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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

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Talk Chapter 8

AO3

John drove nearly thirty miles more out of the way before he stopped for gas. He used one of his actual credit cards, under his actual name, so that anybody digitally tracking him would think they were heading west.

Then he turned around and started east. From then on, any stops made would be under a fake name.

What should have been a four-hour drive turned into ten with John’s convoluted path, followed by a refusal to take any interstate that used cameras to track plates. Which meant that most of their trip was spent on smaller routes and unknown roads.

Helen reads on-and-off, shaking her head whenever he stops to look at a map and find a new path.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to plan a route and write it down?” She asks after four hours of his strange driving.

“It’ll be harder for people to track us if I don’t have a plan.”

She takes that with a large eye roll before burying herself back in a book for a little while. They stop again for dinner, this time taking sandwiches to-go.

By the time they reach the Vermont border, Helen looks exhausted, though she doesn’t say anything. “How much further?” She asks softly.

“An hour.”

Exhaustion is starting to consume him as well and it occurs to John that he hadn’t had a full night of sleep since before the fiasco. He had managed to catch a few hours in the chair, waiting for her to wake up, and a few more when he fell asleep by her side.

He’d gone on less but not in a damn long time.

John pulls off the road and down onto the long driveway. “We’re here.” He tells her and Helen sits up a little straighter.

She tries to peer out over the property but it’s cloaked under darkness. She can make out the outline of a house and a window appears lit.

“Whose car is that?” She asks as his headlights glint off another vehicle.

“Marcus.” John answers looking sheepish, like he just remembered, “I probably should have mentioned that.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Probably. Extra security?”

John pulls up to the spot next to Marcus and puts the car in park before turning to her, “I’m not going to be able to do some of the things I need to do remotely.”

“Ah.” Helen nods, “Baby-sitting.”

“I know you’re capable of handling yourself…” he tries to appease but Helen waves him off.

“But Marcus has training. Marcus knows the system.” She shoots him a look, “I know you need me to be safe for you to do whatever it is you have to do. I’m not upset; I’m not offended.”

He really doesn’t deserve her understanding.

In fact, it continues to throw him that she’s still so fucking calm. But he’s not going to question it anymore. If she needs to break down, he’ll be there. And if she doesn’t… well, he’s always known she was the strong one.

Helen grabs her stack of books, piling them back up as John gets out of the car. He grabs the duffle with clothes from the backseat, then goes around to the trunk. Helen comes up and takes a case that, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her, has handguns.

A light flashes on just above the door and Marcus steps out.

“Took you long enough.” The older assassin says, coming down the short set of stairs that lead up to John’s cottage.

“John managed to find the longest, most convoluted route to get here.”

“Lucky I didn’t drag your ass to Canada.” John mutters.

She smirks in response.

“I’m Marcus.” Marcus introduces himself, coming around to the trunk.

“Helen.” She replies.

Marcus looks over her head to John, “Went grocery shopping since I wasn’t sure when you were going to get here. Hit up the liquor store on the way, too. Your bar was lacking.”

“Thank fuck.” Helen says, going up the stairs, “I need a drink.”

John concurred but called out to her, “You have a concussion!”

Helen snorts, “Like you’ve never drank with a concussion!” She calls back as she enters the house.

True enough, John thinks, handing Marcus a bag filled with rifles. Marcus glances back, checking that Helen is inside before he says, “Sofia sends her regards. As well as a congratulations for finally getting laid.”

“For the record,” John says, not wanting Marcus to get the wrong idea or end up saying the wrong thing to Helen, “We’re not sleeping together.”

“No? She’s just staying at your place and wearing your clothes for the hell of it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Ain’t it ever.”

John sighs, also looking up at the doorway where Helen had disappeared, before looking back, “How bad is it looking?”

Marcus grimaces, “It isn’t good, John. You know how rumors go. Nobody knows what’s going on, so everyone is talking about it. Speculating. Coming to their own conclusions. Your name is enough to scare off a few. I talked Perkins down from pursuing it, Ernest too. Harry isn’t going to touch it out of respect and I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

“But that’s not even a handful of people backing down.”

Marcus nods in agreement, “I reached out to Winston. He’s reminding some of the younger crowd exactly what you’re capable of but for some of them, that’s the charm. Kill Baba Yaga’s girl and you make a name for yourself overnight.”

John exhales, “I get it. I was that kid, too. And four million on an open contract is going to be hard to resist.”

“She’s out of the city.” Marcus says, “Anybody else know about this place?”

“No one. Bought it under an unconnected alias.”

Marcus nods again, “You got a plan?”

John lifts one last bag before closing the trunk, “It’s all fucking political. I’m out of my depth. Right now,” he glances up at the house, “It’s all about keeping her safe.”

It’s been years since John had been to the property but that was a good thing. It meant there would be no tracks leading him this way, to a small town in the middle of the mountains.

The house itself was one of John’s smaller properties.

The front door leads straight into the kitchen and John sets down the first load of food on the counter as they pass through to the living room. There’s a sofa with a pullout couch across from a stone fireplace that John has enjoyed reading by on more than one occasion.

It occurs to John, suddenly that he hadn’t done the math.

One pullout couch and one bedroom. Three people.

He thinks, for a moment, that he should have chosen the safehouse in Maine. It was further away from the city, but that served as a double-edged sword.

Too far away from the city would make commuting impossible and John wasn’t sure he could be away from Helen for very long. Not after having her so easily ripped away from him.

There’s a door, just off the living room, that leads to the basement.

The case Helen had taken is sitting on the couch and Marcus picks it up and grabs the other bag with weapons from John. Wordlessly, the older assassin takes them downstairs.

John walks down the end of the hall. There’s a bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. Helen is arranging the books the nightstand by the bed.

She glances up at his presence, “I’ve claimed this side of the bed.” She tells him, nodding to where her books are placed and…

Well, that simultaneously solves the problem and gives him a whole slue of other ones to worry about. Like having to resist every urge to touch her, to hold her like he had that morning. The fact that waking up next to Helen was bound to give him a morning situation that he really didn’t want to have to deal with.

But it was probably the best option.

No, he thinks, it is the best option. Because god forbid anybody make it past Marcus, they sure as hell weren’t getting past John.

He swallows, and just says, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles at him, “Now where the fuck is the alcohol?”

Dealing with Helen in a professional setting verse the real world, John has discovered, isn’t really that different. She swears a bit more than she ever did in session and she’s more likely to tell him something than to let him flounder around and find answer for himself. That, he supposes, was probably due to their dire circumstances.

But all in all, it wasn’t much different. She still had the same no bullshit policy; still pushed him to his limits. Helen was still more than willing to push him around. Challenge him like no one else would ever dare.

“I don’t suppose I can get you to hold off on drinking for another couple of days?” He tries, half-heartedly. He knows he’s being a hypocrite.

“Not a chance.” She replies.

“Liquor cabinet is in the living room.”

She looks him over once, eyes assessing, “You okay?”

John nods, his lips twitching in response. “Yeah.”

Helen walks over and loops her arm through his, “Come on. Think you could probably use a drink, too.”

That he could.

Marcus is back upstairs, sipping on what John assumes is Cognac, sitting in the armchair by the fire.

Helen releases John’s arm as she moves towards the liquor cabinet, squatting down to get a better look inside. Marcus truly had filled it up, John notes. Before, it had just been several bottles of his expensive bourbon. Marcus had added a few wines and two bottles of Cognac.

“There’s vodka in the freezer.” He adds.

Helen grabs a bottle of the red wine and an opener. Forgoing the glasses perched above, she makes her way back to the couch. Expertly, she screws in the mechanism as John pours himself a large glass of Blantons.

He hears the pop of the wine and looks over, ready to offer to bring her a glass but Helen is already drinking from the bottle.

He barely withholds a smile as he caps the bourbon and sets it away.

“That kind of day, huh?” Marcus asks, not unkindly.

She smirks, “Ever spend ten hours in a car with John?”

John shoots her a look as he joins her on the other end of the couch.

“Done about that on stakeouts. Never would have made it through without a flask.”

John flips Marcus off, making the other assassin grin.

Helen sinks back into the couch, taking the bottle with her. He knows Helen well enough to know that she’s not oblivious to the fact that she is under Marcus’ scrutiny. She clearly just doesn’t give a fuck.

He can’t blame her. Especially considering the days she had leading up to all this.

Marcus looks over to him, an eyebrow raised. He gestures with his head to Helen, who is sitting with her eyes closed at the moment, and mouths Does she know?

He nods before taking a sip of his whiskey and he doesn’t miss the look of incredulity on Marcus’s face as he looks back to Helen.

John gets it. He really fucking does.

She’s sitting there joking about the hardest part of her day being putting up with John when there’s a world of assassins currently hunting her down. And Marcus doesn’t even know the half of it.

Helen opens her eyes and takes another long drink from the bottle before looking at Marcus, “So you’re my new babysitter.”

“Is that what John said?” Marcus asks with a pensive smile. He seems to be trying to figure Helen out. John wishes him luck. An impossible task if ever there was one.

Helen rolls her eyes, “Please. John forgot to mention you were here until we literally pulled into the driveway.”

Marcus nods in understanding, “He’s kind of a disaster.”

“Aren’t we all?” She sips from the bottle again.

Marcus salutes her with his glass and drinks. True enough.

“Still,” He says, “I got to wonder—did grad school prepare you for that level of fucked up?”

Helen snorts, “I interned at a mental hospital. Among my clientele were a grown man convinced he was a werewolf, a housewife who thought she was Jesus Christ, and an old army vet who came down with apotemnophilia.”

“I’m not familiar with that.”

“It’s when you have an overwhelming desire to amputate parts of the body, regardless of their health. He used to tell me I’d look much better without my arms. Trust me, John’s not that crazy.”

Even John looks at her with shock at that revelation. She'd joked to him before, in moments of his self-deprecation, that he was nothing compared to some of the cases she had in grad school. But crazy or not, John had the urge to track down the man who had threatened her and-- no. No.

Priorities.

“Maybe not,” Says Marcus after digesting her words, “But I know for a fact John’s severed limbs before.”

“Marcus.” John warns lowly but Helen only laughs.

“As long as it’s not mine, I don’t give a shit.” She rubs at her eyes. She’s tired, John can tell. Emotionally and physically exhausted.

“You should get some rest.” His voice softens of its own accord.

“Pretty sure I’ve slept more than you have during this ordeal.”

“Sedation doesn’t count.”

He ignores the raised eyebrows from Marcus.

“Doesn’t have too.” Helen argues, “Even without it, I’m sure I’ve slept more than you.” But even as she says it, she sighs softly. “Fuck, I didn’t reach out to my clients for today! Is my laptop still in your car?”

John winces. He had hoped, in the confusion of finding out somebody had put a hit on her, she would forget about work. At least for a few days.

He opens his mouth to explain to her that, while yes, he had her laptop, she couldn’t power it on.

She seems to get the picture on her own and her shoulders drop ever so slightly. Guilt clutches him, making his stomach turn.

“I can’t use it, can I?”

John shakes his head, “Your laptop can be turned on, but if we connect it to the internet, the IP address can be traced to our location.”

“What if I use a different computer? My client’s information is all stored online.”

“Any account you have, personal or work,” John feels his self-loathing growing as he answers, “Will have been breached and trapped by now. Any remote access could lead them here.”

“The system we use for client information is encrypted.”

“It won’t matter. The hackers of the Underworld are relentless.” Marcus adds, not unkindly, “And as of right now, you’re the largest monetary hit in the country. And you’re a civilian, which means the people of our world are going to assume you won’t have the skills to defend yourself. John’s name will protect you from some of the smarter, more established killers. But not from everyone.”

She nods, taking it in.

She’s still calm but paired with the exhaustion, John can see it weighing on her.

“My clients are just going to keep showing up at my office, even thought I’m not there.” She says and her voice is strained.

Is this what breaks her? John thinks. Not the kidnapping, not the bounty on her head, but not being able to be there for her clients?

He wants to reach out and take her into his arms. To hold her and to promise her that everything will be okay. That he’ll fix this.

But he doesn’t have that right.

This is still his fault.

“I’m sorry,” John says, forcing himself not to touch her, “And I know this is frustrating. But I’d rather have your clients minorly inconvenienced than have you put yourself at risk.”

She lets out a breath and nods, “You’re right.”

Helen takes another long swig from the bottle of wine before she sets it down on the coffee table.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep.”

John nods, “That’s probably a good idea.”

Standing, she looks back to John, “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

His heart clenches at the gentleness of her voice.

“I won’t.” He promises.

She says a quick good night to Marcus before she heads down the hall. Marcus waits until the door has closed behind her before quietly saying, “She took that better than I expected.”

“She’s tough as hell.” John tells him.

“Did you say she was sedated?”

He huffs a breath, “It was a rough weekend.”

“Oh?”

John nods once, tipping back what was left of his bourbon. It burns down his throat as John explains, “Friday night, Helen was kidnapped from her bed.” Marcus’ mouth opens but John continues, needing to get it out before he loses the ability. “I got a call not long after saying if I wanted her back, unharmed, I had to kill the D’Antonio family.”

Marcus inclines his head, “And given that Senor D’Antonio still lives and the High Table didn’t rain down on your ass, I take it you didn’t do that.”

“I was going to.” John admits, “I didn’t know who took her, only what they wanted. Had no idea where she was or if she was okay. Didn’t have any other leads. But Winston talked me down. Asked me to give him a chance to find who took her before I assassinated an incumbent member of the High Table and his heirs.

“But we had nothing. Not a trace, not a clue. Not a name or an organization. She was held hostage for nearly forty hours. I was ready to go after the D’Antonio’s, consequences be damned. But Helen managed to get her hands on a phone. Long enough to get me a name. Mateo DeLuca.”

“Not familiar.”

John shakes his head, “Nobody is. He’s Dante DeLuca’s son.”

“The heir of the Syndicate?”

John nods once. “It seems that Dante left his heir with a bit of wealth and not a lot of guidance.” John stands, walking back over to the liquor cabinet. He needs the burn in his belly to get him through this. “With his name, the Technician was able to trace down his properties and find out where she was being held. I got her out, got her home.”

John pours another couple fingers and immediately gulps down a mouthful.

He revels in the temporary pain that shoots down his throat, followed by the warming of his stomach. Shaking his head, he says, “I should have gone after DeLuca then. I should have tracked him down and ended this.”

“But you walked away with the girl and the D’Antonio’s are still alive.” Marcus finishes as John knocks back whiskey he would usually savor. “So, he put the hit out on Helen.”

John nods, staring at the bottle of Blanton’s. He wants to drink more but it was too much, too fast. He’d already let his guard down and Helen had been the one to suffer. He needed to keep his head in the game.

“And now I can’t touch him.” John confirms, “Because he’s the only one who can remove the hit. But,” John shakes his head in disgust, “And DeLuca just broadcasted my biggest weakness to the entire Underworld, so even if the hit is removed, she’ll still have people gunning for her.”

It’s so much worse to say it all out loud. To hear himself admit just how badly he fucked this one up. All those months ago, when she gave him her card and he should have chucked it in the trash. Burned it to avoid the temptation to hear her voice again.

But he didn’t.

He knew better.

He knew so much better than to become involved with a person outside the Underworld. He knew how it always ended.

Heartbreak, at best.

Mourning, at worst.

John thought he could manage it. They weren’t together, so why would anyone care?

But they were still emotionally involved, and he hadn’t covered it up well enough.

“I fucked up.” John says, leaving his now empty glass on top of the cabinet and moving back over to the couch. He sits down, feeling defeated, “I fucked up and I don’t know how to fix this.”

Marcus leans forward, thoughtfully. “Does she know how bad it is?”

“I’ve tried to explain it to her. She knows about the bounty, she knows that literally hundreds of assassins are looking for her right now. But she’s eerily calm about the whole thing.”

“Eerily calm in general,” Marcus points out, “I’d think she was in shock from it all if she wasn’t so put together.”

John had to agree and nodded. Helen had said that she processed the possibility of being used against John long before she was kidnapped, and he was sure that helped her to keep her head. But it was going to take a toll on her, as was the bounty.

“I’m afraid it’s going to hit her all at once.” John admits, “God knows she’s tough, but it’s a lot to handle.”

“If it happens, it happens.” Marcus waves a hand, “Deal with it then. Right now, you need to focus on how you’re going to keep her safe.”

“I need to get the bounty removed.”

“Then you’ll need to find DeLuca.”

John huffs, “Not sure I can track him down and not rip him limb from limb.”

“Apparently, some people are into that.” Marcus sits up straighter, “But you know you can’t do that. And DeLuca knows you can’t do that. You’re going to have to choose between revenge and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Marcus rolls his eyes and clarifies, “The woman that you’re clearly in love with.”

He’s too tired to argue and, besides, Marcus is right.

“It’s not a choice.” John replies. He could crave revenge all he liked but nothing would matter if Helen was gone.

“No shit.” Marcus seems deep in thought, “I don’t know much about Mateo. Or Syndicate, for that matter. Didn’t even know they had an active branch in the States.”

“Only one at all, from what I hear. They have their base in Rome and a smaller branch in New York. But everyone seems to have a foot in New York these days.”

Marcus nods in agreement, “You think DeLuca’s will be willing to cut a deal?”

That was another matter entirely, one that nagged John in the back of his head. DeLuca was smarter than John had initially given him credit for. He might not have a good grip on the Syndicate and was clearly overestimating his power as heir, but he was clever.

He’d made his moves wisely in relation to John. Finding his weakness, exploiting it. And when John fought back, he exploited it harder.

“DeLuca wants Rome.” John synthesizes, “And Rome belongs to the Camorra. Fuck, Italy belongs to the Camorra.”

“You think he’ll stick with his original deal, then? Helen’s life in exchange for killing D’Antonio?”

John inclines his head, “If I were in his position, it’s what I’d do. He’s holding all the cards right now.”

“Bluff.”

“With Helen?” John shakes his head, “He wouldn’t believe me. And he’d be right not to.”

“Then make him believe you.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t.” He sighs, “I think about her, and I get tense. I hear her name, and I lose the ability to think straight. I’ve never been a great liar, but I don’t need to be if I just don’t talk. So I don’t talk. But that’s all politics seems to be. Talking and lying and bullshitting each other. I can’t do that shit.”

“You can’t lie?” Marcus asks, momentarily taken aback.

“Not well. I overthink and I know I overthink.”

“You’re an assassin and you can’t lie.” Marcus says again.

John rolls his eyes, “I don’t do the subterfuge bullshit that you and Sofia pull. If I want someone dead, I walk up to them and I kill them.”

“I’ve known you for twenty plus years and I didn’t know you couldn’t lie?”

“Doesn’t come up. You ask me a question I don’t want to answer, I just don’t answer it.”

“Huh.”

“Can we focus on the matter at hand, please?”

Marcus shakes his head, as if he’s clearing it. “Okay. So you can’t bluff to DeLuca. But you also can’t kill Lorenzo D’Antonio without severe consequences.”

“Consequences be damned if DeLuca lifts the bounty.”

Marcus shakes his head vigorously, “It’s suicide by High Table.”

“But she’ll be safe.” He insists, “And with me out of the equation, there would be no reason for anybody else to target her either.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Right now, it looks like the best opt--”

“Shut up.” Marcus interrupts, “Keep talking like that and I’ll go knock on her door and tell her what you’re planning to do.”

“You think she could stop me?”

Marcus gives him a look and John glances away.

It was a shot in the dark. John wasn’t entirely sure that Helen could stop him. He’d eagerly give up his life to keep her safe. A single noble act out of a lifetime of paving a path to Hell.

But Helen was good at getting into his head. And she wouldn’t be happy if she knew that he was considering putting himself in the line of fire over her. Worse, she would be disappointed. Upset. And while he would rather have Helen upset and alive, he wasn’t sure he could stand knowing that he disappointed her.

John feels his shoulders sink in defeat, “So what do I do, then? I kill the D’Antonio’s, Helen gets out alive and my life is forfeit. I don’t kill the D’Antonio’s, and the contract for her life remains open.”

“You’re still guessing at this point.” Says Marcus, “DeLuca hasn’t offered you a deal yet. And maybe you’re right, maybe it’s exactly what he asks for. But maybe he doesn’t offer you shit. Maybe he just wants to see you both suffer after you saved her without giving in to his demands.”

John considers it. Helen mentioned that she told DeLuca, to his face, that he had mommy issues he needed to work on. So, DeLuca definitely was not on Team Helen. And John had killed eight of his men. So, he clearly wasn’t Team John either.

But, if John followed that line of thinking, there was no saving her. If DeLuca had no intentions of dropping the hit, then John was stuck yet again.

Only the patron or the High Table could cancel an open contract and the High Table didn’t do anything that didn’t directly benefit themselves.

If DeLuca refused to drop the contract, then the only way to keep her safe would be to keep her in hiding.

And Helen wouldn’t do that. For now, she would stay at the safe house because John had asked and because she thought it was only temporary. If this went on too long… she’d leave. Or she’d try to. And John would stop her because he’d rather have her safe than dead.

But she would resent him and the thought, alone, made him think that death was a far better option. He would rather be dead than have her look at him with hatred.

Marcus interrupts his line of thought, “Or maybe you can beat him to the punch. Alert the High Table that someone has come to you, pressuring you to kill Lorenzo D’Antonio in exchange for your girlfriend’s life—I know she’s not your girlfriend. But they High Table doesn’t need to know that.” Marcus says, appeasing John before he can correct him.

John considers it, briefly, but shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. If the High Table decides to make an example out of him, he could wind up dead with the contract still open.”

“He’s not a prominent player. He might just get a slap on the wrist.”

“I’m not playing chicken with Helen’s life.”

“No, just with your own.”

Marcus doesn’t understand, John thinks. He doesn’t get it.

“You don’t need to be a martyr.” The older assassin continues.

John looks to his ally, his friend. “Give me another way.” He says, “Tell me how I save her and get out of this alive. Please.”

“There has to be a way.”

“I can’t find it.” John tells him.

“You got her out of the city and out of harm’s way.” Marcus reminds him, emphasizing the fact, “She’s safe. There’s no reason you need to figure this all out tonight.”

John shakes his head, “She’s putting her entire life on hold fo—”

“And I guarantee you if I asked her right now if she would rather keep her life on hold or go back tomorrow at the cost of your life, she won’t fucking hesitate to tell you to stop being an idiot. Hopefully give you a good smack, too.”

“Because she’s selfless.”

“Or maybe, because she cares about you.”

“She cares about everyone.”

Marcus looks at him, shaking his head, “Yeah. That woman, who was making jokes about you dismembering people cares about everyone.”

“It was the context of the situation!”

“Or,” Marcus argues, “She’s not as perfect as you think she is.”

John opens his mouth, ready to argue back but Marcus beats him to the punch.

“And that’s okay. It’s more than okay that she’s human and imperfect, just like the rest of us. And maybe, just maybe, she’s not being a good sport about this because she’s selfless and kind but because she cares about you.”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Jesus, John.” Marcus shakes his head in utter disbelief, “Is it really that hard to believe that somebody could love you?”

It’s a low blow that leaves John speechless. He looks away, wondering if he could get away with another glass of whiskey without becoming liable to say or do something stupid. He decides against it and when he looks back, Marcus is still looking at him like he’s never seen him before.

“Fuck all.” Marcus mutters, “Learned more about you in the last half hour than I have in twenty years of friendship, John.”

John’s not sure what to say to that so he says nothing.

Finally, Marcus’ tone softens, “I get it. If you need to die to keep her safe, then that’s what you’re going to do. But don’t go into this thinking that’s your only path. At least let us try to figure something out before you decide to try a turn at being noble, okay?”

John nods in agreement, “Okay. Fuck, I’m not trying to die here, Marcus. I just don’t see another way at getting DeLuca to drop the contract.”

“We have time.” Marcus reminds him. “We’ll find a way.”

John nods again but he’s not as hopeful as his friend. He’d gambled with Helen’s life once already, thinking he was saving her. But not complying with the demands of DeLuca was what got him into this fucking mess in the first place.

“Blankets for the pull-out are in the hall closet.” John tells him, rising to his feet. He can’t… he can’t talk about it anymore. Not Helen or Syndicate or any of it.

He needs to sleep.

Really sleep, in a bed, uninterrupted.

Maybe then, John thinks, he’ll be able to make sense of it all.

He makes his way down the hall, stopping briefly to use the bathroom. It’s been years since he’d been to the property and while Marcus had stocked up on food and alcohol, they would need other things tomorrow.

Toothpaste and brushes. Soap. Shampoo.

He stares in the mirror over the sink.

He looks like a fucking mess, but he can’t bring himself to care.

John swallows as he leaves the bathroom, gazing across the hall.

“I’ve claimed this side of the bed.” She’d told him earlier.

He really should have chosen the safehouse in Maine he thinks as he quietly opens the door to the bedroom.

The light from the hall shines down on her sleeping form. She’s curled on her side, facing the door, with one hand under the pillow.

How many times, John wonders, had he watched her sleep like this?

From afar. Dreaming of what it would be like to hold her.

Now he knew.

It felt better than he imagined heaven.

Of course, he thinks, he isn’t going to hold her now. They’re just sharing a bed. This isn’t love, like he imagined. Or comfort, like he had given her earlier. This was… convenience.

There was one bed.

He could, John considers, sleep on the floor. Give her the space without intruding. Perhaps that would be the best thing to do.

“Get in the bed, John.” Helen says, not opening her eyes.

He nearly startles at her tired voice… had thought her asleep.

Apparently, he doesn’t move fast enough because she adds, “I can feel you thinking from here. Get in the damn bed.”

John swallows down the lump in his throat. He toes off his shoes and socks, leaving them by the door.

His bag is still at the foot of his bed and carefully, quietly, unzips it and finds the pair of sweatpants he had packed.

While he preferred to sleep in boxers, he was grateful he packed with the foresight of going for a run. He’d much prefer to sleep in sweats than in jeans. He wonders if he should go back to the bathroom but, instead, he goes to what must be his side of the bed.

Her back is turned, and he quickly strips off the jeans and exchanges them for the sweatpants.

John is getting in bed with Helen, not for comfort, but to sleep. And somehow, he thinks, that’s worse. The pseudo-domesticity of it has his head spinning as he pulls back the cover and slips under on his side of the bed.

Helen lets out a soft sigh as the bed dips and rolls to her other side. Her eyes are still closed, he notes.

He longs to reach out and push back her hair but he resists. John closes his eyes and lets himself be lulled by the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

#john wick talk #john wick fanfic #john wick #helen wick #marcus (john wick)#john x helen wick #marcus x john brotp

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golbrocklovely · 5 years ago

Text

only the lonely survive // colby brock - chapter fifteen: and about forgiveness, we’re both supposed to have exchanged

A/N: hey guys :) here’s the next chapter. some crazy stuff happens in this, so let me know what you think. i’ll be coming out with another request at some point soon, so be on the lookout for that.

description of the story

taglist: @ajosieface , @localsleeper , @julyrubyrose , @far-to-many-bands , @absolute-randomness-forever

trigger warning: cursing

word count: 2200

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After talking to Casey for over an hour about Colby and Brennen, I finally went to my room. Removing my dress from the other night and changing into pjs, I scrolled through my phone again out of boredom. I was gaining a lot of followers and subscribers, my dms were filled to the max, and people were tagging me in everything.

This is all a bit overwhelming.

I clicked on my username on insta and went down to my secret account: my Sam and Colby fan account. No one knew of golbrockloves, mostly because I never talked about it. I especially haven't brought it up to Colby.

How do you tell the guy you made out with that you have an instagram dedicated to him and his best friend without looking creepy? Exactly.

I slid down my feed, only to be met with pictures and videos of me. One video was a screen recording of my snapchat from yesterday, me and Colby in the store.

Why does that feel like such a long time ago?

The next couple pictures were from people's stories: screenshots of me and Colby dancing together, me and Colby next to each other in the kitchen, me and Brennen.

I bit my lip anxiously as I clicked on the comments. They weren't exactly bad, but they weren't great.

snc3lifee who the fck is she?????

samnccolbby her @ is skyebennett

lovely_sncc is she dating colby or brennen?

saramcc OMG COLBY AND HER ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER

solby5vr she better stay away from colby!! HES MINE!!!!

dolansnc why can't colby stand next to a girl without everyone shipping her with him? jesus christ this fandom

It was strange to see fans talk about me, as if they didn't know I would see what they were saying. Maybe having this fan account was a good thing: I could see how they all honestly thought about me without anyone knowing.

After reading more and more comments, I could tell most believed me and Colby were together. Or maybe me and Brennen. No one was certain. All they knew was that I was close to both. A lot of fans kept saying that I wasn't dating either one of them and that I was just friends.

While still lurking around on insta, I got a bunch of notifications from my personal account. I switched over to it to see I was tagged in multiple snippets of videos. Clicking on the it, I saw the face of Travis Marcus. He had uploaded a new video to his channel, titled "my truth".

Oh God...

I went to youtube and saw his video was slowly starting to trend. I clicked play and sat down on my bed.

Travis sighed, glancing up at the camera. "Hey guys, it's your boy Travis. Um, I have a lot to get off my chest right now. I'm sorry my energy isn't as high as it usually is. But, I needed to set the record straight. There is a lot of shitty things going around about me lately and I wanted to clear the air and tell you the truth."

"Skye, did you see-" Casey stated, dashing into my room. She stopped when she saw my phone in my hand. We both stood there watching Travis.

"So, as you guys know, I was recently accused of doing something terrible... of bullying another youtuber. I won't say her name because she doesn't deserve any more hate... or clout." His lips twitched, trying to cover up a smirk.

"As if he didn't tag you in the fucking video. Fucking asshat." Casey mumbled.

"One of her friends, Brennen Taylor, an old viner, tweeted that I made fun of her at a party recently. I just wanted to say that this is completely false. What actually happened was that I introduced myself to her. She claimed she was a huge fan and that she wanted to… get with me." Travis nodded his head uncomfortably.

What the fuck.

He continued. “I declined because she was extremely intoxicated. She then proceeded to get upset with me, made a huge scene, got kicked out of the party, and then I can only assume went to Brennen. He was also really drunk, which is why he tweeted in the first place.”

Casey gasped. “Are you kidding me? I'm gonna kill h-”

I hushed her, my eyes never leaving the screen.

“I have footage from that night, because I vlogged it. However, the audio got fucked up so I'm sorry for how muffled it is.” He admitted.

The screen changed to the night of the party. I saw myself standing in front of Travis, talking to him. The audio was complete garbage, low and muffled. I glanced over at the camera, only a moment later Travis nodded at it, smirking. Something I didn't see at the time. My face contorts for a second, he shrugs, and I shake my head, leaving immediately afterwards.

