baekhyun squeals deep inside his heart, how Kris could always do a new sweet action every time they go out?!

"You sure don't want anything else?" Baekhyun asks when Kris lets go off his straw after a good five sips.

Kris shakes his head and raises his thumb to wipe a trace of chocolate from Baekhyun's lips, "No, you can have them all. It tastes good and I know you like them so much." Kris kisses his thumb and cleans the chocolate from Baekhyun's lips.

Baekhyun playfully punches Kris, "What's into you?! Why are you suddenly this sweet!"

Kris laughs it off and rolls his eyes, "Because I am a nice boyfriend? Come on admit it—" Baekhyun shuts him off with a quick peck "—I'm going to have heart attack Baek, if you are making that a habit."

After making a loud sip to ensure he leaves nothing on the bottom of the glass, Baekhyun and Kris step their foot out of the lovely café. They freeze when they see people carrying umbrellas and celebrating something.

"The first snow!" Both men choir and giggle upon welcoming the cold winter!

Baekhyun reaches for a folded umbrella he had brought in his pocket and this time takes the lead to pull the giant closer and tries his best to raise the umbrella to his height. Kris cannot oppress his gummy smile and allows Baekhyun do his thing.

"I am not taking care of a sick giant again, that's why I read the weather forecast earlier and they predicted the first snow the fall. Turns out they were accurate this year, come Kris let's walk under the first snow!" Baekhyun sneakily places his hand into Kris' coat and the taller simply holds his hand.

They have fun for a moment under the first snow, took some pictures and updated their social media platforms.

"The snow is falling harder, shall we head home?" Kris worries for their health. The two men are responsible for their working days, falling sick is something they can't afford.

Baekhyun does not refuse; along their careful steps on the slippery grounds the two men don't stop talking at all. They will find new topics whenever they seem to come to an end. Tonight is a good date night. Their date night ends with Kris ushering Baekhyun back to his Apartment room.

"Good bye Kris, thank you for tonight!" Baekhyun shakes his wet umbrella.

"No problem Baek, I'll be going now,"

"Wait—" Baekhyun runs to his room and returns not long after it, he gets on his tip of toes and wraps a warm red scarf over Kris "—take that with you, it's my winter present. Stay safe okay and call me when you got home." Baekhyun buries his face on his chest as he hugs him tight.

"Thanks honey, Good night." Kris steps back and waves his hand.

Baekhyun wiggles his hand in panic, "Oh take the umbrella! And please just grab a taxi!" Baekhyun pushes his umbrella to Kris' hand.

Kris chuckles and tousles Baekhyun's soft hairs, "Yes sir! I can take care of myself—" Kris winks and Baekhyun rolls his eyes. The tall blonde makes his stealing move and kiss the plump lips of Baekhyun before finally going back home.

Sun rises and sets, moon shines and hides, the world rotates and time runs. Their love for each other blooms, although their relationship has ups and downs, the two can overcome the big waves and sail their ship to another calm ocean. A calm sea will never make a skillful sailor, and one day the biggest wave crashes to their ship, and Baekhyun feels like he is forcefully drowned into the dark deep grief of heart breaks.

The road is crowded, well at least there are cars speeding in the road, and his sparkly eyes are fixed on a "sweet" scene in front of him. Yeah sweet if the people you saw were someone you did not know, or your best friend; but seriously not sweet if it's your boyfriend you saw over the road holding hands with another pretty boy, wrapped in an expensive suit looking all lovey dovey with your man. Maybe Kris did not know or see Baekhyun on the other side of the road, but Baekhyun cannot mistake that man as someone else. His eyes turn red; Baekhyun fetches his phone and takes the speed dial to call Kris. He waits for a moment with his eyes fixed on the two men across him.

The pedestrian traffic turns green, and Baekhyun sees the two of them walking to cross the road. He quickly hides himself in an old payphone box while still listening to the waiting tone and keeping an eye on Kris. When Kris made it with the sweet smiling guy to the same street as Baekhyun's he swears his call just was sent to voicemail. Kris also presses his screen earlier, hufth he didn't even hesitate to reject his call. Insteaad, Kris looks so happy walking with this new man. His jealousy and suspicion completely take over him, he leans over the small phone box and stares at his screen emptily.

"Sorry, busy can't pick up your call." Kris' message appears in his notification bar.

Baekhyun swallows the lump stuck in his throat; disappointed and angry the lonely man runs back to his apartment. He was planning to buy dinner and surprises Kris in his office for working overtime. If his vocabulary for overtime means having a walk with another man, heol Baekhyun won't bother coming to see him.

Baekhyun locks himself in his room and cries his heart out, his stomach grumbles, but his heart aches more. Baekhyun ignores all of the calls and messages in his phone. Thirty minutes later he wipes his eyes and after ensuring his heart he needs to do this: Baekhyun texts a number.

"Soo, you're right... I'm coming to the dinner tomorrow. What's his name again?"

This time Baekhyun regrets not listening to his friends when they warned him about his boyfriend playing fire behind his back. Baekhyun is too naïve and blunt to realize Kris has slowly changed. He was not as sweet as he used to, he got busy, and he rarely picked his calls. At first Baekhyun simply forgive him; thinking he must be busy with his works, turns out Baekhyun is living blindly.

The tall blonde man enters his apartment and paces his room nervously while sticking his phone to his ear. He bites his lips when the line beeps but no one seems to answer the call.

"Pick up. Pick up Baek.... Please... I'm worried sick..." Kris ends the waiting and jumps to the message room. He sends more messages asking if Baekhyun is okay, why is he not picking up calls, and why is he not reading his messages.

Kris feels guilty rejecting Baekhyun's call earlier, but he cannot pick the call there when he thinks his coworker has a big crush and is flirting with him. Kris cannot bring himself to answer the call and crushes the cute man's dream. Yes, Suho, his co-worker is lately clinging on his side, and Kris cannot lie and say he's unattractive. Suho is a calm and nice man, good with works, and Kris finds it hard to keep his heart stable when he's around.

Kris thought he saved Suho from crying in the streets, when in reality his real boyfriend is the one crying on the busy streets... by himself. Poor Kris doesn't know this.

The next morning, Baekhyun did not bat an eye nor reply any of his messages. He muted his number and prepares for work. As he sprays his perfume, the front door beeps open and a tall man he used to love, but now hates, shows up with a bouquet of yellow flowers on his hand.

"Good morning sunshine! What's with the cloudy face?" Kris extends his hand to give Baekhyun the arrangement.

Baekhyun looks at his sickening handsome smile and walks to take his working bag. "Nothing. I'm tired of work and this life full of lies."

Kris frowns, "What do you mean?"

Baekhyun just hums an "I don't know" tone and occupies himself with packing his lunch and laptop.

Kris walks to the kitchen table and picks Baekhyun's phone, he scrolls through the notifications and shakes his head, "WOW! You haven't open my text, not a single one! Why?" he sounds confused.

Baekhyun is the type to have his phone on his nose almost every second, what's with leaving Kris unread?

Baekhyun snatches his phone, "I fell asleep earlier yesterday after you said I shouldn't come and have dinner with you, since you're taking overtime."

Kris sighs, "Come on Baek, you're acting like this just because I denied your offer to eat dinner together?" Baekhyun walks away.

"Don't act so childish. We can always have dinner together tonight or other nights." Kris snaps.

Baekhyun keeps his cold face on; he takes his lunch and working bag, and slips into his shoes. Kris shadows him all over the place.

"Really? Then why did you cancel it yesterday?" He wears his shoes and holds on to the door knob.

"I had a sudden meeting." Kris lies quickly.

"Oh so now you call walking with another man without companion, while acting lovely is your definition of meeting. To me I call that a secret date mister!" Baekhyun stomps his foot, "Now go! Leave! I am tired of your lies!!" Baekhyun exits the room, but Kris holds a grip of his hand.

"but..." Kris is cut off by Baekhyun's loud voice, "For your information Kris, I saw you with my own eyes walking with a man and rejecting my call." Baekhyun raises his tone and his face turns red. He breaks his hand free and rushes to the parking lot.

Kris runs after Baekhyun, but luck must've left him today for the lift closes before he can reach him. Baekhyun is clearly mad and fed up, for he is not trying to do anything to clean up the misunderstanding.

Their day goes on differently, Baekhyun is still absorbed in his sadness and pain, while Kris... Kris thinks today's problem will end like any others. His day is smooth and the man from yesterday even offers him coffee. Upon seeing Kris busy checking his phone; waiting for someone to call or chat; Suho asks him, "What's bothering you?"

Kris thinks for a while, should he tell Suho what actually happened, but what if things get more dark and dangerous? After some consideration, Kris decides to use the help chance. He told Suho what happened yesterday and earlier this morning. Suho just laughs and comes up with a solution, "I can help you clarify this... Give me his number, I'll talk to him."

Kris denies that idea at first, but after some more convincing words from Suho, he gave up Baekhyun's phone number to Suho. He thought maybe Baek would listen to Suho.

Sure, Suho's idea was not completely wrong, Baekhyun answers his call in a friendly manner and he did not blame Suho for anything. Baekhyun listened to all of Suho's kind and sincere explanation, but his heart still cannot easily forgive Kris for doing it.

Baekhyun dresses up nicely in his bomber jacket, and puts on his cap to hide his puffy eyes. He takes his steps to greet his date tonight, the man Kyungsoo told him about. Park Chanyeol, son of the CEO of Eve's corporation: Korea's first leading group in food supply, while Kris is the son of the second leading group.

To put it into words, Chanyeol is a man of daydream. He is everything you expected when meeting a living prince charming. He talks in his deep voice, his choice of words are amazing, his fashion taste is casual yet daydreaming, his manners are polished as perfect as one can be, but no matter how nice and perfect Chanyeol is, his heart cannot stop comparing him to Kris. Kris is not as perfect as him, Kris is more of the clumsy type and silly. However one thing for sure, Baekhyun likes Chanyeol's jokes better than Kris'

His choice of place for a first meeting is way beyond expectation. Baekhyun would have dressed up properly if he knew Chanyeol is bringing him to a secluded private restaurant. Baekhyun seals his mouth tightly about this date, yet Kris knows.

He comes home with a bright smiling face, Chanyeol had just dropped him off from his Mercedes-Benz G65. Baekhyun secretly smiles to himself and wraps his jacket tighter as he enters the lift to reach his house. He can't stop humming small tunes while taking his light steps.

With a big surprised face, Baekhyun takes a step back when Kris greets him in his stern voice.

"Why are you here?" the shorter man sounds annoyed. His mood totally jumped from hype to down.

Kris raises his brow, "Am I not allowed to visit my lover? Beside I came here to check if he's here yet, since he ignored my calls and texts." Baekhyun makes his way to the kitchen and fills himself a glass of water, "Well, sorry but I have someone to see tonight," Baekhyun shrugs his shoulder.

Kris joins him to the small kitchen, "Yeah and I just found out my boy, without my acknowledge, went to meet another man and came home—" he glances at his watch, "—late, my boy came home pretty late. It's 10!"

Baekhyun finishes his glass of water, and slams his cup a bit too hard, "So what? I'm big enough to come home whenever I want and I can take care of myself."

"Who's that man? How are you sure he is someone good?" Kris elevates his tone.

Baekhyun takes a deep breath and speaks out loud clearly, "it's none of your business! Even I did not know who the man you're with yesterday was and I did not ask you anything! I did not interrogate you Kris Wu!" Baekhyun spits those words in one breath, he tosses his jacket then locks himself in his room. Kris knocks on his door relentlessly and all he gets is silence.

Silence from the loudest man is the scariest thing

Baekhyun wakes up with heavy head, puffy blood shot eyes, and a runny nose. He forces himself to leave his bed and calls in for a day off today. He has called Chanyeol last night and told the new man everything, something in his heart screams that Chanyeol can help and Chanyeol will not hurt him like Kris did. With his beloved corgi walking beside him, Baekhyun opens his door and freezes when he sees Kris sleeping uncomfortably on the floor.

"Babo-ya," Baekhyun scoffs in his mind and leaves the tall giant on the floor. He makes himself a glass of tea and gulps an aspirin down his dry throat. He takes his time writing a short note and sticks it on Kris' free arm. He bends to place a soft kiss on his temple, probably his last, and Baekhyun secretly leaves.

Kris wakes up from the pain his back screams for sleeping on the floor, he yawns and stretches then looks around and realizes he had fallen asleep when begging Baekhyun to open the door. He sees the post it on his arm and he quickly reads it. His brow scrunches as the line gets down, and finally they widens and his mouth fell. Kris lost his sense of touch, hearing, and sight... he feels like a thunder just hit him and he's drowned in his emotions. He slowly sits on the sofa, and re-reads the nicely written letter. He makes sure to not miss any single word or get the wrong idea. But no matter how many times he checks the letter again, the words don't change.

"Baekhyun wants us to end it here," Kris speaks to himself, the tall blonde quickly searches the house. Hoping to found the man he was looking for, he needs to discuss this with Baekhyun. Seriously they did not need to break up over a silly matter!

"Baekhyun-ie, what do you mean? We can talk about this... where are you?" Kris puts on his shoes and coat.

