#while not exactly the same situation i know what its like to be in anyas position

[mixalicious]

while obv i dont think curly is on the same level as jimmy, when you’re in anyas position people who are complicit in abuse, either intentionally or not, can feel just as bad as the actual perpetrators

anya obviously did still love curly, she loved him until she died, but i cant even begin to imagine the emotions she was probably feeling having to deal with and care for curly post-crash, loving him while still knowing he was complicit in her suffering (also adding onto the fact she felt responsible for what she thought he had done)

curly wanted to “sort out a miscommunication”

curly believed his own biases over the proof that was standing right in front of him

he didnt want to report that jimmy had raped anya and he basically paid the ultimate price for it

[abysshare]

I feel like this needs to be said but i feel like I'll just be talking to a brick wall for the billionth time.

The ableism of disabled villains in fandom is so beyond tiring. Its bad enough when a grey or protag character gets it.

Today I'll be using Curly from Mouthwashing and William Afton from FNAF as an example.

Curly, isn't really a grey character. Maybe more of a protag, but since we play as Jimmy for most of it, he is kind of an antag. But for this post i will be putting him as a protag. Which reminder.

Protag doesn't mean good guy exactly.

Anyway.

Captain Curly is a burn survivor as well as a disabled man, with no skin, no hands or feet, and is left with one eye. The damage is pretty bad, and the Nurse ( Anya ) has done the best she could with what she had, which is pretty damn good considering all things.

How does the fandom treat him? Its a mixed bag but of course. Ableism.

They either give him "dog buttons", or infantalize him, coquette-ify him, erase the situation just because "its easier" or whatever else. And then theres some people who genuinely try by getting him to a proper hospital so Anya or another doctor can try and fix what they can, as well as give him an AAC device or a wheelchair, so on and so forth.

Its either shit as unfortunately expected or good enough that makes people genuinely do research or call out ableism.

Now lets look at William Afton. A villain, murderer, mad scientist and so forth. For this post I'll be strictly talking about The Fourth Closet William Afton and Burntrap.

For those who are not into FNAF. The Fourth Closet is a seperate timeline from the games, an AU. And Burntrap is TECHNICALLY not William now, but when Security Breach came out, we didn't know this.

A bit more backstory for those who do not know. William has an Animatronic suit that he can go into to perform or kill, but it has these things called springlocks. If something happens, they can go off and hurt and eventually kill him.

Moving on.

William Afton is a Springlock Victim ( and even though no fire happens in the book before the ending of The Fourth Closet, i would argue and say he does indeed have burn scars as well in the graphic novel ) aka ragged Metal throughout his skin.

As Burntrap, he is a metal burned skeleton with leftovers of Springtrap/Scraptrap with burnt flesh.

How does the fandom treat both versions of him?

As Burntrap: some people like him, some don't. Its purely because at the first reveal we all thought it was William himself somehow even though he is supposed to be dead-dead for real. His design CAN be cool, scary and great in the right spotlight.

However.....

Most people took the "haha peepaw" route of memes. Some being ageist and some being ableist. Making him a senile old man in a wheelchair or a walker with Vanny being his caretaker. Most of the time throwing him down the stairs or beating him with his mobility aid or threatening to. Sometimes they would also draw him in diapers with poop in it.

Utterly disgusting, ageist and ableist behavior all because this is a villain.

How do they treat TFC version of William? Well.... i don't see much of him to be frank. But either its coquette-ifying him ( which is just as gross as coquette-ifying Curly ), genuinely calling him pretty or being absolutely being ableist/rancid, or removing his scars all together.

What is the point I'm getting at?

If its a villain, like William, to Darth Vader to Hordak from the She Ra remake, to Belos from TOH.......

They get mocked for their disabilities because abled folks ( and even some disabled folks ) thinks the Villain or whoever deserves it as punishment.

But these same people will turn around and infantilize and baby, or dogify or coquetteify "good guy" disabled characters.

I haven't seen this in the Arcane fandom, while i don't doubt people have been ableist to Jinx, Silco or Viktor , at least it isn't as "loud".

Ableism isn't cute or funny. And while i UNDERSTAND these are characters- and that they are not real.

It HURTs real people.

And I'm talking as a disabled chronic pain person, so don't even start with me.

Ableists and shit will be deleted, ty.

[cursed-saphire-hart]

Im sorry if you ever get tired of Eddsworld stuff considering you're getting back into homestuck. I'd participate in more of that but I don't know anything about it so ive come to bother you with 2 things on my mind

1: Is it weird to imagine that if Anya's social circle was a little bigger when she was a kid (including teen years), she could have gotten by a little better??? I mean ofc it was bad regardless of exactly what happened to her because abuse and neglect are just bad but like. I think about how if given the option, some tend to stay away from home as long as they can. Give the fact her parents just don't care, I don't think it be that big a problem if Anya left the house for a while, perhaps staying with a friend. If she had friends who knew what was happening to her, they could try to work to get her out of that situation or at least try and give her what her parents wouldn't (Proper sustenance, support, etc.). I think if she'd been around a bit more positive influence, she'd have a better understanding of how she deserves to be treated, rather than boiling things down to "we can coexist without them trying to kill me its fine"

I know she had Jenny, but other than her, Anya didn't have a lot of real people (and by that i mean people who arent faker than plastic, like her exes) in her life. And while no doubt Jenny did all she could, and one person's actions can mean a lot, Jenny is, as stated, just one person

Anywho on a much lighter note

I remembered Purple Perfume and recalled seeing aesthetic attraction described as "wow that exists" and I just

👏👏👏

Don't worry, I don't mind still talking about Eddsworld stuff, it's still alotta fun, I'm just a little burned on it after my insta and tumblr feed being a wall of drama for a bit (anxiety likes to kick ya in the crotch)

Gonna put a read more here, cuz this is another long one.

I do wanna confirm that Anya did have friends as a child, they just sadly weren't very close. I said in a very early post that Anya couldn't speak very good english when moving to the UK when she was 10 (I dont remember if that changed in said post, I'm just going off my most current notes) but as a younger girl when she was still in Russia she was actually very social. But when moving to a new place, and having her only barrier of safety gone, that drastically changed, and it wasn't helped by the fact she couldn't speak the same language very well.

While I know there are good teachers and people out there who would jump at the chance to help a child out of a bad situation, sadly during the time Anya was a child/ teen, less people knew how to handle this kinda thing, and found it easier to just not get involved.

I can at least confirm there were friends and nicer kids in her school that helped out best they could by sharing lunches with her, but kids can only do so much, and with her parents labeling Anya as "a slow learner" to her teachers to excuse why she could speak clearer English yet, and having "Eating problems" to doctors, a lot when unnoticed. She literally couldn't speak up for herself due to her parents neglect to put effort into helping her learn a second language she suddenly NEEDED.

To her, Anya was truely alone. If it wasn't for her instant reaction to physical pain, she might not have survived as long as she had, or at least she never would have broken up with her 3rd boyfriend (the first to abuse her physically)

On that note, to turn to a lighter topic.

Purple Purfume is one of my favorite minor AUs. When reading up on poly relations, I found it pretty interesting to read about situations like Matt, Amanda and Marks with that au, where a straight woman, a bi man, and a gay man could have a very healthy poly relationship.

Like every relationship, it doesn't have to be based solely on physical or emotional, so long as there is understanding and communication between all parties, it can work with many dynamics.

In this case, they all love each other, but for different reasons and attractions. Matt is attracted to both partners, and he loves the, dearly. Amanda and Mark have a good relationship, but can be described mainly as friends, they love each other and find each other attractive in an objective way, they're just not "in love". Amanda understands Mark is gay, which means he's not sexually attracted to her, and she's ok with that, being a asexual and poly romantic woman.

Mark can find woman aesthetically attractive, meaning if he sees a woman who is in fact cute or pretty, he can recognize her as such, but that doesn't mean he's sexually attracted to her. Him and Amanda get along, and he apricates her as a close friend who he shares a boyfriend with, as well as personal interests. She makes him feel loved and comfortable, but doesn't push the boundaries of his sexuality (which yes, even in todays world some people find surprisingly hard) Which is what makes it work between them, since its not about sexual attraction, it's just about having a shared bond.

Matt loves them both and is happy so see them get along. For him, it's just about being with the ones he loves, seeing them happy, and knowing he's provided a safe place for them. He's fully aware of Amanda's asexuality, and doesn't overstep as much as he can, if he does, he apologizes and steps back if or when needed. With Mark he's fully aware Mark is not inlove with Amanda, but they obviously get along without Matt always in the middle. He doesn't feel the need to make them get along better, or that the relationship would 'be better' if they were in love, because he feels loved by both, and even if it's not the same kind of love, he knows they have a bond.

Poly relations can be a bit messy, and yes, sometimes unhealthy for a big number of reasons just like monogamous relationships, or relationships that float on other dynamics. Story and character building wise, they can be very interesting to explore the different dynamics, the reasons each character has, heck even how the era would effect such relationships. Hopefully I can keep making interesting topics for all of you to read and enjoy :33

[prose-for-hire]

How the women of the Buffyverse would care for a s/o with ptsd:

Request: Your depression hc's were so nice and comforting. If you’re willing to write it could you do similar hc's for a s/o with PTSD with the girls of the buffyverse (and optionally any guys you'd personally like to add)?

Characters include: Buffy Summers; Willow Rosenberg; Cordelia Chase; Faith Lehane; Tara Maclay; Anya Jenkins; Darla; Drusilla

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Discussion of ptsd (but mostly its about how the characters would support you). Mention of medication. Mention/implication of destructive coping methods. (You can ignore the parts that do not apply to you)

A/N: Female buffyverse characters were requested, if you would like male readers you can drop a request when they are open again. 

I’m so so sorry this took so long to do, I lost my motivation after I lost the first draft but I hope these are okay !! I made this as generic as I could so that it could be accessible.💖🖤

Buffy summers:

She will always be there

Even if you try and keep a distance, isolate yourself

She won’t let you cut yourself off

Will suggest activities if you’re feeling particularly low or alternatively just cuddle up to you if things really aren’t going well

However will always have a suggestion that gives you something constructive to do

Patrolling, walking around the mall, maybe even helping her train

If you’re struggling with sleeping she will stay up with you

Or at least always be on hand if oh need her

If you see something that triggers you she would know exactly what was going on

Knows about painful experiences (she’s died twice she has buckets of trauma)

You would feel less lost, less alone whenever she was around

Lots of physical affection and cuddling as long as you were comfortable

Her number one priority is you being as comfortable as possible

If you really struggle leaving the house/staying in rather than doing things you might usually

she will encourage you slowly but will never push it

will ride out any periods of depression with you, you are not alone

always presses the softest kiss to your cheek whenever she has to go anywhere, always lingers, you know she never wants to leave your side

Cordelia Chase:

Cordelia will always encourage you to see a therapist/doctor

but will always be there herself to listen if you want to talk over the painful stuff

She has a reputation for non-stop talking

But she is a really intuitive person

Will listen for hours if it’s something that would help you

Also would understand if you just needed time or not to have to relive anything

This is where her talking comes in

Has so many ideas up her sleeve for distractions it’s unreal

Will always speak sense, the way you feel is not your fault

It’s a mantra she’s always repeating

if you have a period of particularly bad feelings (whether its flashbacks, anxiety attacks, anything)

she will help you in her own way. 

Looking up techniques to combat it, riding it out with you

will insist you try meditation, she’s seen on some talk show that it helps with relaxation and clearing the mind

she wants to cover all bases, anything that has the ability to alleviate the way things can get even a little she’s all over it

she’s not often seen as the most practical, but she really can be. She knows when she should ‘step up’ for someone she loves

and has absolute faith and knowledge that if the roles were reversed you would be there for her in the same way

will hold you to her at night, hoping you felt safe in her arms

Willow Rosenberg:

caring is in her nature

You would never ever feel a burden with willow

She loves nurturing and caring so you don’t feel that you’re taking from her in a way you might with anyone else

She would have little reminders for taking meds or doctors appointments

She would make teas and warm drinks for you before bed

always looking up ways to improve your sleep or thinks up dorky (and incredibly cute) activities to see your smile

loves it when you smile so much

if she can get even a half smile out of you she will glow for the entire day

your happiness means so much to her

she will do little sleepy/sweet dream spells for you if you’re having trouble sleeping

Doesn’t always work, but it’s the thought that counts

if you have bad dreams she will pull you into her, stroking you softly until one of you falls back into sleep

If you’re slipping into destructive coping methods she will understand

She has felt the same but she will never make you feel ashamed or leave you when you most need her

She may be firm because she knows you need it

But will never ever deny you comfort if it’s something you need

Anya Jenkins:

If you’re avoiding leaving the house or going certain places she might not understand at first

But catch her in the magic box with every known book on ptsd

Telling customers to go away because she’s reading something important

That’s how much you mean to her

She’s turning away customers trying to understand

Will come home to you and not so subtly hint that she thinks there’s something wrong

Will talk over, very practically all of your options

therapy, meds, the works

don’t get her started on all of the alternative medicine she stumbled into on her search for information

Try not to roll your eyes at her being so by the book she is really trying

Will open her arms looking at you, nodding and smiling

Will give the most loving and comforting parts of her for as long as you need

she will take days off with you if you need to take time out of work/education

will rush around and tidy things up, offer to make snacks or petition to get that show you really loved back on air after they cut it

literally nothing is too big an ask for her

when she loves, she really loves 

literally only wants the best for you

if you’re struggling to get out of bed

will make your favourite breakfast and be really excited about it

brings it to you on a tray

the best part would be sitting with you in bed and sharing it with you while she dotes on you

Tara Maclay:

would have a tea to brew for any mood or situation

sleepy teas, calming ones, etc

she keeps you grounded

the woman is so empathetic, so in tune with your mental state

its as if she shares your brain sometimes

its spooky

If you’re feeling on edge

she would know about it

has the most sweet and honest approach to your mental health

She will always encourage you to open up to her

But won’t ever be annoyed if you don’t

She’s quiet so will understand when words just won’t cover how you’re feeling

Would never judge you no matter how graphic or shameful you believe your thoughts are

Would never pressure you to share anything

but it is in her nature to do small things to make your life easier

incredibly selfless love

would tidy up around your shared space if you haven’t had any motivation to do so

would stop every so often, probably kiss the tip of your nose soflty or something

would gently bundle you up in blankets and make sure she had your favourite movies or a show on hand

plenty of comfort as well as practicality

Faith Lehane:

when you first tell her she listens, wrapping her head around everything

she loves you and nothing like that would ever change the way she felt

in fact she loved you more for baring yourself to her in such a raw way

some days she just wants to fight your trauma

Wants to literally fist fight your brain sometimes for doing this to you

If you’re cutting yourself off she will very subtly (yes she can do subtlety) make suggestions or invite your friends over

even if she doesn’t like your friends

will endure events and hanging out with them even if she doesn’t care for them

Chaotic in her methods but never fails to make you feel supported

will be very secretly soft for you

especially in periods where you’re suffering particularly badly

would do anything to show you she was there

incredibly protective

 if anyone blames you for the way you feel or is wilfully ignorant about mental health she will shout at them

(she will probably make sure you’re out of earshot though)

wouldn’t baby you (unless you asked lol), or treat you different 

would be firm with you, making sure you took meds and went to the doctors if you needed to

no wouldn’t be an answer

but you always know its because she cares

becasue she only ever wants the best for you

Drusilla:

would probably relive any flashbacks with you

So would 100% understand

she would know exactly what you needed and when you needed it

Would never let you face anything alone (unless you told her you needed space)

Such soothing, calming touches

Wants you to feel she’s always there

Maybe it will help ground you too

she has her own pain and trauma and would definitely share with you equally to what you would tell her

you would bond so intimately

you would never feel alone

she would recite such sweet prose

such beautiful stories that she may have written herself or have been picked up from long ago

would distract you from your low moods

if you were in a period of depression, she might begin to plan lavish events 

(ensuring you agreed to them of course)

each would be more ridiculous than the last

she would decorate accordingly too

and have a fit at anyone that got anything wrong 

(never directed at you, ofc and would quieten down immediately if she sensed the noise disturbed you)

you would celebrate a holiday every night

St Patrick’s day, St Vigeous, World recycling day

demon and human holidays alike

all in your honour. all to try to cheer you up

Darla:

would have picked you out of a crowd

and just known

you were the one

she adapted very quickly to you, wanting you with her as much as possible

by her side

wouldn’t be used to taking a caring role, but would definitely do so for you if you needed it

if you have a period of particularly bad nightmares

She would be there

For anything you needed

She sleeps in the day so would literally stay awake all night laying beside you

would stay holding you as you slept

Stroking you, comforting you if it was so bad you woke up

if you could not get your mind to relax and images or thoughts kept replaying in your mind

she would talk, tell you stories

she has hours worth of stories

she would try to keep it light, but may get carried away if she remembered a particularly gruesome story from her past

would embellish or change the story if she saw your look becoming more and more spooked

she has a very guarded soft side

only for you

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 7 – The Redemption

(Mando x reader)

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

Summary: Caged and alone you struggle to stay alive as the empire questions you about the child. With nothing left to lose you begin planning your final escape.

Tw: Swearing, torture, blood.

Notes: whoop its been a minute, but class started back up so chapters will take a bit longer to get out! Hope y’all enjoy it❤️

Words: 3.6k

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

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

You're woken by yet another electrical shock coursing through your veins. They’d upped your security after your fourth escape attempt which meant you were only removed from your cell for intermittent questioning and various invasive tests. The sporadic visits left you with a distorted sense of time leaving you completely unaware at just how long you had been on the ship, a day? A week? A few hours? Your blood being drained wasn't helping the situation. You knew they would have figured out by now that its life elongating properties were nothing more than rumour, so what the hell did they need so much for? An all-inclusive spa?

After the shock finishes coursing through you, the two troopers cuff your limp limbs and walk you over to yet another cold, white, over-fluorescent room that smelled disconcertingly like bleach. They toss you roughly into a chair and restrain your wrists, abdomen and legs with thick metal straps that were sure to leave bruises. The troopers exit the room remaining at the door. Your multiple escape attempts paired with your ability to use the force had made them wary, watching your every move like a hawk. The door closes behind the troopers leaving you alone with only the faint murmur being emitted by the various machines casing the walls. You waited wondering who would be entering through the door. Another doctor or nurse with needles and vials which would be carted away for an unknown, but likely sinister purpose, or maybe another man in a grey uniform coming to beat you into submission. You’re not sure which you’d prefer. Whoever was coming for you today was taking their sweet time really keeping you in anticipation. Just as you’re dozing off the mechanical doors slide open. The imperial guard wastes no time in shocking you awake.

“Where is the child?” he says, lowering the cattleprod and removing his gloves.

“How the hell would I know that?” you ask your body clenched. Three men in lab coats enter the room drawing blood from you and exiting as quickly as they came.

“I will keep asking until your answer changes.” He says, this guard was particularly sadistic opting to burn you along your thigh when you once again refuse to answer.

“Well then start asking different questions.” you respond, eyes were brimming with tears that you had been holding back for too long.