“Now, does that look like I was making fun of her? No. I would never do that. She was upset because I respectfully told her I didn't want to get with her after all her advances. She literally tried later that night to dance up on me, but I just wasn't into her. After I filmed this, she got kicked out for trying to hook up with another youtuber. I think she's desperate for views and just wants more followers.” He declared.

“So, don't give her that attention. And, don't send her hate guys. I wish her and Brennen the best honestly. Sorry this video is so short, I needed to get this off my chest. I hope you all can understand. Peace.” He threw up a peace sign, and then pushed his hand into the lens of the camera, the video fading to black.

Stunned silence fell over the room. Neither one of us could speak.

“Is this real life? I kinda feel like I've had this nightmare before.” I whispered.

“He can't be serious. Does he really think he can get away with this?” Casey shook with rage.

“Why wouldn't he be able to? He has almost a million followers. I just passed 2,000, if I haven't already lost all of them.” My voice faltered.

“I'm gonna call Brennen and see if he can help.” Casey left quickly, pulling out her phone.

I laid my back against my bed, closing my eyes. I took a couple deep breaths, trying to slow down my heart-rate.

That's it.

I sat up quickly. I went over to my desk and pulled out my camera. Setting it up on my tripod, I got comfortable in my chair.

I sighed deeply, then turned my camera on

"Hi everyone. I didn't think this amount of drama would happen to me so soon in my youtube career, yet here we are." I joked.

"I'm sorry if this video is a little all over the place. I'm not editing it. I'm just gonna post it as is.” I clapped my hands together, trying to stop their shaking.

I cleared my throat. “If you don't know, I'm the girl Travis Marcus made fun of. Or he claims he didn't make fun of. I need you all to know that he is lying. I'm not sure why when he could easily just admit he fucked up and apologize. Instead, he did this.”

“I want to tell you guys what actually happened that night…” I stated, looking directly at the camera.

I began to explain that party in detail: how Travis came up to me, how he flirted with me, only for him to make fun of my appearance and film it. I then went on to explain how I left the party because of him ruining my night, only to be told a couple hours later that he got kicked out of the party because he started a fight with Sam, Colby, and Brennen by throwing his drink on Kat.

"I have four witnesses, plus my best friend. And Big Nik's security team could easily corroborate my story. On top of all that, I have this."

I grabbed my phone, pulled open my dms on twitter, and found Travis' message to me. I showed the message to the camera, letting it focus on his words.

Travis: please tell Brennen to take down the tweets. Things are getting out of hand. I apologize for what I said.

"Why would you apologize for something that you didn't do? All of this could have been avoided if you wouldn't have made fun of me. I get you're 'famous' and have the ego the size of a tractor-trailer, but that doesn't mean you get to make fun of random people because they don't fit into what you think is attractive. Be nicer. Be kind. And stop lying to make yourself look good."

I reached over and turned off my camera. I paused, my breath hitching in my throat for a moment.

Holy fuck, did I just film that?

/ / / /

I felt cozy surface beneath me tremble slightly. Three times in a row. I opened my eyes, glancing around my dark room.

Was all of that a dream?

I slid my hand over my bed, finding the item that was vibrating. I turned it over, my eyes closing instantly from the bright light. Squinting, I saw messages from all different people. But the most recent made me smile softly.

Colby: are you up to talk?

I shuffled my body upwards, leaning over and turning my light on. I gazed over at my sleeping laptop, my camera still plugged in. The memories flooded back to me. I uploaded a response to Travis, and instantly fell asleep from anxiety induced exhaustion. I didn't even want to see if anyone supported me or not.

Unlocking my phone, I went to Colby's message immediately.

Skye: just woke up. i'm down to talk.

Moments later, my phone started ringing. I answered it. "Hey Colby."

"Hey. How are you doing?" He asked sweetly.

I chuckled. “I've been better, that's for sure.”

“How long have you been asleep? Everyone's been trying to contact you.” He stated.

I shrugged. “Right after I uploaded the video, I fell asleep. I was just too stressed.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He apologized.

I held back a smile. “It's okay. I'm alright.”

“So, I guess you don't know what happened.” Colby replied.

“No, what did?” I questioned.

“Travis deleted his video.” He deadpanned.

I sat up quickly. “Wait what?”

“Well, after you posted yours, Brennen and I talked to Big Nik and we found out from him that his friend John was recording a snapchat during the fight that occurred with all of us in it. It shows Travis getting pulled out of the party yelling essentially what he said to you at everyone.” He informed me, continuing. “He cussed and screamed while he got kicked out, and John sent the video to Messy Monday, and they uploaded it to twitter. It's been trending for the past couple hours.”

“Holy shit. So, the snapchat proved me right?” I muttered.

“Yep. Travis took down his video. He's been radio silent since.” He laughed.

“He probably left a few choice words for me.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“If he did, let me know. I got some unfinished business with him.” Colby joked, causing me to let out a laugh. “Besides, before he deleted his video, Sam, me, Kat, and Brennen all came out on twitter and said that you were right. On top of that, apparently a thread was created of how rude Travis has been to fans. So... he's kinda done for.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that. He'll be back in less than a month.” I scoffed, pulling my blanket closer to me.

“Well, even if he does come back, everyone will know you were right.” He reassured.

I picked at my blanket. “Tell that to his fans.”

“Enough about Travis. Is there anything I can do to get your mind off of him?” He requested.

I sighed. “Like what?”

“Go out with me.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“What?” I choked.

“Go out with me. Where ever you want to go, I'll take you there.” Colby promised.

“When are you taking me out?”

“How about tomorrow? Say eight P.M?”

A smile rose to my lips. “Okay... that sounds good.”

“Where do you want to go?” He inquired.

“If you don't mind it... I kinda want to stay in for a bit. Hide away from the world. Maybe you could come here? We could order take out and watch some movies. And cuddle?” I bit my lip nervously.

He agreed happily. “That sounds fantastic.”

“Good. I can't wait.” I beamed.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” He mumbled, yawning.

I shook my head. “No. Besides, you sound like you need to go to sleep.”

“I'll stay up if you want me to.” He admitted.

“No. No, I'm okay really. You should get some sleep.” I declared.

“Alright. I'll see you tomorrow.” He responded.

“It's a date.” I smiled.

“Goodnight, Skye.” He whispered.

I giggled quietly. “Goodnight, Colby.”

<< CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 16 >>

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock story #colby brock fluff #colby brock x oc #only the lonely survive #colby brock fic

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nazm145 · 6 years ago

Text

This was supposed to be a mildly long rant but ended up a dissertation I’m so sorry

Ok, can we just talk about Juliette Durand for a moment?

Like, I know people hate her, but I don’t get it. And I just can’t.

Let’s consider the facts, shall we?

This is going to be hella long, just a warning, so please don’t hate me. I have many feelings.

(I haven’t read the books, so I’m basing almost everything off of the show’s version of the characters. Tell me if I get anything wrong. Also, general spoilers below.)

Juliette was sired, abused (strong implications of rape), confined, and conditioned by a (white) man who used and trained her specifically to get close to another (white) man and get information from him for his own personal gain.

We see the dynamics of their toxic relationship and its effects on Juliette from the moment she and Gerbert are introduced, augmented by the dark, claustrophobic interiors of their Venetian home – which is strange because the house should be airy and well-lit considering how open and spacious it is. Definitely a metaphor, I think, for the dark and twisted nature of what is supposed to be a “father-daughter” relationship.

The scene in which Gerbert is seeing her off on the boat after allowing/ordering her to go find Matthew, the creepy cheek-kiss, and her look of relief and what seems to be almost a mixture of triumph and freedom as she turns around and gets farther away from him is a pretty decent summation of what things are like between them. Of course, we hardly need to analyze anything this deeply when Gerbert’s treatment of Juliette and her strange, toxic dependence on him is so grossly obvious.

Enter Domenico.

For me, Juliette and Domenico are the most intriguing characters on show. I don’t know how extensive their roles were in the book, but to me their subtle exchanges, as short as they were, are so impactful. I definitely think this is in large part because Elarica Gallacher and Gregg Chillin are amazing actors who pack so much depth and nuance into their scenes.

The whole Juliette/Domenico/Gerbert dynamic is so interesting to me (to reiterate, I fully loathe Gerbert and want him to choke). While the nature of Juliette and Gerbert’s relationship is tragically obvious, Domenico’s relationship with both of them is much more complex. From their very first scene, it’s clear that there is a mutual dislike, distrust, and tension between them all, and like Juliette, Domenico answers to Gerbert. But of course, his level of subjugation can’t even begin to compare to hers.

What first caught my attention was when Gerbert called Domenico a “nosy fucker” even though Domenico looking into the dead body and reporting to Gerbert was clearly in his favor. This strongly leads me to believe that Domenico has indeed fucked with Gerbert in the past, either intentionally or unintentionally. Not surprising – Domenico obviously has no love for Gerbert and given the constant descriptions of him as a manipulator and strategist, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s played his hand more than a few times in the past. He even tells Juliette that Venice is his home, so he does what he has to do in order to keep Baldwin and Gerbert happy. He is, in his own way, a victim of his situation - even though he holds a position of power, there is only so much he can do.

Which brings me to him and Juliette. God, I have so much to say about these two. So many of their scenes (both together and apart) force me to think about just what their feelings are towards each other and how much of that stems directly from the other and how much from their situations and the other people around them.

Like when Juliette tells Gerbert, “Domenico hates me.” It got me thinking – does he really hate her? Does she only think that he hates her? What has he said or done to make her feel that way? Or am I just thinking too much into this and it was really just a last-ditch effort on Juliette’s part to try and stop Gerbert from punishing her? Now, that last part is interesting – I’m positive Domenico knew what would happen to Juliette once he told Gerbert what happened. Everyone probably knows. But Domenico’s role in regards to both the Congregation and Gerbert seems to be that he’s the one who’s expected to keep everything in line on the Vampire front and report any problems, otherwise it’s his ass. And clearly, he’s under some sort of employment for Gerbert considering he reported the incident to him and not the Congregation, and it was him who was asked to fetch Gerbert when he didn’t show up at the meeting in episode 7. So I really believe he had no ill intentions towards Juliette when he ratted her out – it was more a fulfillment of duty, which in the world of ADoW, seems to be a necessity for survival.

Which brings me to The Scene. You know, the one where they unnecessarily angry-whisper-flirt with each other, have absolutely no regard for each other’s personal space and for two people who supposedly hate each other, look at each other’s lips a completely inappropriate number of times within a span of thirty seconds. This was the scene that made me complete trash for them, not in the very least because it was sinfully hotter than hell and had me feeling some type of way. There was so much to unpack here.

This didn’t occur to me until now, but when Domenico tells Juliette to not bother going home because Gerbert is disappointed, was he really mocking her? Or was it actually a subtle warning to wait until Gerbert cooled down so she wouldn’t have to go through what she did the last time she made a mistake? What leads me to believe the second option even more is that Juliette herself told Marcus that Gerbert will be angry with her if she doesn’t retrieve Matthew… so.

Next – Domenico shamelessly spilling the deets on how Matthew is in love with Diana, and goading Juliette to go to Sept Tours and confront them. Here, I’d just like to take moment to appreciate Gregg’s delivery of “really” after Juliette tells him she can’t go without permission. It could easily be interpreted as “Really? Do you really need Gerbert’s permission, or are you just forcing yourself to believe that” OR “Oh really? You don’t say.” Like, I love how he could either be challenging her perception of the reality of her own confinement or just being a facetious asshole. But what really got to me was the look he was giving her as she walked away. It was both unreadable, and yet strangely… I don’t even know. Almost sympathetic? Dare I say longing?

And that’s what occupied my mind for an entire week until I saw episode 7. How genuine or underhanded were Domenico’s intentions when he tried to convince her to go to Matthew during the bar scene? Was he just trying to hurt her? Did he want her to go for her own sake? Or was it all a ploy to throw Gerbert in deep shit when his “daughter” showed up uninvited on ancestral De Clermont land? I honestly don’t believe that Domenico would be above grabbing any chance he could to fuck with Gerbert. And I absolutely don’t condone him using Juliette or manipulating her to accomplish that. Which got me thinking about another aspect of their relationship, until again, I saw episode 7.

Domenico obviously hates Gerbert, and he knows what he’s done to Juliette, possibly more so than anyone else considering the extent of their interactions. Why then, has he done nothing to help her? Why has he been, if not complicit in, then at the very least a bystander in her abuse? Now this bothered me a lot more until I saw the more recent episodes of ADoW (Don’t get me wrong, it still does. But I feel like I understand a lot more now.)

The magical world of ADoW works a lot differently than the mortal one. Law, intrigue, politics and revenge take precedence over even family and friends. Gillian sold Diana out because she thought it was her duty as a witch (although there was clearly some personal pettiness involved there). Sophie and Nathaniel wouldn’t tell Agatha that the baby might be a witch even though she’s the grandmother, and quite possibly the only genuinely kind, not insane member of the Congregation. And no one even questioned Baldwin’s claim that Knox had Diana and he himself didn’t know where she was because they never thought he would actually lie to protect his own brother (albeit only Vampire brother). So it’s not hard to believe that Domenico wouldn’t put his ass on the line to cross Gerbert that way, especially when, as we learned in episode 7, Juliette could have saved herself but chose not to.

You guys – their talk in 7 was so unexpected and touching to me. Not in a “Oh look how cute, he cares for her, aww” type of way. But in a “Wow. He really does realize her situation and is willing to help in whatever small way that he can so she can finally free herself – in whatever manner she chooses to do so.”

What really got to me was when Juliette asked him what he wanted in return for Diana’s file, and all he says is that she should finally free herself and just go anywhere. Just leave the horrible life she’s been living, while recognizing that in part it’s been her own choice because she either can’t or won’t forget Matthew. Contrast this with Baldwin asking Domenico what he wants in exchange for Satu, and Domenico saying “Someday… who knows?” Everyone knows how manipulative Domenico can be. But in that one instance with Juliette, we see him being genuinely kind and not asking her for anything in return. And his little smile after he sees her Power Walk out of that church like a Queen?

You guys. A girl is weak.

Coming back to Juliette, I’m so mad that all this likely won’t come to anything if the show stays true to her fate in the books. Which it looks like it will. As much as I felt her walking out on Gerbert, the fact that a black woman left her abuser only to put herself in a situation that her abuser conditioned her to be in is still so problematic. Not to mention the fact that that after years and years of being used by males (apparently she was a prostitute before she was sired, so even as a human?! Really?!?!) she is killed by the blonde-haired, blue-eyed lover of the white man she’s been obsessed with for centuries. Like. Ew. No thank you.

And honestly? I feel like she and Domenico could really be something if she would just try and get over Matthew. Again, not saying that her obsession with him is completely her fault. She is blatantly a victim of abuse, and so many of her actions stem from the violence, manipulation, and torture that she has suffered for centuries. Of course that would mess her up. And finally giving a black woman autonomy and power and the courage to stand up to her white abuser in one episode only to kill her off in the next in a situation that is indirectly the result of her abuse is just awful and unacceptable, especially in fucking 2018.

You know what I want to see? Juliette calling bullshit on the whole Matthew situation and finally becoming her own person.

Like, girl. First of all you don’t need no man. You are gorgeous, clever, resilient, and could probably seduce half the world’s population with one Look. And yes, I fully include myself in that. And even if you do want a man (eternity is a long time to spend alone tbh) Domenico is right there. I know their relationship is nowhere near healthy or good, but it is still light years better than the shitstorm that is the Diana/Matthew/Juliette triangle of a fucking toxic disaster fest.

Give Domenico and Juliette their own developed story where they do or do not get together (as long as they’re both happy tbh – I love my evil disasters, leave me alone), fucking rip Gerbert’s throat out, and then basically take over everything. Because – and I know I’m gonna get hate for this – Matthew and Diana’s story is sweet, and Goode and Palmer are lovely in their roles. But the whole “forbidden love/Person A not knowing about or repressing their powers only to find out they are SuperPowerful™ and now have to master their abilities with the help of Person B so they can fight the world together” is so overdone. Give me more magical world politics and intrigue with a concentration on Domenico and Juliette or give me death.

Also – more hate-bait, but whatever – Diana and Matthew may be cute and all, but this is what makes my heart beat.

LOOK AT THEM

Domenico and Juliette are so fucking hot. Those curls. Those FACES. The adorably tiny height difference. His hand on her waist. The Looks being fucking Served.

Don’t even try to tell me that they wouldn’t be That Power Couple

#a discovery of witches #juliette durand #domenico michele #I am ashamed at how long this is #but I have so many feelings #I ALWAYS get invested in the side characters with no future it's not fair #someone pls scream about these two with me #I don't even care if anyone reads this #I had to get this out #I was gonna explode

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fandammit · 7 years ago

Note

For the cuddling prompt: 6 + kabby

post season 2 hiatus period, because I don’t quite have it in me to write anything that occurs in the bunker. also, i intended for this to be a drabble but apparently I am physically incapable of doing so, here’s 2000 words.

It’s after the fifth time that he finds Abby sleeping in a hospital bed that he finally takes matters into his own hands.

Meaning: he throws them up in exasperation and writes down the keycode to his room, then presses the slip of paper into Abby’s hands.

She looks down at it, then lifts her head and raises an eyebrow at him.

“What is this?”

“Abby, you can’t keep falling asleep in here.” She tilts her head at him, her eyes narrowing a bit, and he quickly presses on before she can start an argument about his choice of words. He gestures towards the paper in her hand. “My room is just down the hall. You can at least stumble in there and sleep on a real bed for a few hours before I walk you to your room.”

She shakes her head, though he catches a moment of hesitation before she does.

“Marcus, I appreciate this, but I’m fine.”

She reaches out to try and hand him back the slip of paper, but he just shakes his head and stops her hand with his own.

“Abby, at least consider the offer.” He lays his fingers flat against hers, then folds hers over the piece of paper in her hand. “Please?”

She bites her lip and looks up at him, and he’s briefly struck still by the flood of sensation between them – her eyes meeting his, the movement of her biting her lips, the feel of his fingertips against her skin. He wants to look everywhere and nowhere at once.

Abby breaks off her stare and takes a deep breath before she nods, her hand going to the pocket of her jacket.

“Ok.”

He blinks rapidly, then smiles at her.

“You’ll use it?”

She purses her lips to the side and angles her head back and forth.

“I’ll consider it.”

To his great and extremely gratified surprise, Abby actually does use his room to take naps throughout the day and on nights when they both have the third shift.

Less surprising is the fact that she refuses to take the bed. He always walks in to find her sleeping while sitting up on his couch, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle; or else, curled up tightly at one end of it, her feet tucked in between the cushions.

Whenever he walks in and sees her, he always has an agonizingly long internal argument about whether or not he should wake her up. On the one hand, she never really looks that much more comfortable than she might on a hospitable bed; on the other hand, he’s just happy to see her actually getting rest.

Most of the time, he opts for draping a blanket over her for about an hour or so while he works at his desk or gets ready for bed. He tells himself it’s so she can get just a little bit more rest, that it has nothing to do with her presence in his room or the softness of the light hitting her face.

He believes himself about half of the time.

He stops by the med bay one night and sees Lincoln in the far corner cleaning off surgical tools, an engineer named Davis sleeping in the bed nearest to the door.

Lincoln turns off the water and grabs a small towel, dries off his hands as he walks to Marcus.

“What happened?” Marcus asks, nodding towards Davis.

“A bad fall off one of the new towers they’re building. He punctured a lung when he shattered his ribcage.” He gestures towards Abby’s desk. “He’s fine now, but I sent Abby off shift early because she was exhausted.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“And she listened to you?”

Lincoln hums deep in his throat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Octavia may have suggested she’d call you in from guard duty and have you carry Abby to bed if she wound up falling asleep in here.” He grins at the look on Marcus’ face. “It was an empty threat, but it worked.”

Marcus tilts his head.

“Was it really an empty threat, though?”

Lincoln chuckles, a small, low sound that Marcus mostly only hears when he’s talking to Octavia.

“Mostly empty, then.”

He’s looking at the guard rotation schedule as he enters his room and takes off his weapon, trying to figure out changes for the next few nights since flu season is hitting them particularly hard.

He sits down on the edge of his bed, mumbling to himself over what changes might make the most sense, and nearly yells out loud when he feels the blanket shift behind him.

He whips around, his hand instinctively going for a weapon that isn’t there, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans the room for a potential threat.

What he finds instead is Abby curled up underneath his sheets, her face half-hidden by the cascade of hair fanning out around her.

Which is a different kind of threat altogether.

He stares at her for a long moment, taking in the way she curls in on herself as she sleeps, despite the wide expanse of the bed around her. She looks smaller in sleep, so different from how much space she occupies in her day to day life. One hand is tucked up underneath her pillow, the other stretched out across the bed.

She lets out a soft groan, and there’s enough of her face peeking out through the curtain of her hair that he can see her mouth slightly turn down in a frown and a furrow appear between her brows. Her fingers, too, start to twitch – like she’s reaching out for something she can’t quite grasp.

He sets down the sheet in his hands and gently runs his fingertips over each one of her fingers, stilling their motion. Then, he reaches over and brushes the hair back from her face, tucking it back behind her ear, letting his touch linger along the curve of it. Her mouth relaxes slightly, though the furrow between her brows remains. He reaches up and gently sweeps the backs of his knuckles against her forehead, smoothing out the worried lines, tracing his thumb across the arch of her brows.

She breathes in deeply, the worry in her expression disappearing completely. He knows he should withdraw his hand – that he’s managed to allay any nightmarish fears haunting her dreams, that already the lingering touches he’s given to comfort her are dangerously close to the line he’s forced himself to stand behind – but he’s tired and she’s beautiful, and all his walled-in desire seems foolish in the soft quiet of his room.

So instead he lays his palm flat against her cheek – just for a moment, just to know what it feels like in his waking hours instead of in his want-filled dreams.

He means to move away when he realizes it’s even softer than he’s imagined – the velvet smoothness of flowers in spring that he’s never even known except for in fading photographs. But then she turns her face into his hand and breathes out a sigh, her mouth turning up into an almost-smile, and he freezes as her eyes flutter open.

“Marcus?”

Her eyes are blurry with sleep, but there’s a warmth to them, a tenderness, that makes his heart stutter and his thumb trace a line across the edge of her cheekbone.

“Hey.” He tips his head down, meaning to apologize, but then swallows back his words when Abby brings her hand up to cover his, her mouth turned in towards his wrist so that her words feel imprinted into his skin.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Her words shudder at the end, and she draws in a shaky breath as she closes her eyes.

Her drops down to his knees, cups her face in both his hands – wants to do whatever he can to draw her out of the quiet sadness of her dreams.

“Abby, it was just a dream.” He thinks now might be a time to drop a kiss on her forehead, comforting and kind. He thinks if he felt any less for her, he could and leave it at that.

But he doesn’t think he could leave it at that.

So instead he tips his head forward and rests his forehead against hers for a moment.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting for her eyes to open and meet his. “It’s ok.” He moves one hand down from her face to wrap his fingers around hers.

She looks down and shifts her hand so that their fingers are in intertwined, then glances back up at him before she nods. Then, after a long, quiet moment, she shifts backwards in the bed. Their hands are still wrapped up in one another, arms stretched out along the length of the covers.

“Can you…” She presses her lips tightly together, her voice edged with uncertainty. She takes a short, quick breath then tugs him towards her. “Please?”

He hesitates for just a moment – she’s half asleep and still clearly affected by whatever dream she was just lost in, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of either of those situations.

She must realize that – or else just grow impatient with his hesitation – because she blinks the sleep back from her eyes and meets his gaze firmly in a way that knocks right against his heart.

“Marcus?”

His name is hushed in the dimness of his room, intimate and warm and overwhelming. She presses her fingers into the dips between his knuckles and tugs once more. The look in her eyes somehow both commanding and vulnerable, and whatever last vestiges of hesitation he had disappears.

He toes off his boots and climbs into the bed, shifting underneath the sheets until he’s pressed up close next to her. She lifts her head and rests it on his shoulder, keeping her fingers wrapped in his as she brings their interlocked hands up to rest on his chest. He wraps his other arm around her shoulders, molding his palm against its contours as he drops his head down to rest his cheek against the crown of her head.

She’s small and soft in his arms, molded perfectly against him. He’s too tired to pretend that he hasn’t dreamed this exact moment a hundred different times, so instead he lets himself fall into the moment, tries to memorize the feel of her hair against his cheek, the weight of her hand on his chest, the press of her body against his.

Abby sighs, breathes him in as she tugs herself closer to him.

“You were lost in a snowstorm and I couldn’t find you,” she says quietly, a faint edge of disquiet still in her voice. “Somehow I knew…I could feel that you were just out of reach.”

He glances down at her – sees her eyes closed, her brows drawn together – and shakes his head, his cheek brushing up against her forehead.

“It was just a dream, Abby.” He turns his head, his voice hushed, his lips ghosting against her skin. “I’m right here.”

She nods and burrows into the slope of his neck, her fingers drawing small circles in the center of his chest, perfectly in sync with the movements of his fingertips against the slant of her shoulder.

“Thank you, Marcus,” she murmurs, sleep crawling in at the edges of her words.

“For what?”

“Being here.” She breathes out a quiet laugh, her next words slurred with sleep. “And for giving me your room key code and your couch and your bed.” She brushes her wool coat toes against the soles of his feet. “And your warmest socks.”

He chuckles.

“However long you want them, they’re yours.”

He can feel the shape of her smile against his skin, a quick upturn that stays pressed on her lips even as her breathing evens out and her body relaxes against him.

Before his own eyes flutter closed and sleep pulls him under, he feels her hand shift across his chest and flatten itself on top of his heart.

He covers it with his own, his thumb brushing over the contours of her fingers.

The last thought that crosses his mind before he drifts off to sleep is –

That’s yours, too.

Prompt me a cuddle fic!

#kabby #the 100 #marcus kane #abby griffin #kabby fic #my fic #it has been a minute fam #be gentle with me

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sanoiro · 7 years ago

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Lucifer 3x24 - S3 Finale - Meta: An Ending in Three Acts

*This was written after 3x24 and it prepares the path I’ll walk on for the S4 meta this week.”

Each post will have a *Keep Reading* feature to protect you from S4 spoilers.

As a short intro, I would like to say that I’m exhausted so I really hope the following meta makes sense. 3x24 was a very packed episode and no doubt I’ll probably come back one day once more to add something to my impression over certain scenes. But for today that’s what I have and it’s quite a lot.

Mistakes have been made but this time I’ll not apologise for them. As you all know we are in a constant state of shock since the Cancellation. Many of us feel drained but refuse to give up and we will not give up. Still, that does not alter the fact that some of us, myself included, pushed themselves further than they are comfortable or willing in order to get out out the battlefield and fight. We will be back there on Monday to support the standalones and the #SaveLucifer campaign!

Now do know this. The campaign caused some deep wounds that will leave some magnificent scars behind. We still bleed occasionally but we do not give up and so we begin...

Act 1: Dan And The Full Circle

This is not the last meta as we have two more episodes coming but it is a meta where the plot progress is concerned.

So was this a good season overall? I believe so yes, although we had many plot holes which although I’ll not list I suppose they could have been handled a bit more masterfully for my taste.

There are many different places to begin this post but I would like to start with Dan.

Dan had an interesting character growth since S1. The problem though is that as I have said before, in S3 everyone came to terms with their identity and Dan was one of them. When Marcus’ hitman was caught and the team tries to extract his boss’ whereabouts, we see that Dan has come to a conclusion similar to the one Lucifer has.

Marcus in 3x02 said that Lucifer was impulsive and an idiot. To a point he was correct. When Marcus met Dan, as the man himself laments. Marcus called him a corrupt cop. It takes one to see one I guess. In that scene, we realise that Dan will probably never go to Hell. Dan carries no guilt over the Palmetto case and certainly none over letting the Russian Mob find and kill Chloe’s father murderer…

At that moment we see Dan accepting his faults but also we get a glimpse of his future and that he will probably see Charlotte one day. That’s good news I guess but the final flip of the coin as we saw at the end of the episode and S3 finale is as to where the coin will land not where it is currently positioned on the air. Why? Because even at the last moment there is a possibility of ending up either in Heaven or Hell is still not set in stone.

DB said that 3x24 brings us into a full cycle and he was correct.

First, see the parallel between the end of S2 and S3 where Linda and Maze are concerned or the fact that Charlotte is free like Mum is free… Lucifer becomes the believer while Ella doubts her faith in him while she does make a leap of faith… Everyone's world is changing and they do realise that their identities are very fluid and they do need to come to terms with that.

Finally, we can also see is that Lucifer is wearing a similar clothing arrangement with the second episode of S1 not to mention the “I don’t want to die” being uttered from Chloe at the end of the episode (See the Pilot).

Act 2: Chloe and The Truth

In this episode, we don’t have the time to process fully whatever it was said in 3x23 but Eglisson makes an amazing job with the close-ups in 3x24. It’s almost the same way they were used in the Pilot. At the alley, we have one of the most important scenes of the episode.

As you remember in 2x18, Chloe said to Lucifer that although he tells the truth he doesn’t say the whole truth which for S2 standards is correct mainly because Lucifer was avoiding to reveal her everything concerning Mum, her miracle status and why he was avoiding her romantically. Now in S3 Chloe makes a different statement. No more metaphors.

Metaphors are not just something that is not literal. Metaphors in Greek means “to be moved”. Meaning they are transferable in a way. At that alley, Chloe tells Lucifer that she does realise that the metaphors are real for him and the blame falls also to her as she encouraged him to carry on with them for so long. Again Chloe has unknowingly noticed what Lucifer has gone through in the entire S3. Lucifer’s conviction about his wings, the bad and evil in the world, his Devil face and finally his very identity.

His Devil face during his discussion with Marcus is revealed to be a metaphor - A transference- of his emotional state to his body. Perhaps the writers decided here to play with the psychosomatic effect of an emotional state.

In my fanfiction story Alis Grave Nil that’s how it is played out. -Shameless of me I know...-

“Why do you like hide and seek so much?” She castigated puckering her lips in displeasure.

Putting her whole weight on his belt, Lucifer had no choice but to scout at her level if he wanted to retain whatever was left of his dignity.

Mourning the loss of Chloe’s touch, he was startled when two hands touched his mottled and streaked scalp. The child’s was demanding in her attempt to scrub away his millennia-old appearance.

The Devil Face in that story is a self-inflicted punishment that Lucifer forced unknowingly on himself as he felt guilty after his Fall due the loss of his best friend. It is later discussed how Lucifer is playing games with his Devil face and that putting a facade to hide the fear, agony and pain is not a solution and so it washes away under Trixie’s touch. But back to the episode!

The close-ups in the Alley scene are also important. We rarely had any of those in S3 and Egilsson is not usually playing with them. Egilsson has directed the episodes:

1x08 - At Tu Doctor? 2x06 - Monster 3x04 - What Would Lucifer Do? 3x16 - Infernal Guinea Pig 3x24 - A Devil of My Word

I believe you now have a better idea of his work.