"We don't have to discuss anything Kris. We're not meant to be, I realized we're not made for each other. Our parents don't even support this relationship we had for three and a half years. It's over Kris, go get that man and I will go my way." Baekhyun explains as best as he can.

"No, We need to meet. We're not breaking up over phone. I don't consider our relationship over just because you decided it by yourself. We need to meet." Kris grips his phone hard.

"I can't Kris, I'm no longer near you. Bye," Baekhyun said.

Kris hears the faint background sound and damn that man is in the airport, where the hell is he going now without telling him.

Baekhyun turns off his call and sadly stares at his wallpaper. It's a picture of happy Kris and Baekhyun laughing under the mistletoe from their last Christmas.

"Are we ready to go?" Chanyeol's deep voice resonates beside him. Baekhyun groggily nods and copies his steps to the boarding gate. Baekhyun takes one last heavy breath; yes he is leaving Korea and Kris behind. This is what his family wants, this is for the best.

Baekhyun comes from the leading electronic cooperation in Korea; turns out his parents had made an agreement to make Baekhyun and Chanyeol an official pair. Simply said his parents arranged his marriage with Park family for the sake of their business. The Byun family does not have a good history with the Wu family. Both Kris and Baekhyun had been trying their best to keep their boat sailing despite the harsh wind made by their own families, but Baekhyun has had enough. The two used to think if they are together, they can fight their families and live happily ever after, but that's too good to be true.

Now, his family has made a lot of agreements with The Park family, and that explains why Baekhyun is sent to leave Korea with Chanyeol the night when Baek reported Kris' actions. His father used the situation to break them apart, and he partly succeeded. Baekhyun is now seated on the first class flight to Britain, with his future fiancé (That's what his parents insisted).

The loving couple separated without a clear ending, Kris still lives his life to the fullest he can, but everything is pointless when Baekhyun is not in his life. He did not date anyone, he still holds on to the belief that Baekhyun is still his boyfriend, and he is still committed to that man he loves.

Suho has tried a lot of things to set Kris up with a new date, but none of them seems to win his heart. Kris only attends the blind dates Suho made, just to respect his kindness and attention. Suho himself has won the heart of the cute guy in the milkshake shop Kris and Baekhyun once visited, Yixing. Suho was close with Kris because he needs help with winning the cute dimple man's heart. The night when Baekhyun went home with Chanyeol, Kris was actually waiting for him to explain everything. Kris wanted to tell Baekhyun that he doesn't have to be jealous of Suho, for Suho has his heart and eyes for another man. Fate did not let him explain anything that night, and the next day Baekhyun was already gone from his life.

Kris changes into a cold and quiet man, while Baekhyun has opened his heart to the new man with him. Baekhyun realizes Chanyeol shares a lot of things in common with him. Knowing the new tall man with elf ears is easy and they get along so well. They spend a good two years in England, and they have to return to Korea when the working contract for Chanyeol ended.

Their plane touched down on the land of Korea, where the leaves are starting to fall and the winds getting colder. Baekhyun sighs it's once again autumn, He always hates autumn.

Chanyeol feels for having to check the office and sending Baekhyun home by himself. Baekhyun did not mind, instead he is happy he can have his time alone here.

Baekhyun takes the taxi to a park he missed. A small park with benches for couples to seat and enjoy the falling leaves with the big Han River across them. He breathes in the autumn leaves and slightly smile when he the memories he made here with Kris slowly floods his mind. A small tug is felt in his heart, how is that tall blonde doing? Baekhyun walks and walks then sits at one of the empty benches, his hand traces the old wood and smiles when his eyes caught a small scribble that managed to be intact even when seasons has changed.

He traces the craving and secretly hides his smile when the memory comes back in his mind.

The writing of Kris and Baekhyun in a big heart, deriving from four years ago. He remembered craving their names cheesily on a park bench when the first leaf fell. Baekhyun scoffs when he realizes a lot of things he did with Kris is associated with autumn.

He closes his eyes for a while and finds himself awaken in surprise when a familiar voice greets him,

"Baekyun?" the voice sounds unsure, "Baekhyun?! It's really you?" this time it sounds surprised and a bit happy.

Baekhyun opens his eyes and gulps when the same man he left without news is here again infront of him. The man he shared love, the man he secretly hates and loves, the same man who used to be the happiness of Baekhyun. He looks different! He definitely lose weight, his hair is now plain and boring brown, his eyes no longer offers the star and galaxy Baekhyun used to spent his time gazing. His voice didn't change though, still the same deep voice that never fails to make him tremble.

"Kris, well... yes this is me." Baekhyun sheepishly admits it's him.

"It's been a while," Kris opens his mouth. He takes the empty spot beside Baekhyun.

"Look Kris, I don't have much time," Baekhyun dares himself to face him and holds his tears back. He almost breaks down in tears when he once again sees the man he loves in front of him.

"I know it was hard for both of us, but that was the best for us. This is the best for us." Kris stays quiet despite wanting to kiss Baekhyun and tell him everything he kept to himself for a good two years, but no he wants to listen to Baekyun. He reflected for two years and he wanted to make up all his bad mistakes.

"Fate doesn't let us be together... our family hates one another... we can't... we just can't be one Kris." Baekhyun bites his lips and holds his tears back. His heart is breaking right now when he sees the broken look in Kris' eyes. When he first saw Kris sitting beside him, he swore he saw a glint of hope in Kris' eyes but now Baekhyun completely destroys it. He hates him for one again hurting Kris, but this is for their own goods.

Baekhyun can no longer holds his tears, he breaks down into tears right beside Kris. The brunette hides his face in his hands and his shoulder moves as he expresses all of his bottled up emotions. Something glints under the last rays of the sun and Kris moves closer to Baekhyun's side. He bravely takes Baekhyun into a hug and he brings his thumb to wipe the crystals falling over Baekhyun's smooth cheeks. Kris cannot speak a word, his mouth goes mute all he knows is his life is completely dark now without Baekhyun. It was dark already before when he left, but now when he clearly said that... Kris feels like dying.

"Good bye Kris," Baekhyun stands up and walks to leave the broken hearted man. He turns one last time to see his unrequited love; Baekhyun forces his sweet smile, "Thank you for the memories." Baekhyun takes quick steps to leave the park and Kris. A strong wind blows and makes the piles of orange dried leaves fly around and when it's over Baekhyun is completely not anywhere to be seen.

Kris closes his eyes and memorizes the last words from his love, he left him completely now. Baekhyun left his presence, his world, and his hopes. Kris fishes his jacket and pulls out a velvet box, he snaps it open and a simple diamond ring is shining there. Well, he's been carrying this around since Baekhyun left, he wanted to propose to him whenever he got the chance to see Baekhyun , but turns out his ring finger is occupied already with the same diamond ring he had in mind will fit his slender finger. Kris keeps the ring again in the box and he pockets it again in his left chest. He lets his tears run through his face as he walks along with the last falling leaf.

He leaves the love of his life with tears and thousand of memories. Kris smiles bitterly when he remembers how Baekhyun always hates autumn. Turns out all memories with Baekhyun are prominent in autumn: Baekhyun's least favorite season.

flashback <<<

"I hate autumn Kris, can you imagine how selfless the tree is, letting the leaf die so it can live longer." Baekhyun pointed to an almost bald tree.

Kris pinches the cute cheeks of Baekhyun, "Well yes the trees are selfish Baek, but did you see how sincere the leaves are? I'm sure the tree did not want the leaves to die, instead I think the leaf sacrifice itself so the tree can live," Baekhyun cuts him, "But why Kris? Why must the leaves die for the tree?"

Kris holds his lover's hand tighter in his jacket, "Because my Baekhyunnie, that way the tree can survive the harsh cold winter and make new leaf later on spring. That way the leaf and the tree are once again together!"

Baekhyun nods his head, "Woah that's a better theory! You should definitely be the one telling our kids bed time stories later on!" He cheerfully pecks a kiss on Kris' lips and blushes.

"Just like love, you must sacrifice for the one you love." Kris leans in for another kiss.

"I love you Kris, now and forever!" Baekhyun leans his head on Kris' strong and wide shoulder.

"I love you most Baekhyunnie, I'll be like the leaf in autumn!" Kris whispers to his world; Baekhyun

The two men in different place share the same memory tonight.

As the moon shines and the first snow falls they secretly whisper each other "I still love you."

#krisbaek #chanbaek #exoot12 #exooneshot #exoimagine #exofanfiction #exo #baekhyun #chanyeol #kris #exo fanfic #exo fluff #exo fanfiction #exo angst #chanbaek fluff #krisbaek angst #angst #fluff #baekhyun fluff

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w0rld0fmy0wn · 6 years ago

Note

Clexa 11 or 18

11. things you said when you were drunk

18. things you said when you were scared

(It’s been so long since I’ve written the wonder that is Clexa, I thought I’d see what would happen if I tried changing that “or” to “and.” It kind of ran away with me…)

The music in the club blares, so loudly it’s hard for Lexa to even hear herself think let alone what anyone else might be saying. She can feel the rhythm of the bass in her chest, so powerfully that for a moment she thinks maybe it isn’t the bass at all, and that her heart is actually about to explode as she’s been afraid of all day. From the corners of her eyes she can see people on the dance floor, many with their heads back and likely shouting the lyrics along with the song, but Lexa wouldn’t know them even if she wanted to sing along. It’s something modern, probably popular enough it plays multiple times a day on every radio station, which means Lexa’s never heard it before this moment. When it comes to music, she still lives firmly in the past, really only listening to the same stuff she’s been listening to since high school.

On the other side of the table, Raven is belting along with the song, actually loud enough for Lexa to hear her. Beside her Anya smirks, her head just barely shaking, but from the way her eyes don’t leave the other brunette Lexa knows she thinks it’s cute. Not that she’d ever admit it. “Cute” isn’t in Anya’s vocabulary. Directly across from Lexa Clarke laughs, rolling her eyes at her best friend, and half-heartedly tries to shrug Raven off when she throws an arm around the blonde’s shoulder, but Raven simply won’t be ignored and soon she has Clarke singing nearly as loud, and Lexa definitely thinks it’s cute, and she would gladly admit it if anyone asked her. Luckily they don’t, because if they did she’d probably say more than just that she thinks Clarke’s cute; the words have been attempting to slip off her tongue all night, but so far she’s managed to hold them in.

A waitress comes over with yet another round of shots, and Lexa internally groans even as she smiles while taking one of the glasses. Too many more of these and the words will definitely come out, probably along with her dinner.

“Alright!” Raven croons, raising her shot high above her head, grinning as she looks around the table. “To us; we are some sexy motherfuckers tonight!”

Clarke clanks her glass with her friend’s, but raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying we aren’t other nights?” Her eyes flick over to Lexa, and the brunette notices in an instant a sudden lack of moisture in her mouth.

I don’t know how you could ever not be sexy, she hears herself think. Pretty sure you could could get stuck in a downpour, have a car splash mud all over you, and still be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Luckily the thought stays inside her head, exactly where she needs it to stay. Instead, Raven answers for her.

“Hell no, we’re basically the definition of sexy, but tonight we’re all just extra sexy.”

She makes a noise that’s probably supposed to sound like a growl as she wiggles her eyebrows, and then they’re all tossing their shots back, and Lexa has to clench her teeth as the burn of the alcohol hits her throat.

Soon they’re leaving their table and making their way to the dance floor, and Lexa doesn’t even spare a second glance at Raven and Anya as they go one way and Clarke leads her another. The blonde’s hand is gripping Lexa’s tightly, both palms just ever so slightly sweaty from the alcohol and heat (and in Lexa’s case at least, nerves that just won’t leave her alone). Clarke pulls her close and Lexa doesn’t make a sound when she feels the blonde’s body press up against hers and start moving. Which is a feat, honestly, because the second she feels their bodies touch a groan begins to build in Lexa’s gut and quickly work its way up to her throat. She squashes it and just holds Clarke tighter, pretending she has any sense of rhythm as the two dance together.

Lexa’s palms tingle where they grip Clarke’s hips, and she honestly doesn’t know if it’s from the alcohol or merely the other woman’s presence. They’ve had enough shots that her thoughts are firing rapidly, one barely finishing before the next begins, and each and every one of them centers around the blonde against her. The words tumble around in her mind, but manage to stay locked behind lips pressed into a smile. She can’t help but smile whenever blue eyes look up at her, a playful glint in them that has Lexa’s breath catching every few minutes.

God those eyes, she thinks as she dances and ignores everyone else around them. I could stare into them every day and never get tired of it.

It’s a truth she doesn’t dare let out beyond her own mind, no matter how accurate she knows it is. This is only their third date, they haven’t even known each other for a month yet; she shouldn’t be having a thought like that.

Damn, you really are - and I say this with all the love in my withered heart, she hears Anya’s voice say in her head, a useless lesbian. Talk about stereotypes. Not even a month yet and you’re already ready to move in.

Lexa wants to make a face at the voice, but she doesn’t because she’s too busy watching Clarke. She knows it’s too soon. The kind of fluttering she’s been feeling in her chest whenever she thinks about Clarke - let alone sees her - shouldn’t exist until they’ve at least been dating for a few months. Not a few weeks.