“Where are they?” he demands, pressing the searing rod onto the bare flesh of your arm, you remain silent as a single tear rolls down your face.

“Even if I knew I’d never tell you” you say, as he slaps you across the face, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“You will if you value your life.” He snarls, grabbing you by the hollows of your cheeks.

“Well you’ve overestimated its value to me. Besides, my life is nothing compared to his.” You say, spitting blood back in his face

“Take her back. If she doesn’t speak soon, maybe she’ll finally get her wish.” He says, pulling out a white handkerchief. You watched as the white fabric slowly stains red as it drags across his face.

“Promise?” you ask smiling sweetly exposing your blood soaked teeth. It’s the last thing you remember before blacking out.

You wake up to a familiar scene, one you had bore witness to most nights. Your feet hit against the cold white marble tracing the same path you had walked a hundred times prior. Allowing yourself to flow through the motions, bringing your hands up to protect your face for the elements, fumbling around until you see the figure. Your hand reaches out your fist closing around nothing but the crisp air. This time, you don’t wake up. You swivel around looking back and scanning your dreamscape frantically, as the wind howls louder. A hand clasps around your mouth, you try to scream, but you can’t, you try to breath, but you can’t.

You jolt upright in the poor excuse for a bed gasping for air and pawing at your throat. You relax into a steady rhythm as your lungs refill with air, racking your hands through your hair. They’re just nightmares you repeat over and over to nobody but the four walls confining you.

They weren’t just anything and you knew that, especially not this one. This, this felt like a warning. It felt like something was calling to you, something evil. Something that was trying desperately to claw its way out. You shake your head, shifting to happier thoughts. You were still alive and that meant that the child was still safe, and Anya, and Din.

You figured you’d never see them again. You weren’t upset, or at least you wouldn’t be soon, one way or another. Hey at least you’d gotten an apology from the Mandalorian before the end, or you would have if you had let him finish his sentence. You knew it had to be this way. “This is the way” you say chuckling. Even a thousand light years away he was somehow still with you. Wherever they were they weren’t coming back, they couldn’t. You were on your own, and you had to plan your next escape to the T if it was going to work.

*************************************************

“I need your help, I can pay.” Din says to the ex-soldier.

“Mando, nice to see you again, and you found the precious bounty,” she says, lifting up the small green child who is happily held by her. “What do you need me for. “

“We need to get someone. Extraction mission. They were taken protecting this womp rat.” He says affectionately rubbing the kids head.

“Who took them?”

“The empire.” He deadpans.

“No way, not enough credits in the world.” She laughs, handing the child back to the Mandalorian and making her way over to her desk.

“Please.” he begs, hoping his desperation wasn’t as evident as it sounded under the helmet.

“Do they expect you to go back?”

“I don’t even know if they're alive.”

“Must be someone pretty special for you to risk going back there with him” she says stroking the kids ear.

“ I’m not taking the kid, I’m leaving him with a friend.”

“ Lots of friends these days hey Mando? Fine, I'll help, but I get my pick of the weapons after.”

“Deal. Not the spear though. Cara. Are you listening to me” he asks as she enters into the ship, not listening.

Corvus, Outer Rim

“So who are we looking for here?” Cara asks.

“Ashoka Tano, she's a Jedi, she can watch Grogu while we get the person out” he says, unsure why he kept referring to you as a person and not by name.

“Jedi, hey? They seem drawn to you maybe you're secretly one” she laughs

“You coming?” he asks

“Nope, I'll let you escort junior here to his babysitter, assuming you can handle it alone?”

Din exits the ship, child in arm, making his way through the trees that were beginning to bloom, now that the threat of war no longer loomed over them.

“Mando, welcome back!” The governor exclaims grasping the Mandalorians arm in his

“Is Ashoka here?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to her.”

“Hello again” she says, removing her eyes from the documents spread across her desk

“I need a favour.” He states bluntly “There are only a few people I trust to care for him, one is coming with me the other is being held captive”

“So that leaves me, I’m flattered and happy to take him for a short while” she takes the child gently rocking him back and forth.

“Thank you. Be good.” he says, pointing a stern finger at Grogu “You should watch your valuables and any food you're saving” Din finishes before striding back down the hallway.

“The person who you seek” Ashoka's voice rings out, stopping him dead in his tracks. “she is powerful”

“I know, she’s like you” He turns in time to see a notable look of seriousness spread across her face.

“In more ways than one, I offer you a word of warning. She is an asset no doubt, but she has suffered, and those who have known pain are often targeted by sinister forces especially when they are powerful. They have targeted her already, they will find her and try and claim her as their own.”

“How do I stop them”

“You can’t.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“I cannot tell you anything, you can hope in time she will reveal herself to you, but do not hold your breath, it may never happen and that may be for the best. I do not tell you this to frighten you but to make you aware of the situation you are now deeply entrenched in.” The Mandalorian nods before returning the way he came.

Deep Space, unknown coordinates

“So who exactly are we getting? Whose so special they deserve a saving from you?” Cara asks, slouching down in the passenger seat.

“She saved me twice, I can’t leave her with the empire.” Realises his mistake the second he says it.

“Oh so it’s a she,” Cara says, drawing out the last word. “ You know for a guy with no face you certainly get around”

“It’s not like that” he answers, only causing her to press for more information akin to a dog with a bone.

“Oh I’m sure, so who is it this time?”

“You remember that bounty we got months back?” he says fiddling with various gadgets. “Vryssa” he adds hoping he doesn’t have to expand.

“Oh” Cara says slightly taken aback “the hot one with the bow and arrow who spat in your face?”

“That’s the one,” he says smiling under the helmet.

She lets out a low whistle “Good for you, I mean I don’t know what you look like under there but she’s gotta be out of your league.”

“It’s not like that,” he says.

“What? Am I embarrassing you?” she laughs. “Fine, I'll stop. I’m happy for you Mando, better get an invite to the wedding. Can you even get married?” Seeing she may have pushed her limits she continued “Alright, aright just joking so what’s the plan.”Leading Cara down the ladder into the mainspace of the ship a door opens revealing a single storm trooper uniform.

“I land the ship here. There's a hatch that leads into a storage closet where you, in the uniform, will drop down. The prisons are located on the third floor,and my guess she’ll be kept in maximum security, so by the end of the hall, here, on the far left. I’ll get the doors open, you get her out.”

“You don’t want to be the one to swoop in and save her?” Cara replies “Just asking,” she finishes raising her hands up in the air.

Your eyes open upon hearing the ringing of blaster shots reverberating throughout the hollow walkways. More infighting you suppose, letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes hoping to get a moment's peace before your next, and quite possibly last, interrogation. Not a moment after you hear the familiar metallic screech as your cell doors open. You sit up shifting back into the wall and bringing your knees to your chest. Only one trooper? This was your chance, you could take a single trooper in your sleep, your eyes glance back to the trooper, as you formulate your next move. Move. Why hadn’t it moved? Where was the shocker? Why was the armour slightly malfitted. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Aren’t you a little tall for a stormtrooper?” You ask, as its hands go up to the helmets side.

“Cara Dune,” you exhale, not exactly who you were expecting, but who you were to complain “nice to not be on the receiving end of your force” you say as she frees your hands and pulls you up.

“Can you walk?” you nod “Heard you’re a mean shot” she says handing you a blaster and redonning the trooper helmet. You’re following her out the door when you feel your knees go.

“Shit” Cara mutters, hooking your armpits and stopping you from eating it.

“I’m fine just give me a sec.” you say slapping your thighs to try and get the blood rolling.

“Ya you sure seem fine am I gonna have to carry you out?”

“If I said maybe would that be convincing enough for you.” she shoots you a look “I'm only partially joking, alright feeling reinstated lets go before they give out again.” You follow behind her shooting down the few troopers in your path.

You're almost to the ship when a mechanical voice stops you both.

“State your business with prisoner 26758” the droid asks.

“Prisoners 26758 is being moved for questioning” Cara says without hesitation. It looks at her then to you before turning around and continuing on its way. She exhales cutting the tension in the surrounding air. You proceed hastily through the ship ducking behind spare parts as employees walk by, until you reach a storage closet.

“Really?” you ask

“Really.” she parrots back to you opening the door as you squeeze into the closet's confined space. Once the doors closed she interlocks her fingers, boosting you up through a hatch where an unmistakable arm reaches down. You latch onto it with both hands and it pulls you up with familiar ease. With your feet back on solid ground you finally look up into the dark glass of the visor obscuring your saviours face.

“You came back?” you say unblinking, not wanting to break your gaze afraid this was nothing more than a fever dream.

“I said I would,” he responds, still holding your hand in his.

“There’s time for this later, let’s get a move on.” Cara, says pushing between you and the Mandalorian, causing a flushed feeling to rush over your body as you quickly drop his hand. You hobble over to the cockpits entrance where Cara had recently disappeared up into. You wince as your arms reach for the ladder, but before you can heave yourself up you feel two large hands around your waist. Din lifts you gently up to Cara who hooks her arms under yours pulling you up so your legs are dangling on the precipice.

“Where’s the kid?” you ask, as Din ascends.

“You think I’d bring him here” he says, gently helping you settle into the passenger seat. “They're safe, don't worry. Get some rest” he says “we’ll be there soon”

Corvus, Outer Rim

Cara helps you out onto the soft grass covering the planet's floor watching as a woman appears from the walls guarding a small city. She moves towards reaching her hand up causing you to flinch. She pauses for a moment before removing your hood.

“You look just like her.” She says smiling.

“Like who?” you ask.

“Your mother. I knew her back, before the temple when she... I'm sorry I couldn’t do more.” Ahsoka says allowing a silence to hang in the air as she hands Grogu back to the Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t your fault, from what my grandmother said there was no stopping him once the Sith took hold.”

“I'm sorry about your grandmother, I felt her leave not too long ago”

“Thank you” you say, taking her hands in yours.

“I have something for you” she gestures for you to follow her back into the city’s walls.

Din takes a step forward but Cara places a hand on his arm shaking her head.

“I don't think we're on the invite list for this one, c’mon i'll let you beat me in a arm wrestling match.”

“If we may speak frankly...” Ashoka starts once in her office “The item in this box is no toy, it must not fall into the wrong hands. You have been having nightmares?” She asks, turning to face you, as you nod eyes darting away from her gaze “You must be careful who you let into your head from now on. Once they’re in it's hard to get them out. They will be looking for you.”

“Who?” you ask, taking a cautious step towards her.

“They will not stop, they are dangerous, ruthless and extremely persuasive, they can turn even the best. The path you walk is unclear, foggy, there will come a time that a choice must be made, and if you do not make it yourself they will make it for you.” She runs a hand over a small wooden box lightly wiping away the gathering dust. “This belonged to your mother, I found it when I returned to the temple, she would have wanted you to have it.” Its weight takes you by surprise. Sliding the slotted lid open an unmistakable cylinder sits atop a deep blue fabric.

“A lightsaber” you whisper brows knitted in disbelief. “ I’m not, I don’t know how” you say, extending the box back out to her hoping she’d take it back.

“Your training over the years means you know how to use it.” She says placing the box down, taking out the sabers hilt and offering it back to you. You press down on the button and as you release it a faint purple light shoots out, emitting a dull buzz. Ashoka was right, you did know how to use it, all those years maneuvering around the woods with a wooden staff had paid off in the end.

“She was one of the best teachers, your grandmother. You’re a testament to that. You have a strong connection to the force and an even deeper understanding and respect for it.” You close the saber looking back over to the jedi master whose smile has faded.

“There are worse things in this galaxy than crime lords and ex troopers, something is brewing deep below, I know you’ve felt it too. This saber will protect you when you need it most. Continue your training, but keep an eye on your emotions, I do not know the relationship you share with those who came to your aid but do not let the roots grow too deep. It can have devastating consequences. To be a Jedi is to be alone” she squeezes your arm gently as your eyes finally meet hers, finding a semblance of similarity and understanding in them. Her words weigh heavy on you as you return back to the ship's entrance way where Din and Cara were wrestling. Anya spots you first and rushes over to you, you bend over scratching her ears. Grogu, noticing Anya leave, peels himself away from the fight and makes his way over to you whining loudly.

“Is no one paying you any attention?” you coo down to him and he responds with a gurgle “the nerve.” you say shaking your head causing him to giggle, as you pick him up.

“Your mother was probably teaching young Grogu here at some point.” Ashoka says loud enough to stop the all out war happening behind you.

“I don’t remember him, or her really.” You say as Grogu grabs at a loose strand of hair.

“Well he remembers you, or he thinks that you're your mother.” She reopens the wood box and you place the saber back inside, handing it to you once it's closed.

“Is that a lightsaber?” Cara asks, eyes wide, as she approaches, brushing dirt off herself. “You can pay me with that,” she says, turning back to look up at the Mandalorian who's fixated on you.

“Where will you go, now the empire is looking for you all?” Ashoka asks, noting the apparent fondness shared amongst the small motley crew.

“Hoth for now, hasn’t seen humans in a while good place to hide out with all the abandoned bases. Hopefully the camouflage technology is still in place.” Din says.

“And too cold for any reasonable people to venture to,” Cara says.

“Not exactly the retirement I had in mind.” you mutter, but at least it was better than the funeral you were planning earlier that day.

“Wasn’t sure we’d ever find you.” Cara says as the ship reaches deep space, her chair swiveling around to face you

“Glad you did.” You say looking up blinking slowly, as a yawn escapes your lips.

“Sure made our jobs harder, had to try to escape didn’t you.” She pats you lightly on the shoulder as she drops down to the lower level.

“Thought I was on my own you” you call down to her laughing.

“Not anymore” Dins' voice cuts in, causing you to scrunch up your mouth in an attempt to hide the smile that was forming.

“Thank you, for coming back, a few more days and I think there’d be no blood left in my body the way they were siphoning it.”

“Kid wouldn’t stop crying” he offers

“Well I'll be sure to thank him. Guess we're all squared up then, end of the line now the kid’s back?” you say.

“Doesn't have to be, besides you should wait until you’re healed up and we may need that saber if anyone shows up for the kid before we can get him to a Jedi.” He says realizing he’d thrown every excuse in the book for you to stay with them.

“Guess you’re right” you say, happy that the Mandalorian wanted you around, even if it was just for childcare

“Usually am” he responds, causing you to roll your eyes and shake your head, resting it back against the chair and allowing your eyes to close. As you doze off you hope when you wake you wouldn’t find yourself back in a cell.

[captainshyguy]

not to be a little melancholic but i've been thinking a bit about all the people that have come and gone in my general social circle like. not just irl, but online too. the close friends, who eventually left, and the ones on the outskirts, but were always there. at least, for a time. the people you never quite talked to, but were in your bubble, in your life, if just for a bit. the people who will only be icon, words on a screen to me. the people who will forever be 14 in my memories, because its all i have of them 

its just...its weird yknow? not even getting into social circles from school, friends you grew apart from, friends of friends of friends in your class that you had an odd connection with

but online its like. i’ve been in a few online communities in my time. the penguins of madagscar community on fanpop, one for the same fandom on deviantart, the agents of shield one here, then the maze runner, then star wars, then mario, then star wars again...i’d say ‘and hollow knight now’ but lets be honest, i haven’t made....many friends or even mutuals through it solely X]

i guess my point is like. all of these communities were different people. and over time, whilst i’ve generally stayed put (until i was physically the last one left, and jumped ship, like fanpop) people just. they left yknow? maybe it took a couple of months, maybe a couple of years, but they did, and its such an almost...odd thing to experience

im not saying people cant leave, not at all but it just made me think how many people i’ve known, how many i’ve been friends with, how many existed in my orbit. how many i only have pieces of. and i guess...how many people’s orbits i was in. the person i was in the past lives on through each and every one of then, and i have no idea what stuck. what’s their ‘luke’ memory, their takeway. heck, some of them wouldn't even have it by that name. 

one thing im glad about in a way is like. from each of the communities that like. meant something to me, i managed to grab a few people almost. a few that also dug their heels in, a few that are still in my orbit, however close or far, but they’re there. they’re posting actively or somewhat actively and i know where to find them. and thats nice 

it just makes me wonder sometimes yknow?? how many people currently in my circle, currently in my orbit, will eventually leave one day? who will stop posting, who’s icon i simply will never see again.

i do hope, with all my heart, that all the ones that i fell out of touch with are doing well 

(im musing about specific people under the read more, WILL get long kjdfhnd) 

from my primary/secondary school i dont have anyone exactly. the closest i have is one guy i was pretty fond of but not like. romantically. i follow his youtube and whilst i dont really watch the videos seeing his face pop up every now and again is nice. but man i do think back on those secondary school friends. funnily enough by the end whilst i liked my “official” best friends i honestly ended up more fond of others. sarah, priya, shriya, zarah, zi yu, kyle. danny, introducing me to treasure planet, hiding away with him and his friends to watch films in forgotten rooms when it was near the end of the year, then liam, of course, man..its weird he was my best friend in the first few years when i moved there, then we got put in different classes so we just didnt see eahc other much. but that fondness was always, always there. god, and jake....i wonder if he thinks back fondly to the two of us pretending to be transformers. i wonder if im still jazz to him. god, and then sophia, just, not even hanging out but having our little ‘hot buttered toast’ song. i hope thats the memory she has of me. (i haven’t even listed everyone from this part, and i couldnt! it was a 7-8 year period of my life! right during my brain developmental stages!!)

its weird i was in love with ryan for nearly three years. a lot of those memories are soured knowing one of my friends spread it around school and everyone secretly knew, (and looking back i was way out of his league like, morally lol) but still. maybe once or twice a year i’ll dream about him, and for a brief moment, im there, sitting with him in geography as he shows me magic tricks, during that period i do genuinely think he liked me too (before it wore off for him lol) and im still in love. 

from college, man....ewan was like. i have a feeling he was leading me on since he had a girlfriend lmao, and was just flirting for fun bc he saw i was shy and was trying to get me to react, but it never felt like bullying yknow? i dont think he was actively trying to make fun of me. so i dont know, it was nice, it felt nice and it still kinda does. 

khairun.....im so glad i still have her. i’m still a little gay for her. i remember sitting with her on the bus, riding for hours as we were on the geology trip, and she would ramble about the game of thrones video game and she’d squint so happily and her eyes would sparkle. she talks about dark souls now and i only see her messages, but i can still feel her enthusiasm. or tanisha and fatima, my other geology friends, my maze runner friends. seeing the scorch trials with fatima in the cinema. joking about newt and thomas with tanisha. sitting around the table with my actual friend group, in the big lounge chair reading the tolkien dictonary, joking about the flash with bindiya. sleeping around maddie’s house and playing would you rather. 

heck, i didnt even touch on teachers!!! teachers i connected with so much on a genuine level!!! mrs chambers, mr hauge, mr wrght, miss lloyd, mr hutchinson, miss petra, mrs young! mrs mohammed, mr santa maria, mr longdon, miss langley, mrs maize, miss davies. i know with teachers, the kids must start to blur together at a point. but i just....i hope, at least. with those first two, they’ll remember me, just a bit. i keep having dreams where im in my old school, and i try to find them., i’ve found mr hague a few times. but until about a month ago, whenever i got to geography, miss chambers was never there. im glad i finally found her. 

then fanpop...lexii, having the same birthday as me, talking with kait and roleyplaying as penguin ocs in high stakes situations. dating dylan fkjdngjdh, rigging the club’s presidential election. its weird, i dont have a lot of memories from this time. just....just people? people posting their ocs, people drawing ech others ocs. kaitlyn, anya, kait, dylan, lexii, imaneasel, mya, peacebaby, madascargirl, kate, starslight, imogen, tressa, sammi, crystal, cc, syliva, jasmine, hikari, amber,  yellow, steff, lilly, blue, richard, monique, sharpey, hannah, icicle, ratking, cian i- god, there was so many of us. theres more, i can think of more names. there was so many

anya did what i did pretty much and went to deviantart then kinda dug her heels in and didnt leave, though i don think she’s more active on toyhouse. and yet, i still see her art there, so its nice. having her throughout the years has been nice, watching as both of our art improves. she’s always been a bit ahead of me. then cian i’ve been talknig with pretty much every day for about 6 months now, thats been nice 

and then here, man! the agents of shield fandom! man! i dont remember a lot of names honestly besides the ones who stayed, and sam. i hope sam’s okay. y’all who stayed, who are still mutuals, the hm....five of us i think? though the one ofy’all i was closest to isnt around as often X[ but still. im happy y’all are here 

some of y’all that have been around long enoguh will know i was best friends with kacie for a while. from....i think that was my brief stint in the dan and phil fandom. she. well. she’s okay, the last i heard of her. but my overtalking screwed that up i think. my last message from her, a few years later, was amicable at least. i still feel awful about that if i think on it too hard

i think i only picked up ronan from the maze runner, at least, that i talk to, yeah, right, there’s two others that are still about but i dont think we’ve ever held a convo X] 

and u current peeps! from mario, star wars and.....im not quite sure where for some of you! i love u all! especially y’all that have been around forever, just, liking each others posts every now and again., i dont know how many people you all follow, but i follow less than a 100. i might only be a blip on your radar, but i like seeing y’all, genuinely. thank you for being in my orbit. i hope i’m a comforting or at least. nice reliable presence in yours, for as long as we all stick around.  