No the close-ups in 3x23, they highlight the identity under the words and what we try to be. They give out Chloe’s honesty and Lucifer’s acceptance before the ending robs him of the peace he had found through Chloe’s trust and acceptance.

Now cue back at 2x01. Do you remember the “I need the Eggs” joke at the end of the S2 first episode? I had written a beautiful - yes, I’m really proud about that meta piece- meta which you can find in my blog and at the Alley we also see a hint of that joke coming back but with a twist.

Chloe is no longer concerned about the eggs but is now more worried about the fact that the man is acting like a chicken. The eggs in that interpretation is the love and she is willing to jeopardise that in order to save the man she loves. Perhaps she feels guilty as she says that she encouraged him with his Devil talk in order to get his partnership and be around him. At that point, she is willing to sacrifice a lot but she tries to find the answers by helping him.

She does love him as he is but for Chloe Lucifer being honest with her is important so she tries to penetrate what she believes to be a false identity because she can no longer entertain the absurd thought of everything being actually real.

It’s that 1% she wants to get rid from the back of her head and so she wants the man… Problem is that when all is revealed she has to deal with the 1% occupying more of Lucifer than she ever thought possible.

The next scene is, of course, the one occurring in the circular room. We all have recognized the phrase “I don’t want to die” from the Pilot. It was delivered in the same way but this time Chloe is protecting Lucifer. Her next lines are cutting deeper than we think possible but most have brushed them away for the favour of the big finale.

“I can’t. Not without stopping you.”

This line was delivered not because Marcus was Sinnerman or because he had murdered Charlotte but because he had made clear that killing Lucifer was what he intended to do. So Chloe shields Lucifer.

In 1x12 Chloe believed that Lucifer was a killer and still she hesitated. She fidgets and cries out when the newbie cop fires. Lucifer was correct. Chloe never loved Marcus, never cared enough in order to hesitate shooting him.

In 3x23 Chloe was prepared to die for Lucifer. In my speculation, I had said that Chloe dying at the finale even for a little while, was vital in order for us to see how far she could go for Lucifer. Now we have seen it. Also in a way, we all believed she had been hit and was dying or was dead. That is the nature of supernatural series though that we know our leads will never die… At least not for a long-long time!

I’ll dedicate more time into what happened next at that scene in the 3rd Act of this meta so let’s skip everything and go to the roof.

The way Lucifer and Chloe are shown gets us back to the Pilot. The way that the camera is focusing on Chloe and then she wakes up and her vision unblurs on Lucifer looking at her in the hospital while he welcomes her back, gets us back to the very first episode of the series. Once again he has saved her and once again she was faced with the truth but does not remember it or in the case of 3x24 has not actually witnessed it.

The most encouraging thing though is that Chloe does not run. Even with the possibility of the truth being well… The Truth! She goes back to a place rimmed with bullets in order to find Lucifer. Perhaps it shows how deep her emotions run about him to the point that she will risk everything to go back and protect Lucifer once again.

The Devil or not Chloe did go back to save him because his life worths more than the realization who she was partnered with or that she loves the Devil. That instinct to see if the person she loved is well, personally fills me with hope. Sooner or later Chloe would have come into terms and fought beside Lucifer for L.A., The World and their rather unique relationship…

Yet… Does she step backwards? Yes, she does.

Remember her reaction in 2x01 when Amenadiel shot himself and Chloe was almost faced with the possibility of Lucifer being the actual Devil?

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Yeah… She had stepped backwards then as well. But what we do know is that no matter what, Chloe even if she runs away physically or emotionally from Lucifer after 3x24, according to Henderson and Ildy she continued to work with him and tried at the same time to deal with two things. Working once again with Lucifer while knowing the truth and second that she was in love with a man who didn’t claim but was the actual Devil.

Fingers Crossed we will see that in S4 that I have faith will be coming our way in 2019.

Act 3: Lucifer - The Scars Run Deep & Still Hurt.

In this episode, we see a different Lucifer and Ellis plays the character on so many different levels.

First comes the murder’s crime scene to which Lucifer says that he will never see Charlotte again. It is a parallel with how Amenadiel will never see Mum again but it also gets us on two places where we weren’t expecting Lucifer to be in 3x24. They are not out of place but they are very important to the character development.

First of all, for the first time, Lucifer mourns the fact that he will never be at the Silver City again. This is a foreshadowing of the very finale. Lucifer still does not believe he is worthy although during the episode he does shift towards his more angelic qualities for once in the whole series. The problem here is not that he misses home but he fully acknowledges that immortality does make him lose people forever as for some weird reason he befriends the ones who end up in Heaven. Show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are and the Devil is apparently a good guy...

The second level here is Chloe. Lucifer is fully aware that Chloe will leave him one day but he does not run away from the possible pain her mortality will eventually cause him. But Lucifer has come somewhat to terms with that. Remember his comment in 3x06, “Detective you just focus on getting older” before the elevator’s doors close and he goes with Ella to Vegas?

The above is one of the contrast we see with Marcus. Marcus believes he will go to Heaven and even then he chickens out. He claims to love Chloe but avoids her eventually in order to get his immortality back along with trying to kill Amenadiel. Lucifer is fully aware that Hell is waiting for him and that now he can be trapped behind a Door for all eternity and still endangers himself.

What I loved most at the Griffith Park scene was Chloe’s reassurance that she is there for him only for Lucifer to make almost a vow that he will also have her back as well. It is no accident that Lucifer asks how Dan is right afterwards. He has experienced the possibility of losing Chloe and has a very good idea what his favourite Douche is going through. Therefore yes, I truly enjoyed the 2x13 and 2x14 Easter Egg undertones of how the roles have been reversed.

Now what made me laugh was how the Easter Bunny became oh so real for Chloe to the point she hissed at Lucifer “I almost married him! Why didn’t you say anything!?”

Next comes Lucifer’s admission that Marcus wanting or actually attempting to kill Amenadiel infuriates him. We do know that Lucifer loves his brother very much but also that if Amenadiel had been shot and died as a mortal he would most probably have been back home although Amendiel always had some guilt issues so then again it was a gamble. A toss of a coin...

During his discussion with Marcus, Lucifer opens up more about the rebellion and the aftermath than he has ever done before. It’s actually of the four key moments for Lucifer in this episode. This is the second.

Lucifer says that everyone hated him, himself included. He felt like a monster but as we know that was not because of the rebellion. In 3x11 he does admit that he tried to be redeemed in a way by peacefully staying in Hell for very long periods of time when he didn’t get to Earth and shagged women and men alike that is.

Lucifer felt like a monster because he could not see any worth in himself. He was not a victor and had also Fallen out of grace. He had no one to tell him he worth something and through time he externalized his self-hate as himself admitted.

Going a step further we can assume that the Devil-face was Lucifer’s own personal Hell-loop. One he came to live with and eventually accept and love in a very morbid way. His guilt and pain manifested in his reflection and as we saw at the end it never ended for him because he always returned to square one. Hence the loop. In S3 he had opened the door and then closed it again. In S3 we saw Lucifer have his eyes gleaming red 2 times. When he threatened Ella’s brother and then in 3x20. The answer is rather simple now I guess.

You cannot escape what you have done and no action will ever justify your past or future actions. So it’s up to you to open your door and Lucifer in 3x24 just trapped himself once again behind one. His Devil face.

What interests me more though is how does Lucifer believe he became a monster… Was it only his lack of self-worth? Perhaps it was because he was different and he could feel that so he also became something different as well.

Lucifer was always an emotionally raw being and so his image mimicked him. His pain was externalized and so was his solitude and ostracism from his family…

At the end of the day Lucifer was like the odd one out so he psychosomatically self-harmed himself like he literally did in 3x11.

If I had to talk more about his reoccurring lapses I would say that Lucifer is but an immortal with suicidal or self-harming tendencies who knows that the cannot die. He feels too much and cannot buffer that otherwise. Perhaps that is one of the reasons he stays with Chloe as well.

Marcus story hits a bit too close to home. An immortal who cannot die but cannot enjoy internal life either but then he falls in love so he values life and wants to keep living. Yet for Lucifer, he knows that in the far future only Hell awaits him especially after Chloe is gone.

Right now Lucifer has a purpose and a home in L.A. and it is not structured around who he will sleep with or what drugs and alcohol he will consume. It’s experiencing mortality - if you remember 1x05 his talk with the then Lieutenant?- and is willing to risk his life outside Hell because for once he values something more than himself.

Still, this does not mean that Lucifer is emotionally stable or does not go over the top when he is with Chloe which makes him a bit like a mental health sufferer who wants or is forced emotionally and physically -chemically- to experience an adrenaline rush so he goes often into a state of mania.

When Lucifer talks about selflessness we can also see how this has worked for him in the past two seasons but do remember that he was also selfless with Delilah but that was not how he got vulnerable. So is Chloe’s miracle status still an important factor in this game? I would say yes. I still believe it was Chloe’s feelings that make him vulnerable but I’ll not take any more space to talk about that in this post.

Back on Marcus and when Lucifer taunts him that Chloe never loved his sorry behind… Obviously, Marcus does not like that explanation so he brushes it off. In the end, though we see that Chloe is ready to kill Marcus if that means that Lucifer will be safe. She actually aims and shoots him. So Marcus has his answer. She never loved him. She believed him but Lucifer came first, Marcus had failed to get rid of the cat.

What is also important to mention at this point is that Lucifer realises finally the gravity of our actions but also our beliefs. His talk with Ella is meaningful but for the first time perhaps he also feels free from his Dad. He has free will but is that really true? Never forget that some things are not as they appear and Lucifer still had/has a 4th season to explore.

Another groundbreaking realization is that at the alley Lucifer confesses that he no longer sees himself as the Devil that much as of late. He does know it’s because of Chloe. That gives way to an emotional growth sprout.

Long gone are the episodes 3x04 and 3x08. He knows he is responsible for his actions and the gravity his own thoughts have on himself but also has a new point of reference. For the common public, God is supposed to be something pure and salvaging. For Lucifer that's Chloe. Perhaps that is also why the camera also plays with closed captions in that episode.

And so we get to the scene where Lucifer and Chloe confront Marcus. The shit does hit the fan and we do have a scene very much alike with 1x01 with one big difference. Lucifer is fully aware he is not invulnerable close to her. He has no idea if his wings will protect her but driven by instinct he takes them out and covers them both.

You may ask why did he stay for so long? Shock, panic the fact that bullets were still flying so he couldn’t take the chance to unfold his wings and fly away with Chloe. I’ll always believe that while he is in distress he calls out something between Dad and God but you can make your own assumption there.

On the roof, Lucifer finally understands what the false Sinnerman was saying to him. It has to be you.

Marcus was ready to kill Chloe just in order to kill off Lucifer as well but for Lucifer, the resolution came when Chloe told him they had to find Pierce. Lucifer knows that the only way to keep her safe is to go back and get Marcus. Problem is that he has fallen once again in his Mania state, like he was in the episodes 3x09 and 3x10 with Sinnerman. The 101 Angel rule is forgotten when Maze’s dagger appears and Lucifer gives Marcus a sly smile.

You see no matter Marcus’ experience in combat Lucifer still possesses supernatural strength which makes Marcus’ fisted fingers crack and drives Maze’s dagger into Marcus’ heart. And right there starts our stroll of finding the meaning between the spoken lines.

Marcus’ first words when he knows he is fatally wounded is to ask if Chloe is okay. That makes Lucifer flatter and look a bit dazed as if he has a waking moment before he falls asleep once more. Marcus was always a manipulator so yeah he cares about Chloe in a very odd way but he also aims to drag Lucifer down with him.

Although Marcus insists that he will go to Heaven, Lucifer contradicts him and for the first time, Lucifer does something he has never done before. He tilts the scale of a soul’s judgement. Lucifer makes sure that Marcus is dying with a seed of doubt that before he takes his last breath will have bloomed into guilt. And guilt, as you all know, gets you to Hell.

As Marcus is laughing about going to Heaven, Lucifer knowing fully well what Hell does to you, he encourages the final moments of a human to look at the mirror and add some heavy stones of guilt.

By doing that Lucifer makes sure for the first time in his existence to lure a soul into eternal damnation in Hell. In 3x07 he had tried to console Reese that perhaps he was not dying, that perhaps Hell was not the waiting for him but Reese was already too far gone. Marcus was not. Unfortunately, just for that, the change started.

The following words are actually spoken from Lucifer’s awareness of what he is doing but directs them to Marcus. A bit like what happened with Amenadiel in 3x04. Marcus, of course, sees Lucifer’s face burning and gleefully dies before telling Lucifer that neither of them can escape what they are.

You chose to kill her.

Oh Deep down, you know you're a monster.

And that you belong in Hell, where you will torture yourself with that truth for eternity.

'Cause no matter what you tell yourself, you can't outrun what you've done. What you truly are.

Therefore, Lucifer and Marcus did the exact same thing. In the end, Lucifer made sure that Marcus had enough guilt to go to Hell but Marcus made sure to ask about Chloe and also ruin Lucifer’s newfound breakthrough by dragging Lucifer back to a mental Hell which made his face resurface. Indeed a Sinnerman to the very end...

Both characters made sure that the other would go to their personal Hell.

Lucifer does try to get the knife perhaps in a moment of realisation of how his words apply to both of them but Marcus stops him and delivers his last grand manipulation.

The bad news is that Lucifer is back into his own Hell loop meaning his Devil face but at the same time we do know that you can break the loop like it happened with Charlotte and that second chances do matter.

In a possible S4 we would explore the knowledge of who you are with the consequences of that as well as what kind of a future you can have when you deal with something as heavy as having committed the Angel 101 no-no. Additionally never forget that Lucifer will always feel guilty about Uriel.

And finally, the moment when Chloe sees his face and Ellis delivers one of the most magnificent “Detective?” I have ever heard him say.

That scene was like as if you have a child delivering that line.

Imagine a boy of around five years old who has no idea what he has done. You get into the room and you see the little boy cradling a knife whilst covered in blood and he calls you mommy and it's innocent, there is no evilness but true innocence and bewilderment. That’s Lucifer at the end of S3 which shows that despite his growth, in many ways he is still a very misguided child.

So where does that leave us? Probably with a lot of fanfiction and if we are lucky enough a S4.

Until next time loves! And if you were wondering, this was a 4.498-word meta. I’m impressed you made it to the very end.

And remember

We Are Here! We Are A Legion! We Are LUCIFANS! 🔥😈🔥 #SaveLucifer

#lucifer meta #lucifer 3x24 #A Devil of My Word #Sanoiro just being crazy as usual

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readcommendations · 6 years ago

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Hi readers, bookworms, and robots!

This actually happened a few days back, but I’ve been so busy with space things I rudely forgot to update my page. Shame, shame, shame on me!

As you might recall, back in 2017 I was a part of the amazing PEW PEW anthology series. A set of amazing, hilarious space adventures that I couldn’t believe my little stories had the honor of being presented with. Out of the three novellas I submitted, two of them followed the adventures of Miss Planet Earth: awakened thousands of years in the future with her visa long since expired, our poor Katra has to find her way back to a home that no longer exists – with Space Pirates in tow.

When the rights reverted back to me this spring, I secretly started putting together pocket paperbacks of Katra’s adventures. And now, after weeks of waiting for the approval… they’re online! Well, Miss Planet Earth I is in paperback, Miss Planet Earth II (The Amulet of Beb-Sha-Na) is still just an ebook. But in any case, they’re now available for your viewing pleasure!

Miss Planet Earth is avilable here in ebook and pocket paperback, Miss Planet Earth and the Amulet of Beb-Sha-Na is available here in just ebook format (for now!)

Check out the very first chapter to see if it’s your cup of tea!

A pageant queen out of time. A secretive assassin in the wrong body. Space pirates and demented droids. It’s been a long day.

Katra Zorento won the title of Miss Universe only days before first contact was made. Armed with only her charm and her golden bikini, she was sent to compete on the real stage, against the rest of the Milky Way – only to overshoot the arrival by 13,000 years.

Now, with her visa expired and no one on her side, she must make the arduous trip back to the planet that once was Earth… That is, of course, if dashing space pirates don’t get in the way. And to make matters worse, her fiancé’s brain might be trapped inside her head. Katra’s only allies are a mysterious assassin trapped in a 9 year old’s body and a ‘service’ droid with memory issues. But if she survives this, she could win the most valuable crown in the universe…

Chapter 1: In which mistakes were made, and visas revoked

Katra Zorento woke up to find she had overslept the pageant by 13,000 years. Her fingers were still frosty as she sat at the desk, trying to warm them in the soft fabric of her leggings. To her left was the open casket she had been pried from: her cryogenic sleeping pod, packed with her makeup bag, her red ball gown and a bikini. There was also the large golden disk she had brought from Earth, a replica of the one from the Voyager probe, a gift for the Council of Twelve. Every member of which was now dead. The council itself abolished 4,812 years ago, after an incident with a gas cloud which proved once and for all that diplomatic missions and fire breathing dragons do not mix. At least not on a spaceship. All this Katra gleaned from the overstuffed office she found herself in. Posters covered the walls, telling the history of this weird planet through snippets of Public Service Announcements. The Council’s abolition was a stark reminder not to travel through nebulas in the first place. They tried the gas – and ended civilization. Don’t gas and drive. The entire floor space was taken up by her pod, two chairs, and a desk, so Katra had to tuck her legs under her seat since there was no room to put them down. Across from her sat what appeared to be a formless blob of gelatin, which wobbled back and forth on its hovering chair, as if waiting for her to speak. Every once and a while, a paper on its desk would ruffle, though how it was moving Katra had no idea. “You understand your visa has long since expired, yes?” the blob said. The voice was loud, and somehow directly in Katra’s mind, which made her spine tingle. She had never met a telepathic alien before, nor any kind of alien, so the entire experience was a little unnerving, to say the least. “Yes, but, what happened?” she asked, trying to keep her still thawing limbs from trembling. “I was supposed to meet Chancellor Forbin and…” “As I explained earlier,” said the blob’s voice, somehow conveying a sigh through its haughty mightier-than-thou airy voice. “Chancellor Forbin has been dead for over thirteen millennia.” “But the trip was only supposed to take fifty years,” Katra protested, “and where is Marcus?” “Marcus?” “Yes, my bodyguard, Marcus. We were put in cryo-sleep together.” “Ah, the male.” The blob mentally ruffled the pages on the desk. “I thought they explained after they woke you? And your visit to a dislocation officer didn’t make it clear to you?” “I’m not quite sure what a dislocation officer is, exactly.” Katra looked down at her lap and tried to avoid eye contact. Not that there were any eyes to latch onto, but gazing in the blob’s general direction made her mind swim uncomfortably. “You’ve been sent to see a dislocation officer – me – because your traveling companion’s mind was too damaged by the time spent in the cryo-sleep.” “Marcus is dead?” Katra couldn’t help but glare at the blob in complete shock. Marcus. Dead. He was – no, had been – more than just her bodyguard and constant companion. The two of them had been engaged to be married upon their triumphant return to Earth. And now he was dead. And was there even an Earth to return to? She wanted desperately to ask all those questions, and more. But she was face to face with a sentient slice of Jell-O and not quite sure how to proceed. Her heart shook with silent, terrified grief. “His body passed away not long after your departure from the planet formerly known as Earth,” said the blob, “though… how much do you know about dislocation?” “Absolutely nothing.” “Ah.” The blob seemed to hesitate. “Did the officer who put you in the chamber explain the process employed to preserve your body during the cryogenic session?” “Vaguely,” Katra replied. It might have been thousands of years ago in history, but for her it was less than an hour ago that the strange man with gray skin had hastily sputtered some space jargon before sealing her and Marcus into the pods. That in turn was only minutes before she woke up in a strange orange room, surrounded by giant lizard-men trying to spray her down with a hose. “So you know the consciousness is downloaded to a quantum cell, in case the physical mind is damaged in transit.” Katra’s heart leapt. “So Marcus’s mind is still alive?” “Yes, and no,” the blob almost seemed embarrassed at this. It was hard to tell, what with the lack of facial expressions. Or any face to speak of, for that matter. “Due to a malfunction that must have occurred during the incident that destroyed the male’s physical mind, his upload was compiled with yours. So when you awoke…” “Shut. Up!” Katra could almost shout with glee. “He’s alive? In my head?” “Yes,” the cloud said, perplexed, “you do not find this perturbing?” “We were to get married!” she sputtered, “this is even better! Two minds, one body. For as long as we both shall live, in sickness and in health. This is better than marriage!” The blob swiftly tossed a stack of papers into the trash. Katra’s excitement faded. She had probably just lost a massive bargaining chip with her outburst. Marcus? Are you in there? I need you. I’m making a mess. Nothing. “You sure he’s in here?” she asked. The news alone was enough to bring heat back to her chest, drawing out the ice forever. “Safe and sound?” “Yes, the download was definitely complete,” the blob said proudly, “your mate’s consciousness is safely in your head. But he may not present himself at first: he must carve a space in your gray matter. Humans have gray matter, correct?” Katra nodded, though not entirely sure. It was the future, after all; maybe modern humans had done away with the stuff entirely at this point. “Once the consciousness emerges, he may try to take control of his new host body. We apologize for any inconvenience this brings you.” “What is inconvenient is me being here in the first place,” said Katra, her spark finally returning. Maybe it was the news that Marcus was safe and hers alone; maybe it was the heat creeping back into her extremities. Either way, she was majorly pissed. She crossed her arms over her chest and propped her extremely long legs on the blob’s desk. The blob said nothing. Katra wondered how it even saw what she was doing. “How come I wasn’t woken up in time for the pageant?” she spat, “the engineers calculated everything perfectly. A fifty-year trip, not a minute longer. What happened?” “Well, this is closer to ancient history for us, now,” said the blob, “you understand, a year after your departure for Earth, faster than light travel was invented.” “So?” “The council decided they didn’t want to wait another forty-nine years for you to arrive at the pageant when they could have everyone show up the next day. So Earth sent someone else.” “Who?” Katra slammed her hands on the table, making the Jell-O wobble. Which was an odd sight to see. It wobbled to one side and then back, like someone had poked it with a stick. “Don’t tell me it was that bitch, Riley. Miss Australia? She had no place as my runner up.” “Then you’ll be happy to know that Miss Earth – formerly Miss Australia, according to my notes – was eaten and digested by Miss Ma’jarkeen. Which is why the pageant was canceled and hasn’t been held since.” “So our ship got there and you… what? Put us in a warehouse and forgot to revive us for thousands of years?” “I’m sorry, not my department,” said the mound of gelatin, “I’ve already outstepped by pulling up so much information from this case. To make things short: we’re sorry for the inconvenience, and we’re sending you home right away.” “To Earth?” “It used to be called Earth, yes.” “What is it now?” “Super-freaky funland dark-side death-zone powered by MnM.” “You call that my home?” Katra sputtered. She would have stood up, indignant, but there was no space for her to do so in the tiny office. “What the fudge is super-strange dark world death thingy?” “Super-freaky funland dark-side death-zone powered by MnM.” “That can’t be Earth!” “Well, I’m sorry, but things change, child,” said the blob. “Your home planet had to make ends meet somehow. Becoming an escape room theme park was the logical choice.” “An escape room… theme park?” Katra felt as if the ice around her heart had gone right back to being frozen, as cold as the popsicle she had been inside the pod. She wished her eyes could shoot literal daggers across the room, but even if they did, she doubted they would hit the gelatin or harm it in any way. “Yes, and quite a nice one,” said the blob. “I brought my hovel-mates there a few cycles ago. Such fun! Much better now than it ever was before.” The pageant queen was fuming now, but she forced herself through the breathing techniques her coach had instilled in her and stayed focused. There was no point lingering on the fact that her home was gone, or the fact that everyone she ever knew or loved was now dead. Except maybe Marcus, her one love, her rock, who was living quite silently in her head. “I want to go home,” she murmured, under her breath. “Do not worry, we’re sending you back, all expenses paid.” “It’s not my home anymore.” “Well, I’m sorry, but according to your passport, it is.” The cloud made the little green booklet drift up before Katra’s eyes. “And your visa expired quite some time ago. So we have to send you back. You understand, of course.” “Of course,” said Katra, keeping that pageant calmness. “Do I get some kind of compensation, at least?”

Miss Planet Earth hits Amazon shelves! Hi readers, bookworms, and robots! This actually happened a few days back, but I've been so busy with space things I rudely forgot to update my page.

#excerpt #miss planet earth #mpe #new release #novella #s.e. anderson

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blade-revolutions · 6 years ago

Text

Kai x Lyla first kiss scene (short version)

Due to studying of uni entrance exams, I haven’t written in a long while so I finally had time to sit down and write a bit - even if the piece is truly short.

The events take place in my Beyblade AU which is supernatural / magic powers themed. Both characters are 15.

Darkness.

Lyla Hart can’t seem to be able to see anything past it. Truthfully, she isn’t sure if there could be anything else except for it.

Voices scream, desperate for help, for any sign of humanity. Flames are scattered everywhere.

How could they?

Firstly they sacrificed their own teammates for more glory, more power. Then they burned them, turning their bodies into ash.

The cries of pain and agony echo in Lyla’s ears and she stills. She can’t see the river anymore, or hear the soothing flow of the water as it carries on. The night sky dotted with stars is replaced by the terrifying sight of James and Marcus, a fire is surrounding their whole being. She’s rendered speechless, her body frozen in spot as her mind replays yesterday’s events. She sees the boys breathing harshly, coughing, their skin glistening with sweat due to the unbearable heat. She hears their shouts vividly, their pleas when James says they won’t loose again.

A new gang arrived in town two weeks ago. Rumours began spreading they were the strongest team of the capital and had returned from worldwide competitions abroad. She recalls Hilary’s expression, half-doubtful, half-mocking.

“Just what kind of competitions?” she put her glasses down and arched her brow in disbelief. “As far as I know, no one’s heard of them.”

“Well, we had been out of town for quite a while.” Lyla admits and stares at Hilary expectantly for her response. Both of them were agitated by the appearance of a new group out of nowhere - which proclaimed to be the best in the entire capital.

“Please.” Hilary dismisses her and takes a ship of her tea. “Claiming they’re the best when we’ve never encountered them - not only we, but anyone is suspicious alone. It’d be foolish to believe such claims. We’re not eight.”

Lyla sits on her bed, folding her legs underneath her. She held the urge of sighing pleasantly because her bed is so warm and nothing can be as good as coming back to the comfort of your own bed. “Although that’s true, we’ve lost track of everything. We’ll have to gather more information as soon as possible. Don’t want them running to Kai and Johnny.”

“Tala, Julia and Ian are already on it. Apparently, this supposed gang loves the survival kind of team contests. They are already advertising themselves by placing posters in the city to grab the citizens’ attention for the upcoming tournament. And for the Kai and Johnny part, I definitely agree. They won’t want to know how the boys react to those to who pull the superior act when in reality they’re not.

Lyla is amused by Hilary’s words and the way she views the situation. To think the girl actually encouraged the idea of the boys putting some people in their rightful places entertained her to no end, considering Hilary would scold them for being hot-headed and a bunch of idiots with super powers.

“Wait till Tyson is added to the mix.”

Hilary catches her best friend’s glance and a laugh escaped her throat. “ For once, I’d be looking forward to it.”

She’s been a fire fairy for the past two years and she always perceived magic as the purest form of art and self-expression so when she had a taste of how destructive it could be, something inside her shattered.

Is magic truly evil?

She wants to stay alone and think, to find her sanity and her lost positivity. However that plan is proved to be a major failure when footsteps approach her from behind.

Lyla doesn’t have to turn around. She knows it’s him.

“How long are you gonna stay here like this?”

She merely rolls her eyes. Kai is as critical as usual, he just picked the wrong time for it. Lyla’s grip around her knees tightens and she buries her nose on the top of her knees to prevent the cold air from seeping in and to the rest of her face, despite the fact her attempts are futile.

“Ignoring me won’t make me leave.”

Oh he couldn’t hold himself back from being an ass! Not all hours are the same and Lyla is reluctant to put up with him.

“We’ll do everything to win next time.”

Next time. Heck they knew there wouldn’t be a next time and they still tried. They were willing to do everything, they could do everything. Out of the five, Marcus and James were the only ones with a heart and real potential to become better. Yet, death decided it was time to take away whatever good that gang had. Them.

A tear cascades her cheek. It was unfair, it still is unfair. They didn’t deserve any of this.

“You’ll have to leave sometime, Lyla.” Kai huffs.

Can’t. He. Just. Shut. Up?!

“I don’t remember having a babysitter surrounding me.” She tries to retort with a steady voice but it wavers slightly as she reached the end. Hiwatari is starting to get on her nerves and she can’t even stand on a verbal fight with him. So great.

“You know I’m not but what I said before was right. We have to go.”

She despises his ability to go from hot to cold the next moment. She often wonders why he doesn’t want to pursue being actor. Kai has perfected the technique of raising the brow - Lyla’s sure he has spent hours in front of a mirror practicing it, otherwise, he’s not normal - and since honey drips from his lips whenever he speaks, he’d be beyond perfect for any role of bad guy.

“You’re not always right.”

Kai’s mouth stays agape briefly, staring at Lyla’s back stunned. Where did that come from?

“I didn’t say I’m always right.”

“But you definitely act like it.”

He presses his lips firmly shut. She is definitely bothered by something and that’s enough to push Kai’s ego back slightly. He remains silent before making another try and convince her it’s time to get home.

“It’s getting cold out here.”

Lyla doesn’t respond immediately. The thought of ignoring him till he gets bored and leaves is too appealing. But Kai won’t let her get away easily.

“I like the cold.” She replies stubbornly.

“No you don’t. You like spring.”

“And you don’t like summer.”

“I don’t like a lot of things.”

“But you definitely enjoy getting on people’s nerves at the wrong at time.”

Kai chuckles. He wishes he could see her face since Lyla’s cheeks tend to get covered with a soft red whenever they get into an argument - something that doesn’t happen often to his surprise.

Upon hearing him hold back his laughter, Lyla turns her head abruptly. Kai sees the tears on her cheeks and whatever comeback he has come up with dies on his throat. What can possibly has shaken her this much?

Then a thought crosses his mind.

It’s swift and he could have missed it...but he’s positive that this could be exactly it.

He pushes his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his eyes looking anywhere but her as one thought brings the other. Lyla takes a moment to trace his features; a part of his neck is exposed since Hiwatari isn’t fond of scarves along with hoodies and her toes curl unwillingly. She can’t deny she doesn’t like his neck. She really does and often wonders how it’d be to taste it. Then again she’s fifteen and shouldn’t accuse Kai of having a dirty mind. Hers isn’t any better.

Her eyes travel higher, to his rosy lips and soft breaths against the cold, to his mesmerizing purple eyes and red-tinted nose and to his slate blue hair which is pushed back into his black beanie. There’s a softness about him at seeing his face this vulnerable, free from the bangs that hide it from the rest of the world.