Three weeks. One date a week - their schedules haven’t allowed for more, and it has been downright torture for Lexa having to wait that long to see the blonde again - and just a little sex. Okay. Maybe a lot of sex, at least considering it’s only been three weeks. Usually Lexa’s the kind of person to wait until at least the third date to sleep with someone, but she’d learned immediately after their first date that she is in no way immune to Clarke’s eyes, or that tilt of her eyebrow that simply read as, “Well? Are you coming in or am I going to have to take care of myself?”

Lexa has been trying to convince herself that she definitely didn’t just fall head over heels that first night - even before the mind-altering sex that she’s sure she’ll never be able to forget, even if this doesn’t work out between them - but yeah. Yeah, she totally did, and how absolutely lesbian of her.

Clarke’s fingers wrapping around her wrist pull Lexa out of her thoughts, and she watches as the other woman nods back to the bar.

“Thirsty,” she yells over the music, and Lexa has to strain to hear her even though they’re leaning into each other. “How ‘bout another drink?”

The brunette nods because she doesn’t know how to say no to Clarke and because she doesn’t really want to. The dance floor around them is too crowded, and now that she’s been pulled out of her thoughts she feels people bumping and jostling into her, so she happily lets Clarke lead them away. At the bar the blonde orders another set of shots and Lexa dutifully takes hers at the same time Clarke does, and the burn simultaneously manages to clear her head and make it just a hair fuzzier at the same time. When they place their glasses back on the counter Lexa expects Clarke to lead them back to where everyone’s dancing, or at least to their table that she sees Raven and Anya have returned to with drinks of their own, but instead the blonde tightens her grip and leads her away from either.

“Come on,” she hears Clarke shout over her shoulder, “It’s so freaking hot in here, I need a little air.”

Lexa nods because air seems like a very good idea. Maybe it’ll help her clear her mind a little.

They push their way back out of the club, practically dumping out onto the street, and instantly Lexa sighs as the cool night air hits her overheated skin. It’s a relief after being stuck in the middle of so many sweaty bodies, and she closes her eyes as she takes in a deep, relieved breath.

When her eyes open again, she finds Clarke watching her with a small smile, and then glances down when the blonde’s fingers slip between her own.

“How about a little walk, to clear our heads a little?” Clarke suggests, and Lexa nods, happy with the suggestion.

After the noise of the club, the street feels almost too quiet, but Lexa revels in it. The silence is good, helps her to get her thoughts - still a little fuzzy, a little alcohol-coated - in order. Too much longer inside with Clarke pressed against her, she’s sure she would have slipped.

“What’re you thinking about?”

All at once Lexa’s relief vanishes and her heartbeat picks right back up again, as though she’s back in the middle of that crowd of dancers. She glances over at Clarke, finds the other woman watching her out of the corner of her eye, and says the only thing that comes to mind.

“Nothing.”

The corners of the blonde’s mouth twitch.

“Come on Lexa, you’ve had something on your mind all night, I can tell. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Again, Lexa’s mouth instantly dries, and she can feel it as her palms begin to sweat. Which is just great, considering Clarke is still holding her hand. Still, she tries to play it off, raises her head a little higher, and just shrugs.

“Really, it’s nothing Clarke. I’m just having fun with you.” She thinks, and then adds a little too quickly, “And Anya and Raven. This was a good idea, the double date. They’re certainly hitting it off.”

To her chagrin, the distraction doesn’t work, and what’s worse, one corner of Clarke’s mouth twitches as though she knows it was supposed to be a distraction. Both eyebrows raise.

“They are, definitely. Something tells me Anya will be following Raven to our apartment tonight. Which means I’ll need a place to stay.”

“You can stay with me,” Lexa tells her quickly (too quickly, but… well, she’s a little drunk, and the idea of Clarke in her bed isn’t one she’s ever going to pass up).

She’s walked right into Clarke’s trap, and she knows it by the way the other woman’s grin grows. “Perfect! It’ll give us more time to talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

Lexa’s mouth opens as though she’s going to say something and then snaps shut. Clarke just continues to watch her, unrelenting, and all of a sudden Lexa’s having a hard time swallowing. Her heart is now racing in her chest, the beats fast and sharp, faster than the beats of the music had been, and she feels a little faint. They’ve stopped walking and Clarke just watches her with that expectant look, and Lexa just freezes.

When it comes to her fear response, Lexa has always leaned heavily on the side of fight over flight. Sure, she isn’t a person who ever goes looking for trouble, but when it finds her or the people she cares about she has fought every time and never once backed down. She even has friends who have called her fearless before, but in this moment with Clarke staring into what she’s pretty sure must be her soul, she’s never wanted to flight more in her life. Her hand is still in Clarke’s though and her feet feel rooted into the pavement below, so all she can do is attempt to swallow down the burning worry that shoots through her chest.

“I…”

Clarke hasn’t looked away, but she isn’t smiling anymore. Now she looks worried, her brow just slightly furrowed, and Lexa feels her give her hand a little squeeze. Maybe it gives her courage, just a flash of it, because suddenly the words come flying out of her mouth in one breath.

“IthinkImightloveyou.”

She cringes before the last syllable is even out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What kind of idiot falls in love with someone who is honestly still pretty much a stranger and then admits to it like that?

She waits for Clarke to start laughing, or pull away and give her that look that tells her she’s gone too far and ruined this nice little thing they had, all while silently berating herself.

It never comes.

Instead Clarke’s eyes widen, and her mouth just barely drops open giving away her surprise, but she doesn’t laugh or pull away. Lexa waits in anguish for long seconds while the blonde processes what was just said, but then the surprise shifts and Clarke is smiling again, that beautiful, small smile of hers.

“Oh. Well, okay then.”

It’s Lexa’s turn to be surprised, and she’s sure it shows on her face. “Wait you’re not… weirded out by that?”

Clarke’s head tilts slightly to the side. “Why would I be weirded out?”

“It’s just… this is only our third date. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. Isn’t it… strange?”

Now Clarke does laugh, just a single, light ripple that escapes her chest. She shrugs, and then says, “You can’t control something like that, Lexa. Everyone falls in their own way, in their own time.” Her grip on the brunette’s hand tightens, and then she steps closer, taking the other one. She looks down at them, and then back up, and Lexa swears she sees a rosy blush growing on her cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago. “I’m not there yet, not ready to say those words, but I know I like you. A lot. More than I usually like someone when it’s just date three. So if you think you might love me…” Another shrug. “Then I think that’s kind of amazing.”

“You do?” Lexa nearly whispered, absolutely awed by this creature in front of her. How the hell did she get so lucky as to find probably the one woman alive who doesn’t get freaked out by a premature “I love you”?

Clarke shakes her head, and then a slow smirk tugs up one corner of her mouth. She leans even closer, and now Lexa’s heart starts racing again when her mouth hovers right next to her ear.

“No. In fact, I think it’s pretty sexy. Maybe you should say it again?”

Lexa swallows again, but this time it’s to push down the burning arousal she suddenly feels rather than fear. She licks her lips, still a little nervous, but then says a little more confidently, “I love you, Clarke.”

Something in the blonde’s eyes flash, and then she glances over Lexa’s shoulder back towards the club.

“What do you say I text Raven, and you and I head back to your apartment?”

Lexa’s already taking her phone out to get an Uber before she even finishes asking.

#clexa #clarke griffin #lexa #clarke x lexa

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chippadore · 6 years ago

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Stereo Hearts

Day 6- Stereo Hearts- @ygo5dsmonth2018

Your local friendly Stage Manager™ is here with all your Yugioh 5ds hits. If you hate musicals, you’ll definitely hate this, because this is all musicals. Welcome to theatre hell! I have a link attached to every song I mention.

Yusei Fudo- Boy Falls from the Sky (Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark)

I'd be myself/If I knew who I've become/You don't have to fly too high/To get too close to the sun/See the boy fall from the sky

Jack Atlas- Not a Common Man (American Pyscho the Musical)

Look at history, open the books/There are statues with great looks/There are gods, there are kings/I'm pretty sure I'm the same thing

Aki Izayoi/Akiza Izinski- Monster (Frozen the Musical)

A monster, were they right?/Has the dark in me finally come to light?/Am I a monster full of rage/Nowhere to go but on a rampage?/Or am I just a monster in a cage?

Crow Hogan- Proud of Your Boy (Aladdin)

Tell me that I've been a louse and loafer/You won't get a fight here, no ma'am/Say I'm a goldbrick, a goof-off, no good/But that couldn't be all that I am

Ruka/Luna- In My Own Little Corner (Rodger and Hammerstein's Cinderella)

In my own little corner/Just as long as I stay/In my own little corner/All alone/In my own little chair/I can be whatever I want to be

Read below for more characters, ships, and OC Fun!

Rua/Leo- My Shot (Hamilton)

Oh, am I talkin’ too loud?/Sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth/I never had a group of friends before/I promise that I’ll make y’all proud

I don’t think the song exactly matches Leo word for word, but the tone certainly does.

Bruno- Who Am I If the World Turned Upside Down (Finding Neverland)

I ignored the beat inside my heart for too long/Had accepted what was right/But always felt wrong/It's the second hand of time I'd been a slave to/But inside there was a feeling/Something I always knew/When the world turned upside down

I could’ve put Who Am I from Les Miserables to be a shit, but I decided to be serious. While If the World Turned Upside Down is a short song, the lyrics (in my opinion) describe Bruno/Antimony’s conflicting feelings with what was happening around him.

Sherry LeBlanc- Here I Go (If/Then)

Now I know all the motions/The steps to every dance/And I count cards at the table/I never bet on chance/I leave nothing to the gods/I know all the odds and even so/Still, here I go

Sherry is a wild card who doesn’t believe in fate, and will do anything to achieve her goals. I feel this song is an accurate representation of that!

Kyosuke Kiryu/Kalin Kessler- Raise a Little Hell (Bonnie and Clyde)

I can't take no more of this/This nightmare has to end/In this godforsaken place/Death would be a welcome friend

This is what I find myself thinking Kiryu would feel during his last moments in the Facility, or even while in his last fleeting moments before being arrested.

Jack/Yusei- Playing His Game (Death Note the Musical)

He's on the brink/He could win/I can't use the same plan/Time to start thinking like him

Not exactly a ship song, but hey, it’s an amazingly perfect rival song for the pair of them. And I can shamelessly promote Death Note the Musical.

Faithshipping (Yusei/Aki)- A Part of That (The Last Five Years)

And then he'll smile/His eyes light up and deep within the ground/Without a sound/A moment comes to life/And I'm a part of that/I'm a part of that

Yusei is the hero of the story. A lot of the time, he’s in his own world that Aki may not understand, but he tries to include her as much as he can.

Firebirdshipping (Aki/Crow)- Easy to Love (Anything Goes) and Perfect for You (Next to Normal)

So worth the yearning for/So swell to keep every home fire burning for/Oh, how we'd bloom, how we'd thrive>

I can't fix what's fucked up/But one thing I know I can do/I can be perfect for you

I had to pick two songs. The first one is sweet and slow. It describes how Crow loves Aki, despite the fact she might not believe she can be loved. The second describes how neither are perfect, and that’s okay.

Scoopshipping (Carly/Jack)- You’re Getting to be a Habit with Me (42nd Street)

No, I can't break away/I must have you every day/As regularly as coffee or tea/You've got me in your clutches/And I can't break free/You're getting to be a habit

I couldn’t not pick this song. Imagine this as a montage during Jack and Carly’s fun day at the park. It’s cute, quirky, and describes both Carly and how Carly ended up in Jack’s life.

Retributionshipping (Dark Signer Carly/Jack)- Dyin’ Ain’t So Bad (Reprise) (Bonnie and Clyde)

Seems you get to live your life just once/If that's how it's gotta be/Then I'd rather breathe in life than dusty air/Dyin' ain't so bad

This song was picked because both Jack and Carly were ready to die for each other. In the end, Carly may have saved him, but Jack was prepared to go down with her.

Toolshipping (Bruno/Yusei)-You Walk With Me (The Full Monty)

Is it the wind there, over my shoulder?/Is it your voice calling quietly?/Over the hilltop, down in the valley/Never alone for you walk with me

I was going to pick something else, but this song came on. I can hear this playing after Bruno’s passing. It’s such a sweet, but sad, song that describes what Yusei could be feeling after the fact.

Treasonshipping (Kiryu/Yusei)- Ever After (Bare: A Pop Opera)

So much for our ever after/I thought the good guys would triumph/I trusted the hero, I didn't hear his goodbye/I guess it was lost in the talk of a straight-acting coward

Yusei and Kiryu (Or Kalin, whatever you prefer m8) definitely had a rocky relationship up until the last notes of Satisfaction Town. This song specifically works for the Dark Signer Arc.

Roseknightshipping (Aki/Sherry)- Fight for You (Heathers)

Hey could you face the crowd/Could you be seen with me and still act proud/Hey could you hold my hand/and could carry me through no man's land/It's fine if you don't agree/but I would fight for you/if you would fight for me

This song is cute. Sherry was the one who introduced Aki into the world of Turbo Dueling. This song just fits.

Psychicshipping (Divine/Aki)- Dangerous Game (Jekyll and Hyde)

The frightened princess/Doesn't know what to do!/Will the ghosts go away?/Will she will them to stay?/Either way, there's no way to win!