[100hearteyes]

Silly scenario. Dainty Lexa loves nature but hates camping (no decent showers). Frequent camper Clarke has a trick to enjoy the ONLY working shower & avoid queue: wait till all asleep. Lexa has same idea. Door reaches floor but not ceiling leaving gap to see top of head BUT Lexa is bending to set shampoo down. Clarke enters backward to set her towel over edge & close rickety door shut. Uses such force towels fall outside & jams door shut. Both turn & bump into the other. Stuck naked til morn! XD

(I take no responsibility for typos, it's all my keyboard's fault)

Lexa hates camping with a passion. One would think she's into it, given her love of flowers and potted plants, but one thing is to enjoy nature in a control environment; another is to be surrounded by wilderness with no control over everything around you.

So, no. Lexa does not like camping. Most of all because there are never any decent showers and unpleasant people almost always hog the good ones.

When Anya forced her to go camping, Lexa thought she was doomed. How was she going to stay clean in the wild? However, when they finally arrived and she was able to test out the showers, she realized she'd been wrong — the scenario was even worse than she'd thought.

There is only one working shower in the whole park. And it barely qualifies as an actual shower, not to mention there's always a never-ending line for it.

After two days of filth, though, Lexa's decided enough is enough. She will shower, even if she has to wait until everyone is asleep.

Which is exactly what she does. On the third day, once night has fallen, Lexa steps in the shower. The door is strange: it reaches the ground but not the ceiling, leaving only a gap to see the top of her head. Anya must have chosen the cheapest camping park on the list. She doesn't bother locking, considering no one is still awake. And if anyone is awake, the sight of the top of her head will surely make them leave.

Lexa hangs her towel on the hook and sets her body wash and shampoo down on the floor, before turning the knobs.

She's heard the legends about this shower — the water comes out warm right away; the showerhead is studded with diamonds; the water running up the tubes sounds like birds singing. While the last two ones are definitely fabricated, Lexa is surprised to find that the first one is true.

Lexa lets out a full-body sigh the moment the warm spray hits her skin. This is going to be one nice shower.

She bends down to squirt a dollop of shampoo onto her hand.

--

Clarke's had the system all figured out from a young age, when she'd go camping with her parents at the wackiest places.

She knows how to get the best perks, chief amongst them the best showers. Or, in this case, the only shower.

She's long learned to always wait for everyone to fall asleep before heading to the showers. Tonight is no exception – when the night is finally silent, she grabs her in-ear headphones, and sneaks out of her tent and towards the showers.

Clarke struts her hips to the loud music playing in her ears as she checks that the stall is empty – no tops of heads poking over the door means she can go in. enters the stall backwards to set her towel over the edge and close rickety the rickety door shut.

She must do it with with too much force, though, because the door shakes with the impact and the towel falls outside, jamming the lock shut.

Clarke hears a loud yelp and turns around, startled, only to find a beautiful fellow camper under the showerhead, naked as the day she was born.

--

The sound of the door banging shut startles Lexa so that she lets out an uncharacteristic yell. She turns around and finds herself face to face with a beautiful woman, whose eyes bulge out of their sockets.

The woman's eyes are a striking blue. That's the first thing Lexa registers, as they remain locked with her own for seconds longer than perhaps necessary, given hee current situation.

Her current situation.

She snaps out of her trance and rushes to try and cover up all the sensitive parts in a feeble attempt to hold on to her dignity.

By now, the woman's face is crimson red, her shoulders are so tense they seem about to break, and her gaze is fixed on a spot well above Lexa's head.

"The shower was occupied," she bites out, trying to summon some modicum of normalcy into the situation.

No sooner are the words out than the woman's eyes are snapping back to meet Lexa's, now with an indignant crease between them.

"Excuse me? I looked there was no one here."

Oh. So that's what happened. Still, Lexa rolls her eyes, as one does in situations like this (whatever this situation even is).

"I was bending down to get some body wash. If you hadn't been wearing those things," she points with disdain at the woman's headphones, "you would have heard the water running."

The woman seems about to bark back, but stops herself at the last moment and raises both her hands in a pacifying gesture.

"You're right, I should've been more aware." At Lexa's nod, the woman lets one hand drop to her side and stretches the other into the space between them. "I'm Clarke, by the way."

Lexa goes to shake Clarke's hand, but remembers her own hands are being used to cover her boobs and private parts, and grimaces. Clarke chuckles and withdraws her hand with a good-natured shrug. Lexa feels the urgent need to give her something.

"I'm Lexa. And we're trapped."

Clarke seems to remember their quandary and turns back around to shake the lock and then the door, but nothing gives. She tries a second and third time for good measure, but it's like the door is made of pure stone.

At last, Clarke turns around and admits defeat. "I can't open it," she sighs. "We're stuck."

Lexa looks at the door, then at Clarke, and then down at herself. Reality starts to sink in. "We might be stuck here all night," she realizes.

Clarke grimaces along with her and Lexa doesn't miss the way blue eyes flit to her body for just a moment. Strangely, she doesn't mind it.

"Is there anything you can cover yourself with?", Clarke asks, although both of them know the answer.

"No."

The ensuing silence is uncomfortable, to say the least. Lexa keeps trying, to no avail, to hidden and Clarke is busy looking red as a tomato and avoiding staring at the general vicinity of Lexa's body at any costs.

"Well," Clarke tries, sounding every bit as awkward as Lexa feels. "Thank god it's summer."

--

Thank god it's summer.

What is wrong with her?!

Clarke almost amends it, but figures the damage is done and gathers the courage to meet Lexa's gorgeous eyes.

What she doesn't expect is for Lexa to be regarding her with amusement. "You're funny."

"You should see me when I'm naked."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

To both Clarke's surprise and delight, Lexa throws her head back and laughs, loud and carefree. Her laugh is beautiful, crystalline but with personality, and Clarke thinks she's a little bit in love with the sound of it.

She could hear it for a days and months and years.

When it stops, Clarke mourns its absence, but all her thoughts flee when she realizes Lexa has given up pretense of trying to cover herself up and has laid everything bare for Clarke to feast her eyes with.

She won't, though. Clarke will remain respectful and respectable decent and–

"You could always take off your clothes."

Clarke's brain goes into overdrive. She tries to make sense of all her thoughts and threads of though, but all she hears in her head is Lexa, beautiful, naked, naked, Lexa.

It's hard to learn how to speak all over again, but she does eventually, and finds the voice she was looking for.

"Do you... Do you want to borrow some of my clothes?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow, as though Clarke just said something absurd.

"Not really." Lexa shrugs, the picture of composure, when just a minute ago she was freaking out as much as Clarke. "But if I'm going to spend the whole night naked, then you might as well keep me company."

[initiumseries]

Which parts of BTVS did you not like and how would you have changed them?

Yes! Great question. 

So, if I’m being honest, most, if not all, of my issues with BTVS start after she graduates high school. I feel like the show lost the magic of the Scoobies bond and the older they got, the more distance we had from them as characters, the more OOC it felt like everyone started behaving, So, I’ll start with s4, buckle in this is gonna be long lol.

Season 4

So as usual, I like the idea of season 4. The gang has graduated, they’re growing up, and trying to find their place in such a big pond. On top of that, the Initiative is on campus (which makes sense, you can’t just blow up a high school and there are no repercussions for that, and it’s kinda cool the idea of instead of a govn’t lockdown, they infiltrate Sunnydale and are running experiments to weaponize demons. Clever, fun. I like it.), and ofc Buffy’s given up having a normal life, but now she just wants a normal relationship, and doesn’t even get that. I’m on board. Especially the idea that the gang inadvertently drifts away from each other because that’s real. That happens when you go away to college, even if you go away together. So my issues, are rooted in the details. 

Maggie Walsh turned into this weird obsessive surrogate mother, who wanted to get Buffy out of the way, except the execution was so sloppy. I LIKED commanding, no nonsense, bitch monster from hell Maggie Walsh, and I would have liked to see that follow through in how she attempts to dispose of Buffy, and how she handles Riley. She becomes this soft, weirdly maternal unhinged force after trying to kill Buffy, and I don’t really understand why. I would have liked to see more of that motherly role, while still rooted in that commander in chief sort of aura she exudes when we first meet her, when it comes to Riley. I also thought her death came too soon, like they just didn’t know what to do with her after she executed her function *coughs in the Anointed One* of creating tension between Buffy and Riley (which, honestly, his being in the Initiative at all would have been enough conflict if they had leaned into that without stuffing so much stuff in there). I definitely would have had Maggie maintain that strength and authority, while softening where necessary to emotionally manipulate Riley. I’d make it really clear that Riley is deeply confused because we believe the hold she has on him, and withdrawal on the drugs would have been a nice touch, but I think it came too soon. Which leads me directly into: 

Super cool. I remember when I first watched this on TV and the gang finally rebonded (after a HILARIOUS episode of them finally addressing their conflicts), they’d reached the climax with the Initiative and Adam and Buffy does a very Sailor Moon thing of all the different emotional strengths of her friends bond together to give her enough power to defeat Adam. LOVE IT. 

Except what’s the point? Prof. Walsh created Adam...for what exactly? We never really get a clear, salient reason for that, bc they kill her, and Adam’s exposition is...not sufficient to explain why she had an off the books project to stitch together a...demon son. It’s weird and especially because Adam doesn’t really do all that much, it really leaves me wondering like, what was the point? For me, I feel like, instead of making Adam a spectator for a lot of the drama that takes place in s4, I would have preferred him be the driving force. behind most things. 

Also: Riley’s Black friend would not have been such an angry misogynistic raging asshole because I’m tired of Black people being The Worst to make the white characters look better, more reasonable.

I would have needed a stronger explanation for Adam trying to turn Riley into...whatever that was. 

Willow would have been bi and I absolutely would have, if I went in that direction, had a much more fleshed out discovery of that fact (Because in this world Seth wouldn’t have left lol). I also would have made sure Willow and the actress who played Tara would have had the chemistry they deserved.  

Anya would not have stayed in Sunnydale. She would have left. She was a poor man’s Cordelia and had 0 character growth or interest. 

Season 5

Again, love the ideas. Suddenly Buffy has a sister we ALL knew wasn’t there before? A God shows up? What I love(d) about Buffy is that the escalations felt so natural? Like it didn’t feel like the show was like HoW dO wE oUtDo oURsElVes aGaIN?! It felt more organic like, well, yeah, the govnt. Oh shit, a GOD? D A M N! And Glory had personality! She was crazy! And it also matches alongside Buffy’s coming to grips with her own abilities. She’s one of the oldest slayers on record at this point, watching her in s1 and in s5 you SEE, her skill level is above and beyond, and now she meets a foe that still provides such a challenge, Buffy is scared. LOVE IT.

So Spike, getting neutered, was interesting at first, but it really starts to wear out its welcome for me, about this time. My problem being, he poses so little of a threat, that all his scenes start to feel like filler and not like they’re driving the plot forward in any useful way. His obsession with Buffy becoming sexual, was INLINE for Spike, but I liked Spike because he was a DICK, he was also dangerous, and after a lot of hilarious moments in S4, watching his basically creep around Buffy’s house and try to manipulate her into spending time together (which felt soooo pathetic to me in a way I didn’t like) and like, the Buffy bot (fucking ew) all season was just, not a fun time. I think, for me, I would have had Spike maintain his dignity as a character and I absolutely would not have had him threaten Dru’s life to drive home his obsession for Buffy. Ew. Yuck. Cringe. I just think there had to be more that Spike could do this season than run around chasing Buffy’s coattails. 

One again, Tara/Willow. Tara had no character development (even in an episode that was created to provide her with development? I definitely would have made use of that episode to create more ACTUAL depth for her character) so then to turn around and have her become mindless for basically the REST of the season, is just, rude lol. And because they have no chemistry and their relationship feels so...baseless, when this moment happens, I don’t feel anything. I don’t believe WIllow would be this angry, this heartbroken, this devastated that she’d take in such dark magicks and blindly go after Glory. I’d believe it if it were Oz, but Tara/Willow do not get the same level of build up and relationship establishing for me to buy this. I would have changed that.

Unpopular opinion, but I also would have made Dawn less of an UTTERLY irritating, shrill, whiny, screaming white tween. I get it, she was supposed to be the baby. But I get nothing from watching a white girl who is mostly just bored and irritated with her life, start shoplifting from her sister’s friends and in general, because she’s kinda sad sometimes. Get a grip. The only time I feel bad for her is when she finds out she’s not real. Actual problems. Wicked, I’m on board. But I think I would have just made her less fucking annoying and whiny and a lot more sympathetic. She still could have been frustrating and bratty, but in a way that was a bit more likeable, so that in those moments where she’s *genuinely* struggling, you feel for her on a broader scope. I would not have made her do all of those incredibly infuriating, incredibly stupid things, like running away in the middle of a dangerous situation. Because it ends up reading to me, like Buffy’s anger, frustration and criticisms of Dawn aren’t her being too hard on her as the eldest, as the Slayer, but accurate because Dawn is a horrendous nightmare of a new human being with no real redeeming qualities. Definitely a better ways to execute that. 

Also, I feel like this season is where the Scoobies drift again, but this time we aren’t really addressing it? Buffy’s dealing with Joyce getting sick, Riley being a POS, Spike stalking her, and she never leans on Willow for any of it. They never even really talk about any of the things going on. It’s such a missed opportunity to lean back into the core gang navigating growing up together. Willow is now basically the guardian of her new partner, and again, we don’t really see WIllow lean on Buffy at all. And Giles is preparing to leave, which, to me, felt organic. He felt like Buffy had outgrown him, but I think he was also trying to rediscover himself, but is pulled back into being a Watcher and he seems both grateful and disappointed. I would have liked to, I donno, make that a little clearer. Also what is Xander doing at this point? He’s outgrown his usefulness as well, so he kinda just becomes a hanger’s on. If Xander doesn’t just leave Sunnydale after s3 or 4. He needs to do *something*, he should have been reintegrated into the group in a new way if it wasn’t through school. 

Season 6 

This is so hard. I feel like this season is just, SO dark, SO heavy, and absent the levity that had been established up til s4. But it’s also really earned. Buffy is going through it. The layers are wonderful. I LOVE IT. But I also needed like...emotional breaks? And this is also kinda where I needed the scoobies to feel like scoobies, and trying to figure out how to help their friend.  Xander and Willow have been friends their entire lives, and season 3 really fleshes out that emotional shorthand they have, but it’s so quickly abandoned in s4 and onward. Suddenly Willow/Xander feel like strangers with Anya and Tara between them. I feel like there should have been more moments of Xander and Willow just..being, and struggling with Buffy’s loss together in a way that only the two of them really understand because like Buffy said Xander has a piece of her that Oz, and so then Tara, can’t reach. That should be a constant thoroughline. Xander should have been the first person to see something wasn’t quite right with Willow and the magic. 

Giles should have left earlier to give more time between him leaving and Buffy coming back. I like the idea of Giles beginning to build a life for himself in England and literally dropping everything once he found out Buffy was back. I emotionally hate the conflict of Willow threatening Giles, but I like it as a character development issue, and Giles definitely should have side eyed Willow, maybe even brought up his concerns later with Xander. 

I think I also would have had Spike leave Sunnydale and come back when Buffy does. I didn’t need a reformed Spike, and it would have been interesting to see him ingratiate himself with the group now that Buffy is back, and he’s the only one who sees how much pain she’s in. 

I HATED Warren and the group. The disgustingly overwhelming and unchecked misogyny and Warren was INSANELY unlikeable. I don’t need to like him, but I needed some catharsis way before we got it. He was HORRENDOUS. 

Even in death, Tara is bland. 

Willow’s magic addiction legit comes out of nowhere. I needed more organic build up than Amy, who has been a rat for like 3 years, suddenly being like “hey I know this guys who can give us magic drugs!” 

The chasm between Willow and Buffy this season would have hit if they hadn’t been distant since s3. 

I think we needed the seeds for Dark!Willow planted a lot earlier like I described. 

Also a lot more evidence that Willow was running away from her nerdy past because when it comes up here, it’s completely left field.

This would have hit harder if they still felt close. 

Season 7

Fuck man, the whole thing was awful. But I ESPECIALLY would have thrown out that left field retcon of Buffy having been in an asylum. I lost sleep over that shit lol.

 But I would have totally rewritten season 7. If Spike’s involvement was necessary (it wasn’t), then I absolutely would not have had her defend him against Wood and Giles. I would have had her treat him extremely coolly. Like a tool they require. There would have been *some* level of redemption for him that was believable within the confines of his character, but not so much that we forget he’s an assaulter.

 The Potentials would have been WAY fucking less horrendously annoying and I really would have leaned into conflict avoidance with the scoobies that reaches a peak when Xander loses his eye. Giles and Buffy would have renegotiated their adult parent/child relationship in a far healthier way and we would have had a lot more interiority with Buffy like we’ve had, pretty much since the show’s inception. 