Her heart clenches.

“Kai?” She asks hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think magic is evil?”

Kai ponders the thought for a minute. Afterwards, “No. I don’t think it’s evil at all. It depends on how you choose to use it, the purpose you have.”

More tears roll down her cheeks and realization dawns upon her; she can’t stop them from flowing. She can’t bury the pain anymore.

“That’s what I believe too but whenever I do, there’s the haunting image of Marcus and James, their unfair fate, how they deserved better and how they were always the best ones at heart from their group. They could be developed so much more, they could be everything the rest of their teammates would never be. They were kind and no one recognised that in them. People viewed them as the weakest members of the gang and all of that because of one loss at a match One fucking loss.” her sobs have made her voice lower. She doesn’t mind the tears because Kai knows. He knows her well enough. “I’m tired. I feel like breaking. I-I don’t think I’ll be able to use magic for a while after this. I don’t think -

Her eyes fly wide open when Kai’s face comes too close for her comfort to hers and the next thing she knows is his lips on hers. For a heartbeat her brain is preoccupied by the fact this is not a dream, that she’s not in her bed fantasizing how kissing Kai Hiwatari would feel like since her crush on him only got stronger the longer she got the chance to know him better and spend time with him.

She lets her eyes close and sinks in. Lyla moves her hands from her sides to Kai’s neck and intertwines her fingers there, bringing them closer. She’s surprised when she notices his hands have come around to secure her waste, making her forget everything and her heart almost explodes at the feeling of his thumb, smooth on her cold skin as he wipes away slowly her tear.

How someone so distant can be so soft?

She doesn’t have time to process the thought. He pulls away and heat rushes on her face.

Holy shit, it did happen.

Then another thought occurs. Why did he kiss her? To offer comfort? To stop her from babbling while crying her heart out?

“Why did you - “ her breath hitches on her throat and she swallows to calm her nerves. “Why did you do that?”

A small smile flickers on Kai’s lips and Lyla wishes to see that more often “Because I wanted to.” Her head shoots up from the ground to stare at him astonished.

“And because you seemed to lose your self.” he mumbles softly.

A grin lights up her face. She’s supposed to not lose her spirit, even if the world around her collapses.

“Come on. Let’s go home. The guys will be worried.”

She nods and paces quicker to reach him, thanking God for making Kai a part of her life that reminds her she’s much stronger than she thinks.

#beyblade fanfiction #kai x lyla

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vox-deruste · 3 years ago

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Magic Basic: Manifesting

“ All right please sit down and take your seats, everyone.” The class sat down on wooden seats as their instructor started to write on the blackboard. “ My name is Vox Deruste, I will be your mysticism teacher for the semester.” The instructor was clad in a tri-colored robe. Red, blue, and green. And yet the most eye-catching part of their appearance was the green fire and black smoke that made up their body.

A green fire-based body, Black smoke inside their mouth, and eyes that leaked out like cigarettes. A nearly stitch-like, ooze-like mouth. All wrapped around in a two-piece robe. Flowing at the bottom half, a hood on top connected to the draped mantle.

Watched by bored, tired, dull-eyed students. Some were more awake and more attentive but were outweighed by blank stares.

“ I see many of you are tired and probably feel that you don’t need this class-”

“ Sir most of them were at a party.” Called out a female student. The protest of many students followed right after “ There was a lot of drinking...they are probably hungover.” She said sheepishly. The student was dark-skinned with blue clothing, braided hair going down her back.

Vox sighed deeply and looked at the class.

“ Those of you who are hungover, I ask you to leave. You will meet me after class to receive a twenty-page assignment version of today’s class, due next time we meet.” Everyone started to get up from their seats. Vox began to snap his fingers three times, a loud thunder sound accompanying everyone.

Vox’s snapping was meet with mostly groans and the sober silence of the remaining students. As everyone else left.

At the front of the class, in front of Vox was the girl in blue who alerted him to the hungover students. Next to her was a similar girl who was taller, more muscular, and wore muted blues.

At the farthest seats were three students. Left to right, A pale girl with black hair tied in a bun, almond eyes, and bright red clothing. A short boy with white skin, blond hair, and gold eyes, a prosthetic arm. At the end was a willowy, black androgynous figure. A dress shirt over a jean skirt.

“ Alright this is a visually sad state of affairs. I want everyone to come to the first row.”

One of the students from the back raised their hand. The boy with the prosthetic arm.

“ Can we just stay in our assigned-” The sheepish boy was interrupted as three fingers detach from vox’s hand and poked each of the three students on the forehead. In a blink, they were teleported to the front row. The first two students coughed harshly.

“ No.” Vox said sternly. “ We can start the lesson after introductions. Left to right starting with the helper.” Vox pointed to the girl in light blue.

“ *cough* Ahnah, Mister Deruste.”

“ Call me Vox, also full name.”

“ Ahnah Croatoan.” She said quickly.

“ Alasie Croatoan Mr. V.” Said the girl in muted blues.

“It is Vox.”

“ Bao Ah Knum.” The pale girl in red said, taking a bow. “ I look forward to your tutelage, Magnus Vox.”

“ That is my title, which I’m surprised you know, But again just call me Vox.” She bowed. “ Stop bowing.” She shuddered uncomfortably for a second.

“ Herr Vox. I’m Alvar, we actually met in the hall-”

“ I already have two teachers and I barely tolerate the two. Dial it back.” Alvar sunk into his seat. Ahnah and Bao avoided direct eye contact with Vox.

“ I guess I’m the showstopper.” The androgynous student said sarcastically with a mischievous grin.” Marcus Jefferson. “ Non-binary terror of the windy city. I look forward to stepping over all of you for the top spot.” Marcus said with full confidence. Vox nodded.

“ Given your identity, what are your preferred pronouns?” Vox asked.

“ They/ them. Marc works too.” Marcus said with finger guns at Vox.

“ How is that not being a teacher’s pet?” Bao protested.

“ Marcus has enthusiasm for this class, not an ego/ winning streak that he is trying to maintain.” Vox answered.

“ We’ll bump a lesson up to really make it clear that I won’t tolerate such behavior in the future.” Vox thought out loud. “ Let the responsible students be ahead of the class's ahead.” Ahnah and Bao both raised their hands. “ Yes.” Vox said while not looking at either one.

“ What lesson!” Ahnah and Bao said simultaneously. Vox stared at both with his black eyes and red, smokey eyebrows. Both flinched.

“ Manifesting: The ability to magically bring into existence objects that were stored previously. The magic bag as it’s known colloquy. Any care to demonstrate what this looks like before we go on?” Vox purposefully walked past Bao and Ahnah when he explained his proposition.

Alvar raised his hand.

“ Now get up here.” Vox guided Alvar to the front of his desk. His frame is on display for the whole class. “ First we store an object.” Vox telekinetically moved a gifted apple to his hand. He stared at the crab apple, the bright green skin of it. The lingering water from a quick wash-off.

Vox picked it up, the parts where his finger touched the apple, sizzling. He focused on it and pointed to the small gathering of students to watch. Bao and Ahnah took notes while Alvar looked with preemptive wonder. Alasie put her feet up on her wooden desk. Marcus had a smile and held a pencil in their hands.

As Vox grasped the apple it discovered into black smoke, its corporeal form blinked out of existence. Gasping was heard from the students. Vox looked at them with confusion.

“I’m guessing that some, if not all of you come from Earth.” Marcus, Ahnah, Alasie raised their hands. Alvar and Bao sheepishly held out theirs. “ Explain you two?

“ I am from a mystical family. We live in Bavaria in secret, among normal humans.” Vox nodded to Alvar’s answer.

“ Never been there myself honestly. And the authority pleaser?” He pointed to Bao.

“ My family has their own private realm...This is the first time I’ve ever been away from home.” Bao had a sad face. She looked down toward the floor. Vox rolled his vacant eyes.

“ I have telepathy dear, I know you’re trying to get sympathy.” He accused. Bao’s face immediately changed to anger-induced frustration, Scoffing.

“ Wait if you have that, why don’t you just read all our minds to know everything about us.” Alasie asked.

“ One, it’s rude. Second, I shouldn't have to mentally read my students to see if they’re telling the truth. They should just tell the truth. Third, I need to actively try to, it’s not always on. It’s like one of those bright bricks on Earth. I need to activate and limit its use for my health.” Ahnah wrote notes on Vox’s words. “ Now can the last three tell me their familiarity, or lack thereof, of magic so I know what skill level I should be teaching?” He gestured to the trio of students.

“ Me and Ahnah are children of a lesser native spirit up in Canada.” Alasie answered a blushing Ahanh protested.

“ You can’t just blurt out stuff like that!”

“ The sibling connection, the unfamiliarity with magic, or the national origin?”

“ All of the above.” Ahnah claimed as she hid underneath her own arms. I turned to Alasie.

“ She spouted some junk about ‘needing as much mystique’ she could muster to fit.” Vox shrugged at the answer. Many of the newer students feel the need to make up for their earthly origins by making a mysterious identity. Especially the very ordinary one. Though a thought occurred.

“ How many of you are demigods?” Vox asked. Sure enough, Marcus, Alasie, and Ahnah held up their hands. “ Oh joy.” It wasn’t that Vox disliked demigods, just what they did to teach. Given their parentage, they could be either educational boons or cursed monsters that ruin a semester. Depends on the specific domain of the parents. “ Speak your parent’s domain.”

“ Magic.” Marcus chimed.

“ Spirit of water and Ice Mr.V.” Alasie answered for both of them.

“ Vox is fine.”

“ Alright, Marcus comes on up.” He pointed to the bemused student.

“ Need the assistance.” They said confidently.

“ Given your heritage, it’s a formality that they will be asking tips from you.” Vox looked at Marcus’s hand for the pencil he grasped. It was gone. “ And your ability to pick up on things.”

“ Show off.” Bao fumed.

“An understandable reaction Bao, but a reprimandable one.” Bao became quiet from Vox’s warning. “ I assume you have an idea of what to do next? Or is this more of a ‘you need to see me do it first’ situation.” Marcus stared at their hand.

“ I want to try on my own first.” They answered. Vox took a step back to his desk and started to write down an exercise for the rest to follow. Marcus will probably do it right the first time, He thought to himself.

The thought was over when he heard a squishing sound hit the floor. At first, he panicked which was amplified by the panicking of the other students. He was relieved when saw that Marcus had both his hands but was disgusted that instead of a pencil they manifested a greenish-black bread, covered in mold. Maggots consuming it.

The panic quickly ended but was replaced with shared nausea.

“ You wouldn’t have practiced with bread at some point?” Vox asked. Marcus slowly walked away from the abominable food product. Vox tried to remember which of his spells obliterated things.

“ I eat it from the bag. By the handful.” Marcus responded cautiously.

“ As someone who does not eat, is this nor-”

“ No.” everyone except Marcus agreed. Vox placed a hand above Marcus’s shoulder.

“ No need to feel defeated or embarrassed. We still have students here who teleport into walls sometimes. And Demigods like you sometimes use their power unconsciously.” Vox tried to reassure Marcus but they quickly went back to their seats. Vox pointed at the offending loaf and it flashed burned into dust. Just quick enough to not leave a smell.

“ What exercise you’re going to give Ms.-” Vox glared at Ahnah. “ What is the assignment Vox?” She corrected me. Vox groaned slightly and read out loud the quick instructions he wrote.

“ You will pair into groups of two, One of you will have me as a partner. You give each other Items and coach each other to manifest them back into reality. You will draw lots, Ill take the odd man out.” Vox explained as he passed around the mentioned Lots. “ Alvar and Alasie. Bao and Ahnah. Marcus and myself.” Vox rigged the lots with slight probability manipulation but he felt the pairs were a good fit for each other.

Marcus only needs help with the last part of the lesson. Alavar, while quiet, can probably coax Alasie into participating. And Bao and Ahnah trying to bit down their competitive streak will be fun to watch for everyone else. Vox the most.

He was very wrong. While he did managed to teach Marcus some tips on his manifesting, the expected fighting between Bao and Ahnah became less and less funny as their words became more venomous.

“ I’m not letting some savage from a frozen wasteland explain the magic theory to me!” Bao yelled out.

“ Says the privileged ass that turns her nose, everyone, while pretending that her own shit does not stink.” Ahnah shouted back. Rather cowardly Vox decidedly ignored it and kept an eye on the other students. Everyone but the overachievers managed to get some process with their manifesting and general magic. Even the shy Alvar and slacking Alasie. They seemed to actually hit it off, a strangely endearing duo.

“ Seriously? Your region is the whole reason the whole lederhosen and beer thing is the first thing people think of when they think of Germany?” The girl asked.

“ If it wasn’t for us we would be stuck as being viewed as nazis and soviet puppets. Better to be thought of as a carefree drunk than either one.” Alvar said with slight confidence. Vox had a smile. And then he grimaced when he saw that Bao and Ahnah flat out refused to work with one another. Sitting with their backs facing each other.

Marcus at least had, if not mastered, at least managed to retrieve their pencil from the pocket space.

“ There's no need to rush progress. Some move through parts of a spell in different paces. Like how some artists are better at shading than composition before practice. Something I would encourage you to do, despite natural talent.” Marcus stared at their hands.

“ So don’t squander the potential.” They stated plainly. Vox nodded while Marcus looked toward the front of the classroom. Where Bao and Ahnah still sat in silence. “ Like what they are doing.”

“ Yes.” Vox sighed. “ Like what they are doing. Squandering potential, growth, and a fruitful partnership.” Vox said with mild frustration. While they did annoy him, it was undeniable that they both wanted this class. Yet their ego won’t let them learn from each other. And by this point, It was sad, embarrassing, and blood-boiling. If Vox had blood. But the fire that made up his body made up for that. Everyone! Get into groups and get to know each other.” Vox yelled out. He let everyone get up from their seats but Bao and Ahnah. “ You two stay until you work with one another.”

“ Mr.-” Vox cut off Ahnah.

“ No questions.”

“ I implore Sir Deruste-” Vox’s hand separated itself from his arm to silence Bao.

“ I said no questions, do your assignment as a team or I give you an F.” Bao and Ahnah jaw dropped.

“ Wait, this is graded!?” They shouted in unison.

“ I didn’t feel like such a simple exercise would be that hard. Clearly, I didn’t account for you two to choke on your own pride.” Vox spelled out with a demeaning tone, a very intentional one.

“ Huh, I might have a better grade than Ahnah for once? Cool.” Alasie said calmly. “ I can be the smart twin for once. Immediately Marcus and Alvar compared the two.

“ Don’t see it.” They said in unison. Both Ahnah and Alasie scoffed in turn.

“ Enough.” Vox pleaded. “ Simply work with each other by the end of class or be forced to stay in for remedial classes.”

“ Fine.” Bao said sternly. She looked toward Ahnah with disdain. “ I can work with this gold-blooded peasant to get the grade.” Ahnah shot her a glare.

“ And I’ll stop looking at a rich bitch’s nose hair long enough to get the grade and your respect.” She stuck her tongue out.

“ I am not mistaken at the idea that humans are considered adults at seventeen and twenty right?” Vox looked toward the class.

“ Physically.” Alasie chimed. “Ain’t that right sis.” She asked Ahnah with a cheeky smile.

“ I will also remind you both you have ten minutes.” Vox said quickly.

“ What!?”

“ You both wasted so much time hating each other you haven’t noticed time move by?” Vox questions in a sarcastic tone. “ Who would have guessed that such pointless bickering would have consequences.”

“ Laying it on a bit thick there? Aren’t ya Vox?” Marcus asked.

“ Hopefully not as thick as these two egos.” He replied. Vox counted down the time for Bao and Ahnah to finish the spell practice in the allotted time….and fail. Instead of trying to do what Vox asked, work with each other, they argued on what to do first.

“ We should double-check our theories!?” An eclectic Ahnah shouted.

“ There's no time for that! Just Calibrate the exercise and follow my damn lead.” Bao instructed.

Vox held his head in shame as a loud bell rang, signaling the end of the class period. The other students left the classroom as Bao and Ahnah started downward, their faces parallel to the ground.

“ Such a shame that such works would go to waste.” Vox said wistfully. “ And all that effort to get the rest of the class hungover.” Vox said as he floated toward his desk and gathered his things.

“ What do you mean?” Ahnah said with her eyes avoiding direct eye contact with Vox and Bao rubbing her side.

“ The fact you two teed yourself off to try and outdo the rest of the class today by.” Vox pointed at Bao. “ Starting a false rumor of a freshmen kegger.” He then turned to Ahnah. “ And supplying them with tainted alcohol that was stronger than it should be.” Both of the girls looked at each other, a bizarre mixture of impressed faces and shame.

“ How?” Bao asked with her cradling her head.

“ Telepathy. When your brain was too busy making insults or fuming with Ahnah I started to poke around. I found the memory right after you two started being pissy and sat away from each other.” Vox explained in depth. Every sentence makes the pits of shame in Ahnah and Bao deeper. “I’ll see you both later. We will go over basic magic exercises and decency if time allows.” Both Bao and Ahnah stared at him. “ I won’t tell anyone of your deeds if you both promise to work together and think like magicians. The essence of magic is change and directing that. Surely you can apply that to yourself.” Vox asked them. They both nodded. “ Good I’ll see you both after sunrise. Please leave your egos at the door.” Vox explained as he snapped his finger, gathering all his supplies into his bag, and left the room.

ox was embittered by the class but he did think that the duo had merit. A part of him wanted the challenge. Maybe at some point, they’ll manifest the will to see that if they worked in tandem, they could do great things.

Vox counted down to when he would meet them again, down to the minute.

#fantasy #Short story #magic school #magic basic #short fiction #persona

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willsherjohnkhan · 4 years ago

Text

Angel of Death

, Chapter 3: A Chance of Redemption

***

USS VENGEANCE – 237,000 KM FROM EARTH

“Don’t get me wrong,” Molly continued, nodding towards the still frozen Alexander Marcus. “He’s getting what he deserves. You’ll get no argument from me on that point. But the consequences of your actions for the others you’ve killed before, and the lives you are still to take will come at great cost to you in an unpleasant and permanent way.”

As she spoke, Khan had moved cautiously around the bridge, his eyes remained firmly fixed on the young woman that had made such an unexpected appearance at the most crucial point in his plans for revenge.

With his inspection complete, Khan was satisfied that there were no additional surprises awaiting him, and he made his way back to where the young woman sat.

“You can’t possibly know that,” he responded.

“I can actually,” she replied, almost cheerfully.

Khan’s patience snapped. “Who are you?” he demanded, standing over her like the avenging angel he was.

With lightening speed Molly was on her feet, and before Khan could react she had pressed her sickle against his chest and shoved him forcibly back.

When he looked at her, he saw her as those who were headed for the Bowels of Hell would see her, a ghoulishly hideous figure, with harsh, cruel eyeless sockets, and a skeletal frame covered only by her hooded robes.

“I am the Angel of Death,” she intoned. “And I am here to take you, Khan Noonien Singh to the place of your reckoning where you will spend eternity in endless torment.”

In the blink of an eye she had reverted back to how she had looked when she had lived.

Khan, for possibly the first time in his life was lost for words. The thought that this petite, sweet-faced woman was the embodiment of such a frighteningly powerful force left him completely stunned.

Eventually, he managed to get his still befuddled brain to form a dazed question.

“So why are you here now?”

It was not a decision she took lightly.

In all the years she had tirelessly performed the tasks assigned to her, she had never once intervened in the outcome.

What was it about this man that made it necessary that she now take such a step?

The answer was simple – her heart. From the moment she first laid eyes on him, her heart that she believed long dead with the rest of her corporal body miraculously began to beat once more. Its cause, a love she had not allowed herself to feel in a very long time.

Rightly or wrongly she didn’t want to strike Khan down.

So she decided to take matters into her own hands. Not as Death, but as Molly Hooper.

USS VENGEANCE – 237,000 KM FROM EARTH

“I have a proposition for you?” she explained.

“And that would be what...?” Khan frowned, uncertain how to refer to her.

“Molly Hooper,” Molly suppled as she offered him her right hand.

Khan shook her hand firmly. “And what exactly is it that you propose, Molly Hooper?”

Molly’s reaction was a shiver of delight. Due in part in hearing someone refer to her by her true name. But also that it be said in that deep, rumbling rich tone that made her toes curl.

Taking a deep breath, Molly tilted her head up so that she was looking straight into his intensely beautiful blue-green eyes.

“There is no stopping the fate that will befall you. In the next couple of hours you will die, the trajectory is fixed and set in that direction,” Molly paused, and in a measured tone she advised him. “However, rather than escorting you’re damned soul to Hell, I can offer you an alternative – you could work with me. The choice is yours.”

Khan carefully considered her words, and her offer.

“Why would you do this?” he asked softly.

With complete honesty she replied. “Because this job requires some very difficult decisions, and I think the load would be more easier to bare with another’s assistance.” Then as tears began to well in her eyes, she continued, her voice becoming raw with emotion. “And because I’m lonely. And because I...”

Khan gently took her face in his hands. He could feel her loneliness, and her pain. As he gazed down into her big brown eyes, he found himself willingly drowning in their depths. It would have been so easy for him to exploit the unconditional love she clearly felt for him. But there was something about her that called to a gentler side of his nature that he didn’t know existed until that moment. So rather than fighting these new feelings, he chose to embrace them heart and soul. If his fate was to remain at her side for eternity, than he would regard himself a very fortunate man.

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head, and just before their lips met he whispered, “Because you love me.”

Molly was in pure bliss. The kiss was sweet and full of promise that her love would be returned. But it was brief, as events still needed to play out first.

Khan made his way back over to Admiral Marcus. But a curious thought had him turning back to Molly. “Two Angel’s of Death, is that even possible?”

“There’s nothing in the Rule Book that says that there can’t be – I checked,” Molly answered with a grin.

Khan responded to her grin with a wink. “See you on the other side Molly Hooper.”

*** Khan’s suicidal act of guiding the crippled ship to its end began with...

***

USS VENGEANCE – TWO HOURS LATER

The once great warship tumbled, burning internally, weaponless, without shields – but not entirely without control. Dragging himself to the forward console, a wounded but still functional Khan fought to make his orders heard above the crackle and thunder of instruments exploding and structural elements failing all around him.

“New destination!” he roared. “Starfleet Headquarters!”

“Engines compromised,” announced the voice of the ship’s computer, “Cannot guarantee we will reach intended destination, specified destination off-limits. Do you confirm order/?”

Khan’s one word response emerged as a snarl, “Confirmed.”

The USS Vengeance was in bad shape, trailing fresh flames as it struck atmosphere as it plunged towards the surface below, large chunks of torn and twisted metal, fiery internal components, and disintegrating pieces of its interior formed a wild trail of destruction. It fell rather than flew, almost completely out of control.

Almost...

Screaming past the Enterprise, the gargantuan metallic corpse that was to have been the late Admiral Marcus’s flagship to his envisioned dream of a militarized Starfleet hurled recklessly towards Earth...

As the ship ploughed down towards its destination, smoke began pouring from its crippled engine nacelles.

Though the consequences of his doomed ship’s arrival would be devastating enough, it did not strike precisely where Khan had hoped. As if by a giant hand, the ancient monument that was the prison on the island of Alcatraz was scraped clean from its rocky promontory. The collision was just enough to critically slow the vessel’s descent and alter its intended trajectory. Instead of smashing into and through Starfleet Headquarters, it plunged into the bay.

Its momentum, however, was sufficient to send it through the water and slashing into the city bay-front. Tower after tower succumbed to the sickening impact, crumbling before the crushing mass, until the wreck of what had not long ago been the most powerful vessel in Starfleet’s arsenal finally came to a grinding, groaning halt.

The concomitant wave that rose out of the harbour swept across the low-lying harbour front, inundating facilities, smashing apart landscaping, and tossing vehicles about like toys.

***

THE GOLDEN-GATE BRIDGE – A SHORT TIME LATER

There were numerous injuries and unavoidable deaths, but the greater carnage Khan had hoped to inflict did not occur. The slightest of maladjustments that had affected the intended course of the warship’s death dive meant that many more survived who would otherwise have perished.

Molly looked down on the scenes of devastation below her, noting with satisfaction the countless number of untold acts of heroism, bravery and sacrifice taking place in its wake.

“You’re doing I take it?”

There was no malice in his tone.

Of course he’d noted the change in direction of the Vengeance’s descent, an act of God, or in this case, a benevolent intervention from the Angel of Death.

She turned and grinned as she noted just how delicious Khan looked in his new apparel.

“Call it my little gift to humanity.”

Khan began fidgeting with his robes, attempting to stretch them out so that they would fit a little less snugly than they did currently.

“Do they really need to be so tight,” he grumbled.

Molly’s gaze wandered over his broad and powerful frame, her admiration more than clear. “Yes,” she playful responded.

Khan shook his head in resignation.

“Come on,” Molly said, suddenly all business. “There is work to do.” She paused briefly, before adding. “With one in particular I’m certain you’ll enjoy dealing with.”

“Lead on,” Khan said with a smile, feeling genuinely invigorated and eager to begin this new unexpected stage in his existence.

***

#Khanolly #Molly is the Angel of Death #Final chapter

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daisydoctor13 · 7 years ago

Text

This is the sound of my soul (Berena fic)

Rating: General audiences

St. Cuthbert’s School for Boys & St. Winifred’s School for Girls Class of 1983 invites you to prom night. Friday 15th July 6:30pm. Black Tie, Formal Dinner and DJ.

“You’ve got to go Serena you’re the head girl. What head girl doesn’t go to the prom? It’s right up your street: music, dancing, smuggling alcohol in and having your wicked way with half the boys at St Cuthbert’s.”

Serena pouted at Bernie, who was lounging on her bed idly flicking through her chemistry textbook, not trying to study at all, and distracting Serena in the process. Not that Bernie needed to study, she had the infuriating ability to cram the day before an exam and come out with incredible grades, when Serena had slogged all year round. If they weren’t best friends, they’d be at each other’s throats most of the time.

They were, to begin with. Bernie’s surliness and reluctance to make friends when she started at St Winifred’s, which she regarded as punishment by her parents who wanted her to act like a ‘proper lady’, meant she pushed everyone away. That was an insult to Serena, who made it her duty to befriend every new girl, and took it personally when Bernie rejected her advances. They both competed for top in the class, Bernie regarding Serena as a swot, teacher’s pet, and Serena hating Bernie’s effortless academic ability. And sporting prowess, and musical talents (although Bernie later admitted that she absolutely hated the violin, and was only good because her parents forced her to practice at home).

“Ha, smuggling alcohol in? I think that’s your area of expertise, anyway, if the head girl has to go, surely Hockey and Lacrosse captain needs to be there as well? Especially the one that has dragged St Winifred’s to the top of the league from pretty much the bottom?”

Bernie’s smile dropped from her face. Prom was not her idea of fun, and she had been planning on avoiding it. She didn’t feel any particular nostalgia or link to this school, the only true friend she had was Serena and she didn’t want to be hanging around her all night, when Serena was the life and soul of the party.

It was Bernie who reached out to Serena. During their O level year, Serena’s father fell ill and she was worried about him. Being so far away meant she only knew what her mother told her. Which wasn’t much, because Adrienne wanted her to focus on her exams rather than fret. The lack of information only made her fret more, and her grades slipped in a few tests.

When the result of one biology assessment was released, Bernie quickly glanced up at Serena across the room, she was quite far down the list. Serena couldn’t bear the thought of Bernie aloof and gloating and swept out of the room. If she’d looked properly she’d have only seen concern in those hazel eyes. Bernie followed her, found her in the toilets splashing water against her face and doing her best not to cry. But instead of being patronising or smug, Bernie simply patted Serena’s shoulder and said “I’ve got whiskey in my dorm, if you want?”

That evening they clambered onto the roof from Bernie’s room, passing the bottle of whiskey between them. A large tartan blanket behind a turret made Serena think Bernie probably spent a lot of time up there. She draped the blanket over the two of them and sat as close to Serena as possible without actually touching. Bernie didn’t pushed her to talk, but gazed out over the school grounds.

Serena didn’t know what it was about Bernie, but she found herself telling this girl, to whom she’d barely spoken two words, everything. Her father’s illness, her mother’s high expectations, how despite her apparent popularity in school, she didn’t feel like she had anyone that she could trust, who understood her and knew the real her. She portrayed the person she thought the other girls would like, and sometimes she felt like a fraud. Bernie listened, nodded but never interrupted, letting her get it all out, awkwardly patting her knee and offering a tissue when she cried.

After that, they became closer. Their trips to the roof were more frequent although Serena brought coffee or chocolate rather than alcohol, not wanting to drink in the run up to exams. Bernie opened up, about her strict parents, their disapproval of her tomboy looks and desire to join the army when she became a doctor. Her father didn’t think the army was a place for ladies, wasn’t even particularly keen on women being doctors. The rest of the girls in their year were puzzled by the developing friendship between two rivals. They were still fiercely competitive, every assignment and test they battled to get top spot, but there was no animosity between them anymore.

“Why don’t you want to go, Serena?”

At this Serena sighed and shut her book, knowing she wouldn’t be getting much more done. Why didn’t she want to go? Bernie was right, it was her idea of a great night. But when Bernie had said she wasn’t going, she had gone off the idea. Celebrating their last year at school, the rite of passage into adulthood wouldn’t be the same if her best friend wasn’t there.

But how could she say that to Bernie? It sounded needy, and she knew Bernie was reluctant to go. She couldn’t force her, because if Serena said that, Bernie would of course agree to go, even though they both knew she wouldn’t enjoy it.

“I don’t know Bernie, I guess it’s just difficult to think about enjoying myself when we’ve got exams coming up.” Bernie pursed her lips, she didn’t believe her but was willing to let it drop.

“In that case, you’ve got to go. You’ll need it after all the hard work you’re putting in.” She picked the textbook back up and Serena hoped that would be the last she heard of it.

It wasn’t, although it wasn’t specifically Bernie that brought it up. The weekly post hand out during Saturday breakfast caused a bit of a stir. They couldn’t quite see what was going on, but a lot of the girls were squealing and giggling in delight. It soon became apparent as a large cream envelope, heavy paper and dark blue ink, dropped in front of Bernie’s plate. This was the biggest shock of all. She never got post, once a term she received a brief note from her parents, short and factual, telling her family news and what she would be doing over the holidays.

It was immediately obvious this wasn’t from her parents. The hand writing on the envelope was large, clumsy and the ink had been smudged a little. The main giveaway was the rose taped across the corner, causing Bernie to gape at the letter.

“This can’t be mine!” She exclaimed, as girls crowded behind her, eager to see what the letter contained.

Serena quirked an amused eyebrow at her friend. “Do you know any other Berenice Wolfes?”