This song is so so chilling. Meant to Be Yours from Heathers was a close second, but this one won out in the end. It’s just too perfect for me, and describes the abusive relationship Divine and Aki had.

Bonus:

Lina Kazukata- Journey to the Past (Anastasia)

Home, Love, Family/I will never be complete until I find you/One step at a time/One hope, then another/Who knows where this road may go/Back to who I was/On to find my future/Things my heart still needs to know/Yes, let this be a sign!

Lina is my OC from a fanfic called The Game Begins! This song, while she doesn’t have amnesia like Anya, accurately covers Lina’s fears of self-identity, finding family/where she belongs, and her hopeful optimism.

Lina/Yusei- No One Else (Natasha and Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812)

And your childlike eyes/And your distant smile/I’ll never be this happy again/You and I/And no one else

I feel this song perfectly captures the innocence of Lina, and of her relationship with Yusei. I don’t have a cool ship name for Lina and Yusei. Fite me. Shout out to Crazier than You from the Addams Family for being a close second!

Yuuka- Where is the Justice? (Death Note The Musical)

Show me what's right about/The wrongs that we allow/Real people need to feel/Protected here and now/This whole damn system's broken way beyond repair/It's just law, not law and order/Not much good and seldom fair

This is based on Yuuka Sasaki from @dearlybelovedfeels fanfic calling Waking Up Normal. Why this song? This girl is all about equality and justice, that’s why.

Stellarshipping (Yuuka/Yusei)- Shouldn’t I Be Less In Love With You? (I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change)

Shouldn't I be less in love with you?/Shouldn't I address what time can do?/Shouldn't I be more inclined to flee?/Shouldn't I explore all I can be?

I tried finding a musical song I knew you wouldn’t know. I can see this song covering their lifetime together.

Bonus Satellite Angst Songs

Bonus Satellite Angst songs!? On my Tumblr post?! Yep! These are just some songs I feel capture that Satellite aesthetic ™

Facade (Jekyll and Hyde)

There's a face that we wear/In the cold light of day/It's society's mask/It's society's way/And the truth is/That it's all a façade!

Will I (Rent)

Will I lose my dignity?/Will someone care?/Will I wake tomorrow/From this nightmare?

Rent (Rent)

How do you start a fire/When there's nothing to burn/And it feels like something's stuck in your flue/How can you generate heat/When you can't feel your feet/And they're turning blue!

Scrap (The Full Monty)

What I want? That's easy asshole/I want a job/I want to feel like a person instead of a slob/I wanna wake up knowing where I'm gonna go/Not going nowhere

Skid Row (Little Shop of Horrors)

Poor! All my life I've always been poor/I keep asking God what I'm for/And he tells me "Gee, I'm not sure/Sweep that floor, kid."

The Dark I Know Well (Spring Awakening)

There is a part I can't tell/About the dark I know well

Want to debate songs or add more? Send me a message. I can talk musicals all day. Try me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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thedeadflag · 7 years ago

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Christmas Kisses (WIP)

Okay, so here’s the first go of posting some WIPs from November and before. This was the festive fic I was working on for NaNoWriMo, with the incomplete sections cut away.

Hope you enjoy!

Raven Reyes had very little patience for unnecessary aggression in her friend group, especially when that aggression was just a smokescreen for something else. So to say that Clarke and Anya's ongoing abrasiveness was both exhausting and frustrating would be putting it lightly. She'd put up with it because Clarke was her best friend and Anya was growing to be a good friend as well, but it was time for it all to come to an end.

After a week of planning with Niylah and Lexa, she was sure that the latter's Christmas party would be the end of it. For better or worse, the conflict would be over for good. With a little extra help from Lincoln, Octavia, and everyone's favourite teenager Aden, she had high hopes that it would end well, even if it was sure to be a bit rocky.

Okay, pretty damn rocky.

She just had to hope that what her instincts were telling her was true. Everything was riding on that. Well, that, her tech, and the hope that Lexa would be able to handle any fallout from it all.

There was little that Anya hated more than winter. The bitter cold, the ridiculous piles of snow that would fall, the terrible driving conditions, the relentless holiday music that would seem to follow her everywhere she went, the depressingly few hours of sunlight...it was all miserable.

So maybe she just wasn't feeling it, standing in the corner of the living room at Lexa's Christmas party. If her favourite person in the world couldn't fully cheer her up in the middle of winter, she wasn't sure what could. Of course, the presence of one Clarke Griffin certainly didn't help anything, Anya's eyes turning to focus on a random wreath on the wall as the other blonde went to pull Lexa into a kiss.

She wasn't jealous, per se. Lexa was her best friend, and if she found happiness with Clarke Griffin, then that was that. Lexa's happiness was far more important than any crush or one-sided romantic love she'd been harboring, which was why Lexa and Clarke were together in the first place. Anya was a grown woman, she could handle her own feelings, and take responsibility for them. She wouldn't let them disrupt Lexa's life for even a fraction of a second.

Besides, as frustrating and grating as Clarke could be to her at times, the woman was radiant, was talented and passionate, wonderfully kind to most people who weren't Anya, and could always find a way to get Lexa smiling. Very importantly, despite the stormy emotions Anya seemed to bring out in the woman, Clarke never openly pressured Lexa to stop spending time with her, never gave Lexa ultimatums or tried to control Lexa or cut Anya off from her best friend, so that was vital and good. Add to that how Lexa clearly appreciated Clarke's curves, something Anya did not have in abundance like Griffin did, and there was just no competition. Ultimately, she could hardly blame Lexa for spending most of her time with her girlfriend. That was, after all, what girlfriends did.

Again, Anya could deal with her feelings. Any loneliness was her own responsibility, and any sense of abandonment was foolish and certainly not Lexa's fault, or Clarke's for that matter.

It just didn't make any of it easier to deal with. Winter, Clarke Griffin, Christmas, it all drained her so easily. Knowing she'd just have to put up with it, Anya made her way into the kitchen and poured herself some more apple cider, not wanting to get drunk tonight, or at least not while she was still at the party.

Maybe when I'm back home...I don't work tomorrow, so I could afford to have a solid hangover... She mused to herself as she turned and made her way back to the living room, not really paying attention to the people around her until the sound of jingling bells sounded above her, robbing the majority of her patience with it.

Raven had installed these absurd mistletoe sensors above every entrance or doorframe that would sound out when two people crossed under them at the same time. Honestly, Anya wouldn't put it past Raven to have a camera recording a set period of time from when the alarm sounded, to make sure everyone complied afterward. Why Lexa had approved them was an utter mystery to her, but when Anya turned her head and saw the other person, she had a feeling that 2017 really was the worst year ever, Clarke Griffin glaring back at her and looking entirely apprehensive.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Anya muttered in a quiet breath, eyes wincing shut as she tried to control the annoyance brewing inside of her at her atrocious luck.

"Don't blame me, you're literally the last person in this party that I'd kiss if I had a choice, but it's Lexa's house rule. All she wanted for Christmas was this damn party, so...whatever." Clarke shot back angrily, somehow having caught her words despite the loud rendition of 'Jingle-Bell Rock' playing in the background.

Anya shook her head in disdain, but knew that disappointing Lexa was not an option. Begrudgingly, she leaned forward, brushing her lips against Clarke's for a fraction of a second, applying only the tiniest bit of pressure before storming back off to her corner in the living room, needing some time to let her frustration with the situation flow out of her.

The softness of those lips definitely didn't haunt her thoughts for the next ten minutes.

Peaches. Of course Anya tasted like peaches. Anya had to taste like her favourite fruit; not blackberries, or dragon fruit, but goddamn peaches.

Clarke swiped her tongue across her lips, wondering why the hell Anya layered her lip gloss on so damn heavily, trying to ignore how the tiniest shred of tanginess had her wanting more. Not of Anya, certainly, but if she could find out the brand of lip gloss, she'd maybe be a little happy.

Maybe that would make the night a lot better than it had been. Lexa hosted a Christmas party every year, and so many old friends would come by that her girlfriend hadn't seen in forever, leaving her with precious little alone time with Lexa.

It wasn't necessarily bad, because all the guests made Lexa happy, and that was all that really mattered, but it made it hard for Clarke to stand still and hover, so she'd wander the house instead. She'd already been made to kiss Octavia and Bellamy under the mistletoe, and she kind of really thought that would have been the worst of it until her luck had run dry with Anya.

Truth be told, she couldn't hate Anya. At least, not entirely. Anya had watched out for Lexa, growing up. Anya kept Lexa safe from bullies during her awkward years, she'd been there to listen to and comfort Lexa when her parents were always away. She'd orchestrated an elaborate bit of social manipulation among their high school's major players prior to Lexa coming out, all in order to protect Lexa and make sure no one would consider hurting her. When Lexa needed start-up money for her business, Anya was there with her own money, and plenty of investor friends, to make it an easier process.

So she couldn't hate Anya, not when the woman loved and supported Lexa so intensely, even if that did make Clarke feel a little insecure, being a relative newcomer in Lexa's life. And it didn't help that Anya was usually so coolly polite to her, or that Anya and Lexa always had all morning on Sundays to themselves for some 'BFF' time.

Of course, those long hours with Anya made Lexa happy, so it didn't matter how she felt about it, especially since she was above jealousy or anything so petty as that. It's just that it would be nice to have a full weekend alone with her girlfriend sometimes, which Anya made impossible, even if she hadn’t really brought that issue up before.

Sometimes it had her wondering how she could compete, really. Sure, her logical mind told her that Lexa had chosen her, that Lexa was with her, that they were girlfriends. Still, Lexa and Anya knew each other from birth, had a life-long bond that was unbreakable, and Anya was so often her best self around Lexa, leaving most of her standoffish and cool behaviour when she was alone with Clarke. And as much as she might not like to admit it, Anya was absolutely stunning. After Lexa, Anya was still probably in the top five most beautiful people she'd ever met. Like, the woman could make anything look amazing, and turn anywhere into a damned catwalk, and Clarke wasn't sure that if Anya stepped on her face that she wouldn't do something embarrassing like moan or thank her.

Meanwhile, she had a tiny bit of a tummy, and the stress from the last six months of work had added a few pounds. Not that Clarke didn't appreciate and love her curves and softness, but she knew the kind of women Lexa trended towards. She'd met Lexa's exes; two of them immensely-toned soccer players, one of them a p90x junkie working on Wall St, and the other one was a stunt double that had biceps as big as Clarke's thighs.

To say she was an outlier, and Anya would be a regression towards the mean, would be entirely accurate.

So maybe there was a tiny bit of insecurity she had to deal with, but that was probably just because Anya looked good enough to eat, and apparently tasted equally delicious. If Lexa got a taste, she wasn't sure what would even happen.

"Clarke?" Aden's voice pulled Clarke from her thoughts to the boy standing politely nearby. "Lexa said you wouldn't mind doing a quick portrait of me and my girlfriend? Only if it's not any trouble."

Clarke knew that all her art stuff she kept at Lexa's was in the garage; definitely enough for a pencil or graphite portrait. Paint, she couldn't be sure. "It's not. Why don't you two set up in the recliner? I'll be back in a jiffy."

At Aden's nod, Clarke made her way through the living room and into the kitchen, knowing the garage was just around the corner. She was just nearing the doorway when someone must have tripped and pushed her accidentally, sending her reeling towards the doorframe.

Just as she was losing her balance completely in her regrettably steep heels, someone turned the corner into the kitchen just in time for her to collide into them, strong arms swiftly wrapping around her as they fell against the edge of the doorframe, jingle-bells sounding above them.

"Again?"

Clarke had been a half second away from apologizing and thanking the stranger for catching her, but the sound of Anya's voice, all saturated with disbelief and weariness, quickly had Clarke changing her tune.

"Don't blame me, someone shoved me at the doorway. Find the nearest plastered person and give them that glare, I don't deserve it." Clarke argued pre-emptively, jaw setting to the side and she stared up at Anya expectantly, the other woman thankfully helping Clarke back to her feet and stability. It was a little odd that the woman's arms hadn't left her waist, but Clarke was still teetering on her heels a bit, her buzz from earlier not cooperating with her shoes. "Well, at least you're not a completely heinous bitch."

"Oh, no? I suppose I still have something to strive for then." Anya shot back with a healthy heaping of sarcasm and a roll of her eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

It wasn't all that much different from the previous time, Anya's head leaning forward just enough for those aggravatingly peachy lips to graze her own. However, there was maybe a tiny bit more pressure this time around, Anya's lips lingering a fraction longer before the woman was storming off through the kitchen, leaving Clarke to her task again.

But as she moved through the house and into the garage, she could feel it. It'd been maybe ten or twelve minutes from the previous kiss, but she could feel the gloss on her lips. For whatever reason, Anya was determined to be wearing something tasty in case she got caught with someone under the mistletoe.

Or, maybe I'm just being paranoid...

It took a little longer than the few seconds expected to find her materials, not usually having two vehicles in the garage, Lexa having needed to move her things around a bit to fit both inside.

Still, she managed to find her art kit with all her pencils and pastels and graphite after a brief minute or so of searching. A few seconds later she had her art pad to match, and a head full of hope that she could give Aden and his girlfriend something cute for Christmas.