Angel would have been there when Buffy was isolated and alone, not Spike. Because #bangel4lyfe lmao. They still woulda kissed as a “greeting” lol. Buffy would not have told Spike she loved him, or that she ever loved him. She woulda told that dude thank you and dipped out of the cave lol. 

[the-mangled-readings]

Project AI0.043 (Part 5.5)

lA/N: Sorry it took me a long time, but I been really busy lately but I promise I'm a get back to writing!

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Story Summary: On the 12th Hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. He got seven of them but never found the last one.

Chapter Summary: We get to know what happened to the Reader after Five left to the Present.

Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Language.

Word Count: 2,193

Tag List: @featuringcone9​ @lesbianismybitchname​ @fiveisadorable​ @here-in-never-land sweetingcas @whatawildone

PROLOGUE | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 5.5 | PART 6 | PART 6.5 | PART 7

You watched the blue portal fade away right in front of your eyes, with your husband in it. Five was gone. He never meant to leave you behind, but you guys had already planned out everything since the beginning, but now that he was officially gone, your mind wasn’t at ease. All those years of being married, doing missions together, those nights where you guys would share each other's company, they were all gone. You knew he needed to come back to his family, to save them, and the world, but what about you ... You were his wife, and you were as important as his siblings. Weren’t you?

You were about to leave the area when everything stopped in time. You knew what this meant, she was here, and it wasn’t good.

“Well, well, well.” You heard a familiar voice from behind. “Looks like our beloved Five is gone for good.” The Handler smiled. You watched her walk around you like a predator, waiting to jump on its prey, but you notice her fidgeting, she would usually do this when she felt anxious. 

“Something troubling you Miss ...” You teased, earning a small scoff from her. “You know, for someone that was thaught to be a deadly mercenary, I must say, you’re going soft.” 

“Is that all you could come up with?” You quirked an eyebrow, making her roll her eyes. “No, Darling.” She finally stopped in front of you. “What I meant is that it’s a shame to see such a good Ace like yourself ...” She began to trail off, slowing getting closer to you. “Lower herself, just for a simple man.” 

“He’s not just a simple man, he’s m-” You argued but was quickly cut off.

“Your husband, yes ... I am very aware of the atrocities you guys had done. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde never died.” She teased. “But if I may, you guys were also partners at the beginning. Did it ever occurred to you that maybe ... just maybe, he might have been using you all along just to get what he wanted?” She quirked her eyebrow and a small grin began to form in her lips. You knew this tactic, she was trying to manipulate your mind, like in the past.

“He would never do such a thing. I helped him because what we do is not right ...” You argued, making your fist light up a little. She quickly took notice of this and argued back immediately. “No, but it is OUR job to kee-”

“WHO SAYS ITS OUR JOB, HUH.” You interrupted her, your eyes were now glowing. “Look, Anya ... We all have our purposes in this world, the moment we’re all born, and if we do not follow our paths, it causes an imbalance to th-”

“How do you even know that ... See, this is what I mean. This Organization is all about following guidelines, submitting to the rules, but it shouldn’t be like that. We need to let things happen on their own.”

“I’m afraid, we cannot ... Otherwise, how will the world keep its balance? Everybody is taught differently, according to their cultures, religion, and legacies. We trained YOU with logic and facts, so you could see things clearly, but I’m afraid that your emotions got the best of you once again, so I’m a have to terminate this project ... and start all over.” She looked down, searching for her black sunglasses. “What ... What pro-” You suddenly felt a sharp pain in your neck, it was warm and it spread quickly, making your drop to your knees followed by the floor. “I will see you in a bit, my Dear.” She smiled coldly and waved at you before you lost conscience. 

You suddenly woke up tied up in a bed, a shiver ran down your back, as you quickly recognized the cold and enclosed chamber, you began to panic. Its size was small but the ceiling seemed to never end. Your eyes darted everywhere, the small scratches and holes on the walls, made you remember why you were so scared of disobeying The Handler as a child.

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, with tears dripping down your cheeks. “LET ME OUT, OR I WILL BURN EVERYBODY IN THIS FUCKING BUILDING!” You clenched your fist but nothing came out. The only thing you could feel right now was anger and fear. 

“I’m glad to inform you that it won’t happen any sooner my dear, not after that little incident we had many years ago.” You heard The Handler’s voice echoed through the walls. “We modified the chamber, so it can hold your powers and absorb them, meaning you'll just become a regular human ... but don’t worry we’ll use them for a good cause, for now, you need to sleep.” 

Then a loud vibrant noise echoed through the chamber, making you feel lightheaded and nauseous. You tried to fight it but the more you tried you grew weaker and weaker. 

“No ...” You whispered. “You’re all going to pay for this ...” With an unknown force, you began to scream even louder, and move agitatedly, with the noise still ringing in your ears.

You didn’t know how or for how long you had been screaming, but now, your voice was almost gone, you felt tired and weak. Your body shivered from the cold. Your eyes slowly scanned the room and fell into a small figure, a girl, sitting by the wall, her arms crossed above her knees covering her face, making it hard to see her clearly, but you did notice some bruises in her arms, and she was wearing a gown, maybe she was another poor victim they tried using.

You slowly tried to sit up but she quickly jumped under the bed, now crying. 

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” You tried to sympathize with the little girl, only hearing her crying stop. “You can’t help me.” Her voice was raspy and distorted. “We’re only going to make it worse if we fight, or have forgotten already?” You slowly raised your head, only to find the girl floating above you and looking down at you, her tears dripping down into your face. Her bruises slowly began to spread and darken her skin until she was completely dark. “BECAUSE I HAVEN’T!” She screamed, while her body caught on fire, dripping her remainings on your body, making you caught on fire too.

“NO!” You screamed, yanking yourself off from the dream and from one of the restraints while getting forcefully pushed back into the bed by one large male nurse. “NO! LET ME GO.” You punched him on the jaw, only earning the same treatment back. It hurt like hell, the chamber did a great job at absorbing all of your abilities because now you were spitting blood. 

You turned to the male and spit on his face, making him angrier but he was quickly pulled back by the other 3 nurses that entered the tiny room. Catching you off guard, one of the other nurses quickly injected you a yellow liquid, staining you instantly. 

“AH !” You yelled, yanking it off your arm, stabbing her on the throat, making her drop to her knees and bleed out on the floor.

“Claudia!” The large male nurse yelled and was about to throw you another punch when you heard a familiar voice enter the room. “Adam, behave yourself.” The Handler ordered. “Please, let us be, we need to speak privately, and Oh dear God, please take that thing away from here.” She turned away, pinching her nose, blocking the smell Claudia’s body was releasing, while the rest of the nurses carried Claudia’s lifeless body out of the room. “Dear, Dear, you really don’t know when to stop do you?” She finally turned to you, a mocking smile spread on her face.

“I was taught by the best if I can remember.” 

“That is true.” She nodded, still smiling. “Glad to know our training served you well.”

“Cut the bullshit, what do you want.” You snapped, making her frown. “My, my, someone is cranky today, aren’t we.” 

“What did that nurse inject me with, it burns.” 

“Well ... you put us in a very difficult situation, Anya. You see you’re the only one with enough power to stop the Apocalypse, and even to create one, so we can’t let you go ... and we can’t kill you either. So there’s only one appropriate solution, for these types of situations. We injected you with a neuro-acid which will put you in a permanent coma. Exactly what we had planned at the beginning ... ”

Your heart instantly jumped at the word “Coma”. 

“No, YOU CAN’T ...”

“It will be a simple and elegant way to ... put an end to our collaboration ... Just so you know, we will always be grateful for your help. Goodbye, my Dear.” You watched The Handler walk away, but you noticed another young woman standing by the door before being shut behind her. 

“That girl ... I remember her.” You said to yourself but the neuro-acid began to hit you immediately. Your breathing became heavier, and your vision was slowly becoming blurry. The room was spinning, and your body felt numb, it was like floating on water, but you couldn’t move nor speak. 

“No, no, no, no, no, n-” You thought before shutting your eyes.

You were now trapped inside your own mind, floating in the darkness and cold.

“Five ...” You whispered to yourself. “Help me ...”

“Poor thing ...” You heard a woman’s voice echoed through the darkness. “Such waste ... I thought you were stronger ... I guess I was wrong.” She continued. 

“Wh-who a- ...” You tried to speak, but nothing came out, you couldn’t even make a phrase in your mind. “I am what lives within you ... I’m that small spark that makes the REAL ... you.” She began. How did she even hear you, or even knew what you wanted to ask? “I believe I told you, I am part of you ... (Y/N).”

You tried moving your head around, but you couldn’t. “Help ... me.” You begged to the unknown voice.

“It’s cute how hard you try ... Look at you, you’re just weak, you’re flawed, helpless, you’re nothing.”

“Please, hel- ...”

All of a sudden, you regained your strength and sat up from the bed you had been tied up. The darkness changed into bright and warm colors, making a trail from the ceiling to right in front of you, and that’s when you finally saw the woman. Her skin was pale, and her hair was white, she was dressed in black, much to your likeless she kinda looked like The Handler, but also like somebody else, she was facing away from you. “Your mind seems to be troubled.” She asked, tilting her head to the side. You took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m ... Is this an illusion? Or a dream?” You asked, but the woman turned and stared at you blankly. “Only if you want it to be.” And with that, she turned away from you again. “What did you mean by I am what lives within you.” You slowly got up from the bed, walking towards her.

“I saved you many years ago when you were a child ... you were just a lab rat back then, they have been using for their stupid experiments. Their preservation of the time continuum ... It’s just a Fantasy, no one, but US can actually keep the timeline intact ... we can even alter it.” She finally turned to face you, her eyes were dark, lifeless, but her stare somehow had a heavy feel to it. “We’re the creators of Worlds, (Y/N). We can do whatever ... we ... want.” She spoke, raising her hand, the colors changed drastically, forming stars and planets. “When I came to this planet, I heard a call, YOUR call, they had been torturing you for years and I could feel it. They tried to understand the origin of your powers, but little did they know that they were just looking at the tip of the iceberg. (Y/N) do you have any idea of what you are truly capable of?”

“Why do you keep calling me like that ...” You asked, bewildered. “Because that is your real name before they stole it away.” This time, her tone changed into a more warm and comforting. “Your real name is (Y/N) (Y/LN). You were born just outside (THE CITY YOU WERE BORN), your mother and father, (YOUR PARENTS NAME), loved you dearly, but they had no idea of what they were getting into.”

“What happened to them?” You looked at her, tears falling down your cheeks.

“My dear (Y/N), this is going to be painful to hear but, now we have an eternity to talk about it, so let me tell you what really happened, from the beginning and to the reality you know today ...”

[laylacooke]

A Little Catty || Deirdre & Layla

timing: Mid August [Continued from this.] parties: @deathduty& @laylacooke w/ special guest, Anya summary: Layla finds herself some competition. Meow-Meoh.

She had somehow managed to escape the White Crest Animal Shelter. It was a Houdini type feat, but now she was outside in the dark. While her cat eyes had given way to so much more in the darkness, than her human eyes ever could (unless it was a full moon), Layla was still scared. It was a big world and she was a tiny cat. Things that went bump in the night kept her on edge and as she wandered the streets of White Crest, she finally stumbled upon a house. One that looked familiar, so familiar, until she realized exactly where she was at. Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.

Rolling her large black eyes, she sauntered up to the back patio of the house. While she was almost hesitant to go in, the smell of something good had lured her closer and closer, until she was standing at the back door looking in. She was already here and considering she didn’t feel safe going back to Regan’s place or home to be with Ariana and the dogs, Layla decided to try and make her way inside. At least for the night, she’d be safe considering she had just seen another cat dart by inside the house. And with a long and lonesome meow, she wailed out into the night hoping Deirdre would hear her.

Deirdre had one, embarrassing secret: she cooked for her cats. She did it when Morgan wasn’t home, and rare enough that the cats thought of it as a treat, but she still cooked for them. And that, itself, was embarrassing. But she took pride in her intricate, cat-friendly fish dishes and lovingly presented them on her nicer plates. “No, Anya, you get less because you’re getting kind of chubby. Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one that found the bag of treats.” Oh, yeah, and she always talked to her cats like people. But she wasn’t embarrassed about that, she spoke to all animals like they could understand her, it was a habit she never grew out of.  Naturally, Deirdre still asserted that she hated animals. “Moira?” Anya, Morgan’s black cat and ex-familiar, sat patiently in her chair. But Moira, their white kitten, wasn’t there. Instead, her mewing broke the silence of her house. “What is it?” She approached the cat with concern, kneeling down until she spotted the orange tabby she was looking at. Slowly, Deirdre reached up to open her back door and let the cat in. “Are you a stray?” She asked. No collar. She tilted her head and extended her hand slowly, to let the cat sniff her fingers, still stained with the smell of fish from plating up the cat’s food. “Do you want to join us for dinner?”

As Layla continued to yowl, she noticed Deirdre had taken so much pride in feeding her other cats. Despite all she had gone through chasing a dog around the house, the teenager could tell just how much animals of the feline type meant to her. And that was somewhat surprising. But it was also reassuring knowing she had picked the right place to go to. 

Seeing the movement in the kitchen, followed by Deirdre walking over meant that Layla had caught the woman’s attention. Success! As the door was opened, a burst of cooked fish came wafting out of the house and into Layla’s face causing her to lick her lips. Cautiously moving forward, she began sniffing the woman’s hand and without thinking tried to lick off whatever remnants remained from the meal Deirdre was cooking. With a soft meow, she trotted inside and began rubbing up against the nearby leg of a chair. Sweet George Clooney, what the hell am I doing? Her reactions came naturally. Being a cat had come naturally, which was somewhat alarming. But the longer, she remained a cat, the easier the lifestyle had become. 

Deirdre lacked Morgan's knowledge about cats, she couldn't tell age by size, or intention from actions. She watched the orange cat curiously, just as Moira did. The white cat mewled, walking around with a lack of learned cynicism. "I'll take that as a yes then." She smiled and stood, making her way back to the kitchen to scoop the extras from what she shaved off Anya's portion to a separate plate for their new friend. She returned and presented the plate, putting it down by the chair leg. The cat seemed acclimated to the surroundings of a home, and unafraid of the other cats. She wondered if that meant the cat was just lost or had simply slipped out of its house and into another to scheme its way to more food. She thought about asking Morgan what she thought as soon as she was home, she knew cats better. "It's fish," Deirdre explained, "it's probably a little bland. Cats can eat anything with real flavor, it seems. But it's very fishy, which I suppose you'll like." Deirdre eyed the cat like it was a critic dining at her restaurant, even as she told herself that the last opinion, she cared for was some animal's. "Are you lost?" She asked it. "Do you want to stay here?"

Layla continued to rub back and forth along the chair leg, until the food was brought over. Layla, you don’t eat fish what are you- Trotting over to the plate that was now on the floor, she began to scarf down the meal. The strong fishiness of the dish was so much better than her human vegan mind ever imagined. And it didn’t take her long to lap up the meal. Once she was finished, and had thoroughly licked the plate, she looked back up to Deirdre. No, I’m not lost. You just had food, and I would love a place to stay. Anything to get me away from Animal Control and dogs that want to eat me. Her words, of course, had come out as meows. No indication of it being a human turned werewolf turned cat. Sitting down, she pulled one of her back legs up and started scratching behind her ear. When she had finished, she looked back up to Deirdre and meowed softly. Pick me up?  

The meows were unintelligible to Deirdre, but she nodded along all the same. It did feel strangely like a real conversation, even if she couldn’t understand what was being said. This cat seemed more intelligent to the things Deirdre was saying than Anya and Moira had ever been--the stares felt, just a little less blank. Or maybe that was her imagination, sometimes she could have sworn that Anya understood her and just chose not to listen. Speaking of Anya…. Deirdre glanced around for the black cat, whom she knew would take less kindly to their strange intruder, but there was no sign of her. Deirdre turned back, reaching out to pet the cat just behind its ears. It looked up and meowed; that was a sign Deirdre knew. Moira gave it to her often enough. She reached over and----Shrieking cut through the air. Deirdre turned and slowly approaching was Anya, back curved up and ears flat. She hissed. Moira skittered under their coffee table. Anya lunged.

Layla was just about to be in the warmth of Deirdre’s arms when she heard shrieking. Ah crap! I thought you guys liked me! Before she could react, the orange tabby felt claws go into her soft, fur ridden flesh. Letting out a loud yelp of pain, she scurried away from Anya and behind the counter. She had needed a breather. Just a few moments to catch her breath, but before she was settled, she could hear the deep vocalized approach of the other cat. Feline instincts taking over, Layla felt her own ears go back and her back arch. A low, deep moan came from her own throat as she began to slowly inch out from behind the counter. You want to go, bitch! Let’s go! Moving closer, she started to do a slow methodical dance with the other cat. Not approaching just yet but trying to suss out the situation and the best way to gain dominance of the house and Deirdre.

Anya was unquestionably the dominant cat of the house. She circled the orange tabby with unease and pounced again. Yet, as amusing as it was to watch cats fight, one of those cats was Anya and the other she didn’t really care about but figured she should, and so Deirdre broke up the spat. She scooped Anya into her arms, speaking gently to the soft black cat.  “It’s okay. It’s just a stray.” She thought. Or maybe Anya knew something she didn’t. “It’s okay,” she assured the cat again, shifting her in her arms until she was settled better. Anya continued to squirm, there was some dominance she needed to assert, and it was dominance she couldn’t while stuck in Deirdre’s arms. Deirdre didn’t know what to do, were cats like chickens? Did she allow them to establish a pecking order---or, in this case, swatting order? She stared down at the orange tabby. “I’m going to put Anya down, and you need to be nice to her. She’s a valuable member of this household. She contributes dead animals sometimes.” This, she thought, would soothe over any bad blood between the cats. She gently lowered Anya to the ground, who promptly, and swiftly, began to chase the orange tabby. 

Layla yipped when the black cat struck again pulling claws through skin. But before she could take any of her own swats, she found her opponent being scooped up in Deirdre’s arms. Looking upwards at the cat and the woman, Layla hissed, before limping away from the pair. She had to put some distance in between herself and Deirdre, or she was tempted to take a swat at her rather than Anya. Seriously?! I should have listened to my human side and stayed away from this stupid place. But I just had to let my hunger for fish, of all things, take over. She was managing to catch her breath. However, before she could fully lower the hair on her back, fucking Anya was chasing her through the house. Luckily, Layla had remembered the lay of the land and zigzagged in and out of rooms, before settling under Deirdre’s bed. Backed in a corner, she let a low growl escape her tiny cat body as she began to swat at Anya who was trying to force her way up under the bed with Layla. I just want to be human again. Please Cat Gods! Please! If cats could cry, she darn well was doing it with tears welling up from her round black eyes.