Bernie looked up at her from the letter, hands trembling. Who could have sent this to her, was it a joke, a dare? She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, feeling claustrophobic with the crush of bodies peering over her shoulder.

Serena stood, pulling her up and leading her out of the hall, away from embarrassment. Bernie hated being the centre of attention. She wanted a reputation based on her academics or accomplishments and did not want to be subject to gossip or humiliation. Serena knew this and made a loud excuse of needing to finish an essay.

They went straight up to the roof, although they were in final year now and had the privilege of their own rooms, it was still a place that they both liked to share, no chance of any disturbance. Serena leant against the wall as Bernie slumped down and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a short note that Bernie read, her furrowed brow soon disappearing up into her fringe as her expression turned incredulous.

“It’s an invite!” She exclaimed, waving it at Serena. “To go to prom with Marcus, of all people!” Serena caught the paper and skimmed through the note. It seemed genuine, no hint that it could be a hoax, his mates egging him on.

Bernie,

You have been a good friend to me for the past year and helped me enormously with the rugby team, when you had no obligation to. I admire you and although I have never had the courage to tell you, I think you are wonderful. Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the prom?

Yours,

Marcus

She glanced up at Bernie who was pacing across the short space furiously. “Why would he ask me? Like this, so publicly? Who does he think he is? We’re friends, when have I ever given him reason to think I might be interested in him like that?”

She stopped and stared at Serena, hoping she could answer these questions, tell her how to let him down, say anything. She was just as clueless, unfortunately. “I’ve got to tell him no, and he’s got a typical fragile male ego. He won’t like it.”

Serena bit her lip and sighed. She could see Bernie was furious. Sending a letter to her, knowing she’d get it in front of her peers. Marcus should have known Bernie wouldn’t have liked it, although he clearly couldn’t read Bernie well anyway, if he thought she would go to prom with him.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Marcus recently,” Serena smirked at her, after she had come back from a long training session, followed by a coffee with the rugby captain at St Cuthbert’s, their brother school. Bernie frowned in confusion.

“We were planning the charity match, and I was helping him with some management tactics. His vice-captain is causing trouble, saying he’d be a better captain. Honestly, I thought girls were meant to be the bitchy ones.”

Serena quirked an eyebrow and chuckled at her. The realisation of what Serena had been implying dawned on her. “Oh, right, no I’m, uh, not really interested. In him.”

She nodded in understanding, Bernie had never shown an interest in the boys at the other school, her parents would say she was there to learn, she merely stated she was perfectly content as she was.

“Does he know that, Bernie?”

She hadn’t thought about that before. It hadn’t occurred to her that Marcus, well, any boy would be interested in her like that. Partly because she wasn’t a typically attractive girl - untameable hair and gangly limbs - and she couldn’t imagine anyone looking at her when her best friend was Serena McKinnie. Radiant, confident, flirty. Everything an eighteen-year-old boy could want, and more.

“You know half our year would kill to go out for coffee with him. Captain of the rugby team, total hunk. Some girls can be so shallow.”

Bernie chuckled at this, knowing Serena could be just as bad. “Hmmm, I guess,” she agreed. Yes, Marcus Dunn was physically fit, broad shoulders, strong arms. She should find him attractive, but she didn’t. “Not really my type.”

Something flashed in Serena’s eyes - acknowledgment, understanding, but she didn’t anything, was about to move on to a new topic of conversation. The words tumbled from Bernie’s lip, she couldn’t keep it from Serena any longer. If she spoke slowly the words would dry up, she couldn’t be sure how Serena would react. It was too late now.

“Not my type, at all, be-because I like, um, girls. Yeah, I’m- I mean- I’m gay, Serena. I don’t want to keep it from you. You’re my best friend, and I can’t bear you not knowing. Is- is that okay?”

Serena’s face softened but Bernie glanced down, not wanting to meet her eyes, not knowing what she expected to see there.

“Of course, it’s okay, Bernie. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. I didn’t want to push you into saying anything, but I’m glad you found the courage.”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react. You’re the first person I’ve- hang on, what do you mean you’ve been waiting for me to say it?”

Serena playfully bumped her with her shoulder, trying to ease her friend’s awkwardness, show her rather than tell her that it didn’t matter, nothing to worry about.

“I’ve noticed little things, here and there. Don’t worry it’s not obvious, not to people that don’t really know you. But don’t try and tell me again that your stumbling pronunciation in French O Level was because you were rubbish at languages. You could do it perfectly in group work, but as soon as Miss Jessop asked you a question you could barely speak English, let alone another language.”

Bernie flushed at this, it was true she had a crush on the lovely French teacher, but she was a little worried that other people had noticed.

“How do I tell him no, Serena? I can’t tell him the truth, I don’t trust him enough not to tell everyone,” she trailed off. Since coming out to Serena, she had felt more at peace. They didn’t talk about it a lot, the walls of the boarding school had ears and very few people were accepting of homosexuality. She was happy that her best friend knew, and still accepted her. That was enough.

“He’s a nice guy I’m sure he can take the rejection. If you just say you weren’t planning on going anyway, he’ll understand. Anyway, he won’t be without alternatives.”

Marcus caught up with Bernie after training the next weekend.

“Hey, Bern, fancy a coffee?” He threw his arm around her shoulders in a friendly manner but she flinched away from the touch.

“Waterhouse still giving you trouble?” she asked, thinking he was wanting to talk tactics and ways to manage his unruly Vice-captain.

A brief look of confusion flashed across his face.

“What? Oh, no, I mean would you like to go for coffee together. You know. Talk about, uh, stuff.”

“Oh, right, sorry, I’ve got to write up a chemistry practical. Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, you never got back to me, about prom?” He looked at her hopefully. She blanched, she had put it to the back of her mind, hoping he would forget.

“I wasn’t sure how to. Um, thank you for asking, and what you said was lovely,” she paused, working out the best way to say no without damaging their friendship. “I’m glad we’re friends, you’re great but I don’t really want to go with you. I mean, you’re a mate and it wouldn’t feel right.”

She was about to apologise, but his face had coloured.

“Why not? You’ve been so nice to me, we’ve spent so much time together. I assumed you liked me, Bern.”

She stared at him, her mouth open, astounded.

“We’re friends Marcus, we had to plan the match together, you needed some help. I enjoy chatting with you about sports and everything else. I’m sorry if you’ve got the wrong idea, I didn’t mean for that at all.”

“So, you don’t want to be anything more than friends?”

She shook her head, mumbling her apologies. His expression turned sour.

“You know, I could have my pick of the girls in your year, they practically throw themselves at me.”

“Well you should take one of them to prom then,” she wasn’t in the mood for this. She could tell he was about to use some bullshit ‘I’m not like other guys’ line and she wasn’t sure she could restrain herself from lashing out. She had a notoriously short temper, only beaten by Serena’s.

“I don’t want to Bernie, I want to take you. The lads think I’m mad, they don’t get you. They think you’re cold and surly, but I know you’re not.”

It wasn’t word for word, but the sentiment was still there. The ‘lads’ wouldn’t want to date Bernie, she should feel honoured that Marcus was asking.

“If you’re trying to compliment me, you’re doing it in a very backhanded way. Telling me no one else would want to take me to prom is not flattery. I’m sorry, Marcus, but I’m not interested.”

"Fine, your loss. You're right though, you'll go to prom on your own. I'm sure Serena McKinnie will find someone, and you'll be sat on the edge, watching everyone else have fun. In fact, I might ask her myself."

She laughed, Serena wouldn't accept an invitation from Marcus, she spent a lot of time calling him a pompous twat. It was true though, Serena had been approached by a few people although she had politely declined all of them.

The problem was, he was right. Bernie wouldn’t have anyone to socialise with other than Serena. It’s mainly why she didn’t want to go, because she didn’t want to spoil Serena’s fun. She would spend the night with Bernie because she felt she had a duty to her friend, when she should be enjoying herself.

“He should be so lucky!”

Bernie smirked, as she had expected, Serena did not seem enthusiastic at the news that Marcus would be asking her.

“He is such a twat, Bernie, I never knew why you were friends with him. This just proves it, he has a typically fragile male ego. Oh, I hope he does ask me, just so I can see the look on his face.”

Serena was furious, marching up and down her room, wearing a path into the carpet.

“Trying to claim that no one would take you to prom? It’s ridiculous. You know what, let’s show him. We’ll go together!”

Serena looked at Bernie with the anger and passion burning in her eyes. Bernie was floored. She’d made it clear to Serena that she didn’t want to go. Serena had grudgingly accepted that she had to, as head girl, but Bernie had put her foot down.

Now, though, there was a sparkle in Serena’s eye. She was appealing to Bernie’s vengeful side; the one Serena knew would be itching to get back at Marcus. It was true, she was angry with him for assuming and being spiteful.

She felt the breath catch in her throat. What would other people think? What would she wear? But Serena was already talking, barely registering Bernie’s panic. Once she got hold of an idea there was no stopping her.

“If you don’t go, he’ll think he’s right. But this will be a middle finger up to him, he’ll see we don’t need boys to have a good time. You especially.” She winked and Bernie found herself chuckling.

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, but she knew she would agree. Serena could always bring people round to her point of view, and Bernie found it difficult to refuse her. She nodded and Serena grinned, immediately grabbing her diary.

“Great, we’ll go shopping one weekend. When are your next matches?”

“The quicker you come out and show me, the quicker we can go back.” Serena crossed her arms and sighed impatiently. Bernie had given her a limit – she would try on three dresses and that was it.

“I’m not coming out,” Bernie called back, earning a dry chuckle from Serena.

“Bit late for that.”

“Ha, I’m serious Serena, the shoulders on this dress should be on an American football kit, not a prom dress.” She poked her head round the curtain and slowly revealed the dress. Serena could see what she meant. The dress was a lovely colour, deep purple, ruched satin but the shoulders were overexaggerated and her slender arms looked quite ridiculous poking out the bottom. She shook her head and Bernie disappeared back.

She waited for a few minutes, Bernie opening the curtain with a dramatic flourish and a frown on her face.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms. It was full length, with a lot of ruffles and a large skirt, stiff fabric layers poking out at various angles. “This last one had better be good.”

She returned without allowing Serena time to comment. She was sure the last one would be perfect, she’d only picked out the other two to show Bernie bad options, so she would like the third one. Also, seeing Bernie in ridiculous dresses was rather entertaining.

The curtain opened once more and Serena gasped. A no fuss, royal blue off the shoulder dress with a v neck that highlighted her collarbones. It had an asymmetrical hemline which ended at her knees at the front, slightly longer at the back. It showed a black lining, the colours contrasting perfectly.

“It’s perfect, Bernie, you’re going to make Marcus so jealous,” Bernie gave her a shy smile, she did like the dress although she wouldn’t admit it to Serena because she would be unbearably smug.

“Right, shall we find one for you then?” She asked as she appeared looking rather more comfortable in her casual clothes.

Serena patted her arm and grinned. “Don’t worry I’m not going to put you through that, Mum is sending me something she’s made.”

Bernie sighed with relief that the shopping was over and she wouldn’t have to sit around in the musty fitting room. They stopped in town for lunch, Serena seemed in her own world, usually she would talk incessantly, but she was quiet, staring at her plate.

“You okay?” Bernie questioned. “I thought you’d be more excited about me buying a dress, for the first time in…well, ever.”

She smiled, but it never reached her eyes.

“I’m just thinking…”

“Always dangerous,” she smirked, then reached over the table and placed her hands over Serena’s, stopping her from wringing them. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like the term is going so quickly. Soon it’ll be summer, and then we’ll be going to university. What if I can’t do it? I don’t know what to do if I can’t do medicine. And you’ll be so far away.”

She could feel the fear and anxiety coming from Serena in waves. Despite her confident front that she showed to others, Bernie knew Serena was a worrier, always feeling like she wasn’t good enough. No amount of good grades or praise from teachers helped her to be truly confident in her abilities. She only hoped that medical school would show Serena how brilliant she truly was.

“I know it’s going quickly, but we’ve got a really long summer, we don’t start until the end of September. And frankly I’ll be glad when these blasted exams are over. You will be amazing, Serena, and hypothetically in some weird parallel universe where you aren’t good at medicine you can come and live with me and keep my room clean and make sure I eat properly.”

She grinned at Serena, who let out a low chuckle. She didn’t want to think about the last part, because she knew that being away from Serena was going to be hard. They spent most of their time together, teachers would be shocked if they saw one in the corridor without the other. She was the only thing about St. Winifred’s that Bernie would miss.

“And we can still write, and see each other in the holidays. I’ll want to get away from my parents anyway. It’ll be different, but you won’t want me cramping your style when you’re making friends.”

This earnt her a smile, and she relaxed a little. She hated seeing Serena so worked up and hoped she had done enough to reassure her. They spent the rest of their lunch gossiping about the girls in their year, who was cheating on who, the fact that Sian was still taking antibiotics for the rather nasty infected nose piercing, and generally chatting. This ease between them they would both miss, knowing it would change at university but not wanting to acknowledge it.

“I feel sick,” Serena was shuffling her notes, constantly checking they were in order. Bernie stilled her, putting her hands on Serena’s arms and looking her in the eye.

“You’ve got this Serena, ignore the rest of the school and the parents. Imagine you are practising to me, like last night. I’ll be in the seats, just look at me.”

It was the last day of term and the formal service and prize giving for the Upper Sixth was all that stood between them and freedom. The only problem was that, as head girl, Serena had to make a speech in front of the entire school and the parents of all the girls in their year. Her own mother would be there, and this made Serena even more nervous. She’d made speeches before, and deep down she knew when she got up there she would be able to speak confidently, but her anxiety wouldn’t let her think that.

She had practically memorised the speech, but still had notes just in case, and had practised to Bernie and in front of a mirror so many times she was bored of hearing it. They were stood outside the Great Hall, waiting to process in after everyone else was settled into their seats.

Serena simply nodded at Bernie, hoping her voice would come back when she was stood at the podium. The doors open and the organ started playing the processional hymn, the girls following the head teacher in, shuffling and mumbling the words as they tried not to trip over each other.

The service passed by Serena in a daze, Bernie had to prompt her to get up ready to collect her academic achievement award. She smiled and shook hands with the Head and sat back down, tapping her foot impatiently as she clapped for what felt like an hour. She applauded a little more vigorously when Bernie collected her sports trophies, although this was drowned out by the hockey team cheering their captain, much to the disapproval of a lot of the parents. Bernie blushed at the recognition, she didn’t think she was particularly popular but Serena knew a lot of the girls idolised her.

Eventually she heard her name, the applause from behind her and the soft ‘you’ll be amazing’ in her ear. She stood, smoothing her skirt and walking up the steps, gripping onto her notes. She gulped slightly as she saw the amount of people she was stood in front of, but immediately her eyes flicked down and found Bernie, smiling up at her with her typically messy light brown hair and untucked shirt.

She kept her eyes focused on her as she began, thanking the head and other staff and commencing her speech. Although she had written it herself, it had been thoroughly vetted by the head teacher, and she felt there was very little personality in it. Every head girl had pretty much the same speech, it was a formality that had to be done. But the last paragraph she had been allowed to talk about her own experience and what the school meant to her.

“St Winifred’s has been more than a school to me. It’s been my home, my family, for so many years. I have valued my time here and it has prepared me for the future, more than I could possibly have hoped. I have formed wonderful friendships, had enormous fun and learnt so much along the way. St Winifred’s has helped me, helped us all, to discover things about ourselves, talents and dreams that we will make a reality. I would like to thank you all for making my time here, and my year as Head Girl, so fantastic. I will miss this school and everyone in it, but I know without a doubt I will leave here with St Winifred’s occupying a space in my heart.”

She met Bernie’s eyes at this point, saw her friend closer to tears than she had ever been before, and her own eyes stung. It was true she would miss school, but the part of St Winifred’s that would be closest to her would be Bernie. The times they had spent on the roof, the scrapes they’d got into in chemistry, cheering her on from the side lines in hockey matches. Those were the moments she would cherish.

She had paused for longer than she had realised, but it didn’t matter because she had finished, and Bernie knew this so led the applause. She looked out to see the entire school getting to their feet, in appreciation for the Head Girl they respected so much. Bernie was stood, with a smug ‘I told you so’ face on, no doubt because she had reassured Serena so many times that her speech would be a success and everyone loved her.

She dipped her head in acknowledgment and headed back to her seat where Bernie punched her arm playfully and grinned. The elation bubbled up in her chest, only a few more minutes then they’d be leaving.

“I never thought I’d be saying this but hurry up, Serena, we’re going to be late!” It wasn’t like Serena to be so last minute, but her hair had been a nightmare, not quite sitting right. After about two cans of hairspray (and a few burns from the curling tongs), she was happy.

Bernie was stood outside her door. She felt rather foolish in her dress, and had not attempted anything with her hair other than brush it out. She wished she was more talented at hair styling, but tight pins and elegant up dos weren’t really her style.

“I’m ready, one second!” was the harried reply, she obviously didn’t need the reminder that she was late.

The door flew open and Bernie stood there, open mouthed. She looked beautiful. The thought struck Bernie to the core. She’d always known Serena was attractive, especially to the boys, but she had never quite appreciated just how beautiful she was. She had envied Serena, mature and confident in her looks, and now Bernie knew that she looked completely inadequate next to her best friend.

She was wearing a strapless, sweetheart full-length dress. Perfectly fitted with a mermaid skirt, in a rich burgundy with stitching detail around the hem. Her hair was swept up onto the top of her head, accentuating her collarbones and neck. Her eyes sparkled and Bernie swallowed. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Bernie? Are you alright?” Serena questioned, concerned that she hadn’t actually spoken, or moved, since seeing Serena.

“Yes…yes, I’m fine,” she stammered. “You…you look, nice, no I mean, lovely. That colour really suits you.”

Serena frowned at her, Bernie was acting rather oddly, and was now fishing around in her dress, rather uncomfortably.

“Thank you, Bernie, so do you. Can I ask what on earth are you doing?”

Bernie soon returned to her usually mischievous grin as she pulled out a hip flask. “Here you go, McKinnie, you said smuggling in the alcohol was my job. And if I’m going to be suffering through this evening of socialising and dancing, I’m making sure the fruit punch has a bigger hit.”

She hid the flask back in her bra, she’d only got it out so she could look down and hide her face, which had coloured deeply after her stuttering compliment to Serena. She offered her arm to Serena, who grasped it tightly. She was rather unsteady on her heels, but looked down at Bernie with a smug expression.

"Finally I'm taller than you!"

Bernie chuckled, she herself was wearing low kitten heels because she did not want to add falling over to the list of things that could go wrong tonight. She would be busy enough worrying about Marcus and looking ridiculous on the dance floor.

She took a moment to really look at Serena, her eyes bright with excitement for the night ahead. Her dark hair was soft, the curls shining as the light caught them, her pale skin accented by a slight blush swept over her cheekbones. Bernie couldn't believe she had never noticed it before but her pulse quickened slightly.

She felt Serena squeeze her arm and blushed again, having been caught staring. Perhaps it was for the best that they were going to different universities , having a crush on your very straight friend could never end well.

She walked down the stairs in a daze. Did she have a crush on Serena? Surely, she was just appreciating how wonderful she looked. That's what friends do, right? Did she have bigger feelings for Serena? It wasn't a crush, not really. She'd had a crush, many in fact. They were all women completely unattainable, Mrs Jessop, the actress in Sophie’s Choice, she couldn’t remember the name. How did she feel about Serena?

She wasn't sure. She enjoyed spending time with her, felt a pull towards her from the moment they had sat out on the roof, perhaps even before then. She didn’t know what had made her reach out to her in the first place. She made her laugh, she would do anything for her. She had never had such close friendships in the past.

That must be it, she decided. I'm just confusing a very close friendship, not used to it. Even if it is something else, she definitely doesn't feel the same way back. And now is not the time to be having thoughts like this, Wolfe. Pull yourself together.

She was lost in thought and missed the last step, almost pulling Serena down with her. They managed to stay upright and Serena raised an eyebrow at her.

"I hope you've not started drinking already Wolfe." She laughed as she tucked a strand of Bernie’s hair back behind her ear. The touch left Bernie s skin burning and she gasped softly, covering it up with a chuckle.

"Of course not, you know me and heels never get on. Shall we?" She indicated towards where the girls were all gathered, getting ready for a photograph. They were ushered towards the front of the group and plastered on wide smiles as their head of year got the camera ready.

After that they all met the boys at the main entrance, and piled onto the bus that would be taking them into the venue.

Bernie could see Marcus, forcing a smile at Julie Granger who had obviously been his next choice. She ducked her head so he wouldn't see her and slipped in to the seat next to Serena.

The prom committee had done a great job, and there was a red carpet into the entrance. They were encouraged to enter in couples or small groups of friends and have an official photograph taken. Serena beamed at Bernie as they walked up the carpet and leaned in to her for the photo. Once inside they went straight to the tables for the meal. They chatted as a group, reminiscing about their time at school and excitedly speculating about what the future might hold for them.

Serena could tell Bernie had something on her mind and was doing her best to hide it; forcing smiles and laughing in the right places. She didn’t know whether it was her discomfort with the social situation, or something more. She had caught her staring a few times, but she quickly ducked her head and feigned interest in her food.

She tried to focus on the conversation, rather than worrying about Bernie.

“I mean, most women have a thing for men in uniform, isn’t that right Serena? And just think of all the nurses!” Serena bit her lip, Edward Campbell was loud mouthed and obnoxious, he thought he was God’s gift. She didn’t know him well, but he was also going to be studying medicine. The ‘work hard play harder’ reputation of medical students seemed to be the main reason he had applied. She was glad they’d almost finished dessert, so she could escape.

As the staff cleared the plates she caught Bernie’s eye, who looked pointedly at her glass. She nodded, it was impressive how Bernie seemed to read her mind. Bernie made a beeline for the drinks table and Serena was about to follow, when Edward cut her off.

“You know, it’s a shame. A beautiful girl like you not having a man on their arm, Serena,” he grinned and she could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in closer, one hand slipping on to her waist. “Shall we dance?”

She leaned away from him and smiled. He had obviously had a few drinks before arriving, and she didn’t want to upset him. “No, thank you Edward. It was very nice of you to ask, though.”

Bernie watched the scene from across the room. Her stomach felt like it had coiled tightly, seeing Edward with his hands on Serena, she had a coquettish grin, tilting her head playfully. She had no right to feel like that, although she did wonder at Serena’s taste. Her blood had been boiling at some of the sexist, arrogant things he had said during the meal.

“Jealous?”

Marcus’ voice in her ear made her jump, she almost dropped the glass that was in her hand. The heat flared in her cheeks, how could he tell? If Marcus had worked it out so quickly, she was doomed. He would gossip and it would get round to Serena. She could imagine the whispers now. How pathetic, Bernie Wolfe, in love with her best friend, pining after her like a puppy.

Love? Is that what it is? Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, she thought to herself, the bile rising in her throat.

“Wha-, no, why would I be jealous?” she stammered, trying to keep cool. She gulped down her drink, knowing she’d already added a little something extra and wanting to take her mind off the nerves.

“She’s getting all the attention, every guy in our year fancies her. It must be hard, to live in her shadow.”

Bernie breathed a sigh of relief: he hadn’t noticed that Bernie had been jealous for a rather different reason. She shook her head.

“I don’t want the attention, I just don’t like the look of Edward.”

“Well, Serena certainly doesn’t seem to mind the attention.” He smirked before being pulled onto the dance floor by Julie, who did not seem impressed that he was talking to Bernie.

She sighed and made her way across to Serena with the drinks. As she got closer she saw that Serena’s expression was rather more strained than she had thought and she seemed relieved to see Bernie.

“Hey there Bernie, I was just telling Serena just how beautiful she looked, and that it would be such a waste for her to have got all dressed up and not have a man to dance with. Don’t you agree?”

Bernie stammered, not quite sure what to say, but Serena cut in. “And I was telling Edward that a woman doesn’t need a man, isn’t that right?”

She took the glass and smirked at Bernie who nodded, but before she had a chance to say anything Serena squealed.

“Oooooh I love this song, come on Bernie!” and she found herself being marched into the centre of the room, Serena throwing all kinds of shapes, just like the film. Bernie stood awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with herself. She shuffled from one foot to the other, vaguely in time to the music, and downed her second drink. Dutch courage.

She relaxed into the next song, reminded of a warm summer afternoon they’d spent in the park, tipsy and listening to Serena’s brand new radio.

“I think brown eyes are so much nicer than blue, don’t you?” Serena mused, taking a drag from the cigarette before passing it to Bernie.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” she admitted, glancing at Serena. “I guess they’re warm.”

“What’s your ideal girl like?”

“Hmm? I don’t know. I guess I’d be too scared to do anything about it if I met them.”

“Oh, come on, Bernie, you must have imagined it. Someone to settle down with, no?”

“I couldn’t, Serena. My parents would flip if they found out. And it’s definitely not allowed in the army.”

“What so you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone? I can’t imagine you just sleeping around, going from one girl to the next, leaving them broken hearted.”

Bernie sighed, it was something that ate her up inside, she didn’t know what was worse: the shame she felt because of who she was, or the twisting in her stomach every time she considered not being her true self. The guilt was ingrained into her by her parents saying people affected by AIDS deserved to die, sneering at anyone who seemed like a ‘queer’. But could she really deny herself happiness? She didn’t know.

“I guess I’d be fine, you know, settling with a guy. It wouldn’t be awful. If I was friends with them, I could learn to love them.”

Serena had looked at her in horror. “Bernie, you can’t do that! You’d be living a lie, I know it would be hard but times will change you know. People like your parents will become outdated, the army will be more accepting. You can’t lie. If a guy fell in love with you and you settled, it would all come out eventually. You can’t do that to someone else, Bernie. You just can’t.”

She was staring at Bernie intensely, she hated lying, always said it was the worst quality someone could have.

“You’re right, I know. Sorry,” she hung her head, tears threatening. “What if opinions don’t change, though? If people think I’m unnatural, a freak?”

Serena patted her hand. “I think if you find the right person, then none of it will matter. You’ll just want to be with them, and you couldn’t imagine life without them. You want to be with them more than anything else in the world and the hate will be nothing compared to that amazing lightness you feel in your chest. When you look at them, you won’t see anything that’s happening around you and you’ll want to make it work. You’ll want to shout it from the rooftops.”

Bernie honked, unable to keep a straight face. Serena turned to her indignantly.

“What?!”

“McKinnie! Are you drunk?!”

“I bloody hope so!”

“You’ve been watching too many films. Come on we’d better get back before your mum wonders where you are!”

Serena could see the faraway look in Bernie’s eyes as she almost subconsciously danced to the song. She was obviously deep in thought, not for the first time that night. Serena was concerned, normally Bernie told her everything, Serena was her one outlet for the emotions and troubles she usually kept bottled up.

“Ah, Serena, how about you be my very own brown eyed girl? You don’t mind, do you Bernie?”

Edward had cut between them, but Bernie barely noticed so Serena had no choice but to be whisked away by Edward. He wasn’t so bad, she supposed. He was rather attractive and not a bad dancer. She kept an eye on Bernie, who had been found by her hockey team and was dancing with them. Their eyes met and Serena rolled hers, indicating towards Edward, but all she received was a tight-lipped smile.

She pushed Edward away as the next song started. The memories of them dancing in her bedroom to this, Bernie tripping over a light, came to the front of her mind. The simplicity, pure joy, no cares in the world. Bernie found her across the dance floor, eyes alight and with no hint of the previous concern.

Bernie chuckled to herself at Serena posing with her hands on her hips. Her confidence radiated from her, she wasn't afraid of who was watching, she was perfectly happy and lost in the music. Her energy was infectious, and Bernie knew she would get caught up in it herself soon, despite being self-conscious. Looking around, she saw that no one was watching, and she started to move in time, when Serena grabbed her arm and span her round.

The shock made her stumble and Serena caught her, propping her back up and throwing her head back in laughter. They were dancing close together now, Bernie trying not to stand on anyone's toes as the crowd pressed in around them. She found the rhythm again and felt something lift from her shoulders.

She looked at Serena, this was how it was supposed to be; two friends dancing, laughing. Nothing complicated. The ease between them was something Bernie had never expected to find, growing up she'd been private, unwilling to open up to friends. She never would have thought she would find a friend in someone like Serena. Unlikely as it was, she wouldn't change it for the world, and she certainly wouldn't ruin it by muddying the waters with feelings.

The music changed to a song she didn't recognise, but Serena grinned and started singing. Bernie listened to the words, trying to pick them up so she could join in.

I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something.

She felt a lump rise in her throat. She always thought she would never look for love. If it found her then so be it, but she was scared of the consequences. She loved medicine and had a deep, burning desire to go to the army. Her father always said it was no place for a woman, that she wouldn't be able to have a family if she signed up. Her father's disappointment hurt but love wasn't something she needed to feel complete.

She would be travelling the world, hopefully. But was it in search of something? No, it was to run, from a family and a world where she never truly felt she belonged. Until now. In a world that hated her, well, what she was, there was Serena. Did Bernie need to travel the world to look for something? Or had she found it right here? Her thoughts were swimming, clouded by alcohol, and she didn't know what to do.

Edward cut between them for the second time that night and she scowled, but it was probably a blessing. She needed to go to the bathroom and clear her head, so she pointed in that general direction, hoping Serena wouldn't follow her.

Serena watched as Bernie slipped away to the toilets but she could tell by her expression she wanted to be alone. Bernie had never understood the 'girls going to the bathroom in packs' and so she let her go. Hopefully she would return with another drink for Serena.

Edward pressed close to her and she started to feel claustrophobic. He was by now incredibly drunk and was openly staring at her chest, a slightly lecherous grin on his face. She coughed and his eyes flicked up to her face, and she did her best unimpressed stare, one eyebrow arched threateningly. To his credit he apologised, but his eyes still wandered away from her own.

She sighed, wondering whether there was any guy out there that could appreciate a girl's looks without being so obsessed with sex. Someone who would compliment her for intelligence rather than beauty. She knew she was a flirt and could always charm a guy around to her way of thinking. She liked to be desirable as well. But no one had ever really caught her attention and if they did, she soon found they weren't interested in a girl with aspirations and a passion for medicine like she did.

She hoped things would be different at university, that there would be likeminded people who she could study with and socialise with. She had this big dream, meeting someone who would respect her, hold similar opinions but be different enough that they could have debates, putting the world to right over coffee or wine. A friend first and foremost, always there to listen. Caring, thoughtful, intelligent. Someone who felt like home.

She stopped suddenly as her train of thought came screeching to a halt. One word in her mind: Bernie.

Edward looked at her, concerned, but she shook her head and carried on dancing. Tried to carry on like nothing had happened, but her entire world felt like it had been spun on its axis. Hadn't she just described her best friend? The person she was going to miss the most when she left this school. The one she felt drawn to, who always knew how to cheer her up or calm her down when she was angry. She had other friends of course. But no one quite like Bernie.