Clarke opened the garage door, only to bump straight into Anya, the goddamned sound of jingle-bells resonating through the space again. Clarke glared up at the device and swore she saw a camera. She'd have to interrogate Raven about it later.

"God damnit, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you stalking me?!" Clarke yelled, glaring down her girlfriend's best friend as Anya set a cooler down onto the ground and stepped deep into her personal space.

"Don't flatter yourself, princess. You know as well as I do that I was given the duty of shuttling the alcohol between the garage and kitchen, since I'm not drinking tonight. What the hell are you doing here?" Anya demanded, the venom in her voice coming off as an accusation, as if she'd planned this.

Clarke shoved Anya away, the woman colliding against the opposite side of the doorframe with a wince and the slightest of gasps. "Fuck you! Aden wanted a portrait drawn up, and my art supplies are all out here. Like I'd ever lurk around corners trying to lure you into a mockery of a kiss."

"Just stay away from me after this." Anya grit out, closing the distance, hand knitting in her hair as she was pulled closer, enough for the other woman's lips to press firmly against hers for a half second.

Clarke was too busy being dumbstruck by the presence of more damned lip gloss to do much of anything as Anya pushed past her and into the garage, seeking out the treasure trove of booze all the partygoers had brought with them. She held back a few choice words about the woman's persistence with the damn lip gloss, knowing it'd only give Anya more questions, and lead to more confrontations.

She shook her head and stormed off to the living room, the sight of Aden and his girlfriend immediately pushing any memory of Anya to the back of her mind. "Alright, let's do this. You two get comfy, okay?" Clarke asked them as she dragged a footrest over and sat on it.

That solace only lasted a minute, her tongue sweeping across her lip by habit as she sketched, dragging the tasty lip gloss with it. Clarke took a few seconds, closing her eyes, and tried to just empty her mind of the annoying woman she inexplicably kept running into, as well as the sort of delightful pressure of her lips the last time around.

It was still early in the night. She hoped her run of bad luck wouldn't continue much longer.

Anya let out a loud huff after her sixth trip to the garage to restock the tiny alcohol bucket. Lexa didn't want too much at the ready, so it kept running out pretty quickly, meaning she'd have to go get more. Which, of course, meant being extra cautious in case someone was about to run into her under another goddamn mistletoe.

Not that she hated kissing. Far from it, really, she just felt awkward kissing friends, and wanted to avoid kissing non-friends, and the whole thing made her feel horrible when she was set up to kiss someone who was partnered up.

Kissing Clarke Griffin three times already tonight was hopefully an anomaly she would avoid for the rest of the night, not just to spare herself the guilt of encroaching on Lexa’s relationship, but to spare her self-esteem. Honestly, if she hadn't been depressed enough before, Clarke certainly knew where to pick her shots, making her out to be some sort of gross creature. The woman would never initiate, never even apply the slightest pressure into the kiss, never even touch her unless it was to shove her away in repulsion.

Most people's remarks she could brush off with ease, but it was harder when those people meant something to Lexa. And Lexa loved Clarke, so what did it say about her that Clarke thought she was a heinous bitch, too gross and reprehensible to be anything but a last choice?

Maybe if the thoughts and words and actions weren't sincere, maybe if it was just a performance, Anya would be fine with it in some contexts far enough distanced from reality. It wasn't as if she hadn't dipped her toes into the occasional bit of kink and BDSM, after all, but this was actual hatred, this was someone who actually felt okay and righteous in demeaning her.

"Why so glum?" Lincoln asked, suddenly appearing at her side, shooting her one of those annoying inquisitive stares that made it a hundred percent clear that he was worried and determined to get to the bottom of it.

Anya shook her head, hoping to shake off the emotions written on her face as well. "Not glum. Tired. Been a long day."

"I don't buy that for a second." Lincoln noted casually, leaning up against the counter beside her. "What's up? Not enjoying the party?"

"It's packed. It's loud. This place is a mistletoe minefield. People keep asking me to find things for them. Octavia won't stop requesting Jingle-Bell Rock. Take your pick." Anya answered calmly, trying to achieve some level of zen to throw him off her scent, which her growing headache was making difficult.

No such luck. "Yeah, the mistletoe stuff's a bit much, but it's been funny. A lot of awkward kisses." Lincoln said, pinning down her real issue easily, not that he wouldn't have had she not mentioned it. He had a strangely accurate intuition. "Don't feel guilty if you got caught under it with someone's partner, Anya. I know you, but you have to let that go. It's all in good fun, it's not any kind of infidelity."

And okay, maybe she did find mistletoe annoying for that, even if she wasn't sure she'd go as far as calling it infidelity unless there was intent. It wasn't the real issue at hand, though. "I know, Lincoln. It just hasn't been good to me tonight."

Lincoln looked like he was about to respond when suddenly Octavia broke into her field of vision, tugging hard at her boyfriend's arm. "Lincoln! We need you in the living room!" Octavia yelled over the holiday music, giving him another tug.

He looked at her helplessly, clearly not thinking it was good to go. All Anya could offer was a roll of her eyes and a shooing motion with her hands, letting him know she was good with it, not that he didn't peek over his shoulder at her worriedly as Octavia ushered him away.

Lincoln really was a worrywart, but he meant well.

Her job done for the moment, Anya cautiously made her way out of the kitchen and to the small half-bath on the main floor to just catch some breathing room and clear her head a bit.

Anya opened her bag, redoing where her makeup had worn off, figuring it was as good as war paint out there, given the situation. Once she was satisfied, she began tossing all her tools and products back into her bag, only to hear a rapid knock at the door just as she clamped her bag closed and slung it over her shoulder.

Not wanting to leave some drunk person to vomit or piss out in the halls of her best friend’s home, Anya rushed to the door and swung it open, pushing past the person who immediately went to slip in. The bell sound jingled again above them from the mistletoe hanging just inside the room, but as soon as Anya saw who it was, she wasn't about to wait. She could disappoint Lexa this one time. Just this once, given Clarke had done so already.

"Anya, get back here, I need to pee!" Clarke yelled after her, stilling her halfway down the hall.

"Then by all means, Clarke, don't let me stop you." Anya spoke, staring over her shoulder at the other blonde, who was clearly both struggling physically and furious.

In need of something to wash the sour experience from her mouth, Anya found her way into the kitchen, pouring herself some apple cider and heating it up in the microwave since the main jug had long gone cool. Thankfully, some sort of Christmas karaoke was going on in the living room leaving the kitchen empty.

Anya checked her watch and groaned, knowing she had a fair bit of time left until the party would disperse.

Eventually, the microwave dinged, and she pulled out her steaming cup of cider just as Clarke stormed into the kitchen.

"You!" Clarke hissed, stomping over to her and deep into her personal space. "You will not ruin any of this for her!"

Anya honestly couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh at Clarke's gall. "I figured with your behaviour that I'd do you a kindness. Spread the blame around a little so she could put me in the proverbial doghouse instead." Anya noted calmly as she strolled past Clarke, hoping the tiny sun room at the back of the house was free.

"Are you kidding me?" Clarke let out with an annoyed grunt, marching after her. It was the sharp tug at her arm as she left the kitchen that had Anya spinning backward, hot cider splashing over her chest as she braced herself against the doorframe just in time not to stumble back into Clarke.

The sound of bells probably filled the air, but all Anya could hear was the blood thrumming through the veins at her temple like a battle drum as she controlled her reaction, not wanting to show pain in front of her apparent adversary. If Clarke was so insistent, then she'd take the searing pain across her neck and chest for now and be done with it. "Fine, Clarke. Do your worst."

"That's...I didn't mean...I don't want this any more than you do, but Lexa told us all the rules for the mistletoe. This is her day. This is her gift." Clarke insisted, as if Anya actually needed the reminder.

"I know, Clarke. I'm not stopping you." Anya growled, shaking her arm free from Clarke, leaving them inches apart, making sure that Clarke would have to put in all the effort needed, that she'd have to start from scratch.

Clarke glared at her, though that glare flickered after a few seconds passed, replaced with growing confusion. "Then let's get it over with."

"Yes, let's." Anya agreed, holding Clarke's hard stare, not moving a goddamn inch.

The other woman lingered, waiting, and let out a frustrated sigh after a few more uneventful seconds passed. "What are you waiting for?"

"You." Anya stated flatly, rolling her eyes at Clarke's immediate confusion. "Clarke, you've made it abundantly clear that I'm the last person you'd ever want to kiss out of anyone here, but I'm not going to do all the work. Each time, I initiated, I kissed, you just stood there and took it. I don't call that participation, and it's actually very uncomfortable for me, so unless you want to keep eating your words, you can buck up and get it done. Even a cheek kiss would suffice."

Clarke recoiled at the accusation, anger flashing in her eyes. "Excuse me, but maybe I'm not a fan of kissing someone like you!"

"And you think I want to kiss someone who thinks I'm heinous and disgusting?" Anya fired back, jaw setting to the side when Clarke just laughed.

"So this is all about your ego?" The woman asked with a cold grin. "Actually, of course it is. Why would I expect anything else?"

Unnerved by the strange accusation, given her ego had never really been anything worth noting, Anya leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossing her chest. "This is about you treating me like I'm some leper, like you're going to catch something from me. Grow up...if you can kiss Bellamy and still manage to treat him like a human being after he practically stalked you for four months, I'd think you could do the same for me, given I've never done anything to you."

Clarke's jaw dropped, eyes narrowing as the woman tilted her head to the side slightly. "You've never liked me."

"Jesus Christ." Anya let out with a sigh, shaking her head at Clarke's obliviousness. "You frustrate and annoy me to no end. You find subtle ways to complain about any time Lexa and I spend together when we're best friends. Your taste in music is insufferable, you put pineapple on your pizza, and you leave dirty dishes in Lexa's sink far too often for my comfort. And sometimes, yes, I don't like you...sometimes. Like now. But you are still a good person, Clarke. Wonderful, even, sometimes. Lexa would never love you if you weren't, and I never would have advised her on your first few dates if I didn't wholeheartedly approve of you. So get your head out of your ass for once in your damn life."

By the end of her rant, she was breathing a little heavily, and maybe the pain from the burn had forced some moisture to her eyes, but she stood her ground, waiting as Clarke's face twisted, all that hostility falling away to confusion and something else that Anya might have tentatively decided was regret if she wasn't so cynical.

"Really?" Clarke eventually let out, voice thick and low, sapphire eyes staring at her with an expression that she couldn't quite translate.

"Clarke, focus. You're the one who forced the kissing issue. Can we just do this?" Anya asked, exasperated and really in need of changing out of her top and to put something cool over her stinging skin.

Thankfully, the other blonde nodded, biting her lip before gently tugging at Anya's arms. Anya let them drop to her side as Clarke peered into her eyes, as if she was looking for something. What it was, Anya couldn't say as Clarke brought a hand up, cupping her face, thumb stroking her cheek, fingertips massaging the upper reaches of her neck, stealing away any wonder at what the woman might have seen.

Clarke's lips brushed against hers with achingly fleeting pressure once, twice, three times before finally meeting hers in an embrace that had her body reeling. If not for Clarke's other hand cupping her elbow, she wasn't sure how well her balance might have held up as soft curves pressed up against her, the hand at her cheek gliding back to comb through her hair and smooth down her neck with delicious pressure before Clarke stepped away.

Which would have felt wonderful in most other circumstances if Clarke hadn't run her hand across the newly burned skin as she stepped away, forcing out a regrettable hiss of pain.

"Anya, what's...oh my god, is your skin normally that red?" Clarke asked with growing panic. "Shit, of course it's not, come on, there's a first aid kit in the bathroom down the hall."

She quickly found herself being tugged out of the kitchen by the hand, Clarke leading her down the hall to the bathroom. Getting her burn treated, as minor as it might be, was probably a good thing, but her mind might have still been a little stuck on that kiss.

Still, she managed to push that to the back of her mind as they entered the washroom in single file, her long years of discipline more than capable of tamping down on any thoughts or feelings for now.

"How in the heck did you burn yourself, anyways?" Clarke asked as she gently pressed a cool cloth to the burned area, leaning in close enough to where she could definitely make out the woman's rosy raspberry-vanilla aroma. Before, in the haze of having to deal with another run-in with Anya, or in the frustration of being caught under the mistletoe again in general, the scent hadn't registered, but it was very pleasant and oddly fitting.

"Well, I guess it was shortly after I pulled my cup of apple cider from the microwave. I was leaving the kitchen with it, and someone tugged really hard at my arm, and it went spilling all over me." Anya answered, shooting Clarke a wry smile, probably to try and play it off like she didn't blame her, that it was all fine.

Clarke didn't embrace that message, lips curling into a deep frown as she pulled the cloth away to get some fresh cool water in it. "I'm so sorry, I was upset, and I didn't even see you holding the...wait, that mug?" Clarke asked in disbelief, just now noticing Anya was still holding her old Wonder Woman-branded mug in her hand.

"It's tasty cider. My favourite homemade recipe." Anya noted flatly, as if it was offensive to think the woman would have put it down.