“No! Anya! Bad!” Deirdre chased after the two cats, sliding around corners and bumping into her walls and furniture with much less grace than the two cats. At another time, with any other creature, Deirdre might have respected this gusto from Anya. If this was Anya hunting down prey, far be it from her to intervene. But it was another helpless cat, and even Deirdre thought that was a little unfair. She caught up with the cats in the master bedroom, dashing across the carpet to scoop up Anya before she could crawl under the bed and get involved with a scrap Deirdre couldn’t reach and couldn’t protect them from. “Anya!” She picked up the black cat and made it look her in the eyes. “Bad! Well, not bad. But not good!” Fates, she really hoped she never had to become kind of disciplinary in her life. “I said the cat was okay, you remember me saying the cat was okay, right?” The cat did not respond on account of it being a cat. Deirdre continued to explain to her. “It’s okay. I promise you it’s okay. No one is going to steal your food, or your spot in this house. It’s probably just passing through. Okay? Okay. I’m going to let you down now and I need you to leave the cat alone. Do you think you can do that?” The cat, again, did not respond. Deirdre let Anya down on top of the bed and crawled down to look at the tabby. “You can come out,” she told it, she extended her arm out. “She probably just didn’t like you eating her food and rubbing up on the furniture. I don’t know, I don’t really understand cats. Will you come out from there?”

Layla’s tiny little heart was pounding harder than before. She was terrified. Deirdre scolding Anya didn’t even make her feel better. Instead, she pushed herself back further into the shadows of the bed. She just wanted to be left alone and to not be chased or threatened by anyone or anything. No! I’m not coming out! You let your cat attack me! Her meows held a tone of panic and fear. And as Deirdre’s arm came towards her, she swatted at it. Barely nicking it with her small claws. Away you devilish woman! Away! She could still hear Anya walking around on the top of the bed; fear lingering of the possibility of another attack waiting on her from the beloved black cat.

Deirdre didn't flinch as she was swatted, she'd certainly gotten worse hits from such Marge larger things, but it was clear to her that this cat was terrified. "Okay," she sighed, "wait here." She pulled herself up and scooped Anya into her arms. She took the black cat downstairs, letting her comfort Moira and offering another shred of fish as an apology for the whole debacle. Then she found the dried catnip and took a pinch with her back upstairs. This time when she laid down, her head turned to watch the tabby, she held her outstretched arm with the catnip a little closer to her. "It's okay," she cooed, "you can come out. I won't let Anya hurt you anymore, I promise." She wasn't sure why exactly she was offering promises to a cat that couldn't appreciate them, but she did so anyway. "I'll let you into the cat room and you can play with all the toys, or jump around or sleep, even. And then we'll figure out where you need to be, okay?" As much as she dreaded a trip to animal services, she couldn't deny the possibility that this was probably just someone's lost cat.

The small animal stayed hunkered down. A little relief came when she could smell that the other cat had been taken out of the room and that Deirdre was gone. Relaxing just enough to not be so tense, Layla had considered running out of the room and trying to find her way back outside, but before she could, the woman was back, and this time she had something that smelled enticing with her. What-What is this crack you hold between your thumb and forefinger? She was more so curious than before and couldn’t restrain herself. Inching forward, now, with only catnip on the brain, she began eating the small, green dried herb out of Deirdre’s fingers. Instantly, she began to feel more relaxed. What is this stuff? Everything’s so heavy. And, I could just...Layla yawned...go to sleep right here. She moved in closer to the woman and began purring, just wanting someone to snuggle up to so she could go to sleep.

What was the moral ethics behind drugging a cat with catnip? Deirdre considered this, then found the orange tabby purring in her arms. It was fine, she concluded, because the cat seemed happy. "Uh, hold on, I need to pee." The cat, however, didn't want to move. "I can't go to the toilet like this. You need to sleep in a bed." And still, there was nothing. She sighed, relenting, and crawled into her large bed, holding the cat close to her. "Fine. But just for now, okay? Just for now." She began to pet the cat, the way she learned cats like best, and sang her a lullaby softly. Cats, it seemed, weren't so bad. 

Layla’s little cat body was comfortable and seemed to melt into a pile of fury goo in Deirdre’s arms. She didn’t really know what was happening, but at that moment it didn’t matter. She just wanted to sleep the night away, and that she did. Dreams plagued her tiny cat mind. Fantastic dreams of dancing fish hopping right into her mouth. Mice swimming around her. Balls of yarn rolling around. It was in bright, flashy colors, while distorted music played. Some big production from a Disney cartoon from back in the day. And by daybreak, the orange tabby had felt hungover and thirsty.

Crawling out of Deirdre’s arms, Layla hopped off the bed and went to find water. Once she had cleansed her dry pallet, she cautiously made her way downstairs watching out for Anya and Moira. She had to escape. She couldn’t stay here another night. As the memories crept back in slowly of being attacked and then being drugged with catnip.

At some point, petting the cat and singing softly, Deirdre had also fallen asleep. Her dreams were filled with stabbing people, dead bodies drifting down rivers, and Morgan (who was not exactly related to death, but as a zombie, fit right into Deirdre’s macabre dreamscape anyway). It was a good slideshow of nonsensical images, the kind that lulled her in deep and pulled away the worries of her waking life. Eventually she fell over, dissolving into a more comfortable curled up position and she drifted off to a slumber deep and uninterrupted. 

Anya wasn’t so lax in observation. She sat atop her cat tower, surveying the house. When the orange tabby crept into the room, her eyes focused on the foreign creature. Her tail swung back and forth, observing. Waiting. Threatening. Your move. 

Layla slowly crept along, until her sharp senses picked up on the other cat. Stopping dead in her tracks, the orange cat looked up to the top of the cat tower seeing her nemesis lying in wait. Not this shit again...Letting out a huff and not waiting any longer, the cat took off running towards the kitchen, except this time, instead of staying on the ground, she leaped up onto the kitchen counter to wait on Anya. She would pounce when the time came. Hunkering down, she waited quietly, her own tail swishing in anticipation.

Anya jumped down each level of her cat tower slowly, pausing to stare. She had a look that said 'I could kill you' which wasn't much different from her other looks, but even so, this wasn't Morgan's Anya anymore. She had been weathered by time, loss, and smaller dinners because she was 'getting fat'. Was it her fault the treats were so easy to reach? And Moira was often too excited to even finish her dinners? Anya was, what humans liked to call, food motivated. But if she had enough of a brain to argue, she'd say everything on this planet was food motivated. She hit the last perch, watching the orange cat. Then she dropped to the ground, slowly stalking up to her. The back door hadn't been closed, an error in Deirdre's judgement but one that worked for Anya's gain. This was the cat that took her food and then her cuddles, and soon, Anya imagined, her throne. She stared up at the cat on the counter. Then she jumped up to join her. And slowly, calculatedly, she tapped a glass until it wobbled on the edge and shattered across the ground. Then she bellowed, as if injured, and jumped back down—the blame could only go in one place. And who would Deirdre be willing to think was the culprit? Her sweet Anya, or the dirty stray? 

Layla was readying herself. She was going to pounce on Anya and make her feel just a small fraction of the crap she had put her through the night before. However, things didn’t go quite as she had planned it. Instead, the orange cat watched as Anya casually made her way into the kitchen. She had already known where Layla was waiting, before the new cat had any chance at getting revenge. But what happened next was not expected. What? What are you doing? Backing up slowly as the cat joined her on the counter, she was surprised by the black cat’s actions. Oh, you sneaky bitch. Knowing that Deirdre would believe Anya over Layla any day, she didn’t want to stick around to see what would happen, especially now that the other cat was on the floor feigning an injury that didn’t even exist. Until next time, Anya. Until next time. She hissed at the larger cat as she quickly hopped down from the counter and headed for the door. She wanted to be long gone, before the woman made it downstairs, knowing good and well how Deirdre would react.

Deirdre sprang to life, half-awake and staggering as she sprinted to the site of the crash. Without accessing what was wrong, exactly, she scooped Anya up and searched for injury. Relieved with the absence of them, she turned to the crime. "Aw, I was going to put flowers in that vase." She frowned, then glanced around for the orange tabby, the obvious culprit—to which she wouldn't be mad, just disappointed. But as she looked, the cat was nowhere to be seen; the backdoor was left open, leaving a cat-sized crack. Anya settled happily into Deirdre's arms as she worried quietly for the new stray. The black cat, by comparison, had little care. With her throne secure, and all further threats to fish dinners eliminated, she found sleep happily and with ease. Wherever that orange tabby was, she'd know better than to come back here.

[kimvvantae]

Umbra; 4

➜   being ruled by an ancient commandment, your sole purpose is to serve. you were born to protect the king with your life, tied by an everlasting oath; you are nothing but a shadow, a silent and insignificant being. he appears to you like the sun, the warmest and brightest star in the sky, and gives you a chance to live. it is then that your entire universe starts to orbit around this sun, and you decide that you are truly willing to die for him.

pairing: King!Taehyung x (f) hybrid!reader

genre: royalty au, fantasy, angst  

warnings: descriptions of violence, blood and death that might be triggering.

word count: 9k

A/N: enjoy uwu

➜ Chapters: check up masterlist in bio! 

“Tell me, Y/N,” my master says quietly. “Do you know what war means?”

My hands are tightly intertwined behind my back, head respectfully lowered as always. My master is sitting in a comfortable stuffed chair, legs crossed. He wears luxurious blue clothes, the shiny crown placed on his head. He plays with the Royal Ring absently on his right hand.

“War is the armed conflict between two kingdoms or more over politics or territorial reasons, Your Majesty,” I say, the sentence a mere memorization from years ago.

“You said what war is and not what war means,” the King reprimands, making my shoulders shrink slightly. He is not being harsh, though; his voice is deep, rumbling and calm. But I have been living with him for enough years not to let myself be fooled by his apparent calm exterior. I know better. The King leans slightly. I have his whole attention, I feel his piercing gaze over me.

“Basically, war means death.” he says slowly, as if to let this information sink on me. “Thousands, if not millions of people die in a war. Soldiers, humans and hybrids. Innocent people. There is famine and poverty. The kingdom loses money and properties.” he pauses for a moment. “You should know it, considering your race.”

I gulp and nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Nobody wins with a war. That is why we should avoid it at all costs.” I see the King getting up, his height hovering over me.  

“If you lose today, Y/N, we will have a war. And all of it will be your fault.”

My eyes snap wide. I feel sweat forming on my hands due to nervousness.

“Do you want to live knowing millions of people died because of you, Y/N?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“So, what do you have to do?”

I inhale deeply, controlling my nerves. It is no time to be nervous. It is no time to be scared.  

It is no time to fail.

“I must win, Your Majesty.”

I can slightly see my master nodding his head. “Good. Then you know exactly what to do.”

With this, the King leaves me by myself.  

I lift my head and tighten my fists. My master put all of his hopes on me, and I can’t let him down. I won’t. I will prove to him, to Counselor Gilliard and to the whole court that I am the best guardian the King of Ëlv’en could ever have.  

I inhale and close my eyes momentarily.  

When I open my eyes, the heavy doors open echoing a loud sound and I walk forward with determined steps.

The heavy doors opened echoing a loud sound and we walked forward with determined steps.

Taehyung walked ahead of all of us, wearing an appropriate black attire – as well as me and the others. Despite him being crowned King already, we had to show that Ëlv’en was still mourning over our deceased ruler. He walked with an unwavering confidence, chin high, expression calm. Taehyung did not seem nervous or apprehensive – and at the same time, he did not look insolent towards the king in front of him.

King Hugo got up from his throne and approached us slowly. The man was tall and buff, his hair grizzly under the crown on his head, as well as his beard. I felt shocked for a moment; he looked even older than the last time I saw him, considering it was merely three years ago. His chocolate skin already showed several wrinkles indicating his advancing age, however I was sure Hugo was around the same age my past master was before he died.

Yet Hugo looked around ten years older than that.

Still, his broad shoulders showed the pride and experience of someone who’ve been leading his kingdom for decades. His steely dark eyes analyzed Taehyung as they approached each other – and I knew his single gaze could make anyone shrink. But not Taehyung.  

They stopped in front of each other, making us stop as well as Hugo’s assistants behind him.

It felt as if everyone was holding their breathes.  

“King Taehyung, it is an honor to have you in my humble house,” Hugo started, his deep, husky voice sounding like thunders. I did not fail to notice the sarcasm on his sentence. His palace in which we were at the moment was anything but humble, just as great and luxurious as Ëlv’en’s royal palace.

“I am the one feeling honored by your hospitality, Your Majesty,” Taehyung said, a faint smile on his lips, voice polite and smooth. “I thank you for receiving me and my entourage in your kingdom.”

Hugo nodded gravely. “I must say I felt surprised and impressed at your self-invitation. It was something definitely... unexpected. Not an action I would expect from your father.” at this, Hugo bowed his head only slightly. “Besides, I extent you my deepest feelings towards his death. King Taejun was indeed a great man and leader.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I hope to be able to carry on the heritage he left uprightly.”

At this, a faint smirk made its way on Hugo’s lips. I could very well notice his judging eyes on Taehyung, paying attention to his every word and action. Despite their polite words, the scene before me reminded me of two lions measuring each other before a fight.  

“This we will see with time, son. For now, I hope you and your comrades can enjoy your stay in Athena, despite the weather not being the best at the moment. Since you had a hard travel, you all must be tired and should take a rest. My assistants will show your rooms, and after that, we can have an appropriate conversation at dinnertime.”

Taehyung nodded and lifted his hand towards Hugo. “For sure. Again, I thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty.” I noticed how Taehyung kept an utmost politeness behavior calling him “Your Majesty”, while Hugo called him “son”. It wasn’t unexpected after all, considering Hugo was probably forty years older.

Hugo grabbed Taehyung’s hand in a tight handshake. “Of course. I am excited to start our conversations, King Taehyung.”

And they stared at each other deeply.

I couldn’t help but feel a small spark of pride inside my chest. First meetings are extremely important, and I could tell Taehyung already left a good first impression: he did not waver, was polite and objective, did not talk much and made sure to show respect to Hugo, since he was inside his kingdom. Taehyung clearly understood the seriousness of the situation and acted accordingly.

If I were allowed to smile, then I’d probably be smiling at that moment.

And it was also in that exact moment that I felt a freezingly cold shiver run through my spine.

I knew he was there. I could already feel him the moment we stepped in Athena’s royal capital. Of course he would.

There he was, standing at the back of the throne room, unnoticeable to anyone else – but not to me. He looked exactly the same: tall and slender, red hair, caramel skin, same armor, same sword attached to his back. Same cold gaze. And he was staring directly at me.

Hoseok.

I saw his face contort slowly. He looked completely dazed for a moment, analyzing my features, as if he couldn’t believe it was really me standing there. I could see thousands of questions going on his mind. But then his eyes became dull and I saw something else.

Outrage.

He was outraged. Because I was a guardian, because my master died and I was still alive.  

I did not break our eye contact and kept my expression blank, however there was a struggle inside of me. I was already expecting such reaction, but I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to see a brother of mine showing such indignation. I wasn’t ready for that look of his, a look that said exactly what he thought of me: dishonored.  

A brother of mine judged me as dishonored, when all a dragon owns is their honor.

Even though he said no words, that single fact broke something inside of me. I’ve been questioning myself ever since I accepted Taehyung’s offer, trying to cope with the disgrace that fell over me. Seeing another dragon think exactly the same thing was way too hard to bear.

However, I did not let myself shrink under his gaze. I made a choice that day, and I had to live with its consequences. It was no time to regret or complain. I had to stand by Taehyung’s side and accomplish my duty like I swore.

It was no time to fail.

Dinnertime came in the blink of an eye.

The dining room was just as expected – sumptuous, enormous, decorated with chandeliers, rich paintings on the ceiling in soft hues of green and beige. The table was extended in the center of the room, loaded with countless types of food: meats, pasta, salads, fruits, grains, traditional recipes from Athena. To be honest, I never understood why royals had this habit to put so much food on the table when they wouldn’t be able to eat half of it. Seems like having a bountiful meal also means wealth and power, I suppose.

Sat at the table end was obviously Hugo, accompanied by his wife and Queen, Anya. None of their five children accompanied the dinner, because all of them were considerably too young yet, so instead only the higher ranked members of the leadership of Athena were present. Taehyung sat on the other side of the table, as well as Gilliard and other counselors.  

The conversations were going smoothly, yet the atmosphere was charged with tension. Still, it was way better than all the meetings I’ve witnessed between Hugo and King Taejun. Their relationship was polite, distant and unfriendly. They had dinners like this several times before and none of them went this well.

All thanks to Taehyung and his impressive charisma. He did not seem tense at all, a sympathetic smile on his lips all the time. I could tell Queen Anya was enchanted by him – possibly because of his good appearance, I supposed –, her eyes sparkling as she watched Taehyung. He was managing to make this dinner less heavy than anyone supposed it would be, making compliments (that did not sound forced) and addressing everyone on the table at some point, not ignoring the Athenians (that are quite sensitive, being honest).

Taehyung even made Hugo crack a smile. A smile. Not a malicious smirk, but a true smile.

I wondered if Taehyung had any idea of how well he was doing.

However, I couldn’t let myself feel so entertained by the scene in front of me, because there was a pair of eyes watching me all the time.

Hoseok stood at the back of the room hidden in the shadows, just like me. His gaze didn’t waver for a second, paying attention at every action of mine – and I too did not break the eye contact, blank expression on my features. I couldn’t let him see any emotion at all, although I could see very well on his cold gaze what he was thinking.  

Despite his hostility towards me, I couldn’t feel any true aggressiveness. Everything was rather calm on my surroundings. Of course, Athena wouldn’t be foolish enough to try anything against Taehyung or any of us...

What made me unintentionally think about the cursed rock again.

“So, King Taehyung,” Queen Anya said at some point of the night. She had a faint smile on her lips. Differently from Hugo, she already seemed completely comfortable with the situation; Anya was always more open and warmer than her husband anyway, as far as I could remember. “Any thoughts on marriage? You are the certain age for it, am I correct?”

Since I was standing behind Taehyung I couldn’t see his face, just the back of his head. “You are right, ma’am. Unfortunately, I had no time to put much thought on it, since my father passed away too abruptly and I had to take the throne, but I am considering it seriously,” he said, voice as serene as always.

“You sure should solve this issue quickly, son.” Anya stated. “It is hard for a King to reign without a Queen. I am sure my husband wouldn’t have become half of the King he is now if it wasn’t for me.”  

This made everyone at the table laugh softly and even Hugo opened a faint smile at Anya, shaking his head when he looked at her. And then I saw a glimpse of something I wasn’t expecting. His dark eyes sparkling in pure... adoration.

That’s a rare sight for someone as dull as him.

“Do you already have someone in mind?” Hugo asked. “Picking a good spouse is important for the reputation of the royal house.”

“I am aware of some princesses around your age.” Anya said, then opened a playful smile. “Only if my daughter Serena was old enough, I’d definitely recommend her.”

I couldn’t tell if Queen Anya was just playing or being serious, because a royal marriage is always much more than the union between two people – it means an alliance. Was she just being carried away by Taehyung’s charms or she perhaps seriously considered the union of Ëlv’en and Athena, two rival kingdoms who fought for the dominance of the continent for centuries?