And now they were going away, all they had was the summer. Bernie was going to the army and Serena wasn't stupid, she knew very few people stayed friends after school. Not long term. She was losing Bernie when she'd only just realised how much she meant. It would almost be easier if she had never realised.

She looked across the room, immediately picking out her tall, slim figure and messy curls that Serena always threatened to tame (but secretly loved). She was getting drinks and Serena excused herself from Edward’s company. His hand trailed down her back as she turned, but a sharp glare soon stopped him.

She sidled up beside Bernie, touching her arm gently in greeting.

“Serena, don’t feel like you have to come and keep me company. I’m sure you’d much rather be dancing with Edward.”

She could hear the bitterness in Bernie’s voice, was it jealousy?

“Don’t be silly, it’s not an obligation. I would much rather be with you than him. He’s barely looked at my face once tonight. Egotistical creep.”

“What, so you don’t….you know….like him?” Bernie visibly relaxed and her expression softened.

“No! Honestly, Bernie what’s going on?” her eyes dropped and she stammered before responding.

“I…I…I didn’t like the look of him. You could do so much better, tha- that’s all,” she glanced up at Serena through her fringe, her eyes wide with earnest.

She narrowed her eyes, not quite believing her. “Come on, let’s dance, you can show Edward how to dance with some respect,” she joked, but she saw a small change in Bernie’s expression again. A little tension, trepidation. It was gone as quickly as it appeared and Bernie nodded, following her back into the crowd.

“And this next one is for all those young couples, it’s your last day at school together. Grab your partner!” The DJ announced and Bernie paled.

“No, no, I can’t slow dance, Serena. Besides, what will people think?”

Serena looked around before fixing Bernie with a stare. “Look, loads of the girls are dancing together, we’re best friends. Everyone knows that, they won’t care at all. As for the slow dancing, I’ll lead, you follow.”

Bernie gulped and nodded, linking their hands. Serena marvelled at their softness, delicate and tender. Not roughly grabbing, just intertwined fingers slightly cooler than her own.

Babe I'm leavin' I must be on my way The time is drawing near My train is going I see it in your eyes The love, the need, the tears.

Her stomach coiled and tightened, her pulse racing. University beckoned, doors open with a promise of a fresh start for both of them. This was an opportunity. It didn’t matter what happened because if it went wrong, if Bernie didn’t feel the same, then they could leave. But those open doors would close quickly behind them and if she didn’t say something now then she would always wonder.

But I’ll be lonely without you And I’ll need your love to see me through So please believe me My heart is in your hands And I’ll be missing you

She sang the words softly, pulling Bernie fractionally closer so her mouth was close to her ear.

“I’m going to miss you so much Bernie. I mean it, I don’t know how I’ll get through university without you there as well. You’ll be having such a wonderful time and you’ll forget all about me. Please, promise me that you won’t be too scared, or ashamed. That if, no, when, you find someone you won’t let fear get in the way. I couldn’t bear to think of you unhappy, and I care about you so much,” she bit her lip, willing the tears to not spill onto her cheeks. As she was composing herself she heard a sob from Bernie and felt her pull away.

Somehow, she took away the warmth. Serena hadn’t noticed it but now they were apart there was a gaping hole and a chill in Serena’s core.

“I can’t do this, Serena, I’ve, I’ve got to go,” Bernie’s voice was close to breaking. She ran from the dancefloor before she had a chance to ask what was wrong. She was stunned.

“You know, I think this is the bit where you run after her,” Serena turned to see Sian right behind her. They were quite close, had been in the same class for most of their O levels.

“Sian, what are you talking about?”

“Serena, don’t be naïve. I can see you like each other. You’re both too stubborn to admit it though. And Bernie is definitely terrible at talking feelings. You’ll have to go after her. Make the first move!”

“I...I didn’t even realise it myself until about 20 minutes ago. How can I tell her, she probably doesn’t feel the same way back. And now somehow I’ve said something to upset her but I don’t know what-“

“Because she’s so bad a talking. Ask her about medicine, or feminism and she’ll natter for hours. As soon as you mention any feeling she clams up. Except to you. You need to get her to open up.”

Serena raised an eyebrow and smirked, “No offence but why on earth would I take advice from you?”

Sian grinned, “Hey, I may not want the whole childhood sweetheart thing for myself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see it in other people. Apparently before they see it themselves.”

She winked and Serena flushed. If Sian was right and people thought Bernie liked her back…..

“I’ve got to go, thank you,” she wrapped Sian in a hug and made a beeline for the door. She hoped Bernie hadn’t gone too far.

Bernie sat against a tree in the grounds, the tears flowing down her face as she sipped the whisky straight from the flask. She didn’t care that her dress would be getting wet, she couldn’t feel the cool chill settling in the night air.

Serena’s words had hit her, punched straight through and left a gaping hole. How was it possible to feel this much, and yet be numb at the same time? The last few hours had passed Bernie in a daze, but in that moment, the two of them dancing, there had been a rush of sound. Time had stopped and Bernie had tried to commit each detail to memory: Serena’s delicate fragrance, her soft hands, the feel of her weight as they moved in time to the music, her sweet voice singing and harmonising with the music. That had been enough, for Bernie. She had decided that they could be friends, she would treasure that moment where nothing had mattered and they would carry on as normal.

But what had Serena meant? Her voice had been close to breaking when she said she cared about Bernie. It almost sounded like she was saying goodbye, sealing their friendship into a yearbook, a memory to be found many years later with a nostalgic smile.

Forget Serena? Not possible. Let fear get in the way of her own happiness? That was second nature.

She didn’t need to look up to know Serena was coming towards her. She stared at her knees, pretending not to notice, but Serena slid down next to her and lifted the flask from her hands, taking a swig.

“You probably don’t want to talk, but I do. As in, I want to say something to you, but you don’t have to respond. Is that okay?”

She nodded, not daring to meet her eyes. She didn’t know where this was going and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. But Serena had asked.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I don’t quite know which part of it upset you, but it did and that wasn’t what I intended. I’m…confused…no, that’s not the right word. I realised tonight that you are more than my best friend. I don’t know what that means for me, or for us. But I needed to tell you.”

Bernie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stared, dumbfounded.

“If you don’t feel the same then that’s fine, like I said I couldn’t bear for you to be unhappy. I couldn’t go to uni not knowing. So, now you know.”

Bernie was still dumbstruck, unable to process what was happening. “You obviously don’t, I’ll- I’ll go,” Serena went to stand up and leave. Bernie’s brain finally caught up with what was happening, her thoughts having to wade through the alcohol, and she took Serena’s hand.

“No, wait. I…” she trailed off, she hadn’t got much further than this. All her brain had been screaming was don’t let her go. And now she didn’t know how to make her stay.

“I’m sorry I ran. You’re right, I was scared. Scared of ruining a friendship, because it felt like you were saying goodbye, because I couldn’t think of ever meeting anyone else that would make me happy. Scared of you forgetting me.”

Her voice was a whisper as if something inside was trying to stop her saying them. She pushed on regardless.

“I don’t want you to think that I’ve only been friends with you because…I mean, I only just realised it, maybe only just consciously admitted it to myself tonight. I’ve not been pining or…or…”

Serena cut her off with a low chuckle, wiping tears from her cheeks. “I don’t think that, at all.”

She glanced down at Serena’s lips, the emotion and alcohol encouraging her to lean forwards. She didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t like the movies, where the kiss happens after months of wondering, building expectations in her head. She had never kissed anyone before, except for a dare in primary school.

It was tender, nervous, she could feel Serena’s hand shaking slightly against her cheek. They parted, both looking deep into the other’s eyes, searching for signs of regret. Bernie glanced around, but no one was nearby. She shuffled closer and tentatively placed her hand at the nape of Serena’s neck. A thought flitted through her mind.

What happens after this? After prom, after summer? Is this a reaction to the thought of losing a friend? Is it real?

She pushed the thought away, reminding herself to not be scared. This was real, this as what she wanted. She couldn’t deny herself with what ifs. Serena had told her to not let fear get in the way. Their lips met again, this time with more confidence.

Serena had been surprised at first, not expecting Bernie to express her feelings, certainly not expecting her to kiss her. But the moment their lips touched she knew it was right. She sounded cliché but she didn’t care, the softness and sweet taste were perfect. She’d enjoyed kissing guys in the past, but stubble could be irritating and comparing it with this. Maybe it was Bernie, maybe it was girls. Serena found she didn’t really care.

They stopped as Bernie shuddered from the cold. Serena stood and took Bernie’s hand.

“Do you want to go back inside? There’s still a bit of time before the bus takes us back to school.” Their parents would be collecting them the next day.

They made their way back inside and Bernie didn’t miss the questioning look from Sian, and the small thumbs up Serena gave in response.

“What was that about?” She whispered in her ear and Serena chuckled.

“Well apparently we weren’t the first to acknowledge there was something between us. She decided I needed a bit of encouragement. She’ll probably be gloating about playing cupid for a while yet.”

The tension had lifted from Bernie and she danced happily with the rest of the year, always close to Serena.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen it’s time for your last dance. I hope you’ve all had a great night!”

Bernie turned towards Serena and held out a hand. She grinned and took it, pulling them close together. They both sang, swaying from side to side. A peace settled over Bernie, once again living in the moment, but this time delighted that she didn’t have to commit it memory because she could live it, and many more like it, again. Hopefully.

Oh I want the truth to be said.

They weren’t ready for the truth to be released to the world. But they had told the truth to themselves, and each other. That was the most important part.

“What happens now, Bernie?”

Serena’s voice cut through her thoughts. It was the one niggling thought at the back of her mind, that she was ignoring because it was too hard to contemplate. That they had come together and would soon be parted, all too soon. It would have been hard, but that night’s events would make it even more unbearable. Was what she had to gain worth the inevitable pain and suffering further down the line? She grimaced, that was not the right mentality, but she was always preparing for the worst.

“I don’t know, but I can’t think straight. Too much alcohol, too many emotions. We have the summer. We’ll talk about it, work it out.”

Serena smiled contently, hugging Bernie a bit closer.

“You’re right, we can write, see each other in the holidays. What’s that thing Churchill said? Something about not looking too far ahead. I suppose I should take my own advice, not let fear get in the way,” she paused for a moment and then giggled. “It seems I can’t think straight, either.”

Bernie groaned at the pun and they settled into a comfortable silence, each pondering how they had reached this point. The night had seemed so short, yet at the same time getting ready had been a lifetime ago. Neither could have predicted what happened tonight but it felt familiar and looking back how could they have not known. Their presence in each other’s lives was vital, not to make them complete but to add a vibrant colour, a harmony to an already beautiful composition.

It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time – Winston Churchill.

Fin.

#fic #berena #berena au #prom

15 notes · View notes

andthelightbulbclicks · 7 years ago

Note

Hey can i get Bellarke fic in a cinderella universe? Bell the prince Clarke is Cinderella ?

Dear anon who sent this in forever ago,

I hope you’re still around to read this, lol.. This is more so a modern, loosely-based Cinderella story, but it’s a beast. So I hope y’all enjoy :) [ao3]

“Oh shit.”

Which, not exactly the words Clarke wants to hear from theperson currently working on dying her hair.

“What,” Clarke says immediately, hands reaching up to touchher hair as she tries to turn around and look in the bathroom mirror. “’Ohshit,’ what?”

Raven grabs at her shoulders, keeping her in her sittingposition and unable to catch a glimpse of the apparent disaster occurring onher head. “It’s not bad,” Raven assures her as soon as she’s confident thatClarke isn’t going to make a move to turn again, “it’s just– a lot more bluethan I had anticipated.”

At that, Clarke can’t stop herself from whipping herselfaround in the kitchen chair they had dragged into their bathroom, and gettingan eyeful of – yep, a whole lot of blue.

“Holy blue,” Clarke says, staring at her reflection, eyestracing over her short hair that is most definitely far bluer than she andRaven had discussed.

Raven’s eyes meet hers in the mirror as she nods solemnly.“Holy blue,” she agrees.

“I thought we agreed that we were just doing the tips totest it out?” Clarke asks pointedly as Raven avoids her glare in the mirror.

“We did! But you chopped your hair so short and it’s solight and I may have misjudged the strength of the dye and how high it wouldseep up into your hair,” Raven defends.

At that, Clarke lets out a huff. “You said it’s temporary,right?”

“Yup,” Raven nods. “That’s why we used it, just to gauge howyour hair would react to it,” she explains as she takes one of their bathtowels to start tugging and squeezing at the blue hair, and winces when shepulls the towel away to find it dyed blue as well.

Clarke pins her with her best unimpressed look once she eyesthe towel in Raven’s hands.

“Trust me,” Raven continues, tilting her head, her ponytail swingingwith it’s perfectly dyed red tip, “when we do it for real, I’ll know to golighter and to do a smaller portion of hair so it doesn’t, uh, end up goingabove your ears.”

As she says it, Clarke finds her hands tracing over the bluethat starts to fade into blonde just above her ears. It’s a lot of blue. Far more blue than blonde, even with her hair onlybrushing her shoulders to begin with.

“My mom’s going to lose it,” Clarke tells her as she takesthe towel, trying to dab at the blue herself, and only accomplishing turningthe towel bluer. “She’s going to think I’m going through an annual rebel phase.Dropped out of school last year, excessively dye my hair this year, get tons ofpiercings next year, a giant tattoo the year after that…”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Just tell Abby I did it and all willbe forgiven.”

And well, she’s not wrong.

Clarke scrunches her nose in response, not actually havingan argument to that.

“Besides,” Raven goes on, giving up on the now-blue toweland using it to start wiping up any excess dye off the counter. “It’ll wash outin two, three days tops. And the kids are gonna love it.”

And again, Raven Reyes is never technically wrong.

—

When Clarke was thirteen, her father died.

It had been sudden, blindsiding Clarke and her mother, and throwingthem into a never-ending tailspin. Clarke was absolutely devastated, one dayhaving her father’s smiling face teasing her, the next rushing to the hospitalto say her goodbyes after a massive heart attack.

After that, she and her mom were never the same. Theysurvived, made it through that first awful year after the heart attack, andeven repaired their relationship as best as a grieving widow and a shattered andconfused fourteen-year-old could. They’d make it, they’d just never have her dadthere again to balance them out the way they needed.

When Clarke was fifteen, Abby introduced Marcus Kane to her.

This, she knew was coming.

She knew her mom had been going on dates, knew that it wasall very tentative, and knew that this was important. It’d been two years, andthough the spiteful side of her wanted to hate her mom for moving on and hateMarcus for even existing, she was willing to grudgingly acknowledge thatwouldn’t be fair. She couldn’t expect her mom to never fall in love withsomeone again, and she couldn’t blame Marcus for making her mom happy and beingthat someone.

They married the following year, and Clarke was happy for them. She briefly imaginedMarcus being some sort of evil-step-father, but she couldn’t get the image tostick. She liked Marcus and his awkward attempts at assuring Clarke that hewasn’t trying to replace her father. And she liked the way he looked at her momlike she hung the moon.

When Clarke was sixteen, they told her that they wanted tostart fostering.

On top of having been married to a very successful engineerfor fifteen years, Abby came from a wealthy family. Marcus had his own fortune,often donating to Arkadia’s local history museum. They had the money, they hadthe room, and all they needed was for Clarke to be okay with having one or twokids around the house for the year or so she’d still be living at home beforeshe left for college.

And Clarke was definitely all for it.

Which is how Octavia Blake and John Murphy came to live withthem.

John, or well, Murphy, was fourteen. He’d been in the systemfor four years, after his mother had died from alcohol poisoning. Four fosterhomes, two counts of theft, and one final warning of juvie later, Murphy cameto live with them with a smirk that told Clarke he didn’t plan on being therelong.

Octavia was thirteen. Her mother had died the year before,and she’d been in a sort of foster-care-limbo since then because hereighteen-year-old brother was trying to get custody of her. The courts hadruled against the brother, and Octavia came to live with them, anger coursingthrough every inch of her small form.

At first, it was rough. Really rough.

Clarke knew she could never truly understand what they hadgone through, what they were goingthrough, but she had wanted to try and make them feel at home, to let themfeel like they had a home. Abby andMarcus must have thought Clarke could be an outlet for them, someone aroundtheir age that they could talk to. She thought she could be that person too.

They didn’t.

They went to school, Murphy scowled at everything andOctavia didn’t speak, and they continued to pretend that Clarke didn’t exist,keeping to their rooms as much as they could.

And on top of all of that, there was Bellamy Blake.

Marcus and Abby never limited his access to Octavia once shecame to live with them. Bellamy was welcome any time he wanted to see hissister. He was invited for dinner whenever he came by, which was often, and heaccepted every time, if only to spend some more time with Octavia. He’d stayfor dinner, help Octavia with any homework she had to do, and then thank hermom and step-dad before leaving to go back to the house his mom had left to himor to one of his many jobs.

He seemed to like Marcus and Abby well enough, was willingto be kind to them even if Clarke could see the tension he held the entire timehe was there.

But Clarke? He hatedher.

The first time he came to see Octavia, she tried to talk tohim as he waited for Abby to get Octavia. She wanted to see if he had anysuggestions on how to get through to Octavia, even Murphy, and show them thatshe was on their side.

He’d looked at her with an amused tilt of his head and aroll of his eyes. “Try getting off your fucking high-horse and acknowledge thefact they don’t want you on their side, Princess.”

Octavia had burst through the kitchen door and into his armsright after, effectively ending the conversation before it could even start.

Clarke had been taken aback, felt the blood rush to her faceeven as she fought the urge to spit a retort back at him.

But her mom popped her head in the doorway and smiled at thesight of the two siblings together, and Clarke couldn’t do it. Octavia had beensmiling for the first time since she came to live with them, and Clarkecouldn’t, wouldn’t take that away.

She got why Bellamy hated her. She was the daughter ofprivileged people who were able to give his sister things he couldn’t. Hewasn’t able to hate Abby or Marcus, but he could hate Clarke and create theimage of her he wanted in order to justify it.

Clarke Griffin, the “princess” who was too self-entitled tounderstand anything, too good for the likes of Octavia or Murphy. Or him.

And she’d let him, if it meant he wouldn’t take it out onanyone else.

—

Clarke opens the door to her parent’s house, only to bewelcomed by the sound of rock music and something that smells absolutelyincredible coming from the kitchen.

She shakes her head fondly, making her way straight towardsthere and walking in to find Octavia sitting on top of the kitchen counter,feet swinging in front of her, as Murphy stands in front of the stovetop,stirring something sizzling in a pan.

She takes the moment before they notice her to just watchthem. The calm and ease they have, how much they clearly belong here after almost five years.

It’s only a second, because then Octavia’s turning towardsher and launching herself off of the counter to get to her. “Clarke!” Sheexclaims, before barreling into Clarke’s arms. She pulls away with a jolt aftersqueezing Clarke tight. “Holy shit, what did you do to your hair?” She asks asshe tugs on the blue.

“Raven got a little excited with the dye, it should come outin a few washes though.”

Murphy, ever the focused one on his cooking, only turns atthe mentions of her hair. His critical eye glances over the bright blue locksbefore smirking at her. “You seriously want to give Abby a stroke, don’t you,”he jokes, turning back to his food.

Octavia releases her hair just so Clarke can go flick Murphy’sear in retaliation. “No,” she starts,poking him wherever she has access to until he relents and spoons a bite ofwhatever he is cooking to test taste.

Stir-fry. Her favorite.

She makes a show of contemplating the flavors as Murphywaits for her approval, which as always, she gives full heartedly. “It’sdelicious,” she tells him while bumping him in the shoulder. “Thanks for makingit.” She pulls him into a hug before he can turn back to his work and ignoreher praise.

He accepts it with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Welcomehome Clarke.”

“Thanks,” she says as she hops up on the counter whereOctavia had been when she walked in. “Now that you’re going to be this big,fancy chef going to a big, fancy cooking school, I definitely want one of thosecakes that gets set on fire. And the ice-cream you put in a deep fryer.”

Murphy heaves a dramatic sigh as he continues stirring theirdinner. “You’ve had deep-friedice-cream before, and Baked Alaska is practically an ice cream cake.”

“But you’ve nevermade it for us, which means we’ve never had the best,” Octavia chimes in,joining Clarke up on the counter. Out of the three of them, they had discoveredthat Murphy was the only one who could cook something that was edible. But hewas really good at it, so hebasically had the skills of three people anyways, which was fine with them.

Murphy snorts in place of letting the girls compliment him.

“So,” Octavia starts, turning her attention to Clarke.“Welcome home. You get moved in with Raven okay?”

Clarke nods. “Everything’s still in boxes, but when Ravensaw I cut my hair, she wanted to test out dying the tips. She’s on acolored-hair kick.”

Octavia tilts her head to assess it. “I do like the shorthair,” she prods with her change in tone, asking a question without saying it.

Clarke shrugs her shoulders. “Just wanted to start fresh.Moving back here, getting ready for the exhibit,” she trails off. “Everything’schanging, so why not my hair? Raven thinks the kids at the museum will like it.”

“Oh they definitely will,” Octavia agrees. “They’re going tothink you’re the coolest artist yet, and I’m saying that even though myboyfriend is one of the other artists.”

Clarke sighs, looking between the two of them. “Murphy’stransferring out to go to a culinary institute, you’re graduating from high school in a few weeks… when the hell did wegrow up?”

“Who says any of you are grown up?” Abby calls from thedoorway, fondly looking at her three kids and making her presence known, Marcuscoming in right behind her.

Clarke hops off the counter instantly, going to hug them bothin place of any of them having to respond.

“Welcome home, honey,” Abby says in her ear, before shestretches her arms out to get a good look at Clarke. “Now,” she pauses, “whatis with the hair.”

She hears her siblings simultaneously snort behind her.

—

Three months after Octavia and Murphy came, Clarke’s watchwent missing.

Her dad’s watchwent missing, Clarke’s most prized possession.

She looked everywhere for it. Sometimes she wore it, whenshe felt like she needed to be close to her father, but often, it was left inher room. She searched under dressers, in dressers, under her bed, and in everybag she had ever used.

She didn’t want to think it, didn’t even want the thought tocross her mind. But the more she looked, the more she was sure that the watchwasn’t there.

Someone had taken it.

She knocked on Murphy’s door, knowing he was inside. When hedidn’t answer, she opened it to find him reading on his bed.

He jumped in surprise at seeing her, closing the bookquickly and placing it behind him. “Uh, do you mind?” He said, tone clearlyaggravated.

“Yeah,” Clarke responded, “I actually do.” She steppedfurther into the room, making it clear she wasn’t leaving. “Look, I get thatyou don’t like me, and that’s fine, but it’s not okay to just go in my room andtake whatever you want.”

Murphy’s nostrils flared at her accusation. “I don’t knowwhat the hell you’re talking about.”

Clarke crossed her arms across her chest. “The watch. It’smy dad’s,” she went on. “Please just give it back.”

At that, Murphy stood to get off his bed and walked towardsher. “I didn’t take your damn watch Clarke,” he told her angrily. “I get youthink I’m stealing things left and right from your perfect house–”

“That’s not–,” Clarke tried to defend, but Murphy barreledon.

“But I’m not stupid!I know how this works, okay? The moment I fuck up, I get sent back. Do youreally think I don’t get that if I go back again, I’m probably going to bestuck there until I’m fucking eighteen?”He seethed, nostrils flaring with an anger Clarke couldn’t begin to imagine.

“I–,” she started, trying to find something, anything tosay. But it’d been three months since he got here, and the only thing she knewabout him was what was on paper.

She judged him, and she was furious with herself for doingit.

“Now who do you think would take something so obvious in the hopes that she couldbe sent back? So that she could be with her brother?” Murphy asked, taking astep away from Clarke to sit back on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke told him, guilt turning her stomach intoknots.

Murphy rolled his eyes, not looking at Clarke. Then he gotup, brushing past her to get to the door. “I’ll get your fucking watch back,and then you leave me the fuck alone.”

He headed down the hall to Octavia’s door.

Clarke followed, and watched as he knocked on the door andwaited, refusing to look at Clarke, but also not barging in like she had done.

The door creaked open after a minute or so, Octavia peeringout and glaring at him. “Cut the shit out and give Clarke her watch back,” hesaid, pushing the door open wider as he said it.

Octavia saw Clarke behind him, and her glare intensified,but she didn’t deny it. She turned back into her room, coming back a momentlater with Clarke’s watch in hand. Clarke reached out for it, Octavia refusingto meet her eyes.

“Did you tell your parents? Am I going back?” Clarke heard thenote of hope in her voice.

Clarke watched as Murphy shook his head, frustrated. “Thecourts decided that your brother wouldn’t be able to take care of you, Octavia.You do shit like this, you get sent back and then go to a different home. Hereyou can see Bellamy whenever you want, don’t be dumb.”

Clarke’s heart hurt with the acceptance she heard inMurphy’s voice, the pain she saw in Octavia’s eyes.

“We want you,” she heard herself saying, meeting both oftheir eyes when they looked back at her. “My mom and Marcus? Me? We want youboth to feel like you have a place you can call home, a place where you feel safe.”

“I have a home,”Octavia spit out.

“You’re right,” Clarke continued. “But now you have two. Iget that I’m never going to understand what you guys have gone through, but youcan talk to me. This can be your home too. There’s nothing you can do to makemy mom and Marcus send you back, including taking my watch.”

She looked to both of them, prayed they could see howserious she was, that she’d never uproot them over an object, no matter itsimportance.

“Whatever you say,” Murphy said after a moment, before headingback to his room, but purposely leaving his door open. Octavia watched him go,before turning to Clarke.

“Fine,” she responded, and then headed back into her room, herdoor staying open as well.

Clarke looked down at the watch in her hands, putting it inher pocket and releasing a breath. “Alright.”

Things were rough, but they were going to get better.

But Clarke still had to speak with Bellamy.

She hadn’t talked to him since that first time he hadsnapped at her with his harsh words. He visited Octavia all of the time, andAbby and Marcus spoke very highly of him, but he seemed to take the routeOctavia and Murphy had, and just ignore Clarke’s existence.

So when he rang the doorbell at the usual time one day,right after he got off from work, it was Clarke who answered.

The patronizing look she got from him was enough for her tomatch it with a glare. “Princess,” he said with a lift of his chin, walkingpast her into the house.

“Octavia thinks that if she gets put back into the system,she’ll be able to come live with you,” she informed him, getting right to thepoint.

Clarke watched the tension racket up his back at her words,and her gut twisted at realizing how less tense he’d become when coming over.

Bellamy was getting used to the situation. He came wheneverhe could, either to hang out with Octavia, even Murphy, or take Octavia for acouple of hours to spend some time together. And the agitation she felt comingfrom him at her words told her she had unsettled whatever calm he had obtainedthrough that routine.

He turned slowly towards her, acknowledging her in a way henever had. “And it’s my fault, right?” He sneered, taking a step toward her. “Ishould just stop seeing my sister all together?”

“Of course not,” Clarke answered immediately, trying to takehis anger in stride. “I just want you to be aware, because I don’t want hergoing and doing something that she can’t come back from.”

At that, Bellamy scoffed, and Clarke stepped forward,exasperated.

“Look, you can think whatever you want, but I care about herand Murphy and what happens to them. And we both know Octavia is more willingto listen to you than anyone else. Please just talk to her.”

Clarke watched as Bellamy ran a hand through his hair,turning away for a moment, before turning back towards her. “I’ll talk to her,”he finally answered.

She let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

But that only pulled a bitter laugh out of him.

“Just mind your own business next time, and you won’t haveto stress yourself out so much, Princess.”

She gaped at him, trying to ignore the sting of his wordsand focusing on the tension in his jaw, the look that was always directed ather – amused, condescending, and completely uninterested in anything she had tosay.

It was then she truly realized, no matter what she did, whatshe said, he was never going to give her a chance.

—

“Alright! Everyone make sure you don’t forget your capes andcrowns!” Clarke calls as she sees the clock on the wall hit eight o’clock. “Andmake sure you grab your pictures off of the drying rack on your way out!T-shirts are still wet, so you’ll get them the next time you’re here!” She addsas the group of kids start bunching together, trying to grab all of theirthings and head out into the main lobby of the museum where parents are waitingfor them.

She wipes her hands on her paint-stained smock, only gettinghalf of the color off of her hands before reaching up to adjust her own crownon her head, her blue nub of a ponytail popping out wildly from the top.

Following the last of the kids out the room, she speaks witha few of the parents while waiting for everyone to be picked up. Once everyone’sgone, heading out of the museum and showing off all they have done over thepast few hours, Clarke heads back in to clean up.

She unties her smock and tosses it to the side, noticingimmediately that she already has additional stains on the Ark U t-shirt Murphyhad gotten her for Christmas last year. She shouldn’t be surprised, themajority of her wardrobe is covered in paint at this point.

She starts with picking up the lingering paintbrushes, onlyto drop them all in a clatter when a voice speaks up from behind her.

“Wow, it looks like a rainbow threw up in here.”

The comment itself, doesn’t do much to startle her.Honestly, it does look exactly like that, with everyone’s t-shirts they had tie-dyedat the beginning of class hanging from string Clarke had draped from theceiling, a colorful cape or two lingering on abandoned chairs as well.

It’s the person who says it that has her raising herdefenses before she can even turn around.

She turns to find Bellamy leaning against the door of themuseum’s activity room, looking relaxed in a way she’s never seen him. And he’swearing a security uniform.

He smirks at her – in a way she’s never seen before either,almost fond – when she continues tojust stand there, waiting for a biting remark to come. “Do you need some help?”

Clarke continues to just stare at him, completelydumbstruck. “I– what?” She asks when she realizes this time he’s waiting forher to respond, and she’s taking way too long, trying to figure out what thehell is going on.

But Bellamy doesn’t look at her in anger, or frustration, ora condescending way. He just repeats his question, if not while looking alittle unsettled himself.

“Do you want some help cleaning up? I’ve got time, securityhere is pretty digital at this point, so if something happens, the other guy oncamera duty will give me a heads up.”

“Uh,” Clarke starts, still thrown, “sure, I could use thehelp.” She can’t help but eye him warily as he leaves his spot by the door tostart grabbing the paint palettes from the tables and bringing them to the sinkto wash them off. She continues watching him from behind as she picks up thescattered brushes she had dropped.

“So,” he calls from over his shoulder, “is this a newprogram starting up for the summer?”

She takes her time placing the brushes back where theybelong before answering, trying to figure out his angle on all of this. “Kindof,” she hedges, “it’s a weekly program where local artists come in to workwith the kids using different art mediums. It’s my first time doing it, and Idefinitely over planned.” She feels his eyes follow hers to where the t-shirtsare hanging. “Whoever’s in next week can pass back their disguises.”

“Disguises?” He asks, turning to fully look at her. Shecan’t get over how open, how curious he’s being. Is this where they’re at? Afterthree years of not seeing each other, not speaking, they can be civil to eachother?