"And it's been in your hand the whole time?" Clarke asked, needing some clarification, her pride riding on the answer a little bit.

"Well, yes. I went to the kitchen for a drink, so ever since then." Anya answered slowly, eyes narrowing in confusion as Clarke let out a burst of air, feeling like she'd just had the wind knocked out of her.

Honestly, that Anya could hold a mug of cider steady while being kissed? Said a lot about the quality of it. "I must be losing my touch. Shit. I thought that was a decent kiss."

"It was surprisingly great, actually. I can multi-task, Clarke." Anya shot back, appearing a little amused for whatever reason. Clarke halfway hoped Anya wasn't teasing her and had been truthful.

"Not great enough for you to drop your cup. And surprisingly? Did you think I'd be a bad kisser?" Clarke asked quickly, slightly wringing out the wet washcloth before putting it back on the burned area, taking some comfort in Anya's happy hum.

"I'd only asked you to treat me like I wasn't diseased. I didn't expect that. And no, I did everything I could to hold onto my cup, because if I dropped it, it would have broken, and I'd have to clean and sweep it up, and I would have broken something that wasn’t mine to break. Give yourself some credit that it wasn't easy at all for me, and you did get rid of my headache for a minute or two. Though I have to ask...why four kisses?" Anya clarified, the answers maybe not soothing her wounded pride entirely, even if it did feel better to hear Anya enjoyed it.

Clarke offered a simple shrug, knowing the answer was easy. "You called me out. I didn't kiss back the other times, meaning it didn't count. So I gave you three to make up for those ones, and the fourth for the mistletoe we were under at the time." She explained, earning a slow, thoughtful nod from the other woman. "You really helped Lexa with our first few dates?"

Anya's airy laughter caught her off guard, the sound both unfamiliar and appealing, a very potent reminder that she hadn't really spent a lot of time around Anya in the past seven months she and Lexa had been dating. "She was a wreck. Adorable, but a wreck. The first day she called me about you writing your phone number on the receipt, she was midway through a panic attack, rambling at length about the beautiful woman who'd buy a mocha latte and a cherry turnover." Anya said, eyes slipping shut as she smiled brightly. "Honestly, by the end of the call, I thought I'd gotten her courage up enough for her to call you. It'd been a two hour long phone-call."

Clarke's jaw dropped at the last detail. "You're kidding. She never talks that long."

Anya leveled her with a knowing stare. "About you? Of course she does. Why do you think our Sunday mornings run so long?" Anya asked, brow furrowing when Clarke let out a gasp, as if she could be so unaware of how her words were literally blowing her mind. All this time, she'd been envious, perhaps jealous, especially with how Lexa would talk at length about Anya, but hearing Anya laugh and smile about Lexa rambling adorably about her? She halfway wanted to rush out and throw Lexa into bed, even while her other half wanted to stay exactly where she was and hear more from Anya. "Anyways, so I go to bed expecting her to tell me the good news the next day at lunch. But instead, she doesn't show, and I get another call that evening. Another hour and a half. Rinse and repeat, basically, for the next six days until I finally dragged her into her bedroom, called you on her phone, and forced the issue. So yeah, I've been there the whole time. You won me over forty minutes into the first call, of course I armchair quarterbacked the first few dates. She was a mess."

Clarke was laughing by the end of Anya's spiel, finding it hard to believe her loving and relatively cool-headed girlfriend could ever be so fumbling. "She was not a mess. She was so calm and sweet and wonderful on those dates."

"Clarke, she started crying during that first phone call to me because she was imagining you two kissing each other goodnight. I love Lexa, but she only got more endearingly amusing from there on out. It took a lot of work to prepare her." Anya countered, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes as Clarke just gaped. It did make sense, though, since Lexa had definitely let a few tears fall when she'd kissed her goodnight on the first date.

Honestly, it only endeared her to Lexa more, even if that all raised a few pressing questions about Anya.

"I appreciate it, really. But...I have to ask..." Clarke started, watching Anya's humour vanish into a serious expression, leaving her wondering if Anya might have been psychic or something. Still, she had to know. "You're clearly carrying a torch for Lexa. Like...I don't blame you...and I will say that until now, I've actually been intimidated by that, by what you two have. That's...that's why I've been so hostile around you, I guess. But...I guess my question is...why didn't you try? You had every opportunity."

Anya's defeated sigh and tired eyes told Clarke more than enough, but when the words came, she felt appreciative that she could at least fill in all the blanks. "Lexa will never want me as a lover more than she needs me purely as a friend. It's that simple. I've always looked out for her, I've been her confidant, her 'mom friend'...you have to understand, her parents already regretted her when she came out as trans. When she came out as a lesbian, it was just her, alone. I was all she had for a time, so I never really had a chance to be that to her. I've always been her anchor. I still am, and I love her for it, and I don't regret it. I just know that asking her to love me the way she loves you would put what we have at risk, and she wouldn't ever risk it, so I won't ever ask her to." Anya explained at length, sniffling slightly as she nodded to herself and shot Clarke a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

That wasn't the look of someone with much hope, or recent heartbreak. She recognized it from her mom's eyes whenever she'd talk about dad. Like an old, nagging shrapnel wound from the heartbreak that wouldn't ever really go away, and couldn't ever really get better on its own. That even if someone came by to piece it back together, some pieces just weren't able to be removed due to the risk. Some pieces would always hurt.

"I'll give her away at her wedding, and you'll make her happy 'til death do you part. And then you'll be her anchor, and I'll...I'll figure it out on my end of things. Because she'll be happy, and you'll be happy, and I'll keep being her best friend, and hopefully I'll find someone to call home, too." Anya continued with a voice that made at an attempt at being reassuring even as it was undermined by the thick unstable emotion her words trembled with. Anya tilted her head back as tears rolled down her temples, letting out a wistful sigh that had Clarke's heart feel like it was about to split. "Maybe someone who won't order pineapple on her pizza. That's the dream, I suppose."

It was about as ham-handed an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and distract from a person's overwhelming emotions as Clarke had ever witnessed, but she let it happen, laughing along with Anya, knowing the woman needed it, needed someone to share the moment with, if just for a little bit. And for someone as selfless and loving as Anya, Clarke was more than happy to do that, finding herself surprisingly partway wishing she could be that person for Anya if it didn't mean giving up Lexa or her beloved pepperoni-pineapple pizza.

She'd been so wrong about the woman. Anya had been best friends with Lexa for ages, so of course she'd keep Clarke on her toes and make sure she didn't grow complacent, make sure she kept treating Lexa as she should. Of course she'd play the part of the hard to win-over friend to see if Lexa was worth it to her, to see if any toxic issues like jealousy and insecurity would rule her instead of her love for and trust of Lexa. Maybe she hadn't passed with flying colours, but Anya still gave her a pass. Still approved of her.

"I'm so sorry." Clarke spoke as the laughter died down, letting Anya's exhaustion rise to the surface. The other woman's mouth opened to speak, but Clarke was faster. "Please, just...I'm sorry. For treating you like I did, for making you think I thought less of you. You're...kind of incredible. The complete package, and it wasn't that I was disgusted with you before, I just...you're really intimidatingly beautiful, and your lip-gloss is the tastiest thing ever, and I felt frustrated and guilty that you were making it hard for me. That I was supposed to see you as an enemy of sorts, and I still wanted to kiss you."

Clarke took a deep breath, trying not to feel shaken or excited by the sheer intensity of Anya's soft gaze. "So just...don't lose hope. Because if I could clone myself, I'm pretty sure my clone would swear off pineapple if it meant being lucky enough to have a shot at dating someone like you. There are women out there who're worthy of you, and if they wouldn't jump at the chance to be with you, they'd be idiots."

Anya just shook her head and laughed. "Your clone absolutely would not give up pineapple on pizza, we both know that. And I appreciate the sentiment but...it's not like I've been hung up over Lexa all my life and swore off romance with others entirely. I've been trying to date for the past four and a half years. I just have to hope someone will eventually want me enough. I'm sure it'll happen someday, I don't need any pity just because I haven't found the right one yet."

Clarke ran through her mental list of single friends, pairing each up with Anya and feeling a growing sense of revulsion at each imagined scenario. The thought of a double date with her and Lexa alongside Anya and Raven shouldn't have had Kill Bill sirens blaring in her head, and it certainly shouldn't have had her wanting to take hold of Anya, or dishing out some more amorous action.

She shook her head and took a breath to calm herself, only to still at the strange quiet. There was supposed to be karaoke. Clarke was suddenly unaware when the music had stopped. "We've been gone a while...weird that no one's checked up on us."

Anya opened her mouth to speak and promptly closed it, lower lip sticking out in a confused pout as she tilted her head, the gears clearly whirring in her head. "That is weird. I've been here for over two hours, and there was always someone coming by to talk to me or bump into me every five minutes. It was weird."

Clarke's eyes went wide at Anya's account. "Yeah, you know...the only time I ever really got any uninterrupted time was when I bumped into you. Like, even when I was drawing Aden, people were always coming up to me, asking me to get them stuff from around the house."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Ugh, tell me about it. I was given the job of ferrying booze from the garage to the kitchen, and Lexa's had me heading up and downstairs, going on veritable scavenger hunts whenever Octavia wasn't asking for my help searching for a lost earring, or something. Even when I escaped to the sunroom, I couldn't get a moment of peace, someone always tracked me down within a few minutes."

"Come to mention it, I really couldn't get much time with Lexa tonight. Whenever I could, she was always asking me favors, for me to go grab something, or help someone with something." Clarke noted slowly, some confusing pieces starting to fall into place. "I didn't really notice anyone else that was always on the go except you, really. Sometimes Raven and O and Lincoln, but I'd only really catch them moving around to come check on me, or go talk to you."

Anya's eyes narrowed in suspicion momentarily before the other blonde shook her head, smoothing out her expression. "It's a bit much to think up conspiracy theories."

Clarke shifted her gaze to the mistletoe hanging under the door frame's crown molding for a brief moment before shooting Anya an expectant stare. "Do you really believe Raven installed cameras just to catch a clip of Monty and Miller kissing?" She asked, feeling a shred of victory at how Anya's face scrunched up in clear bewilderment.

"Was that why she...no, that can't be right. She's caught video of those two on her phone before, I remember Lincoln talking about it a month or two ago. She wouldn't go all out with cameras for something like that." Anya answered, the revelation coming as a surprise, given how the two tended to seriously shy away from PDAs. "But...oh...oh. Fuck me." Anya let out with a jagged tone, clearly coming to some frustrating realization.

Clarke wanted to be happy she came to a disturbing conclusion not a few seconds later, but the whole conspiracy theory was getting a bit strange. "We were the only ones running around the house. Way more likely to run into people and trigger the mistletoe."

"More likely to run into each other." Anya added, frowning deeply as she let out a heavy breath. "Clarke, you...you should probably go find Lexa. Talk to her. See what's up, because this...I'm not sure what's going on, and I think it'd be dangerous for me to come to any conclusions."

Clarke nodded, knowing that was probably for the best. She had more than enough ways of getting answers. Still, she had a few things she had to do first, bringing the cloth back under a stream of cool water and wringing it out, needing to make sure Anya's burn was taken care of as she re-covered the sensitive area. Second, she searched around before sticking her hand in Anya's left pocket of her jeans, pulling out her lip gloss.

"First things first." She murmured, ignoring Anya's confused pout as she took hold of the woman's jaw and applied the gloss to her lower lip. Anya's eyes narrowed in confusion, but she rolled her lips together to spread it around.

"O...kay?" Anya asked with a single breathless laugh, Clarke just then noticing how tense the woman's body was, how shallow Anya's breathing was, how much her eyes were blown.

Well...I guess that answers that... She mused to herself as she pulled Anya into a kiss, setting a languid pace as she stroked the beautiful woman's face. She couldn't help but love the peachy taste, adoring how utterly responsive Anya was to each shift in angle, each change in pressure, feeling a deep seated thrill at the tiny mewl that left Anya's throat as she pulled away.

"If they wanted us to kiss, they can't be mad if we do, or if we like it." Clarke insisted, holding Anya's wide-eyed soft gaze, heart thrumming with all the courage and confidence she could want after that kiss. "You go rest up your head, maybe take some ibuprofen, okay? I'll find you when I have answers."

Entirely determined, Clarke spun on her heel and marched out of the bathroom in search of her girlfriend and answers.

Okay, so that was the first half or so of this festive little Clarke/Anya/Lexa ficlet. The Lexa POV section after this has given me a lot of issues, so it’s been in repair and I might just scrap it and avoid a Lexa POV altogether going forward. I wanted to see if I could manage it, and I could to a degree but it was rough and kinda stilted/wooden, and I wanted better than that. Still gonna be clexanya.