I quietly hoped for the latter. Union means peace. What if Taehyung was managing to melt them on that level?

“And I would sure feel honored for it, ma’am,” Taehyung answered politely. “As well as I am considering a candidate. Yet, for now Ëlv’en has greater concerns ahead, things we should take care of before thinking of myself. The marriage will have to wait a little, at least for now.”

I doubted anyone else could notice the slight change on his voice the way I did. Did this issue made Taehyung somehow uncomfortable or was I just hearing too much?

“Putting your kingdom ahead of your own will, that is expected of a King,” Hugo said, nodding. “Being completely honest, Taehyung, I heard many rumors about you for the past days. I am glad to see that perhaps they were all wrong.”

I held my breath when these words left Hugo’s mouth. Even Counselor Gilliard seemed surprised, his eyes widening slowly.

We just witnessed the King of Athena, known for his aggressiveness, patriotism, a man harsh with words and even harsher with actions, make a good comment about Taehyung.

In that moment I knew that yes, everything about Taehyung was different.  

For the good.

“I feel more than honored to hear this, Your Majesty,” Taehyung said, and once again, even if I couldn’t see his face, I heard his smile.

Only two days after, we were ready to leave already. Of course, no one expected that our visit would last longer than that: it would be bad for Taehyung’s reputation if he stayed away from Ëlv’en in the first months of his reign. During these two days, he and Hugo discussed about several political issues – yet they did not come to any accord at all, as expected. The rivalry and hardships between the two kingdoms wouldn’t be surpassed just because Taehyung was charismatic. But I could already tell the tension has decreased significantly; all we could hope for was a brighter future, and after this visit, it didn’t seem so impossible after all.

The Entourage was ready to leave, all of us taking care of our tasks while Taehyung and the Council members had a last conversation with the leaders of Athena. Instead of being inside the room with my master, I was standing outside it; I had just checked the carriages and horses in search of possible traps or aggressive spells on them, but everything was clean. I couldn’t let my guard down after that cursed rock. In fact, I caught myself thinking about it a lot...

The wooden doors beside me opened and a group of people walked out of the room, still chatting. I immediately straightened my posture. None of them noticed me, as expected – including Taehyung, what made me relieved. He could not keep noticing my presence so easily anymore, otherwise I’d be failing my duty. All of them just walked past me towards the entrance of the palace, and I followed quietly several steps behind.  

They started their way down the principal staircase. Just as I was about to follow them, I felt a hand tightly grabbing my forearm and quickly dragging me to an empty corridor nearby.

I didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

I immediately yanked his grip from my forearm aggressively and stared at him, hands curled into fists. “What do you want, Hoseok?”

As usual, the man before me did not seem affected. He crossed his arms, his cold and steely gaze analyzing me from above. “I just want to talk.”

I rolled my eyes at this. Even though I always hid my emotions very carefully, I just couldn’t control myself well around Hoseok. I hated the way he looked at me, I hated that mischievous smirk growing on his lips, I hated how he always acted superior. “You had plenty of time to do that before, why do it now? I have to follow my master-”

“Your master,” Hoseok interrupted me with a scoff, shaking his head slowly. “That man is your master now? I thought your master was King Taejun, the one who you swore allegiance to.”

The spite on his tone was obvious. I could feel a venous anger in his voice and in his gaze over me. It made my confidence waver only a little bit; of course, Hoseok let it very clear what he thought of me the moment he put his eyes on me, despite we didn’t exchange a single word up until that moment, yet hearing it out loud was something else.

But I wouldn’t keep my head down to him. Not when he did not understand the full story. “I took an oath of allegiance to King Taehyung, too. Now, I am his official guardian. I did not fail on my duty, this is not against the law-”

“You’re trying really hard to convince yourself, right?”

I blinked and frowned, confused. “What-?”

“These are just excuses, Y/N.” he stepped forward, forcing me to step backwards and so my back was pressed against the wall. “I know King Taejun died of a disease, but we both know it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if the law allows it. The law is not above honor.”

“What I did does not erase any of my past acts-”

“Yes it does.” Hoseok interrupted me yet again, voice sharp. He lowered his head to my eye level, anger all over his face, even though his voice was low. Menacingly low. “‘A guardian only has one master’, isn’t it? This is our culture, the role the elves gave us, the very core of our existence. Or did you forget about it too?” He scoffed again, tilting his head to the side. “Can you even still be called a warrior? You don’t deserve to speak our language anymore, you don’t even deserve to carry the medallion around your neck. What are you? A prostitute that sells yourself as a ‘guardian’ whenever a new King gets crowned?”

A wave of pure anger flew through my body as I heard him pronounce these words – such a strong wave that Hoseok himself felt it, and I saw him wavering for a moment. I tightened my fists even more, controlling myself. I wanted nothing more than to land a punch on his face that would crash his facial bones and send him flying backwards, yet I knew this would be the same as a declaration of war against Athena. Hoseok was always trying to provoke me and make me angry. I should be used to it already.

But it was different this time, because his actions never offended me not even once. I always knew he was just acting like a petty boy all along, trying to take reactions from me. But not this time.

Hoseok was literally angry at me. His words were not just provocations; this was exactly what he thought of me.

And it hurt.  

I immediately felt the medallion feel hotter under my clothes – the medallion that indicated my role as the Royal Guardian, a piece of the same sapphire which adorned Taehyung’s Royal Ring. Hoseok had a similar medallion as me, possessing an emerald instead. Only five medallions like ours existed.  The five great kingdoms of the continent. Five guardians. The five only dragons who had the honor to carry these symbols of submission, loyalty and that connected us to our masters.

What if Hoseok was right? What if I no longer had the right to carry my medallion?

“You know I was never fond of you,” Hoseok continued, his voice slightly softer this time, but still spiteful. “But when I heard the news that King Taejun passed away, I thought you would follow your path. I personally went to the Memorial Stone in Niflheim and graved your name there, thinking you deserved an honored funeral ceremony.”

I widened my eyes slightly. Did Hoseok really go to Niflheim just to pay respect to me?

“You didn’t do it. I don’t believe you,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“But I did. I think many bad things of you, Y/N, but dishonored was never one of those things. I always respected you.” he stopped for a moment and narrowed his eyes. “Seems like I was wrong about you after all.”

And for a moment I saw the glimpse of something on his eyes – something I did not expect, and something that made his words sink on me even more.

Disappointment. And... hurt.

Hoseok felt hurt.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“What you think of me doesn’t matter, Hoseok,” I started, my voice meticulously controlled. “You don’t understand what made me take this decision. Besides, as I already said, I am doing nothing against the Law. The King himself asked for it and accepted me straight away.” I crossed my arms and quirked one eyebrow up to him. “Perhaps you just wish I was dead now, so you wouldn’t have to face me anymore in a fight. Because both of us know I would kill you.”

He showed me that mischievous smirk again, the smirk I learned to hate. “No. Actually... the fact that you’re still alive is good in one point. It means that our deal is up.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

The deal.

I completely forgot about it. In fact, I tried to avoid thinking of it most of the time. But Hoseok was right – the deal was up. There was nothing I could do to change it.

“You’re almost the right age, isn’t it?” he continued suggestively, leaning his body in my direction.

“Yes,” I answered simply, for the first time avoiding his gaze. One more thing I hated about Hoseok: he would always mention this subject. I heard him chuckling darkly.

“Y/N is flustered, what a sight to see...” he mumbled, voice even lower. When I felt that he was starting to invade my personal space, I glared at him menacingly and put my hand on his chest, pushing him backwards firmly. He chuckled once more. “Does your master know about it?”

“Not yet.” I said dismissingly; I had enough of this conversation. “If you finished, I’ll go back to my duties.”

I turned around on my heels, leaving Hoseok behind, who was still laughing softly. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N. Sooner than you think...”

I couldn’t help but tighten my fists once more.

And as I started to make my way to the entrance of the palace, I saw something that caught me completely off guard.

Taehyung was midway on the stairs, far from everyone else. I couldn’t tell if he was going up or down. What was he doing there? Why weren’t he with King Hugo and Queen Anya?

Why was he looking at me with such a serious expression?

Before I could even rationalize, Taehyung turned around and went down the stairs, not even once glancing back at me, and reunited with the rest of them.

A nervousness set on my stomach.

What just happened here?

The travel back to Ëlv’en happened without any hindrance.

Taehyung was just as eager to go back to his kingdom as he was eager to arrive in Athena. He didn’t want no distractions, no delays, and everything went just as he wanted. During our way back I was extra careful; I couldn’t stop thinking about the cursed rock, but fortunately, I did not feel anything aggressive during our entire travel back.

The travel itself was rather silent – at least for me, as expected. King Taehyung only talked to me once to check up on my arm, just to be completely astonished when he saw my skin completely healed as if I wasn’t even burned in the first place. Other than that, I only spoke the utmost necessary.

Of course, I should be used to it. I was a guardian my whole life; my past master barely ever directed himself towards me. I should expect the same from Taehyung, despite all the differences between him and his father. I was nothing but a shadow, right?

But why his lack of words was starting to bother me?

It was stupid, I knew. Perhaps Hoseok was right about me; perhaps I was getting too full of myself after Taehyung complimented me so many times, actually forgetting my true purpose. I shouldn’t want his attention, but rather the opposite. I am nothing but a shadow. If the King was not paying attention to me, it meant I was accomplishing my duty.

I should eradicate this arrogant feeling from myself. One of the guardian’s best qualities is humility. I wasn’t being humble enough, acting as if I deserved his attention at all.

I didn’t deserve it.  

We finally entered Ëlv’en’s territory again after some days of travel, yet we were still more days far from the Capital. For some unknown reason, Taehyung decided to change the route and go for a longer path instead of taking the usual one that leads directly to the Capital. We were at a small town near the frontier, too far from Ëlv’en’s principal centers. Even though the population was small, all of them were euphoric because of Taehyung’s presence; it seems they weren’t used to such important visits after all. They immediately offered the most expensive inn for the Entourage (that was still very humble compared to the royal’s standards, but still comfortable), and differently from the council members who looked somewhat disgusted to step in such a simple place, Taehyung thanked them immensely and seemed extremely grateful.  

Instead of resting, he spent the whole day touring around the city and meeting its inhabitants. He visited establishments, houses, and even had lunch with a family. He would stop by and talk to people, make them questions, wanted to know their opinions about many issues. He would give handshakes and hugs and smiles and compliments.

And I was yet again astonished.

King Taejun wasn’t an unpolite man. He would sure greet his subjects. But not like this. Being so close to them? Make them questions, touch them, hug them? He would never do something like this. King Taejun would usually greet them from far in an official event, waving inside a carriage in a parade.

At first, I did not understand why Taehyung was acting this way. He was the King. He was way above all these people in many ways: economically, socially, hierarchically. He was the most powerful person of the kingdom, if not of the entire continent. Why would he bother interacting to such people? Why would he bother being in touch with them? These people were at the bottom of society. They weren’t important.

At least, this is how I always heard the counselors and King Taejun himself say...

Yet, seeing him being so kind to them – the same way he was kind to me – made a strange, throbbing sensation set in my heart. I’ve been having this sensation a lot when thoughts of Taehyung filled my mind. Perhaps I should ask Sir Thomas to check up my health?

After this busy day, the sun finally disappeared on the horizon giving space to the moon to shine brightly above our heads. Even though I don’t get tired easily, I felt that I sure deserved some rest – now that we were inside Ëlv’en I could relax a little, since it was my territory and the chances of attacks was significantly smaller.  

But then I realized I would have no time to rest at all.

I was woken up in the middle of the night, someone knocking on my door – soft knocks, yet enough to wake me up immediately; I had very light sleep, so I could always be ready to act. I quickly sat on the bed, my senses alert. My room was dark (usually I wouldn’t even get a room at all, sleeping in barracks and sometimes with the horses on the stables, but fortunately this inn had a small room remaining and I had the chance to take it). I got up, my bare feet rushing to the door, and I opened it without thinking twice.

I widened my eyes at the sight of Taehyung.

The fact that he was knocking on my door at three in the morning was already surprising, but even more when I noticed his attire. It was nothing like the luxurious pieces of clothing he usually wore: a simple beige shirt made of cotton, black pants and worn boots. A brown cloak hung from his wide shoulders. There was absolutely nothing special about his clothes, nothing expensive, no gold or jewels, and not even the Royal Ring was anywhere at sight. He looked like a commoner.

I took some seconds to recover from the sight.

“Your Majesty, did something wrong happen?” I asked in a rushed voice, muffling my confusion. Fortunately, I was always dressed to act, even in my sleep, so there was no problem in him seeing me in my current clothes.

“No, everything’s fine,” he reassured, and I noticed how his voice has low, almost a whisper. He didn’t want to call attention. “But I need to go somewhere.”

I furrowed my brows. “Now?”

“Yes. And you’re going with me.” He said, voice sounding unbothered by my concern but at the same time firm. Realization slowly hit me. He wanted to escape... “Get ready quickly, I already prepared the horses. Don’t wear your armor or any official symbol, put on common clothes. I’ll be waiting on the stables.”

Before I could even protest (and I had no right to protest), Taehyung was already turning around and leaving. It was clearly an order.

I immediately closed the door and did as he said. None of my clothes were fancy or special anyway, so dressing as a commoner was not a big problem – except for the fact I had no skirt or dress, and as far as I knew, normal women wore those things. I actually never even wore anything but pants my whole life. It would probably be a bit strange for some people to see a woman wearing pants, but I deemed that my appearance would make me look like a traveler, which was more acceptable. I tied my black cloak around my shoulders, hid the medallion under my clothes and took my sword, leaving the bedroom right away.

Although the inn was under vigilance, I had no big problems reaching the stables. It was also a surprise that Taehyung managed to get there without being caught too, what was clearly his intention. Why was he doing this? Why did he want to leave in the middle of the night, dressed as a commoner? I did not understand, but I knew better than to ask. Taehyung ordered me to come with him, that’s all I had to know.  

It was odd, but a warm feeling grew in my stomach as I met him at the stables. We were escaping, it was clear Taehyung did not tell anyone about this. We were doing something we should not. It was strange coming from the King, someone that supposedly should be an example of perfect behavior.  

Why was I feeling excited about it? I shouldn’t. It was wrong. But I had no right to tell him that, so I just shut my mind and followed him.

In no time, we were riding side by side out of the town.

The moon lightened our way, making the landscape shine in silver. Soon, the houses were left behind, replaced by nothing but an endless flat land, only a few lone trees peeking here and there. For good minutes we just kept silent, me trying my best to feel anything that could put the King in danger. Everything was clear for now, but I felt uneasy. With the Entourage I had many men to assist me in protecting Taehyung. Even though I knew I was much more capable and powerful than all of them, having to take care of him by myself was quite dangerous.

I side eyed Taehyung.

His strong eyebrows were set, jaw clenched. He did not look angry, just concerned. I could tell he was too deep in thoughts to even bother talking to me. I could just wonder what was going on inside his mind.

His skin shone under the silver moonlight. His hair looked so dark it could be mistaken for black, when it is in fact dark brown; the strands flew with the wind, leaving his forehead at sight. His huge, veiny hands held the reins very tightly.  

For a brief second, a part of my brain – the part I would usually tell to shut up – noticed quietly, his side profile is really handsome.  

My eyes snapped forward immediately at this.

After more minutes of utter silence, curiosity finally took the best of me as I followed Taehyung through a desert, almost invisible trail that led to God knows where.

“Your Majesty, I apologize in advance for questioning your knowledge, but you do know where we are going to, correct?” I said hesitantly, afraid to offend him.

Taehyung let a quiet laughter pass his lips at this. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry for not telling you where we are going.” He munched his lower lip for a second, what made me look ahead again. “In fact, I am surprised that you don’t know where this trail leads to.”

I furrowed my brows only slightly. “I do not know. I apologize for this, but I only know the places my past master went to, and I am sure he has never been here.”

I saw Taehyung nodding slightly with the corner of the eye. “Of course. He would never come to a place like this...”

His voice was dull and I felt surprised. Why did I hear such disappointment on his voice when talking about his father? What was he possibly talking about?

“If you’re that curious, you just have to ask,” Taehyung said, making me stiffen completely; did he read my mind?! His tone changed completely. Again, I could sense that playfulness coming from him – rather unexpected at this moment, and I felt thankful for not being allowed to look at his face, because I wouldn’t bear to look at that smirk I knew he had on his lips.

“M-Majesty, I am not allowed to make quest-”

“That’s not safe to just follow a guy around in the middle of the night without even knowing where you’re going, you know,” he interrupted me, and I could see him leaning his torso in my direction only slightly, his tone deathly serious.

I almost gasped at this, nervousness creeping on my skin. Was I being scolded? Well, Taehyung wasn’t wrong after all – but I am his guardian, how would I not follow him?  

“I apologize for not being careful enou-”

“It’s basic safety, you should know it.”

“It won’t happen again, Your Majest-”

“This is an unforgivable mistake, guardian Y/N.”

I froze, my shoulders shrinking, and gulped. Punishment, that’s what he was referring himself to. I was sure. “I’ll make sure to correct myself as soon as possible...”

Yet again I was interrupted – only this time it was by Taehyung’s boisterous laughter.

I widened my eyes, startled, while the man beside me didn’t hold back. “Oh my God, you’re so gullible,” he said in a breathy voice between his laughter. “I’m just kidding, Y/N.”

I kept my sight glued ahead, as stiff as a board. Was Taehyung making fun of me? I’ve been noticing this kind of behavior from him – a teasing side that seemed to awake in the presence of Seokjin especially – but I did not expect he would tease me.  

“Ah...” was the only thing I could mutter, completely embarrassed, as Taehyung still laughed quietly, his piercing gaze on me.

“Hah, you’re funny, Y/N, did you know that?” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

So, apparently, my master was also somehow of a sadist who enjoyed seeing people get flustered because of him.  

I couldn’t say I exactly liked this habit of his.

“But I’m serious about something, actually,” Taehyung said after regaining his composure, yet his voice was still lighthearted. “If you want to ask me anything, then you’re allowed to, alright? You don’t have to just obey me mindlessly.”

I fought the urge to turn my face to him. Why was Taehyung like this? First he ordered me to speak with him without asking permission, now he’s saying I could make him questions too. Didn’t he understand I had a conduct code to follow? I could not interact so easily with him. Why couldn’t he understand that?

But even though I knew it was wrong, I decided to let it slip just once and make a question. Just once.

“I would feel more prepared if you told me where we are going and what are we going to do, Your Majesty,” I said hesitantly.

Taehyung nodded, seeming surprisingly content.

“We are going to a small village at the frontier. I must talk to a friend of mine,” he said, all playfulness disappearing from his voice. “As you can notice already, it is someone I definitely shouldn’t be meeting, so I would like if you kept this a secret.”

I nodded right away. I wanted to know exactly who this person was, but I felt that it would be too much already. Having this information was enough: we were getting into a small village in disguise in search of a particular someone. Also, a part of me took it as an opportunity to learn more about my master – more about his past, actually. If he had battle experience and knowledge in magic, he should have done some remarkable things on his life.