“Each artist picks their own theme, or medium, orsomething,” she explains. He looks at her expectantly, and she can’t get overall of these parts of him she’s never seen before. “Mine was ‘badass superheroes with a royal twist,’ but the badass part was just kind of implied,because of, you know, kids being twelve and under.”

He laughs, bright, and Clarke can feel the set of hershoulders start to relax.

“Okay, explain to me what ‘badass super heroes with a royaltwist’ entails,” he says while finishing the palettes and moving on to wipingthe tables down.

And she does.

She tells him how she’s not a fan of the whole ‘girls areprincesses and boys are superheroes’ thing, how she wanted to give them both,blend them together. Girls can be superheroes and boys can princesses. They canbe both.

“Whatever the hell they want,” Bellamy says, which draws asmile from her.

“Exactly,” she continues excitedly. “So not surprisingly,since they had the choice for once, a lot of them chose both. I wanted to paintmasks on their faces like mine,” she adds while gesturing to the navy bluestrip of glitter paint that surrounds her eyes like an eye mask, “but again, Igot way in over my head with too much stuff and had to ax it. Maybe next time.”

By this point, the room is as clean as it’s going to get,and they’ve settled into two of the chairs at one of the tables as Bellamylistens to her.

It can’t be this easy. After never exchanging a kind word,barely speaking, always fighting, it can’t be this easy to start over with him.

And it turns out, it isn’t.

“So Princess,” he hesitantly reaches up to toy with the crownstill settled on her head, and Clarke’s blood runs cold.

Princess.

“Are you a full-time artist, or do you go to Ark U?” Heasks, gesturing to her shirt with the hand that was just playing with her crown.

Clarke’s mind remains absolutely blank for a solid tenseconds before everything settles into place, and during that time, Bellamycontinues looking at her in that way she’s never, ever seen.

The blue hair, the crown covering her little bit of blondehair, the mask painted on her face, the paint covering her arms and clothing,the fact that they haven’t spoken in three years. That they really never spoketo begin with.

He doesn’t recognizeme.

“Um, no,” she begins, trying to process everything that’shappened in the past half hour or so in a different light. He doesn’t know who I am, runs on repeat in her head. “I don’t goto school,” she settles on. It’s been so nice talking to him, and she doesn’twant to ruin it. “I wouldn’t say I’m a full-time artist or anything, but I’mhoping I get there one day.”

She doesn’t notice she was staring at her hands clenchedtogether until she feels Bellamy lean in closer, giving her a reassuring smileunder the curls falling over his eyes. “I bet you’re awesome,” he tells herwith a confidence she sometimes feels she doesn’t even have in herself.

Clarke’s not sure how her heart can expand and her stomachcan twist simultaneously. But it does. “What about you?” She asks, attemptingto steer the conversation away from her.

“I’m at Ark U,” he starts. Octavia told me, she wants to say. “I’m working towards being ahistory teacher eventually. I just finished this semester, and I hopefully havetwo more to go and then I’ll be done. I work here during the summers andbreaks. My– uh, well, it’s complicated. But I know someone who put in a goodword for me here when I started school a few years ago, and the museum’s beenreally good with letting me come back.”

It’s a lot to hear at once. A lot to take in.

She knew he had started school the semester after she leftfor college, but of course he’d still have to work.

What surprises her more than anything is that he let Marcushelp him.

It’s a lot of information, but she doesn’t want him to know that.“You like history?” She chooses to ask, because who would have thought. BellamyBlake – history buff.

He ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, before lookingback up at her with a smile that’s pure happiness. “Being able to work in ahistory museum is almost my dream job, minus the fact that I’m security insteadof a tour guide,” he admits, cheeks flushing.

Clarke’s having a hard time accepting everything that ishappening right now as anything more than a dream. This can’t really behappening right now. She can’t be so charmed with a man who has never given herthe time of day.

But that’s the thing. For the first time, unknowingly ornot, Bellamy is giving her a chance.

So she takes it.

“Well, I think we should take a tour of the museum then.It’s closing up in,” she glances at the clock, “five minutes. I bet you knowall the secret passages and hidden exhibits that only come to life at nightwhen the museum closes.”

He tries to hide is smile, and absolutely fails. “YeahPrincess?”

And that’s the other thing.

She’s never heard that word, directed at her, coming fromhim, with such fondness. How easily she could get used to hearing it like thatall the time. She doesn’t think she’d mind the nickname then.

She watches him as he stands and reaches out for her hand.“Then let’s get going, your night at the museum awaits,” he jokes.

Taking his hand, she gets pulled out of her seat. Grabbingher bag, she gets pulled into a private tour with Bellamy Blake.

—

“Who’s the kid following my sister around like a lostpuppy?”

Clarke took her time to grab a soda from the cooler she’dbeen digging through before turning to face him. “Bellamy.”

“Princess,” he smirked.

She searched for Octavia in the group of kids in the pool,finding the focus of Bellamy’s attention immediately. “That’s Ilian, a friendof Octavia’s.” She watched as Octavia laughed freely, splashing Wells and Ravenin the pool as Ilian joined in and soaked Octavia with a splash of his ownarms.

Bellamy scoffed. “Friend,right. There a reason you invited a kid three years younger than you to yourgraduation party?” You’re here, you’retwo years older, she wanted to say, but she knew he was only here becauseMarcus had insisted that he stop by and Miller was here with Monty.

Clarke ignored the bait, looking at him with an even gaze asBellamy continued to glare at Ilian. It’s as if he’s hoping Ilian would somehowfeel it from across the pool where Bellamy and Clarke were standing by thesnack area Marcus and her mom had set up out back for the kids while the adultsmingled in the house.

“I invited Jasper and Monty,” she said pointedly, gesturingto where Monty and Miller were floating in tubes as they watched Jasper bellyflop into the pool. “But they’re only a year younger, so I suppose that doesn’tcount.”

The glare directed at Ilian switched to her instantly.“That’s different, and we both know it.”

Clarke couldn’t help the roll of her eyes, even if shewanted to. “They’re fourteen, Bellamy, what could they possibly get up to witha house full of adults and you refusing to look away from them for more thantwo seconds. She’s having fun, let her.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because she couldfeel the tension radiate off of him almost instantly. “It figures you’dencourage it, what do you care if he’s a hormonal teenage boy who’ll be on tothe next pretty girl he sees by tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?”Clarke crossed her arms in front of her, gearing up for the apparent fight theywere going to have in the middle of her party. “Ilian is a nice kid. He andOctavia like to hang out, and it hasn’t been an issue. Stop making it soundlike it’s something terrible.”

“So this has been something that’s been going on? And no onethought to mention it to me?” His jaw locked, vein popping on one side. “God,you’re such an enabler.”

She had no time to appreciate the fact that this was thelongest conversation they had ever had. Not when his words were becoming moreand more heated and he was blaming her for seemingly nothing.

“An enabler?Seriously?”

“You say you care about her and then you let her get awaywith anything that doesn’t affect you,” he accused, anger rising by the second.

“She didn’t do anything! Theydidn’t do anything! Octavia asked if he could come and I told her yes. It’sa safe environment and there’s enough people here for it to be a group settingwhere she could feel comfortable. I’m not an idiot, I knew what I was doing.” Clarketried not to yell, not to shove him until he gets a grip, but he was beingridiculously judgmental, even for him. She was used to being the target of hisanger, but he’s mad enough that apparently anyone’s fair game.

“You still don’t get it–,” he started, but Clarke cut himoff.

“Get what? That you’re a judgmental ass? Believe me, I’veknown that since we met,” she spit out, frustrated with how he was getting toher. She could see that they were starting to gather the attention of everyoneby the pool.

“You’re not her family, Clarke!” He yelled abruptly, haltinganything that she was going to say next. “You’re not her family,” he repeated,seething, “you’re not her sister, you have no say on what is good for her, haveno clue what is good for her.”

The fight went out of her instantly, replaced by a suddenhurt she didn’t think Bellamy could inflict. She saw Bellamy’s eyes widen,thought for a second he’d apologize for his cruel words.

Instead he just cut deeper, eyes hardening again. “You go tocollege, and you’ll forget all about her and Murphy in no time.”

She latched onto the last remnants of her anger, enough forher to shove him, enough for him to take a step back. “You’re an asshole, Bellamy. You have a chance togo to school now, instead of running yourself into the ground with workinghowever many different jobs–”

“I’m not interested in–”

“Like hell you’re not interested!” She shouted, noting theircaptive audience in the pool. “Octavia told me how you were supposed to go tocollege before everything happened. How you changed your mind to take care ofher. But she’s taken care of, start taking care of your goddamn self.”

For once, he was speechless.

So she powered on, ignoring the eyes of everyone frozenaround them.

“You have a chance to get the education you want. Go far,stay close, I don’t care. Ark U is right here, you’d be able to see Octaviaanytime like you do now,” she told him, the last of her anger dissipating.

He stood in front of her, continuing to not say anything.She watched him as he turned to see everyone else break from their stares andstumble to make it look like they hadn’t heard the entire thing.

They both watched Octavia storm out of the pool straighttowards them.

And then, without a word, he turned away and started walkingtoward the front of the house, undoubtedly to his car. Octavia followed afterhim, wrapping a towel around herself and yelling at him as she trailed behindhim.

Clarke watched the Blakes as they disappeared to the frontof the house, feeling her eyes burn, but refusing to let herself cry overanything that came out of Bellamy’s mouth.

She felt someone come up from behind her to stand to herright. “Graduation and college are touchy subjects for him,” Miller said, eyesstaying on the spot where Octavia and Bellamy had disappeared to. “He was onedge since he got here.”

Clarke’s gaze stayed on the same spot. “That’s no excuse.”She hated that her voice wobbled, ever so slightly.

“It’s not,” Miller agreed, “but I hope you understand.”

Clarke nodded sharply once. “I understand that no matterwhat I do, Bellamy’s opinion of me is never going to change.”

She ignored Miller’s sigh in favor of popping her soda canopen and heading towards her friends.

She ignored the fact that Bellamy had actually called her byher real name for the first time since they met.

—

They wander through the museum for hours.

He tells her everything he knows about each exhibit as theyhead from room to room, and Clarke finds herself completely enthralled with hisstories. Bellamy’s animated when he talks, hands flying out as he tells her allabout the Roman Empire after making their way through its exhibit, eyesgleaming with excitement when she asks him questions.

It’s something she never could have imagined experiencing –Bellamy smiling at her, wanting to hear what she has to say about this paintingor that statue – but she is.

He asks about her own art when they make it back to the mainlobby.

“I’m guessing that you like to paint, since you had the kidswork with it,” he eyes her arms, making her cheeks warm, “and well, you’recovered in it.”

“I sketch a lot too.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy smiles, pleased. “What do you draw?” Clarkehesitates for a second, and he catches it. “You don’t have to share if youdon’t want to,” he adds.

“No, it’s not that,” Clarke explains while making her wayover to one of the cushioned benches on the outer edge of the lobby. Hefollows. “It’s just that I draw a lot of different things. People, places,whatever gives me inspiration. I sketch and paint, but the topic is alwaysdifferent.”

“Can I see?” His eyes hold nothing but pure curiosity asthey sit down on the bench.

No, is the simpleanswer. Her main sketch book has drawings of everything she sees on aday-to-day basis. And that includes drawings of Octavia, Murphy, Monty andMiller, her mom and Marcus, Raven and Wells. It’d give her away in a heartbeat.

But she could show him something else.

She reaches into her bag, bypassing her large sketchbook infavor of the thinner one right next to it. “Okay,” she places the book inbetween them on the bench, so that when she opens it, half is balanced on herleg and half is balanced on his, “these are just doodles really. But, um,they’re concept art for a story I can’t get out of my head. I’m thinking oftrying to make it a comic eventually.”

“What’s the idea?” He asks, already beginning to flipthrough the pages.

“A girl who’s both. Who says she can’t be a princess whokicks ass and saves the world?”

Bellamy smiles at her. “Fight those gender norms, right?”

“Yup.” She takes a chance and bumps his shoulder with hers.“It’s a really rough plan right now, but I brought it to show the kids, so theyknew where I was pulling our activities from.”

She watches as he traces his finger over the crown she drewat the bottom of the page. On every page. “Is this your signature?”

Clarke glances back at him, before looking down at thecrown, her crown. “Yeah, it just stuck with me when I drew it one day.” Aftershe dropped out of school, after the initial blowout with her mom because ofit, she drew anything that came to mind, and the crown just wouldn’t leave her.

Bellamy looks back to her, drawing her attention to him.“You really are a princess,” he teases. “A princess without a name,” he addsafter a moment, the question clear in his tone.

And just as Clarke feels the panic set in deciding whethershe should tell him who she is or not, her phone goes off in her bag, blaringthe ringtone Octavia had assigned herself ages ago.

It’s enough to rattle her into standing up, if only soBellamy won’t see Octavia’s picture pop up on her screen. “I’m sorry, I have totake this,” she tells him, before bolting to the other side of the lobby.“Hello?”

“Clarkey!” Octavia yells from the other end. Whether shemeans to be yelling or not is another question entirely.

Clarke sighs, exasperation setting in immediately. “Hey,where are you?” Octavia only drinks when she’s with her or Murphy, or whenshe’s at Jasper’s.

“Monty and Jasper are hosting a pre-graduation party,” sheconfirms, speech only slightly slurred. “But I’m ready to leave.”

“How did you get there?”

“Murphy dropped me off, but he’s out with Emori now.Bellamy’s working tonight, and I don’t want to get a lecture from him anyways.”Clarke can’t help her eyes falling on Bellamy when Octavia mentions him, buthe’s still looking at her book.

She checks the time on her phone. “Alright, I’ll be there bymidnight,” she tells her, walking towards the museum’s entrance.

“And not a minute later!” Octavia exclaims just as Clarkelocks her phone.

“I have to head out,” Clarke calls to Bellamy from theentrance, praying he doesn’t get up. He does, of course, making his way towardsher.

When he makes it over to her, she can see the worry clear onhis face. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, it’s just my–,” she stumbles over the word‘sister,’ knowing it’s his sister too. And how would she even begin to explainthat? “It’s my sister, she needs to be picked up from a friend’s house.”

“You have a sister?”

She winces, hopes he misses it. Of course he’d focus onthat, his sister is his entire life.

“I do,” she says, immediately changing the subject. “I had areally great time,” she steps toward the entrance, pushing the gigantic dooropen with a shove, “thanks for the tour, and the help cleaning up. But I reallyhave to go, I’m sorry.”

Clarke can feel herself getting more and more agitated,feeling her real world start to smother the wonderful, almost magical, timeshe’s had with him over the past few hours, and trying to get out before everythingblows up in her face.

Miraculously, Bellamy stays where he is, but it’s clear hedoesn’t want her to leave just yet. “Hey, wait,” he hesitates just on the otherside of the threshold, seeming to think something over. “Can I at least getyour name?”

She stares at him, just as the door starts to slowly closebetween them, to see the question in his eyes, the confusion, the plea. All ofit mixed what she thinks might be hope.

She wants to, god does she want to tell him the truth.

It’s me, Clarke.

But that hope would turn to disdain in a heartbeat, she’ssure of it.

Smiling at him with a regret she can feel down to her toes,she shakes her head before running down the stairs.

He lets her go, and their little fairytale bubbleeffectively bursts.

—

Clarke was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling inthe water, when Octavia plopped herself down next to her.

Her friends were still fooling around on the other side ofthe pool, leaving Clarke alone when she said she just needed a moment alone.She felt drained, and kind of just wanted the party to end.

“Bellamy was out of line, and he knows it,” Octavia said asthey both watched their feet make waves in the water. “He promised me he’d benice.”

At that, Clarke barked out a laugh. “Octavia, your brotherhates me. It’d probably kill him to be nice to me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she told Clarke, equal partssurprised and earnest, turning to look at her. “He just– he has a hard timeaccepting help, so all the things Marcus and Abby do for me are like more andmore things he will owe them for.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “They do everything they do becausethey love you, those aren’t things they expect repayment for. And that hasnothing to do with me.”

“You probably have done the most for me, actually,” Octavialaughed. “You pushed and pushed until Murphy and I let you in. You watch outfor us, and you always listen when I need to talk.” She reached out, takingClarke’s hand. “You’re my sister, Clarke.”

Clarke felt her heart squeeze, listening to Octavia. She hadhoped that she and Murphy would see themselves as part of their family one day,but she wasn’t sure it would ever happen. Her sister.

“I’m going to miss you when you leave in the fall, andMurphy will too, whether he says it or not,” Octavia admitted. “And Bell knew that,so it probably was a factor too. He’s spent his whole life looking after me,and now here I am, with people who care about me that aren’t just him. I thinkhe worries he’ll be left behind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clarke argued, squeezing her hand.“He’s so important to you. Mom and Marcus think the world of him in partbecause of how much he cares about you.”

Octavia smiled, almost a little sad. “I know that. I thinkhe just doesn’t know how to stop worrying.”

Clarke could see the way the conversation affected Octavia, anddidn’t want her day to end on a bad note too. So she bumped her shoulder withhers, choosing to focus on something else, for both of them. “Enough about yourbrother. You and Ilian look like you’re getting along well,” she teased.

The blush that flooded Octavia’s cheeks told Clarkeeverything she needed to know, even without Octavia stuttering away excuseswhile Clarke smirked knowingly.

—

A week after the museum, Clarke finds herself in her parents’kitchen again, sketching the scene in front of her – Murphy teaching Emori howto bake cookies from scratch.

“John, we could have been done already if you just let meput a pack of the pre-made dough in the oven,” Emori complains, not for thefirst time, as Murphy starts adding morsels to the dough she is currentlymixing.

“Pre-made dough,”Murphy scoffs, and Clarke can’t help her smile as she focuses on her drawing.The two of them look so domestic, even with them constantly throwing quips ateach other. They’re cute, and Clarkenever thought she’d use that term to describe her brother.

Octavia comes into the kitchen like a whirlwind, headspinning to take in what is going on before making her way towards Clarke andsettling into the seat next to her, placing her crossed arms on the counter infront of her and sighing dramatically when no one acknowledges her directly.

“Octavia,” Emori calls from by the oven, “do you wantcookies in the next ten minutes? Or the next three hours?”

They both watch from the counter as Murphy rolls his eyes.“They’ll be ready in like twenty minutes tops, not three hours! And they’ll be delicious,” he adds, mock-glaring atEmori.

Their glares hold for a whole second before they’re lookingat each other fondly again.

Octavia chooses to ignore them, focusing her attention onClarke, which should be her first sign. “Your hair’s back to normal,” sheobserves, tugging on a short strand to apparently scrutinize the blonde qualityof it.

“It wastemporary.” She swats Octavia’s hand away so she can capture the admiration onMurphy’s face to make fun of him later.

When Clarke continues to ignore her in favor of her sketch,Octavia decides to give Clarke a heart attack.

“I just came back from lunch with Bell,” she says, voice fartoo innocent for Clarke’s liking. That should have been her second sign.

She pauses for a second at the mention of Bellamy, but keepsdrawing, not thinking about the Bellamy from a week ago and trying to continueto act like she would any other time Bellamy’s name would come up.

Which would be to hum and nod until Octavia moved on totalking about something else.

So she hums and nods, laser-focusing on her book.

“Yeah,” Octavia goes on, “all he could talk about was somegirl he met at work last weekend.”

And that, is when the heart attack slowly starts to set in.

“A girl?” Emori chimes in, grabbing any reason to come overand leave the baking to Murphy. “He met a girl while working night shift? Isthat even possible?”

“Was it a statue?” Murphy asks, starting to roll the doughinto balls and put them on a tray.

“Nope,” Octavia responds, head tilting to observe even theslightest change in how Clarke moves. She can feel her heart starting to pound,her skin tingling. And she can feel Octavia’s eyes watching her like a hawk. There’sabsolutely no way Bellamy figured out it was her, but Octavia is a whole otherspecies of observant. “She was the artist this week for the local artistsprogram that’s been going on. Apparently they spent hours going through themuseum, but then she left in a rush before he could get her name, only leavinga sketch book behind.”

“Of course she did,” Murphy says while sliding the tray intothe oven. “Sounds like some kind of serious Cinderella shi–,” he halts, whippingaround to face the three of them, realization dawning on his face as Clarke’surge to crawl under the counter intensifies. “Holy fuck.”

“What?” Emori asks curiously, completely oblivious toClarke’s turmoil as Murphy stares at her in shock and Octavia smirkstriumphantly.

Octavia chooses not to answer her, instead continuing onwith her conversation in a far-to-casual tone. “Yeah, I guess this girl wasamazing. Totally passionate about what she does, seemed interested in all of hisnerding out about the different exhibits, an incredible artist…”

Clarke can feel her face burning as she closes her book andplaces her stuff on the counter, turning to glare at her and ignore Murphygaping. She can’t even begin to pick apart the things Octavia is saying.

Emori looks between the three of them. “I’m clearly missingsomething.”

“I thought I was too,” Octavia says. “It just wasn’t addingup to me, because I know who the artist this week was, and what my brother wastelling me wasn’t making sense, because he knows her too. That is, until hetold me about her hair.”

“Her hair?” Emori says, confused, looking to Clarke for someexplanation.

Murphy finishes the story, eyes never leaving Clarke. “Herhair was blue. He didn’t know it was her.”

“How do you know that?” Emori asks Murphy, but stops fromasking anything else when she sees the other two staring expectantly at Clarke.

It’s quiet after that, all three of them looking for threevery different explanations. And she realizes with a start that if Octaviaknows…

“Please tell me you didn’t tell him,” she tells Octavia,panicked for reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain. All she knows is thathe can’t know it was her.

“What I’m not getting is why you didn’t.” Octavia levels herwith a look that can only be described as unimpressed.

Emori’s eyes widen when she finally understands. “Holy shit,Clarke is Cinderella.”

“I’m not Cinderella,” Clarke groans, putting her head downon the counter in defeat.

“Clarke,” Octavia starts once Clarke peers up through herarms. “Do you realize he’s been trying to find you? He’s been going around toplaces that host art from local artists looking for your signature. He actuallyasked me to find out if Lincoln knew who you were. You’re all he could talkabout today! This princess who he can’t get out of his head.”

“That’s just it!” Clarke argues, lifting her head defiantly.He’s been looking for me, plays onloop in her head. “This princess that he’s actually known for years and ohyeah, he actually can’t stand,” she finishes, dismayed.

Octavia looks almost hurt at her words. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is, Octavia.” Clarke can hear the disappointment inher voice. “The minute Bellamy finds out it’s me, it will be over before it caneven start.”

“You make it sound like he’ll find out eventually,” Murphypoints out, leaning in on the other side of the counter.

Clarke looks at Octavia, trying to portray her thoughtswithout having to say it. Octavia may do anything for Clarke, but she wouldnever lie to her brother, especially when Bellamy is asking for her andLincoln’s help.

Understanding, and frustration, dawns on Octavia’s face. “Ican’t lie to him,” she says. “I don’t know what you think will happen once hefinds out. He’s not the angry eighteen-year-old you met when I came here. Butyou have to give him a chance.”

“Like he’s always given me a chance?” Whatever tiny bit ofindignation Clarke has in her decides to make an appearance, even if she knowsit’s not fair.

Octavia’s expression changes from one of frustration toanger instantly and Emori and Murphy eye each other warily. “You mean duringthe time he lost the only parent he ever had and me? Or when his life was completely uprooted and he didn’t havea single stable outlet to turn to?” She challenges, and the guilt hits Clarkeinstantaneously.

Bellamy was a fleeting thought over the past three years,and before that, she was in no place to hold what he said against him. His lifehad fallen apart, and he was trying to stand on his feet for no other reasonthan to make sure Octavia was okay. She was the only constant in his life, andhe was taking on responsibilities people his age couldn’t even begin toimagine, including Clarke.

She said that she had understood, that she got it, but howcould she possibly ever?

“I’m sorry. I’m just– I should have told him, but I’ve neverseen him like that and I liked it. Iliked that he joked with me and was sweet. He was animated and passionate andthrew himself into our conversations. I didn’t want to ruin it,” she admitsglumly.

“Clarke,” Octavia sighs, frustrated. “That is my big brother. He’s awkward, and anerd, and clearly doesn’t know how to get a girl’s name, let alone her number. Youmet him at the worst point in his life. The guy you remember literally doesn’texist, let him show you.”

Clarke tries to imagine a world where everything works outthe way Octavia thinks it will. But real life doesn’t turn out like that, lifeisn’t a fairytale.

She opts to burrowing her head in her arms again, groaningin frustration. “And if he does hate me?” She asks, voice smaller than she’dlike.

She feels Octavia move to wrap her arm around her, squeezingher reassuringly. “I know my brother, and I’m 99% sure he’s head over heels forthe princess, for you.”

“And,” Murphy adds while sliding a plate of warm cookiestowards her until it bumps her arms, “if that other 1% were to happen, we’lljust drown your sorrows in delicious, home-made cookies.”

“John.”

Clarke picks up her head once more, stealing a cookie andstuffing it in her mouth forlornly. “I’ll tell him once everything with theexhibit is over.”

At Octavia’s dubious look, Clarke reaches for her hand andgives it a squeeze.

“Give me the week till then, and I’ll tell him right after.I promise.”

—

That summer before college, Clarke spent as much time aspossible with her friends and family. She never saw Bellamy again.

She went to school, and kept in touch with Octavia, Raven,and Wells all the time, Murphy every once in a while.

Octavia would give her updates on her life, which would ofcourse include updates on Bellamy as well. How could it not, when she loved himso much?

Clarke, he decided tostart taking night classes! Isn’t that amazing?

He’s switching tofull-time at Ark U!

He seems so muchhappier, Clarke. He’s doing well.

When she was home for breaks, she never saw him. She wasconvinced he specifically avoided coming to the house when he knew she washome.

And when Clarke dropped out, after she realized she couldn’tdo what she was doing for however many more years of school, let alone the restof her life, she didn’t come home immediately. She rented an apartment for ayear with the money her dad had left her, and sat around for a month before hersketchbook found its way into her hands after years of neglect.

And she drew, and sketched, and painted.

It was the hardest time she’d had since her dad died. Shevisited home, came for holidays, but she kept going back to that apartment tokeep drawing, sketching, and painting until she was ready to come home forgood, and make her passion a reality.

She spoke with Raven and Octavia constantly. They kept hergoing, telling her about everything and anything going on in their lives orwith the people at home – Raven moving on to her masters faster than anyoneelse in her program, Murphy dating a girl who matched his fire with her own,Octavia meeting an artist who was gentle and kind.

But after a while, Bellamy’s name didn’t come up. Octavia stoppedmentioning him to her.

And Clarke didn’t ask.

—

“Are you nervous?”

Clarke turns to where Raven is standing in the doorway toher bedroom while she puts her other earring in.

“Of course I am,” she admits, running her hands down thefront of her black dress, “but it’s not like I’m selling them or anything, soeven if it’s just you guys that show up, I won’t have pure tangible proof thatnobody wants to buy my paintings.”

Raven rolls her eyes, moving into the room and ploppingherself on Clarke’s bed. “The whole town shows up for these exhibits whetherthey’re good or bad, and yours kicks ass. I bet people are going to be offeringyou money for them anyway.”

Clarke still gives her a nervous smile, turning back towardthe mirror for one final check.

She decided to move back when she did because she was ready.She had missed her friends and family more than anything, but she also knewthat she wasn’t getting anything more out of staying in the apartment. Betweenspeaking with Lincoln about the program he was involved with at the museum, andMarcus encouraging her to submit some of her pieces for the monthly Local Art Show,she knew it was time.

It’s just, this is the first time her work will be out therefor people to critique.

Running her hands through her hair one more time, theysettle on the pink tinged at the tips. “I like the pink better than the blue,”she tells Raven, who snorts in response.

“That’s because it’s not your entire head that’s pink. Itold you I’d get it right when we did it for real.”

She turns back to Raven. “You and Wells will be there whenit starts?”

Raven sits up from where she was laying. “We’ll be the firstones in, right after Abby and Marcus.”

Clarke gives her a nod before going to grab her bag off thedresser. She’s too keyed up to not get there early to make sure everything isset up how she left it the night before.

Octavia hadn’t been thrilled about withholding the truthfrom her brother, but she knew how important this exhibit was to Clarke. So forthe week leading up to it, Octavia reluctantly told Clarke when Bellamy was onshift at the museum so that she could go in and set up her section of theexhibit when he wasn’t there.

She knew the moment he heard her voice, he’d realize thetruth for himself.

But she’s not expecting him to be standing in front of her landscapepaintings when she walks in to do her final check, wearing his securityuniform.

She freezes on the spot, eyes widening in a combination ofsurprise, anxiety, and nervous energy.

He turns at the sound of her heels on the tiled floor, andhis eyes widen too, his in complete shock.

“Clarke?”

She just stands there, not knowing what emotions are runningthrough her, let alone knowing what to say.

“O said you were back in town, I just never expected to seeyou here,” Bellamy says.

Clarke watches him, tries to analyze what he’s thinking byhis tone. He doesn’t sound accusatoryor angry, but she’s also never heard her name come out his mouth like that –just pure surprise.

Does he know? Did he figure it out before she had a chanceto tell him?

When she doesn’t respond, he ducks his head, smile wry. “Ijust got off my shift, but I wanted to check something out in the exhibitbefore it opens tonight.”

He’s been going aroundto places that host art from local artists looking for your signature.

Bellamy turns his head back to her paintings, and shewatches his eyes focus on the crown settled in the corner of one of them.

“You don’t happen to know the girl who did these, do you?”He asks, gesturing to her work.

If Clarke’s stomach wasn’t wound up in enough knots, itcertainly is at realizing he stilldoesn’t know it’s her. If she doesn’t tell him now, there will be no going backfrom this.

She opens her mouth. “I–,” and then shuts it again.

But he’s looking at her so curiously, if not the slightest bit confused. He may not know she’sthe girl he’s been looking for, but he knows that she’s Clarke – the girl he’sknown for years – and could Octavia be right? The guy she remembers wasn’t whoBellamy really is?

“They’re mine,” she tells him, voice far stronger than shefeels. “I’m one of the artists showcasing tonight.”

His curiosity turns to confusion instantly, glancing betweenher and the pieces again before turning to face her fully. She didn’t realizehow well she’d been able to read his emotions over the years until his face iscompletely unreadable.

“You’re her?” He asks, tone unreadable too. “The princesswith the blue hair?” She feels his eyes narrow in on her pink hair.

“Yes,” she says, trying not to panic as she takes a steptowards him. “I was going to tell you–”

“But you didn’t, Clarke,” he cuts in, voice as neutral asever. He takes a step back. “You knew it was me the entire time and you chosenot to tell me.”