#clexanya fanfiction #clexanya #the 100 fanfiction #christmas kisses #thedeadflag #long post

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wingheadshellhead · 7 years ago

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Hey, I've been skimming a lot of Iron Man and Avengers comics. I can't believe the amount of maiming and physical hurt Tony endures through most of them. I might be incredibly naive but are there any cute comics with Tony like "Thor: The Mighty Avenger"? Or non-IM comics where it's just adventures, Tony being a Science-Dad or something, where he doesn't get the daylights kicked out of him on the reg? Are the older comics from the 60s or 70s any kinder? Thank you!

he is……. really marvel’s favorite punching bag and whipping boy. like, there is your Standard comic book character SufferingTM that they all go through, and then there is the Tony Stark equation which goes something like: Blame for every single thing under the sun that is related to the current universe-wide event but also multiple past (and future!) events + Tasteless, unwarranted jokes about his mental illness and stability that are treated as perfectly normal observations by both characters (and writers) + Canon narratives and dialogue explicitly seeming to support characters (and writers) who have extremely selective memories about what… actually happened… in canon = An average year for comic Tony Stark.

as the official professional tony stark authority on this website (the universe), nat @knightinironarmor has an extremely fantastic and comprehensive list here. with more great additions from @blossomsinthemist here.

the 60s and 70s comics are equally heavy but i’d say they’re fairly well-balanced with feel-good tony moments? there’s definitely a lot more up + down of highs and lows rather than just a never-ending plummet to rock bottom. but again, tony is one of those characters whose stories lend best to tragedy and the maiming and physical hurt is just a regular occurence due to his physical condition (shrapnel-induced issues as well as canonical issues with heart problems + not superhuman squishy human in only a metal suit + terrible at self-care and… going to hospitals and seeking proper medical care + high susceptibility to mind control and mental manipulation in part – and this is my own personal headcanon but i think it’s pretty accurate – due to his struggles with mental illness/es). aside from being marvel’s go-to scapegoat, tony is, and will always be, your Classic Tragic Hero, in every sense of the word and archetype.

fun avengers/team-centric appearances:

tony’s appearances in guardians of the galaxy vol. 3 are some of my favorite panels ever.

avengers assemble vol. 2 !!!!! not the one based on the show but the original 2012 run by deconnick, specifically #1-5, #11, #24, #25 and the annual.

the entire marvel adventures: avengers run is also a lot of fun, super light-hearted and 0% pain or unnecessary suffering.

gotta rep avengers: prime for the rainbows and naked horseback riding.

new avengers vol. 1 is specifically the run i am never going to shut up about every but it’s one of my favourite team-ups (iron man, captain america, spider-man, spider-woman, power man, wolverine) and it’s a Lot of fun.

avengers vol. 3 is relatively light on the angst and it’s another great team-up

avengers vol. 4 deals with the aftermath of civil war so things are still a little tense but it’s got some great tony moments and the team being an actual team.

specifically, if you’re looking for science dad moments:

tony’s appearances in invincible iron man vol. 3, riri’s run, have been amazing and all kinds of wonderful

all-new all-different avengers has all the dad!tony and smolvengers stuff, including tony taking the trio of kids on a ‘field trip’ to space. in all-new marvel he’s also shown up in ms. marvel #4 and #6, spider-man #6 and nova #3

one of tony’s earliest dad!tony moments was with one anya corazon in avengers assemble #24.

i Loathe everything abt this run incl. tony’s and peter’s characterisations in it but amazing spider-man vol. 4 #15 features some nice (although ooc lol) tony and peter interactions but More Importantly mj in the iron spider suit teaming up w/ tony to kick ass.

one-off appearances in other characters’ runs:

daredevil vol. 3 #29, aka…. the most beautiful and iconic thing sb has ever had tony stark do and it wasn’t even in his own comic oh my god.

captain marvel vol. 1 #2 and captain marvel vol. 2 #1 bc tony and carol’s friendship is incredible ignore everything you’ve heard about them from 2017.

she-hulk vol. 3 #1, bc like tony himself i am in Awe of jenn walters and love their dynamic to death.

thor vol. 2 #80 and #81 where tony actually shows up in the ragnarok event! it’s cute! and there is a little tony with kids moment!

black widow vol. 4 #1 and black widow vol. 5 #12, natasha and tony’s relationship in the comics is so so so underrated and overlooked and i demand Justice bc their history goes back to literally tony’s first appearances in tales of suspense and as a result, their modern day friendship is super cute and Deep and it’s just nice when writers actually remember it exists.

#mod: answer #answer: comic recs #anonymous #character: tony stark #i cb how hard im struggling trying to think of a Good Tony Comic where he isn't in pain or suffering at some point #and it's not even in a balanced way lmao #like comedy or light-heartedness to balance out the ever-spiralling angst and nothingness #b o i #typically anything that shows tony being remotely happy and cute and doin ok with life #goes up on the blog immediately.#this is not a lot of recs but if you're in need of more i'd be happy to list some more #i just can't think of any more specific ones atm

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jennycalendar · 7 years ago

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honeymoon

this little thing has been finished & unposted for almost a year now, for reasons unclear...i think i was going to try and make it longer maybe? but anyway i’m bringing it out for @sih who i love and treasure

so, so, so painfully fluffy. i almost want to apologize

The day after Jenny gets married, her husband orders takeout at seven in the morning, calls Anya to tell her she’ll be running the shop for the day, and finds the portable DVD player so they can watch all her favorite action movies while eating Chinese food. Jenny has never loved a person more.

“Budge up,” says Rupert, and nudges her impatiently. “You’re stealing the blankets.”

Jenny makes a face at him. “You just can’t cope with the fact that you have to share,” she says. “Do you know how many times I wake up with no blankets?”

“None at all, because you’re a blanket thief.” Rupert pulls her onto his lap and fumbles with the DVD player. “I found a few movies you might enjoy,” he says.

“Oh, no, you said action movies,” says Jenny, eyes widening, and makes an effort to remove herself from the nest of blankets. Rupert wraps his arms around her stomach, holding her in place, and kisses the top of her head. She ignores this. “If you make me sit through a long, pointless documentary on the first day of our marriage, we’re gonna set a record for Most Speedily Divorced Couple In Sunnydale.”

“It isn’t pointless—”

“Is it a documentary?”

“It has massacres! It’s essentially an action movie, only much more historically accurate.”

“I’m married to a man who considers history documentaries action movies,” says Jenny long-sufferingly, and reaches for the container of Chinese food. “I’ll have to drown my sorrows in fried rice.”

“That’s the tofu,” says Rupert, gesturing towards the container she’s holding. Jenny glares at him. He grins slightly and kisses her temple. “Chin up, love, it’s only the rest of your life,” he says. “You’ll get used to the documentaries.”

“I am going to take you out to a real action movie,” Jenny informs him through a mouthful of tofu, “with explosions, and you are going to enjoy the historical inaccuracy.”

“I can assure you I will not,” says Rupert gravely, taking the container from Jenny and using a fork to get some tofu for himself. “It’s distasteful, the way modern cinema is beginning to deteriorate.”

“You are such a snob!” Jenny says with a disbelieving laugh, only this time it’s with years of love behind it. She turns and kisses him playfully, and he kisses her back so eagerly that he drops his forkful of tofu on the bed. “And look,” she adds, pulling away, “you’re getting everything sticky. Human mess.”

“Critic.”

“Academic elitist.”

“You took me to monster trucks.”

“God, that was three years ago, am I ever going to live that down?”

“Never.” Rupert pulls her into his arms, and suddenly Jenny’s feeling this giddy rush, because this is the man who she wants to spend the rest of her life with, looking at her like she hangs the moon. Sometimes she forgets how in love with him she is until moments like this, and then it hits her like a freight train. “Till death do us part.”

“Oh, don’t get all cliché on me, we never had any vows,” Jenny huffs. “We just went and picked up a marriage license.”

“For legal reasons,” Rupert agrees, not sounding at all like he means it. “Really, for all intents and purposes, it was just a marriage of convenience.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Quite.” Rupert smiles slowly. “I already knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with you, so this is just semantics.”

“You’re an utterly hopeless romantic,” says Jenny, and kisses him, gripping the front of his shirt to pull him in. Rupert sighs and kisses her back, and they fall against the pillows for a few moments before Jenny pulls away and says, “The blankets are still sticky.”

“I’ll throw them in the laundry.”

“No laundry on honeymoons. We throw them out the window and we get new sheets from,” Jenny pauses, thinking, “somewhere.”

“The linen closet.”

“Yes. Smart husband.”

“I’m quite a catch.”

Jenny still can’t cook. “Really destroys the housewife stereotype,” she says to Rupert, who has only recently stopped thinking of himself as Giles. It’s been years of Giles and Mr. Giles and he’d gotten so used to it that he’d just expected it to be that way forever, but now he’s starting to think that maybe he’ll be able to be Rupert for the rest of his life. They live on a Hellmouth, anyway, and he’ll die before he lets his wife (his wife) get hurt, so he suspects he’ll be Rupert for a long time coming.

Off topic. Jenny can’t cook, and she wants him to teach her.

“Eggshells,” says Rupert, feeling vaguely horrified. “You crack the eggs and you leave the eggshells in.”

“Are you not supposed to do that?” says Jenny with genuine confusion. “I thought—you know, food is food, right? Like how you can eat watermelon rinds?”

“You—can’t eat watermelon rinds, Jenny.”

“Is my entire life a lie?” Jenny’s frowning thoughtfully. “This is all very disheartening.”

“Before we delve into kitchen philosophy,” says Rupert patiently, stepping around his wife (he keeps on saying that in his head, his wife, just like he tries out his name), “we should perhaps work on cooking the eggs. Whisk?”

“Aren’t you going to get out the eggshells?” Jenny inquires, and moves to stick her hand into the egg mixture.

Rupert catches it. “Hygiene,” he reminds her.

“Oh, don’t patronize me, I washed my hands,” says Jenny a bit childishly. “And it’s not like anyone but us is eating it.”

She does have a point. “Fair enough,” Rupert agrees. “Eggshell away, ma fève.”

Jenny rolls her eyes and smiles, leaning into him as she picks out the eggshells. “Is this going to be a thing?” she inquires. “Lots of lame food-related nicknames when I’m in the kitchen?”

“I find it fitting,” Rupert objects playfully.

“How so?”

“You’re small and romantic.”

“What does a bean have to do with romance?” Jenny challenges him.

“French is a romance language.”

Jenny stares at him, then turns on the sink just so she can splash him with dishwater. “You should be ashamed, Rupert Giles,” she says with a laugh in her voice. “And besides which, I’m hardly as much of a romantic as you are.”

“Fair enough,” Rupert agrees, “but you’re romantic enough to put up with me.”

Jenny opens her mouth, shuts it, and wrinkles her nose slightly, clearly trying to formulate an argument to his statement. Rupert kisses the crinkle in her nose, and she bats him away with a laugh. “Stop,” she objects. “I want to tell you how wrong you are.”

“Oh?”

“I could do it in Latin,” says Jenny in a low, smoky voice, looking up at him through her lashes.

Rupert feigns a swoon. “Truly, you know how to seduce a man,” he says, and quite means it. “Talk Latin to me.”

Jenny steps closer, placing a sticky hand on his shirt and getting egg everywhere. She dissolves into hysterical laughter and somehow manages to knock over the bowl, splattering them both with egg. “See?” she gasps. “See, this is why I don’t cook!”

“So much has been explained,” Rupert says dryly, and tugs her into his arms, heedless of egg. Jenny’s still laughing as she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I’ll clean it up, if you like,” he suggests.

“Good plan,” Jenny agrees. “I’ll probably cause more damage. Somehow.”

“Hardly,” says Rupert sincerely. “You fix things.”

Jenny’s playful smile turns into something touched and sweet as she kisses him. He stumbles back and finally knocks the overturned egg bowl off the counter, shattering it on the ground.

#fic #calendiles #committed to job meets commitment issues #rupert giles #jenny calendar #i love u so much yves

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kokkoro · 7 years ago

Text

unfolds like spring (4/?)

me, back at it again with the daycare au

(on ao3)

“I think we’re due for an upgrade soon,” Clarke tells you one afternoon, her voice soft among the late spring breeze. You look at her next to you, the sun warm and her smile warmer, and the kids chatter sounds far off and distant.

“Upgrade?”

“Yeah.” She gives a little shrug, looking back out over the playground and you follow her line of sight. There’s Jenna and Temple in the shade under the slide, their fingers dug into the dirt, grass stains on their knees. “A new swing, maybe. A nicer slide. A sand pit that has a little more sand.…”

You feel the smile long before it reaches your lips. “Sounds like you have something in mind.”

“Maybe,” she says.

“Maybe,” you repeat, skeptical, and she smiles back.

She squeezes in next to you when the kids are gone, pulls up a chair beside you behind your desk and the comfort you feel when you slip your hand into hers is second to none. The last rays of evening sun stumbles over the lines of your hands, crumbles into the shadows between your palms. It’s a softness you can’t believe is real.

“What do you think?”

“We don’t have the money for this, Clarke.” Your thumb passes lazily over her knuckles, eyes focused on the printouts in front of you. “I know you’re trying to help, but it’s just not the right time.”

“We could do a fundraiser. Make it a community thing.” She squeezes your hand and you look at her begrudgingly out of the corner of your eye. You’re all too familiar with the small teasing smile she gives you. “I know it might be hard to believe, but people really like this place--the kids really like this place. Don’t you think we could do a lot more for it if we had help? Imagine what it could be...”

You don’t answer, looking back to the papers spread over your desk with a sigh. It’s not impossible. Nothing is. And if you were being honest, you believe there’s nothing Clarke can’t do.