“Can I make you a question now, Y/N?” he said suddenly.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Why was he even asking permission? Taehyung could have anything he wanted from me without asking permission. He did not have to ask.

“About the cursed rock on our way to Athena,” he said darkly, making me surprised. “Do you really believe it was an animal trap?”

I tightened my grip around the reins. So, Taehyung was thinking about that incident too...  

General Seokjin was not wrong when he first deemed it was probably a trap for predators; it was very common around farms. But what the General did not know was that an animal trap wasn’t supposed to be so powerful, and if it wasn’t for my last minute efforts, that cursed rock would have incinerated the whole Entourage.

“I do believe it was a trap,” I said slowly. “But not a trap for animals.”

Taehyung nodded somberly.

We both knew whoever put that on the road was trying to kill him.  

At five in the morning, when the sky has that dark blue color which indicates the sun is about to rise, we reached our destination.  

When the village Taehyung mentioned before peeked on my eyesight, I was sure I have never been there before.

I would have remembered such a miserable place.

Our arrival was quickly noticed by its inhabitants as soon as they heard the sound of horseshoes clicking against the stoned ground; I felt their menacing glares and intentions towards us even before I properly saw them, what made me want to grip my sword instinctively. They were hiding in the shadows, between alleys or looking through old windows, silently whispering between them, eyes of eagles searching for any valuable item at sight.

Of course, they did not scare me. No one could scare me. Yet, I was sure these were dangerous people, and a normal passerby would sure feel frightened to be in such place. It made me feel hyperaware of my master beside me.

Why would Taehyung want to be here?

The houses around us were poorly built of wood and blocks, and I wondered how could their inhabitants survive during winter, despite snow is something rare in Ëlv’en. The bad smell told me there was no basic sanitation before I could even notice the rats running around. People were just waking up and getting out of their homes, so the streets were mainly empty – but the few I did see looked dull, suspiciously eyeing us, their clothes merely dirty rags. Everything around me looked dark. Everything around me looked painful.

Everything around me looked greatly, terribly sad.

I had no idea such place existed in Ëlv’en; I have ever only visited big cities, such as the Capital, which are beautiful and clean. Of course, there were poor people too, but even the poorest had decent houses and ways of living. How did these people survive here?  

And in that moment, I finally noticed: it was a hybrid village.

We reached the central and only square of the village, getting off of our horses and tying them near a fountain, apparently also the only one. The stone structure seemed too old, gurgling water quietly. I evocated a quick spell around our horses; I knew these people would try to steal them.

“Don’t call me ‘Majesty’ while we’re here, nor pronounce my name,” Taehyung said, approaching me, voice almost a whisper. I nodded back seriously. “Let’s go.”

I started to follow him. Even though I knew Taehyung didn’t want anyone to know he was actually a royal and my actions could unmask him, I couldn’t help but walk a step behind and not by his side. He walked forward, obviously knowing where he was going.

“Vante?”  

At first I completely ignored the echoing voice, since I had no idea who “Vante” was. But Taehyung’s steps stopped in a halt and he looked around, in search of the voice.

I saw a middle-aged woman approaching, balancing a huge basket on her hip. Her hair was tied in a messy braid of grizzly hair. I saw rabbit ears peeking from her head turned upwards in surprise.

“Is that you?” she asked.

Of course it couldn’t be Taehyung. We were here in disguise. How could anyone know him...?

But then I saw a huge, boxy grin appear on Taehyung’s lips and he said, “Julia!”

He practically ran to her and the woman smiled back, her features completely lightening up. I watched in complete shock as Taehyung engulfed the woman in a tight hug, her free arm also caging around his waist as he swayed her slightly.

“It’s been so long!” Julia said in a delighted laughter.  

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, leaning away to look at her. Julia stared up at him and tried to look mad.

“How dare you disappear for so long, kid?! We missed you!” she exclaimed, making Taehyung laugh.

Before I could even move, the woman Julia suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs: “Everyone! Vante is back!”

Only a few moments after, I saw doors opening and people leaving their houses towards the square. Some of them looked confused, but then their eyes landed on Taehyung and smiles creeped up on their faces. Soon a small crowd gathered around Taehyung, hugging him, greeting him, ruffling his hair playfully.  

Suddenly the village that looked dark and sad lightened up.

I stared from far, mouth ajar.

These people knew Taehyung, but they had no idea he was their King.

My master seemed to forget completely about me as he talked to the people, mouthing some apologies for apparently not showing up in a long time and greetings. That huge grin was still on his face – a grin that made his eyes almost disappear in two crescents. I watched him quietly, several steps away.

I already knew Taehyung was a sympathetic, charismatic person. I also knew that he was easy-going. But this was something completely new; that was the most genuine smile I’ve seen him open ever since I met him. His voice was louder than I was used to. Even his usual perfect posture relaxed. As I heard him talk, he did not try to sound so polite and formal.  

It was a different Taehyung. He looked even younger. He looked like the man the age he actually was. It seemed that since these people did not know about his true position, he could let things loose.

He could be himself for a moment.

And even though the sight was beautiful, it also pained me.

I was snapped back to reality when I saw a young boy approaching him, a little puppy, his tail swinging in excitement. He walked with the help of a crutch.

“Big bro, you’re back!” he almost screamed.

Taehyung immediately walked to him and crouched down to his eye level, hugging the boy. He leaned away, his hands still resting on the boy’s shoulders, and analyzed him up and down. “Youngjae, how are you? Is your leg better?”

The little boy, Youngjae, nodded eagerly, a big grin on his lips showing the lack of his front teeth. “Yes, big bro! I can walk by myself now, don’t you see? My legs aren’t as weak as they were.”

Taehyung’s smile only grew, if that’s even possible. He looked up to a woman standing beside Youngjae, probably his mother, if their resemblance was any indication. “The potion you provided helped him a lot, Vante. His bones are growing stronger each day.”

“That’s wonderful!” Taehyung stated, and he did sound happy.

Little by little, I heard people thanking him for things he did. Giving a medicine to heal pneumonia. A spell that helped ease the pain of an old wound. A recipe of another medicine to heal tuberculosis.

So that is why Taehyung knew healing spells; he was an actual healer. He helped this poor people take care of their diseases. It was obvious there was no healer on this village, and healing centers were placed only on bigger cities.

Still, why did he choose to hide his true identity?

“How long will you stay here, Vante? It’s been so many months!” Julia said excitedly. “My kids will get crazy when they see you. You can stay at my house as usual, there’s always free space for you!"

Taehyung turned to her, and I doubted anyone else noticed the guilt that clouded his eyes for a moment. “I apologize, Julia, but I can’t stay long. I’ll have to leave today yet.” A chorus of soft complaints flew through the people around. “I only came because I have to talk to...”

“Me, I suppose?”

I felt a cold shiver at the back of my neck when I heard the sound of that voice.

A catwoman approached slowly, people opening space for her to walk in. She wasn’t too young, but also wasn’t too old – I could not really tell her age just by her looks. Her long skirt dragged on the floor, an old, frayed scarf around her shoulders. Her orange ears, the same color of her hair, was perforated with many piercings, as well as she carried necklaces made of seashells and crystals on her neck.

I could see it in the way it was impossible to know her age. I could see it in the many amulets she carried on her necklaces and piercings, the tattoos marked on her skin. I could smell it, the scent of herbs and potions, the smell of cheap, dirty magic.

My hands immediately turned into fists.

A witch.

Now I understood why Taehyung didn’t want anyone to know about this encounter, however it only made my confusion increase. Why would he want to meet a witch?  

Why would he want to meet a criminal?

Taehyung nodded his head on her direction respectfully, his whole expression getting more serious, yet a small smile still decorated his face. “Aila,” he greeted.

The witch in front of him opened a smirk. “Vante. It’s been a long time,” the woman tilted her head slightly. “I can see you’re in a hurry. It would be better if we could talk inside my house.”

Taehyung agreed and looked to the people around him. “I’ll be back in some minutes so we can talk more, alright?”

That witch, Aila, walked ahead without waiting for him or bothering to look behind. Taehyung followed her and looked at me, motioning me to walk with his head, which I did promptly. We followed the woman through tight and dirty alleys until she stopped in front of a particular door, turning around to face us.

Aila finally landed her eyes on me, noticing my presence for the first time, apparently. She eyed me from head to toe, a single eyebrow lifted in suspicion. “Care to introduce your friend?”

I locked my gaze with hers. Of course, a simple witch wouldn’t recognize my true nature. I could see she thought I was a simple human.

“She’s Y/N,” Taehyung said confidently, all playfulness on his voice gone. “I trust her with my own life.”

Once again, I was thankful for knowing how to control my facial expressions so easily in the presence of others, otherwise my jaw would have dropped. Hearing my master say that made the throbbing sensation grow in my chest again; it should be obvious that he would trust his life to me, I was his guardian after all. But hearing him saying it out loud? Hearing him pronounce that with such confidence?

His father never recognized me.  

I blinked and focused my sight on the witch in front of me again, pushing those feelings aside and focusing on the current situation. It didn’t matter if Taehyung knew this woman or trusted her; she was a witch. A treacherous person who dealt with dirty magic. If I felt a single bad intention from her, I would not hesitate to cut off her head in the blink of an eye.

Aila still eyed me suspiciously for some seconds, but Taehyung’s statement seemed enough to convince her. I wondered how much she trusted him to get convinced by a simple sentence. She nodded once. “Alright, then.”

The witch opened the door and let us in, and I immediately felt a chilling sensation underneath my skin. Her house was more a cabin than a proper house, and it apparently had only two rooms. The kitchen was filled with dried herbs, ingredients inside pots. I could see dozens, if not hundreds of amulets hanging from the ceiling: crystals, seashells, feathers; there were also many patterns drawn on the entire floor and walls, all of these containing protective magic. She obviously did not want to be tracked by the Royal Mages. Expected of a witch.

I couldn’t help but frown slightly. My skin itched uncomfortably. Feeling all this corrupted magic brought me nausea; it was offensive to see a sacred energy being used in such wronged ways.  

Aila sat on the tiny table by the kitchen and motioned us to sit as well in two wooden chairs in front of her. Taehyung sat promptly, but I hesitated. I did not want to touch anything inside this house. But I deemed she would feel offended, and it could perhaps bring her suspicion over Taehyung, so I sat beside him with no complaints.

“If you are here, then it means you heard the news,” Aila said, her hand resting atop an old, shabby book. Taehyung nodded.

“Yes. I am even surprised that you were not found yet, Aila. You should leave this village before they can find out about your involvement,” he said seriously, concern very apparent on his voice. Was he really concerned about this witch? Was he really hoping that this criminal wouldn’t be found by the Royal Mages?  

The more I knew Taehyung, the less I understood him.

“But what I actually want to know about is Petrus. He has been risking himself too much lately, and I hadn’t heard of him in weeks. Have you been in contact with him? I need to talk to him,” Taehyung went on, leaning slightly towards her. His voice and expression told me this Petrus was someone important, someone he cared about. Even though the change on his voice was small, I was already able to tell every change on it.

In that moment, Aila’s eyes gleamed. Not in a good way.

“I thought you already knew,” she said hesitantly.

Taehyung’s expression fell.

“What happened?”

The catwoman in front of us lowered her eyes and looked at the book in front of her. She intertwined her fingers and sighed deeply.

I knew she didn’t hold good news.

And even before she spoke, I knew it would hurt Taehyung deeply.

“Petrus is dead, Vante,” Aila said melancholy. “He was murdered.”

[writethelifeyouwant]

Leningrad- Chapter 1

Life moves on and so should we. -Spencer Johnson

The pavement slipped by beneath his feet as he trudged towards the snow-dusted red awning on the busy New York street. Blaring snaps of hip-hop music faded in and out as cars pushed through the slush and mud coating the roads. It was bitterly, bitingly, cold but he was only marginally aware of the numb feeling creeping from the tip of his nose to the rest of his face until he turned under the awning and a stifling heat rushed through him.

Inside, the humidity that restaurants get when they're overcrowded during the winter engulfed the newcomer but he didn't make any moves to remove his winter clothes. After glancing towards the right corner of the room he pulled his scarf tighter around his face and hunched down in his coat, as if he was preparing to once more step out into the wind. Instead, he started moving purposefully through the restaurant, towards the lighted signs proclaiming the entrances to the restrooms and the kitchens, respectively.

As he passed the doors to the kitchen and turned down the hall to the men's room he observed that the cash station for the wait staff was currently occupied by two young women in ill-fitting white collared shirts. They were not who he was looking for. He ducked into the bathroom, checked that he was alone, and waited.

Through the crack between the door hinge and its frame he could hear the two waitresses complaining about the lack of tips their tables had been getting that day. He peered through the infinitesimal gap and saw them print their receipts and begin to retreat back towards the main dining room. Then, as he had hoped, he heard a faint greeting as they passed another waitress on her way to the cash station.

"Hi Anya."

"Hey guys."

Another waitress in the same unflattering uniform approached the cash station and began to enter the necessary information to run the customer's credit card. The man quietly exited the restroom and reached into his large fur-lined overcoat, pulling a small hand gun from an inside pocket. Angling his body so his back faced the entrance to the hall, he carefully placed the gun against the girl's waist.

"Anya," he spoke in a low, calmly controlled voice. "Will you please walk with me to that fire exit?”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“Oh, Penelope, this is exactly what we needed. Thank you,” Kate sighed as she snuggled down into her seaweed wrap.  

“Of course! My crime fighting beauties deserve their beauty rest. And I really needed some tension released.”

“Fight with Sam?” JJ asked sympathetically, taking a sip of her white wine.

“No, but it might turn into one soon if he doesn’t learn a few more facts about the female anatomy.” Penelope huffed.

“Ooh, that bad?” JJ asked.

“I don’t think I’m asking for anything out of the realm of possibility! Google can tell him plenty if he bothers to look.”

“And have you tried telling him any of these tips yourself?” Kate laughed.

“Not in… so many words,” Penelope’s face noticeably reddened in acknowledgement of her embarrassment. “But he seemed so confident going into…” she waved her hands randomly in front of her to fill in the words she didn’t want to say. “I don’t want to make him question everything else about his life he thinks he’s good at!” The girls giggled at Penelope’s flustered explanation.

“Pen, if you don’t want to die of sexual frustration you’re gonna have to tell him. I would think you taking charge wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for him.” JJ wiggled her eyebrows at Penelope, taking another long drink of her wine. Penelope huffed in amusement.

“I had to have the same conversation with Chris when we started dating. He was only briefly mortified before he applied himself very enthusiastically to righting that wrong.” Kate shared, grabbing her own wine. “Totally worth it.”

The girls all giggled and continued to chat and sip at their drinks as they enjoyed the much needed relaxation, cocooned in their respective body treatment wraps. The bubbly atmosphere popped when three text tones rang out in near concurrence.

“Well, this was fun while it lasted,” JJ sighed.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Spencer walked into the conference room with his large mug of coffee and plopped himself into the swivel chair at the table, spinning a complete three-sixty before he settled his drink next to the file in front of him, pushing his curly hair back out of his eyes.

"Reid, man, you have got to get a haircut," Morgan laughed.

"Really?" Reid self-consciously ran his hands through his, admittedly unruly, hair again. "I kind of liked it like this…" His voice trailed off as he anxiously thought back to the last time he'd had an awful haircut and had caught some of the students at the academy laughing about it as he passed them on his way up to the lectern. No one had done that lately, he thought maybe he had rectified the situation.

"Don't listen to him Spence," JJ cut in. "I think it looks good like this."

"Seriously JJ?" Morgan scoffed good-naturedly. His ribbing tone made it obvious he wasn't taking the whole situation too seriously, he just wanted to wind Reid up.

"Oh yeah! Skinny guy, curly hair, forgot to shave; that look's hot right now." JJ and the team cracked up as Spencer blushed but also looked shyly pleased with himself.

"You said it sister," Garcia piped up as she hurried into the conference room with her unicorn mug and her personal clicking device. "Unfortunately, I am here to give you a look at something much less pretty. We have a missing girl."

Garcia positioned herself by the screen and brought up two photos of young, blue-eyed, mousy haired girls. They were severely unattractive license photos but Spencer could tell the girls would have been pretty under normal circumstances. The next pictures Garcia brought up were even more unattractive.

"Three weeks ago in the lovely but crime filled city of New York," Garcia started, "our girl on the left, Lina Mills, was found in her apartment, shot once execution-style in the back of the head. Police connected her murder to that of our first victim, Katerina Russo. She was found in her apartment about six months ago, same thing one shot to the back of the head." Garcia grimaced and quickly looked away from the very high definition photos of the girls staring into space with blood running down into their eyes.

Morgan was flicking through more of the crime scene pictures on his tablet while she was talking. "These girls weren't killed in their apartments, there's not enough blood."

"You're right," Rossi mused, "he has to have a secondary location where he kills them. But why bring them back to their own apartments? That seems unnecessarily risky."

"It's very risky," Reid added, "It looks like these girls were missing for at least a week before they were killed according to the police reports. There would have been enhanced surveillance around their homes but he still got their bodies back in without anyone stopping him.”

“Both girls also show evidence of torture and starvation according to the ME reports. That must be why he’s keeping them so long. It’s about the time he spends torturing them, not how he kills them.” Kate volunteered.

"Was there any evidence of sexual assault?" JJ asked mutedly as she scanned through the reports on her own tablet.

"No there wasn’t," Hotch answered as he strode into the room, simultaneously hanging up his cell phone. "I just got off with the NYPD confirming our invite in. They called us about this girl," he pointed at the screen as Garcia brought up a third picture of a young, pretty girl with light brown hair and blue eyes, just like the previous victims.

"Her name is Anya Hamlin, she's 18, just started at NYU. Her boss reported her missing when she disappeared half way through her waitressing shift this afternoon."

"How do they know this girl was taken by the same unsub?" Morgan put in.

"Anya and the last victim, Lina, took a few classes together at NYU. She was one of the girls they interviewed when Lina went missing.” Hotch grimaced.

"Okay so this guys is definitely working on a specific target list then, going after girls in the same group," Rossi spoke up. "Did they have any connection to the first victim?"

Garcia answered, "not that NYPD has found but I'm digging into it right now sir."

"Alright, well, keep us updated on the plane Garcia. Wheels up in 20 everyone.”

[travllingbunny]

The 100 rewatch: 1x09 Unity Day

This episode was never one of my favorites, but I didn’t dislike it first time around, so I was surprised to which extent I did this time. It’s an important episode that moves the plot along in crucial ways both on the Ark and on the ground, but it has so many of the things I disliked in season 1 (the Jaha/Diana plot – which reaches its climax and ends with this episode, Finn the peacemaker, and the first appearance of Anya – always one of my least favorite characters, who starts the tradition of Grounders being extremely hypocritical in their interactions with the Arkers) or that I’m indifferent to (the very rushed Linctavia romance - the Romeo and Juliet “we just met and we’re already in love” type romance was never my thing, I just don’t find it relatable).