Clarke stays where she is, her heart beginning to splinterat how he’s looking at her. She has noidea what he is thinking, but dread is starting to creep up on her. “Iwanted to tell you, but I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” The hurt in his voice conveys exactly how heinterpreted her words.

“No! Of course not,” she protests. “At first I thought youknew it was me, and we were just going to start off fresh, but then you didn’tknow, and I was afraid that if you knew, you would realize you didn’t actuallywant to be there. That I was still the girl you couldn’t stand to be around.”

“Couldn’t stand,” he repeats, running a hand through hishair. “God Clarke, I know I was awful to you back then, but I didn’t know howto fix that. I thought you despised me, so I took myself out of the picture.”

“Bellamy–,” she tries, this time desperate. Despise him?

“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.” He looks at her,and suddenly every emotion he was hiding is on full display for her to see. “I’msorry that you ever thought that I did, and I’m sorry that you felt youcouldn’t tell me the truth because you thought I wouldn’t want you once I foundout.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s makinghis way out of the exhibit, ignoring her pleas for him to stop, to wait. Shegrabs for his arm, but lets go when they get to the exit and Marcus and her momwalk through.

They’re separated when her mom pulls her in for a hug,telling her how excited she is to see the pieces Clarke submitted so they camea bit early, as Marcus greets Bellamy, who continues taking steps away.

“It’s good to see you, Marcus, but I have to head out,” hetells him, refusing to glance at Clarke as he makes his escape. She feels likeher heart is ripping in two, and she wonders if this is how he felt that nightshe had left in a rush.

He’s gone before she can even call his name, and she feelsher parents’ eyes on her from behind. “Everything okay?” Marcus asks.

She takes a minute to compose herself, swallow down everywild emotion, before she turns to give them a smile she knows they can read asfake.

“Everything’s fine,” she tells them, and goes to show themall of her hard work.

—

The rest of the night is a blur.

Far more people than she could have imagined show up tosupport her and the other artists, people she’s never seen before in her life.

But then there’s the people she knows and loves – herparents, Raven and Wells, Octavia and Lincoln, Murphy and Emori, Monty andMiller, even Jasper.

They all shower her with congratulations and praise, tellingher how the few pieces she was able to submit were amazing, and she allows fortheir words to flow through her, give her the energy to converse with strangersand network for businesses who may be interested in eventually purchasing oneof her paintings.

She does it all with a smile, and hours later, when thecrowd has broken and only a few people linger, she settles down on one of thevelvet benches in front of her work.

Not a minute later, Octavia drops down next to her, twoglasses of champagne in hand. She wordlessly hands one to Clarke, and continuesto stare at the paintings.

“I’m sure Marcus will be thrilled that the minors here havesuch easy access to the alcohol.”

“Ha. Ha,” Octavia retorts, making a show of taking a gulp. “Thiswas amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Clarke sighs, all of the events from the night catching upwith her. “You’ll be prouder to know that I spoke with Bellamy,” she tells her,and that gets Octavia’s full attention.

“You did?”

“Yep,” she takes a sip from her glass. “And then he walkedright out the front door after confirming everything you’ve been trying to tellme. He doesn’t hate me,” Clarke takes another, larger sip, “but I also don’tthink we’ll ever get back what we had that night.”

“Oh Clarke,” Octavia says, tilting her head to rest it onClarke’s shoulder. “Give him some time.”

Clarke wasn’t sure all the time in the world could fix this,but she lets Octavia console and reassure her anyways.

“Hey! We’re heading to the house for the after party,” Ravencalls from the entrance to the exhibit, Lincoln and Wells standing behind her.It’s only then that Clarke realizes that everyone else has cleared out. “Youcoming with us, Octavia?”

She looks to Clarke. “I can stay, just head home with you.”

“You go,” Clarke insists. “I’ll head out soon, just want totake everything in a little while longer.”

Octavia hesitates, but ends up pulling Clarke in for a hugbefore moving to stand up. “He’ll come around,” she assures her, and heads outwith Raven and the boys in tow.

Alone, Clarke takes in a deep breath through her nose,letting out a long sigh as she closes her eyes. She’s not really surprised whenshe feels someone sit down next to her, figures it’s Raven or Wells coming toconvince her to come with them.

But then she opens her eyes to find Bellamy staring back ather with the smallest of smiles on his face, and Clarke is alert in an instant.

She takes him in, looking almost – shy. The fact that he’snow in a suit isn’t lost on her.

“Um, hi.” He clears his throat. “Here.”

From his other side, he lifts her small sketch book she hadleft behind that night, and gently places it in her hands that are settled inher lap. “I’ve been carrying it around in case I found you so I could returnit, and of course the one time I need it, I don’t have it.” The blush thatrises to his ears is not lost on her either.

Clarke can’t help the smile on her face. How did she neverpush to get him to let her in like she had with Octavia and Murphy? Why didn’tshe see his defenses were up?

Because now? He’s not hiding at all.

“I should have set everything straight the moment I figuredout you didn’t know,” she confesses, setting the book on her other side on thebench.

“Maybe,” he agrees, bright eyes catching her gaze, “but Iwouldn’t change that night for anything.”

What she should do is smile and say something to keeptalking until they have everything out in the open. But really, everything’slaid out pretty clearly. They both shouldn’t have said some things, should havesaid things they didn’t and done things differently. But they were either youngand hurting, or unaware and hesitant.

And now, they’re not.

Now, they’re sitting in a museum that only holds a smallpart of their story, and Clarke would really like to continue that story withhim.

So she closes the distance between them on the bench,brushing her lips against his softly, quickly. She pulls back almostimmediately, hoping she’s not ruining something she thinks could be amazing.

His eyes are wide, and she can practically see the hopewarring with something else there. She pushes that something else away by leaningin again, kissing him like she really wants to – full of promise and want andjoy.

He responds in kind, matching her kisses with ones of hisown that hold just as many promises, and possibly even more joy. His handreaches up into her curls, holding her head and pulling her even closer to him.

Eventually, Clarke finds she’s smiling too much to keepkissing him and pulls away to beam at him instead, and his responding smile isjust as satisfying as kissing him.

“So what does that mean?” He asks her as the hand in herhair softly runs over the pink strands. The look he’s giving her can only bedescribed as warm.

“I like you,” she responds instantly, pulling him in foranother quick kiss. “And I wouldn’t change that night for anything either,but…”

“But?” He prompts, leaning in close.

“But I want many, many more nights like that with you, andmore.”

“And more,” he echoes, grinning. “Sounds good to me, Princess.”

And so, the next chapter of their story begins.

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #the 100 #tumblr prompt #anonymous #this is THE LONGEST one-shot i have written to date

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williammarshal-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Just You & Me

Prompt: “GETTING MARRIED AND HONEYMOON. Finally, I remembered one of the things I'd always wanted done. (preferably canon)”

"Clarke? Clarke kom Skaikru?"

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Clarke groaned as she rolled over in bed. Her arm flopped out and realised Lexa wasn't on the other side, and the hammering on the door continued. It was a boy's voice—and after a few beats of "Clarke kom Skaikru", she recognised it as Aden's. Rolling her eyes, she decided she was not ready for whatever bullshit he was pulling today—yet, and she would smack herself later, she flung the door open, her messy hair resembling a lion's mane and her face resembling...thunder.

Aden, smartly dressed, nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh no," he said disapprovingly, shoving into the room. Offended, Clarke opened her mouth, and then Aden's entrance was followed by a group of maids. He spoke to them. "Will you please make her look presentable?" They muttered something in Trigedasleng and Clarke, folding her arms, waited. Aden tried to keep it quiet. "Well—at least make her look like a human!"

Shit-head.

"Is that possible?" Aden carried on, because clearly he hadn't been laid yet. "Yes? Alright—if possible, can you do it within the hour?"

They spoke as if Clarke was not there.

"Two hours?" Aden's gaze flickered from Clarke to the floor, and nodded. "I'll give you three."

"Wow," Clarke snapped, "Way to make a girl feel comfortable!"

"I was just trying—"

"Pass me my bra."

"Er—this—bra commodity you speak of, what does it look like?"

"Oh, God."

Clarke shucked off her tunic and Aden physically turned around in embarrassment, nearly tripping over his two feet as she slipped her bra on, quickly got changed into her everyday breeches and snatched a comb from one of the maids. "Let's go."

Aden looked aghast. "But—"

"Go."

Aden extended his arm for Clarke to take as they descended the never-ending staircase of the Polisian tower. A crap design, she liked to remind Lexa, who would roll her eyes every time.

Since the quashing of Ice Nation's rebellion, Lexa had welcomed Echo as the new Ice Queen, with her stepping into the previous Queen's shoes. It was unstable. Echo and Lexa's ethics regularly collided, but Echo was far more accommodating than her predecessor. What happened up North was far away from the worries of Polis, the clan leaders advised, but Lexa had been adamant that the civilians up North got the same privileges and rights as the Polisians, the Trikru...

Aden noted the blistering sunlight outside the windows as they traipsed downstairs. "We could get you better-dressed," Aden suggested.

"D'you think I look shabby as I am?" Clarke asked.

"...No..."

"Then I'll go dressed as this. I'm assuming Lexa wants to see me."

"Not yet!" Aden blabbed, mentally slapping himself. Think on your feet. Improvise. Anticipate and parry. Okay. Jab. "I need to do something first."

"I thought—"

"It isn't urgent. If you don't mind..." Aden played the sob-story in his head, and then he clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head. "I need to do some shopping for my mother. The Commander is engaged for the time-being, hence why I asked for a few hours, but—my mother—she rarely sees the sunlight for she is cooped up inside for so long. Could you...?"

Clarke gripped his wrist, and squeezed lightly. "Aden, of course. Come on."

Lexa dismounted, wiping the sweat from her brow. It had been a hellish day (or night). As soon as Clarke had fallen asleep—and she fell deeply asleep—Lexa had slipped away from the bed, nodding towards Jona, her chief City Guard by the gate. Jona had already saddled her horse and wished her a nervous "good luck".

It seemed, as Lexa arrived by the gates to the Ark crowded by Abby, Kane, Raven, Octavia, Bellamy, Monty, Jasper and Harper—that judgement day had arrived.

"Uh," she had began, very un-Commander-ish of her. "I would like an audience with Abby Griffin alone, please, if I may."

"Intention?" Harper was the girl by the gates, Lexa assumed. She did not know all of Clarke's friends.

"Confidential."

"I can't let you in without—"

"It's fine," Abby said, stepping forward to unbolt the gate. It was 3am, and the Commander of the coalition didn't just ride here, alone, in the middle of the night, for no reason. If there was intent to harm, Lexa would've slain them all by now. "Commander, please step inside."

Abby had been calm and cordial in escorting Lexa to her personal chambers, ignoring Marcus Kane's concern. She'd brushed him off and Lexa respected that. She knew Abby Griffin as a trustworthy figure—she was a healer after all, and what were they except goodness? Kane was reasonable and fair, but he was also a politician. Lexa could empathise with him. But she knew that whatever Abby Griffin projected tonight, it would be straight from the heart—quite like her daughter.

Lexa made polite but short conversation as they walked, trying to recite the books she'd read on the topic. Their book-house was forged from stories told of the old Commanders, poetry written decades ago, and some books that had been foraged and found and returned to Polis as relics of the old earth.

Books could only get Lexa so far, though.

"You—you want to marry Clarke?" Abby repeated in disbelief, hanging her head in shock. Lexa's ears reddened, knowing Clarke's friends would be outside the door, their ears pressed to the solid surface. "Commander Lexa, I...just..."

"Please," Lexa said, "Let me explain."

Abby relented, waving her arms frantically. "Please do."

Lexa swallowed hard, and began pacing the room—which did not help Abby, who'd sat down on the edge of her bed as if she was about to collapse. She respected Abby's stance in this: she remembered Lexa as the heartless Commander who had left her daughter for death at Mount Weather. Despite Clarke's residence in Polis, Lexa could try and sympathise with a mother's dilemma. Empathy—maybe not. Clarke was happy. Clarke smiled and laughed and played with the kids in the Square. But Abby was not privy to this.

"I have been made aware that some customs of the old earth have stayed with the Sky people," Lexa started hesitantly, trying to remember Aden's five pages of scribbly notes. "I am also aware that when two people love each other, it is customary to gift your loved one and ask for their hand."

Abby nodded silently, her jaw still slack. Lexa angled her head for a verbal response, but she received nothing. Slightly exasperated, but in full knowledge that she had to appear courteous, not like she had a bad case of constipation, Lexa plucked courage from thin air.

"I was also made aware that it is etiquette one must approach their loved one's father—or in Clarke's case, mother—to permit such a big ask."

"Uh-huh," Abby said faintly. "Have you been reading Georgian novels?"

"Have I—excuse me?"

"Never mind," Abby hastened. "Are you asking me if it's okay to marry Clarke? Wait—" she said again, before Lexa could open her mouth. "You want to marry...Clarke?"

"She may not agree to take my hand," Lexa provided helpfully. "In such a case, my feelings for her will not fade. I will still love your daughter as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west."

Abby stared at her. The impossible answer would be "no". Clarke and Lexa would bench it anyway—but she didn't want to say no to this sparkly-eyed, hopeful Commander. Kane had been right. She was a revolutionary. And Abby's desire to throttle Lexa for what occurred at Mount Weather would never go away, but the fact that Lexa had ridden all the way here just to ask for permission was something Abby didn't want to let go. She had not seen Clarke's face in so long; she had not heard from Clarke at all. But if Lexa was here, she could feel Clarke's smile; her laugh...

"I will have a carriage arranged for her to discuss it with you if you wish," Lexa said quickly, and Abby snapped out of her thoughts. "I understand it's difficult without Clarke actually—"

"You know Clarke, Commander," Abby laughed. "Do you really think I'd have much sway in whether she says yes or no?"

Lexa smiled reluctantly. Abby had a point.

"Your ways," Abby murmured, "don't always agree with what I think is right. I think you know that. Maybe our ways aren't right either. But you rode all the way here, alone, just to ask me a question."

"In all fairness, Abby kom Skaikru, it is not just a—"

"I know. But you asked."

"I wanted to."

"She's barely an adult." Abby closed her eyes, and Lexa watched awkwardly as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. She did not move to comfort her; that was too strange. And she could not empathise either. Her Nightbloods—the youngest being seven—could assume command at any given minute. Childhood did not mean weakness, and though Abby seemed to mentally cradle Clarke like a baby, Lexa would not forget the three hundred warriors this child had scorched to death. She would not forget Mount Weather. She would not forget the fury and then the anguish on Clarke's face as she tried to kill her with a concealed knife.

She would not forget. Yet here she was, because she loved.

"I'd be giving my daughter to you," Abby said heavily, and she was not ashamed of the tears flowing from her eyes. Lexa found she did not care. "Commander, I trust you with her life—but I don't know if I trust you with this. And this is her life."

When Lexa rode for Polis in the early hours of the morning, beckoning her horse to pound faster through the forest, she wondered how she would cope with her heart exploding tomorrow.

Aden, it turned it, was a rubbish liar. He'd brought a singular apple from the fruit market, a bottle of wine ("for my mother"), a swishy bracelet which he gifted Clarke with ("for the future!") and then double-backed to the fruit market only to spend over an hour asking what the odd-looking ones were, and then buying one.

As if Aden was controlled by some sort of switch, he decided they would take a walk. By now, Clarke was exasperated and tired enough to consider punching the boy's lights out, until they made it to the wall. Jona, a familiar face, grinned broadly at her.

"Mochof, Aden," Jona said.

"Good luck, Clarke kom Skaikru!" Aden said cheerily as he left, waving.

Clarke was completely lost, and Jona was of no help either. She spoke in riddles, and Clarke was baffled as to why everyone was being so goddamn cryptic around her all day. This was mainly Aden and his suspiciously suspicious gazes. Clarke noted the beautiful sunset, with the oranges and yellows merging with the lilacs and pinks of the sky. Another day fading, and another day on the brink tomorrow. Jona led her up the stairs to the wall-walk, and Clarke stopped in her tracks.

Lexa, dressed only in simple but smart black garb, swivelled on the spot to face her. Her hair was braided back neatly, her face slightly pale. In one hand, she held a braid of hair. The other was shoved inside a pocket. Jona left them, muttering under her breath. In the distance they both heard her yell for the guards to block passage to the wall-walk.

"Clarke," she greeted, too formally. Clarke nearly balked. What the fuck was going on? Was Lexa in on this weird ass trip too? "I...hope you are well?"

"What?" Clarke threw her arms up in the air. "Are you part of this too? Is someone gonna come and shove some mud in my face 'cause it's clearly prank Clarke day?"

"Excuse me? No!" Lexa's bafflement was genuine, and she hastily held out the familiar-looking braid of hair. Clarke stared at it, memories of water, memories of a muddy Anya—all crashing into her like a tidal wave. For some reason, Lexa had brought her up here again. "Do you remember this?"

"It's Anya's lock of hair," Clarke said quietly. "I kept it for you."

She wondered if it was Anya's name-day today, or if there was some particular reason—

"That was the first time I met you." Lexa's tone was soft, and hesitantly, she trudged over towards Clarke. Her words were not as smooth and confident as Clarke was accustomed to. "I remembered your flowing light hair and your sky-blue eyes, and I wondered if she'd fallen as a product of my wishes. A cruel lesson was when I realised that no, it was not. But I ask you here today because I asked your mother, who said yes—"

"You—saw my mom?"

"Yes. And I told her I loved you. I—love—you. Do you remember, when we were last here? When the sun slept and we watched over Polis—our city—swell with life?"

Clarke felt a lump grow in her throat. "Yes."

"I want to see that every day with you," Lexa said simply. "I want to wake in the morning with you by my side. I want to kiss you until I cannot, because I've fallen asleep. I want to remind you with every waking moment that I love you. Ai hod yu in, Klark kom Skaikru."

"Yes." Clarke didn't know what else to say, her eyes stinging with emotion. It was not sadness—no, it definitely was not. It was a sense of impossibility suddenly becoming possibility. They had always been inevitable together; they had never been possible—not without their duties blocking their ways. And Clarke knew despite this—whatever Lexa was going to ask, and whatever Aden had been clearly distracting her from today, that the rule would remain in place. Lexa was a lover of her people, but in her heart—which was bigger than she knew—she had carved a space for Clarke, too. "I love you too, Lexa."

"Then be mine, as I am yours," Lexa said. She moved closer, and then knelt on the gravelly ground. Clarke stared down at her, stunned. Her heart felt as if it had stopped. "I want my eternity to be intertwined with yours. I declare my heart as yours. I vow to treat your people as mine; I vow to caress your body and soul with nothing but love."

Holy shit... "Lexa, you don't need to do this—"

"I love you. As a storm may brew ahead for us one day, I will not let you fall away from me. My duty as the Commander is to my people; my duty as Lexa kom Trikru is to ask for your hand in betrothal, for I am utterly captivated by you. Every day I am more and more enamoured by your smile. Every day my hands smooth over your skin and I am entranced. Every day my heart swells when I think of you. Clarke kom Skaikru, would you do me the honour of joining your heart to mine?"

Abby's ring, gifted to her by Jake, was now on Clarke's finger. She glanced at it, and back at Lexa, who smiled at her.

That night, they made love. Clarke had never wished to be married, but here she was. And she kissed Lexa as she her lithe body crawled up Clarke's, tasting herself on Lexa's tongue. That night, they made love and that night, they worshipped each other.

"Where are we going?"

"A little patience," Lexa teased her as she tested her new horse. It was pitch-black, named Thunder, and they trotted at a leisurely pace. Clarke's arms wrapped around Lexa's waist, resting her chin against the crook of Lexa's neck as she rode. As they rode, Clarke took in the beauty of the Trikru territory—the plains just outside of the Polisian walls, the lake, and the forestry.

It was buried deep within the forest, but Lexa finally tsked at Thunder and dismounted easily, hoisting Clarke off the horse too. She quickly tied Thunder up, scruffing him by the neck, and Clarke studied the sight before her.

There was a very modest hut before her.

Clarke noticed how green the grass was, and how fresh the lake seemed to be. The hut was shoddily put together, as if it had been a single-man job. It lacked the grandiose of Polis—that was for sure. But in there were trees nearby that grew apples, and Lexa plucked one off said tree and chomped hungrily into it. Clarke didn't even have the time to warn her about sanitation before she picked one for herself, rubbed a little consciously at it, and then bit into it. It was crisp and juicy, and she let out a moan of appreciation. Lexa's head snapped back and she smiled lopsidedly at her.

"What is this place?" Clarke asked in wonder. If anyone wanted banishment, they should definitely come here—that was the thought running through Clarke's mind. It was nicely done-up, and it was surrounded by life—life that was charmingly silent, compared to the hustle and bustle of Polis' City Square.

"A reprieve," Lexa said. "Even the Commander needs one sometimes."

"How did you find it?"

"It found me." Lexa, even after her grand, dramatic proposal on the wall-work of Polis, had clearly not lost the knack for a cryptic word puzzle. "Now it has found us."

"Well, you rode towards it. So I'd argue otherwise."

Lexa was not amused.

Together, they cracked the door open and Clarke marvelled at how clean it was; she supposed Lexa must've ridden for this place and given it a good tidy before Clarke's arrival. There were fresh sheets and fur placed over the bed, with pastels and charcoal in a tin marked "KLARK" resting in the corner on top of a well-constructed desk. Other than that, everything else was basic. She assumed they would catch dinner in the woods or in the lake, and cook outside. The only other luxury Lexa had allowed was a fresh sketchbook, and far too many candles.

"It creates ambience," Lexa said when she saw the look on Clarke's face. "Sometimes there is a middle setting that is required between the bolstering sunlight and the pitch black darkness of the night."

"It's called sunset, Lexa."

"Yes, sunset. I like sunset."

Clarke wasn't quite sure how to argue that back. Instead, she flopped onto the bed, and revelled in some space to just sprawl over and spread her limbs. The journey from here to Polis had been long, and she closed her eyes momentarily.

Without really thinking, a small smile spread across her face. Lexa had effectively proposed on the wall-walk, requesting they join their lives together. In many ways, Clarke figured they had unofficially married months ago. But Lexa was a stickler for tradition. She did not even want to know how many books she'd leafed through trying to figure out what Skaikru tradition was. She still needed to ask Abby what had been said—or if her mother would start vomiting rainbows at the mention.

"Are you happy?"

Lexa's voice was gentle when she asked it, and when Clarke's eyes slowly opened, Lexa had cocked her head to gaze at her curiously. Clarke couldn't help but fiddle with her mom's old ring. If this was the only message Abby could get out to Clarke in a long time, then it had worked. She knew of the depth of love between their parents.

"I'm with you," Clarke answered.

"Does—does that make you happy?"

"It makes me think you're an idiot for asking."

"I won't touch your heart except only to caress it," Lexa promised her, just like she had on the walls of Polis, overlooking her city. "I brought you here to get away from it all. Soon we will have to return to being the Commander and Wanheda respectively. But here, no-one will find us; no-one will hear us. Here, it is safe to shuck off the skin of a Commander and wear one of Lexa kom Trikru. Likewise, it is the same with you."

Clarke indulged herself in the idea, her natural greed coming to the forefront as she wished this could be their eternity. Lexa being her eternity was more than enough...but Lexa was not always Lexa in Polis. Sometimes, she had to execute decisions as simply the Commander. Sometimes it was not Lexa, but rather the Commander, who argued fervently over ethical issues of a situation. The promise of an escape—where Lexa could always be that tentative young woman who'd dared to open the portcullis to her heart in her tent—was entrancing.

This, she realised, was their honeymoon.

Clarke grinned when she realised, her grin slowly fading at the thought. Their honeymoon was this: a stolen moment of blissful freedom, where there were no politics, no betrayals, and no fighting. Their honeymoon was a world where only two of them existed as who they really were. One: a delinquent fallen from the sky, her eyes the colour of the world she no longer belonged in. Two: a woman with the world on her shoulders; a child of the forest and a beacon of hope for all future generations. Here they could forget genocide; betrayal; assassination; wilderness...

Here, they could revel in something Clarke had wanted, solely: Lexa.

"I'm happy," Lexa mused. She was perching on the edge of a chair, watching as Clarke spread-eagled on the bed. "You make me happy."

"Do I?"

"You make me smile."

"That's a first."

"It's true. You make me happy when you are here; when you're not here I think of you and you make me happy once more. Your kiss makes me invincible. Your embrace renders me at your disposal. You, Clarke, I love. If you'll accept this twisted heart of mine."

Clarke shifted on the bed, shuffling to one side as she rested the side of her face on her palm, lying on one side. "Your heart's not twisted, Lexa."

"Beyond repair," Lexa disagreed. "I wish my love could be gentler. But you find me scarred and ruthless and sometimes cruel."

"I find you human," Clarke said honestly. "If you were anything but, I wouldn't love you the way I do."

"How do you love me?"

"Do you want me to show you?"

Wordlessly, Lexa crawled onto the bed, and all of a sudden she was a virgin again. Clarke encouraged her, wondering how the most confident speaker in all of the realm could be reduced to this—but she did not know what was racking through Lexa's mind. Knowing Lexa, that was probably everything.

"You needn't kiss me any differently," Clarke murmured, as Lexa's hand rested on her hip. "When you kiss me, I feel everything. I always have."

And so Lexa kissed her.

She kissed her, gently, tentatively—just like the very first kiss they'd shared. It was an exploration; a test. Lexa kissed her as if she'd never kissed her before, her lips brushing tenderly over Clarke's as her grip on Clarke's waist tightened ever so slightly. Clarke cupped both of Lexa's cheeks in her hand and returned passionately, coaxing Lexa's lip open.

"Trust me," Clarke whispered against her mouth, and slipped her tongue in, brushing their noses together as they drew apart. She nibbled on Lexa's bottom lip, giggling softly at Lexa's rakish grin, and knocked their foreheads together. "We're in this together."

"The sky always joins the earth; it was a matter of destiny," Lexa said hoarsely. "It is of luck you are of the sky. Together I believe we can take the world back."

"Us two?"

"Maybe they'll write stories of us. Not of how we fought for peace, but of how we loved. How we broke each other and pieced each other back together. How we ruled the world because you believed in me, and I believed in you, and that candle never blew out."

"Maybe," Clarke agreed, "but I don't give a fuck about stories right now."

"No?"

"No."

Clarke kissed her again, surging up to meet Lexa's lips as they kissed properly this time, all cover of shyness and tenderness vanishing in an instant. She yanked Lexa by the waist, causing her to grunt in surprise as she involuntarily rolled over Clarke's body, straddling her hips. Clarke's hands roamed her body greedily as they wriggled out of their clothes, laughing as they tossed them anywhere and everywhere. Wanton fingernails sunk into the soft flesh of Lexa's ass, and Lexa shuddered as she dipped her head down, her kiss full of bite and tongue.

"Someone's keen," Clarke panted between kisses as Lexa ravished her. Her lips flew everywhere, from licking their way down the length of Clarke's neck to clamping her teeth down by her collarbone. With every kiss and lick and suck and bite, Clarke's back arched in pleasure, her head thrown back against the pillows as Lexa feasted on her, cherishing every contour of her body.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa mumbled against her sternum, her hands deftly pushing Clarke's underwear out of the way.

"Come here," Clarke beckoned.

Lexa, placing soft kisses on Clarke's breasts, gently clamped down on her nipple, her tongue swirling. She smiled at the way Clarke groaned in response, but she did as she was told, encouraged by Clarke's hand.

"Grab onto the headboard," Clarke said firmly.

"Clarke—"

"Heda."

Lexa had very few weaknesses, but Clarke calling her Commander—even if it was out of jest or just to get her own way—was far too easy. The power-trip she had was so stupidly immense that Clarke had to mock her for it—and the way she fell for it every time. Lexa's hands gripped tightly onto the railing of the headboard, her arm muscles rippling as she did so. Clarke placed her hands either side of Lexa's thighs, clamping down to hold her in position.

"Say it." Clarke had her own ways. "Say 'fuck me'."

Lexa obliged. "Fuck me."

"Mm." Clarke dipped her tongue in, feeling Lexa's growing wetness as she pressed the flat of her tongue hard against Lexa's lips. Her hips immediately jerked, but Clarke held her steady, gently tracing her tongue against the outer lips of Lexa's cunt.

"Please." Lexa was breathless as Clarke teased her, her teeth grazing against her inner thigh, her tongue swirling over the skin she bit. "Fuck me, Clarke."

Clarke's hands held her down as she thrust her tongue inside of her, satisfied all the way to the bottom of her belly and the overbearing ache between her legs as Lexa cried out in pleasure, bucking her hips as Clarke lapped up Lexa's wetness. She did not have to do a thing. She sucked at Lexa's sensitive clit, her darkened eyes flicking up to watch Lexa's sweaty body rock above hers, her forehead glistening with sweat. Her fists clenched harder against the headboard, and Clarke raked her fingernails up Lexa's back, digging her nails in so they'd leave scratch marks all over. She knew how sexy Lexa found it; how badly she wanted to be marred by Clarke's lust and affection. Lexa rolled her hips, desperately trying to keep up with Clarke's rhythm but Clarke wasn't doing a thing: it was all Lexa.

And it was a magical sight; the stuff of fantasies. Lexa, a goddess in her own right, throwing her head back as she came loudly in Clarke's mouth, her body spasming in sheer bliss. A mortal's tongue had driven a goddess crazy; a mortal's tongue had robbed the legendary Commander, a myth in centuries to come, speechless and dry-mouthed and buzzing with ecstasy as she came hard. If Lexa was a goddess, then Clarke was drinking the honeyed nectar.

Oh, but they were so human. It was why they hid from the world upon such an occasion; they 'married' in-secret, officiated by Kane and proudly escorted by her mother. Clarke thought with a laugh what her mother would say if she walked in on them now.

Lexa rolled off her, utterly spent and exhausted. She breathed hard, lolling her head back. Jok.

"This is why Sky people wish to become betrothed," Lexa deduced. Clarke was so in awe of watching her that she didn't even bother correcting how utterly and hilariously wrong Lexa was.

"Sure..."

"Here, we are Clarke and Lexa," Lexa said, heavy-lidded eyes filled to the brim with dark desire. She turned to face Clarke. "It is noon. I do not want to stop ravishing your body until the birds caw in the morning."

Clarke smirked at her. "Yeah?"

"I will make love to you," Lexa said softly, and then she said: "then I will—" she tested the word on her lips, "—fuck you. I will do it so hard you will scream my name so loud that the Polisians will wonder who is calling from the Trikru territory."

"You're all words," Clarke laughed, raking a hand through her sweaty hair. "If you could, you'd do it."

"I do not make promises I cannot keep."

It took them four days to ride back to Polis as they both complained of an ache down there as they rode Thunder.

So this was how a Grounder-Skaikru wedding would be like, then...

#clexa #clexakru #clarke x lexa #clexa fanfic #clexa fic

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