“A fundraiser,” you acquiesce, an exhale.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “The possibilities are endless.”

“You have to spend money to earn money.”

She shrugs. “Details.”

“The devil is in the details,” you shoot back and Clarke rolls her eyes

“I was thinking a bake sale,” she says instead, pointedly ignoring your pessimism, and your lips tilt a smidge upwards. “Or a car wash. Maybe even, like, I don’t know, a one time doggie daycare--”

“Amav is allergic,” you say, but god her smile is infectious.

“Alright so, no dogs. A minor setback, but that’s fine, we got this. There’s more idea’s where that came from.” She nods to herself, this small little dip of her head, and you watch the familiar determined crease form between her brows.

It’s captivating in its simplicity, a telltale of the swirl of thoughts you’ll soon be privy to, and you listen because you love her. You watch her mouth and the way her nose scrunches thoughtfully as she tries to work through the problems by talking to you; her eyes and how they return to you, following this path from your eyes to your mouth to your hands.

If there’s a start, it might as well be here.

You decide on a bake sale. Something small to kickstart the ‘renovations’ as Clarke likes to call it and you figure a bake sale will facilitate enough money to, perhaps, upgrade the swings. Clarke makes a newsletter to send home to the parents and the response is overwhelming to say the least.

Clarke doesn’t stop grinning the entire day. You let her get away with it.

Your kitchen is a mess, but to say you didn’t see this coming is a lie. While you’re not the most prolific cook, experience has taught you that there’s a comfort ingrained somewhere between the potential simplicity and the step by step instructions of a cook book. Costia had been a connoisseur of interesting foods and that meant, if only by association, so were you. The fridge was always stocked, the cupboards full of spices hoarded from the farmer’s market, and the first and only true sign of evening had been the clink of kitchenware, pots boiling over on the stove.

The ritual had fallen away with her, as did other things following the incident, and it wasn’t something you ever had the intention of revisiting. But as you stand in the kitchen watching Clarke crack open eggs over a bowl of flour, the memories make a sudden and surprisingly welcome return.

For a while there’s nothing but the dull sound of the wooden spoon hitting the sides of the bowl as she mixes the ingredients together, idling while she runs a finger over the cookbook she has spread open next to bowl. She pauses, lips pursed, and taps her finger thoughtfully against the page, taking a moment to ponder before looking up. She finds you and smiles, gesturing with a small flick of her head. You watch her mouth move, focused on the curl of her lips, but the words don’t register. Not right away, and by then it’s already too late.

“Lexa,” you hear and her smile is evident in it.

“Hm?” you hum innocently, looking up from her lips. You try to ignore the knowing look on Clarke’s face, instead taking those few steps that brings you to her side.

“I was wondering,” she says slowly, teasing, spoon still in the bowl of cookie dough. You watch her fail to fight off a smile. “If you could get me the sugar.”

You lean in without pretense, kissing her softly there in your kitchen because it’s something you need to do. Her hand finds your cheek, cups it gently, cooking momentarily forgotten. It reminds you to savor it. All of it.

“I don’t count,” she whispers, lips soft against yours and this quiet laughter hanging in the back of her throat. It draws you in so easily.

“You should,” you reply, close and unwilling to move away.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

Friday morning is a lot like your kitchen: a mess. There’s flour still dusting the countertops, splatters of white and random little bits of eggshells. Dirty cookie sheets mock you from their spot on the oven, the remains left out overnight to harden and will no doubt be a thorn in your side later, but you don’t take much notice of it now.

There’s a peculiar urgency you become swept up in. Clarke’s a whirlwind as she sweeps through the apartment gathering the last few things for the bake sale. Hair half-done, shirt askew, and you catch her in the little bits in between, one button at a time. You tug the collar of her shirt level, sliding another button through, and she stands still as best she can before she’s swept up by something else.

She lets you steal kisses though. Or maybe it's more accurate to say she’s stealing them from you.

“Shit,” she mutters against your lips, pulling away. “Sorry. I forgot the… give me two seconds.”

You manage the last button on her blouse before she slips away again, leaving you by yourself in the hall as she disappears into your bedroom. When she doesn’t return, you make your way back into the kitchen to wait, getting your coffee mugs ready for the road and covering the platters of cookies on the kitchen island in plastic wrap. Everything is more or less good to go when Clarke finally emerges and you can’t help the grin.

“Are you ready to go?”

She swipes her phone from the counter, stuffing it in her back pocket. “Yes, thank you.”

You make it with plenty of time, but it takes a few trips to the car and back until you have everything situated in your room. You put Clarke in charge of setting up the outdoor sign while you tackle the indoor setup. There’s a few fold-out tables you manage to wrestle into place. Anya helps you set up the coffee maker you borrowed from the break room with little travel cups and their lids stacked off to the side. It’s a neat little set-up. A bit rag-tag maybe, but neat.

The table fills out as the kids come in. There’s more cookies than you can count, tiny raspberry danishes, little red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, a plate packed full of buckeyes, and a dessert made with khoya that Amav is more interested in keeping for himself (“it’s gulab jamun!” he tells you excitedly, and you repeat it back to make sure you’re pronouncing it correctly) among other things.

It's an event nearly four weeks in the making, and looking at it now you’re still unsure what exactly to expect. You did what you could, put out flyers at all the popular places in town, sent out word on social media, and you know that nothing is guaranteed. At the worst, you’ll be subjected to eating sweets for the rest of the week, but looking at Clarke when she joins you and the kids situated in the lobby, waiting for what the day may bring, you hope things turn out for the better.

Luckily for your stomach, it does.

You have a little rush in the morning as people head to work. The breakfast items and some of the cookies go first, the coffee forever flowing, and time seems to fly by. Around early afternoon The old lady who lives down the street (and who has been around enough to know you long before you started officially working here) stops by and takes one of everything and a coffee to go.

“Keep the change,” she says, slipping you an extra ten. She gives you a wink, looking to you then Clarke and then nonchalantly back down at her purse as she stuffs everything back inside. Nothing you say makes her take the money back.

The kids like the new faces, they like helping and the excitement of it all, and on more than one occasion you slip them a few cookies from the backup table and tell them to keep it a secret. The pile dwindles fast, and if you were a betting girl, you’d say you weren’t the only one sneaking them snacks.

There’s a lull after lunch and you and Clarke take the time to reassess your situation. The kids finally eat something that isn’t half made of sugar and then you take them outside to work a bit of the excess energy that has built up since this morning while Anya helps Clarke run the bake sale. Even with them worked up, red in the cheeks from play, they’re eager to get back and help.

They last an hour before the yawns start and by the time pick up rolls around you know they’re ready for a good nap. To be honest, so are you.

“What’s for dinner?” Clarke asks, nudging you gently in the side with her elbow. There’s no one besides you two and Aden and Clarke’s voice has gone soft. A few leftover pastries are scattered over the remaining plates, the hum of the coffee machine a low and barely noticeable backdrop, and you look at her seated next to you and manage a tired smile.

“A good night’s sleep?” you say.

Clarke rolls her eyes, leaning into you. “I mean something I can actually put in my mouth.”

“Takeout?”

Clarke nods thoughtfully. “I can work with that.”

Clarke volunteers to pick up the takeout and drops you off at your apartment building, leaning over the center to console to give you a kiss and a soft, “see you soon,” before pulling back out onto the road. You stand there for a little bit, watching as the red tail-lights of your car disappear around the corner and then a little bit longer because it’s easier to stand there than move.

You do though. Eventually. Turning away from the cool evening breeze to shuffle into your apartment building and up the flights of stairs to your home. You turn on the lights, wander over to the counter to scrub off as much caked-on residue from the cookie sheets before letting them soak in the sink while you shower.

You don’t take long (though Clarke would say otherwise) and by the time you’re toweling your hair you hear the familiar sound of Clarke rummaging through the kitchen. You run a hand through your hair, ruffling the knots away as you nudge the door open wider with your shoulder.

Clarke’s by the island, already changed into comfy clothes and nearly through a small plate of lo mein and an open container of egg rolls. She looks up from her chopsticks and smiles, little bits of rice falling back onto the plate she holds in her right hand. “Hey.”

“Hey to you too.”

“I got chinese,” she says with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “Do you want some?”

“I’m good,” you reply, watching her. There’s something indescribable in the simplicity of this moment. “Thank you, though.”

Clarke nods and looks away, a slight blush spreading across her cheeks as she finishes off the last few piles of rice. She sets her plate down in the sink with the cookie sheets. “I also maybe got some paints, too?” She glances at you over her shoulder before her attention returns to the plate she washes quickly and then deposits in the other sink. “You know, for fun or whatever.”

When she finally turns to you, the look on Clarke’s face can only be described as hopeful and you stand there in the middle of the hall dressed for a quiet night in after a hectic week. It’s certainly not what you had in mind but–

“And this paint’s supposed to go where?”

“On you?” Clarke says, the slightest inflection in her voice as she begins to second guess herself. She gives a little shrug of her shoulders, looking over at the plastic bag on the island. “Only if you want. I thought it might be relaxing, you know?”

You watch her run her hand through her hair and that embarrassed blush high across her cheeks makes the butterflies in your chest come alive. Clarke could weasel you into almost anything and you figure she’s due for a little teasing. It emboldens you, and you reach for the edges of your loose t-shirt. “Right now?”

Her throat bobs, swallowing, and her voice is a pitch too high when she says, “whenever.”

Clarke doesn’t look away when you pull the shirt over your head, leaving you in nothing but those worn red boy-shorts in the middle of the hall. You smile when her eyes linger on your breasts, stumble down to your stomach, the shirt dangling in your hand, and then finally back up to your face. She smiles back at you.

“Where do you want me?”

“The bed,” she says without pause. “Just let me grab a few things?”

Your cheeks hurt. “Whatever you need, Clarke.”

You hear the clinking of glasses and the running tap as you settle yourself on the cool sheets of your bed. You pillow your head on your arms, breathing out slowly and you feel the tenseness begin to ease from your body long before Clarke pads into the room. She’s pulled her hair up, collected the curls into a messy bun, and in the dim light of the lamp by the bedside you’ve never seen anything as pretty as her.

Clarke sets a paper plate, some rags, and a low, shallow bowl of water by your side and then crawls onto the the bed with you, settling herself on your lower back once she’s sure nothing will tip. You can’t help the low groan you let out at the weight.

She combs her fingers through hair, brushing it over your shoulder and out of the way. “You’re not already asleep on me are you?”

“I would never,” you mutter into your arms, and then the first tender pass of her hands travels the length of your back, fingers digging gently into the muscles there. You hum at the feeling, deep in your throat, and everything but the touch of Clarke’s hands melts away. Your eyes are closed before you know it. “Please don’t get any paint on the bed.”

Clarke laughs softly. She shifts her weight, leaning forward to place a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Details.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the first cold touch of Clarke’s fingers meeting the middle of your back. It's long broad strokes with her thumb, the pressure consistent and unhurried. You don’t linger in the details and neither does she.

“I borrowed them,” she says finally. In the quietness it seems out of place and she shifts slightly back on your legs. “From the kids. Perfectly sheet and skin safe. I don’t think they’ll miss them.”

“That’s daycare property, Clarke,” you mumble.

“I’ll make up for it,” she replies, this gentle amusement in her voice. The room goes quiet shortly after as Clarke falls deeper into her work and you’re more than content to lie there under Clarke’s hands.

You doze off, mind blissfully blank and your muscles jello. Clarke doesn’t say anything, but when you shift unconsciously, you feel her hands at your waist. Her fingers are cold from the paint and it’s enough to bring you back, steadying you.

“I think you did really great today,” she says, and your hear the ripple of water as she rinses the paint from her hands in the bowl.

“You did great today. This wouldn’t have been if not for you, Clarke.”

A moment later you feel Clarke’s lips against your shoulder. “You absolute softy. Take the goddam compliment.”

“It’s nothing if not the truth.”

Clarke sighs. “I love you. You know that right?”

Your smile is half hidden in your arms. “Is there anything I don’t know, love?”

The noise that escapes Clarke’s throat is somewhere between a groan and a laugh and she gives your butt a light slap. The sting it causes is nearly nonexistent, more exasperated endearment than actual chastisement, but you allow Clarke a few moments of peace before retaliating. You push yourself over, taking Clarke with you and even though it’s slow and careful, it's enough of a surprise to startle her from stopping you. Clarke lands with a huff on her back among the blankets, and luckily for you the shallow bowl of stained water remains upside right.

There’s a little bit of blue paint smudged on her cheek, hair wispy in it’s haphazard bun, curly from being contained. She observes you lying next to her with mild amusement and you watch her eyes. A warmth settles in your chest and you tighten your arm around her waist, pulling her closer. You press your lips to the underside of her jaw, her neck.

“The paint...”

After one last kiss you pull away, propping yourself up on your forearm. “You said it was sheet safe,” you say with a teasing quirk to your brow. “Were you lying?”

Clarke shakes her head, her hand at your bare waist. “No, it is.”

You lean back in for another kiss and Clarke melts into it. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

#clexa #clarke griffin #lexa #daycare au #its been awhile hasn't it #i'll probably find something to change in like five mins but for now here take it im done

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