Rating: 6/10

The scenes I liked the best were just the little moments of the Delinquents having fun during the Unity Day celebration. And I don’t mean just the scene where Clarke and Bellamy spend a few minutes eye fucking flirting totally platonically interacting, but also Clarke having fun with a couple of random Delinquents (Fox and Sterling, who are both introduced here) and the start of Jasper’s and Raven’s friendship and him telling her that she now kind of has a family with the Delinquents. And I liked Miller’s snarky remark while watching Jaha’s speech, that he can now try to take credit after the 100 have done the toughest job.

This was the first time we got the backstory of the 12 stations joining, and the unofficial fact that the 13th station was blown up, which the show explored more in S3.

It’s also the first time we hear the “…May we meet again” prayer for the dying, when Kane says it to his mother.

At least the Diana/Jaha conflict is finally over. This is how not to do moral greyness: instead of having sympathy for both sides, I disliked both sides equally, which results in indifference. Diana’s political stance is supposed to be about protecting the working class, but it’s kinda hard to trust that when all her people did in the previous episodes was manipulate one member of the Ark’s working class to do their dirty job and assassinate Jaha and then another one to try to kill the former one. And here they stage a terrorist attack and fail to kill Jaha, again (this guy survived probably more near-deaths during the show than anyone else), but blow up a bunch of innocent people, including children.  And on the other side you have Jaha, with all his oppression, executions and constant lies. But I guess this show loves the “people being total a-holes and destroying everything” plots, like this one.

Something that I always disliked but couldn't put my finger on why, but now I know: Finn’s new role as a peacemaker is just Finn doing Finn things again: he is saying so many things that sound right (peace, we should all get along, stop the cycle of violence etc.) but the way he goes about it is so frustrating and stupid, it’s basically “How not to do pacifism”. 

First, he goes to talk to Lincoln on his own and suggests negotiations – nice, but Lincoln tells him straight up that he has no power to negotiate a truce, and Finn is like “Find someone who can”. What makes him think any of the Grounder leaders will listen to Lincoln? He knows nothing about the Grounder society, so it’s dumb to assume they don’t have a strict hierarchy and act the same as an informal group like the 100. He assumes the thing is already as good as agreed on and that everyone will do exactly as he wants them to, including the Grounders not bringing any weapons, because he said so. Then he tells that to Clarke alone – Lincoln identified her as the leader of the 100; I wonder what Finn would’ve done if Lincoln had thought Bellamy was the leader – and brings it all to her as a done deal, telling her to do as he says, insisting that there should be no weapons, and silencing any arguments to the contrary. 

First off, this is really stupid: there’s nothing unusual about bringing guards to peace negotiations, in fact, I’m pretty sure that’s what leaders always do – and of course the Grounders are going to bring armed guards and backup to the meeting. This shouldn’t have been a surprise. Secondly, how presumptuous is he? Now that I’ve seen S2, everything Finn does looks like an attempt to be a hero and to prove himself as a hero to Clarke specifically and to have her need him, like Raven did on the Ark. 

Clarke, on her part, obviously thinks to herself – the same as she later does during the conversation with Anya – “there’s no use arguing with someone so unreasonable”, and you can see her starting to learn to be sneaky to get things done. So she goes to Bellamy for armed backup, of course. Later, Finn is surprised that, oh look, the Grounder “leader” is coming with armed guards (duh) and is clearly upset when Anya tells Clarke to come to talk to her on the middle of the bridge by herself, not letting Finn come with her. He lost the opportunity to be her knight protector. How do you think you can protect her, Finn, when you didn’t bring any weapons? In fact, not only does Anya come with armed guards, but she has a knife herself, and archers hidden in the trees nearby, including one ready to shoot Clarke any moment. 

Bellamy made a mistake bringing Jasper, the guy who was speared by the Grounders – but having seen S2 and S3, it’s clear that even Abby has no clue about PTSD, so it’s not surprise that Bellamy didn’t. Though he seemed to have learned by S4, when he acted very differently with Riley. Jasper’s PTSD certainly was partly responsible for the way he jumped to the conclusion that the Grounders were going to kill Clarke. I don’t think they were intending to – or they would have done it immediately – but the archer was clearly there to shoot any moment she does anything suspicious, so her life was in danger for sure – it could’ve easily ended up as one of those “I thought he was reaching for a gun” situations.

I love the way Clarke and Bellamy just looked at each other and rolled their eyes at Finn when he started blaming Clarke for bringing up backup and said “All you had to do it trust me”. Geez, Finn, not everything is about your relationship with Clarke. And this didn’t even make sense – she could trust him but still think he was being dumb, he could not vouch for the Grounders, and he was wrong in his expectation they would do what he told them to and come without weapons.

I’ve always found Anya really annoying, and with the info we find out later, it’s even worse, because it’s obvious that everything that came out of her mouth during that meeting was utter BS. I had forgotten that she actually told Clarke: “You’ve started a war you don’t know how to finish”. Really?

Not the last time the Grounders will blame the Arkers for the things they did themselves, or for defending themselves against them. Even more annoying is the fact that some fans take the “you started a war by destroying our village” argument seriously, in spite of the facts that Grounders speared Jasper way before that and engaged in intimidation tactics, that they must have known exactly what the 100 were like for quite some time since 1) at least one person, Lincoln, followed them and noted info about them, and 2) we learn in 1x10 that they had captured and tortured Murphy and that he told them everything. And you have to be extremely stupid to conclude that 100 unarmed kids going around having fun are an invading force, or that their first action would be to blow up a random village, rather than find out more about the Grounders, target their leadership, do anything strategically important. Lexa was not stupid, so I think that she was probably thinking along the same lines as Bellamy was in 1x04 when the crowd was lynching Muprhy – “give people what they want”. People want to blame someone, they want blood for blood, so let’s give them an enemy. 

Anya’s other arguments are even worse:  the Delinquents also supposedly started the war because “you captured and tortured one of ours” – forgetting that they did it right after the Grounders had killed 3 of the Delinquents and were just about to attack and killed more when the fake signal for the acid fog interrupted them. She says she has no reason to make a deal that Clarke cannot guarantee the Ark leadership would observe. True – but we now know that Anya is not the actual leader of the Grounders or even Trikru, so she has no authority to do guarantee the rest would listen, either. The deal was negotiated over a few hours, so I doubt they could have consulted Lexa in Polis (and it’s questionable if even Lexa could guarantee anything, since the clans were not united, and Trikru were at war with the Ice Nation so much of the time). 

And her reply to Clarke’s warning that the soldiers from the Ark would come to destroy them with their technology, “They wouldn’t be the first to try”, seems like empty bragging. That has to be about the Mountain Men, but they never actually tried to destroy the Grounders. Why would they destroy their continuous blood supply? They just wanted to enslave and harvest them, and it doesn’t seem like the Grounders were ever able to do much about it.

Body count: a ton of people from the Ark, but I don’t know the numbers. Dozens of people in the terrorist attack, including Kane’s mother and the cute girl who was giving the speech. Then everyone on the Exodus ship, including Diana, when it crashes – which we now know was caused by Mount Weather. The Mountain Men killed so many Arkers in S1, before they even appeared on screen. (They said before that the Exodus ship can take up to 700 people, so I guess it must have been around that number, or at least a few hundred people?) And Diana’s actions crippled the Ark and it lost power, so she’s responsible for the imminent deaths of a lot of people who remained on the Ark. On the ground, Jasper shot 2 Grounders, but I don’t know if they died.

[almostafantasia]

Lancelot (5/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 5/14 read on ao3

“A lesbian bar?” Lexa asks incredulously. “You brought me to a lesbian bar?”

As Lexa peers around the bar, with its grungy lighting and soft background music, her immediate thought is that she should have picked a gayer outfit. A lot of the women in the room are dressed in flannels or shirts or v-neck tees, and Lexa feels a mournful pang for the shirts back in her hotel room. The outfit she’s wearing is nice - a sheer, sleeveless top paired with dark skinny jeans - and her winged eyeliner game is on point, but she dressed for a generic night out. Had she known that Anya had a lesbian bar in mind, Lexa would definitely have dressed a little differently, and she is left feeling like she doesn’t quite look gay enough to have earned herself entry to this bar.

Which is ridiculous, Lexa is fully aware. She knows that there’s no such thing as “looking gay”, and her wardrobe back in England holds everything from dresses to tuxedos, from sweatpants to a three-piece tweed suit, but Lexa finds that the way she dresses affects her mindset. When she wears a crisp shirt and a tailored suit, the perfect knot of a tie sitting neatly at her collar, she’s Agent Lancelot, ready to think quickly on her feet to save the world; when she wears jeans and a casual tee, she’s just regular Lexa doing her supermarket shopping or reading a book or hanging out with her thirteen year-old brother on the weekends, a normal twenty-two year old living a normal life. It’s only a little thing, but it works mentally, it helps distinguish the different parts of Lexa’s life.

And it seeps into other things too, enough that Lexa feels out of place right now, like she’s dressed up for the wrong night out.

It’s a good job that she has no intention of pulling tonight. Lexa feels a little bit too off-balance to even consider bringing out her charm and using it on any of the girls in this bar tonight.

Noting Lexa’s surprise, Anya asks, “Would you rather I took you someplace where we’ll get hit on by gross college boys all night?”

Lexa thinks back to her previous experiences of entitled straight men and grimaces when she imagines what they might be like on this side of the Atlantic, where infant boys are weaned off their mothers’ breast milk onto a diet of misogyny and toxic masculinity before they can even say their own names, to an even greater extent than Lexa is used to back at home.

Conceding that perhaps Anya’s idea to come to this particular bar may not have been a terrible one after all, Lexa says, “No.”

“Good,” grins Anya. She wraps a playful arm around Lexa’s shoulders, forcing Lexa’s body to lean into her side as they walk up to the bar, then asks cheekily, “Buy me a drink?”

“Really?”

“Yes, because I’m a better agent than you.”

Lexa tries to find within her the strength to dispute Anya’s point, but following her abysmal performance in the White House two nights ago, she really doesn’t think that she can put together much of an argument.

“For once, I don’t think I can disagree,” admits Lexa, too tired to be bothered by any gloating that Anya might do.

They reach the bar and Lexa orders drinks for both of them, while Anya starts scanning the room. Lexa knows exactly what Anya is doing, searching for a potential bedfellow for the night, but she refuses to join in. Lexa doesn’t want to become a cliche, a tourist in a strange city looking for a one night stand to quell a hunger for adrenaline.

“Okay, the hottest girl in the room is definitely the one over there,” says Anya, nodding to the corner of the bar furthest from the door. “Dibs.”

“You’re welcome to her,” shrugs Lexa, quickly thanking the bartender, before picking up both glasses and passing Anya’s drink over to her. “I’ve got no interest in having a meaningless one night stand just because we leave the country in the morning.”

Beside her, Anya has fallen oddly silent, still staring out in the direction of the girl she’s eyeing up. Lexa rolls her eyes, slightly frustrated by the fact that Anya has dragged her out of the hotel, only to take interest in somebody else straight away, and she finds herself hoping that Anya can get a move on so that Lexa can retire to her hotel room once more, earlier than planned.

Anya laughs breathily, almost in disbelief, then says, “Lex, you might want to revisit that plan. Look who is sitting next to Hottie.”

Lexa follows Anya’s gaze, quickly locating the girl that her best friend has got her eye on. She’s easy to spot, exactly Anya’s type - dark hair and dangerous eyes and a trace of a smirk tugging at her lips. She sits at a table with three others, and though two have their backs to Lexa, there is no mistaking the third. Lexa doesn’t think she could forget that face in a million lifetimes.

Clarke Griffin is here.

The very same Clarke Griffin that Lexa made an idiot of herself in front of two nights ago.

The very same Clarke Griffin who watched her get tasered and dragged out of the White House in handcuffs by several members of the Secret Service.

The very same Clarke Griffin that is so incredibly beautiful that Lexa literally forgot how to function as a human being in her presence the last time they were in the same room.

“What the fuck?” Lexa exhales in disbelief.

“I knew that going out tonight would be a good idea,” grins Anya.

“Did you know she was going to be here?” asks Lexa, because it’s not completely out of the realm of the possibility that Anya spent the time Lexa was in a cell to track Clarke’s movements specifically so that Lexa is forced to confront the girl she made such a terrible first impression on.

“Of course not,” says Anya, shaking her head. “I think the universe is sticking its middle finger up at you, and I’m one hundred percent here for it.”

Lexa takes a long sip from her drink, then lets out a groan as she says, “I can’t believe she’s here. In a lesbian bar!”

“Well, she is bi,” says Anya.

Lexa hates how fast her head snaps up at this revelation, hates how it betrays her thoughts and hates the knowing smile that Anya gives her in response.

“How do you know that?” asks Lexa, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible even though her mind is running a marathon as she thinks of all the possibilities now that Clarke is here and apparently interested in women.

“Because she came out in a magazine interview last year during Abby Griffin’s campaign,” explains Anya. “I’m pretty sure I sent you a link to the article when it was published.”

“You know I don’t pay attention to celebrity gossip,” shrugs Lexa.

“So are you going to say hi to her?” asks Anya

“How can I?” groans Lexa. She uses the fingers on the hand not holding her drink to count as she continues, “One, she thinks I’m in jail, and two, she thinks I’m a fucking moron!”

“Then she already has low expectations and it can only go up?” suggests Anya. “I’m going over there with or without you, are you coming?” Anya pauses for Lexa’s response, and when she doesn’t get one, continues persuasively, “I’ll put in a good word for you. The very best for my very best friend.”

“Fuck it,” concedes Lexa, downing the rest of her drink for courage and waving at the bartender to get her another. Turning back to Anya, Lexa says, “Though I won’t let you forget you said that. Last week you said I was - and I quote - tolerable.”

“Tolerable as a best friend,” says Anya, with a grin. “Because nobody else is good enough.”

With a fresh drink in her hand, Lexa follows Anya across the room to the table where Clarke and her three friends sit. Lexa tries not to let herself panic too much, deciding that throwing herself into the situation without thought is probably the best option. That particular tactic usually works pretty well in the field - jumping out of a plane, for example, is something that Lexa finds much easier to do if she doesn’t give herself the time to remember that a fault with the parachute could result in her crumpled body hitting the earth from ten thousand feet - and Lexa hopes that it works with pretty girls too. Specifically, that it will work with Clarke.

“Do you ladies mind if we join you?” asks Anya, turning her charm dual up to the maximum as soon as they reach the table.

All four pairs of eyes snap up, focused on Anya at first, but they drift to Lexa soon after. Lexa tries to look anywhere but at Clarke, feeling her eyes watch her with burning intensity long after the other three return their attention to Anya. Instead, Lexa looks at the girl closest to them, the one that Anya has got her eye on, who pushes out the empty chair closest to her and gestures for Anya to sit in it.

“Be my guest,” says the girl, a small smile on her face as she appraises Anya with curiosity. “Is that a British accent I hear?”

“It is,” nods Anya, taking her seat, “and before you ask, yes I have met the Queen.”

Anya quickly launches into a true anecdote that seems to capture the girl’s attention, carefully omitting the part where she foiled an attempt on Prince William’s life.

While Anya makes herself at home immediately, Lexa is left standing beside the table like she’s a little bit in the way. She dares to spare a glance in Clarke’s direction, only to find steely blue eyes staring at her with the kind of intensity that could bore a hole straight through Lexa’s skull. Clarke’s expression contains mixed recognition and confusion, and Lexa feels herself getting very self-conscious the longer she stands there.

Luck, as ever, is working against Lexa, and the only spare seat at the table is the one to Clarke’s immediate right. The only thing working in Lexa’s favour is that the empty seat is as far away from Anya as possible, as she is grateful that Anya is probably going to miss a lot of Lexa’s future embarrassment in front of Clarke.

Clarke, understandably, has some questions.

“Aren’t you…?”

“Later?” Lexa asks, her tone pleading, not wanting to get into the gritty details so soon, especially while the two friends of Clarke that aren’t being charmed by Anya are watching Lexa with intrigue. “I promise I’ll explain.”

Clarke hesitates for a long moment, then nods.

“Okay,” she says, conceding even though there’s a sharp look in her eye that promises Lexa she won’t forget that she wants an explanation. “Well, this is Monroe and their girlfriend Harper. Talking to your friend is Raven. And, well, you know who I am.”

Lexa greets Clarke’s friends with a smile and polite nods of her head.

“I’m Lexa. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“So what brings you to America?” asks the girl that Clarke introduced as Harper.

“Just work,” answers Lexa, keeping her answer as vague as possible, though she can feel Clarke’s watchful eyes burning into the side of her head once more. “We fly back in the morning so Anya thought it would be a good idea to enjoy our final night in D.C.”

“Oh, what do you do?” asks Harper.

Lexa feels Clarke fall still beside her, as if waiting to hear how Lexa will choose to answer that question, and Lexa wonders how much of her altered truth Clarke has managed to find out.

“Nothing exciting,” Lexa answers vaguely as possible. “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Tell me, how do you all know each other?”

Lexa’s deflection works, or perhaps Clarke picks up on the fact that Lexa is deliberately avoiding talking about her work and jumps in to save her, because Clarke is quick to offer up an answer.

“The three of us went to high school together and Raven is a college friend of mine,” she tells Lexa. “Harper and Monroe live here in D.C. and Raven is staying with me for a week or so during spring break. We thought it would be nice to go out and here we don’t have to deal with gross men hitting on us.”

Lexa nods understandingly, and says, “That was Anya’s reason for choosing here too.”

Clarke pauses for a few seconds, watchful eyes not leaving Lexa’s face once, before she replies in a voice that is a little lower than before, “Well I’m glad that she did.”

It’s almost intangible, but Lexa feels a spark crackle between them, and it causes the breath to hitch in her throat.

Lexa’s mouth is dry as she replies, “So am I.”

Lexa thinks that she can see the corner of Clarke’s mouth twitch as if going to smile, but then it’s gone, perhaps just a product of Lexa’s wishful imagination.

Though there is a seed of doubt in Lexa’s mind, wondering whether the chemistry between them is something she’s made up in her mind, it must be evident enough for the others around the table to notice it, because Monroe asks, “You and Anya aren’t dating then?”

Beside Lexa, Clarke glances across to where Raven is laughing at something that Anya has said, one of her hands resting on Anya’s forearm, then looks back at Monroe as she answers for Lexa, “I doubt Anya would be hitting on Raven quite so blatantly if she was dating Lexa. Unless that’s what you’re into?”

Clarke arches a questioning eyebrow in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa shakes her head, because although there was a girl in Bali that proposed a threesome with them both when they visited, Anya is too close of a friend for Lexa to even consider seeing her in that kind of way. Besides, while the jury is still out on Anya, Lexa is definitely the monogamous type.

“Nope, definitely not dating,” says Lexa, wincing at the thought. “Anya is more of an annoying older sister.

“Anybody else special in your life?”

Clarke reaches for her drink as she asks the question, and Lexa has to fight back a smile, experienced enough at reading other people’s body language to know that Clarke is trying to pass her question off as casual curiosity, which probably means that she’s actually got a personal interest in Lexa’s answer. Which probably means that…

Lexa shakes herself out of her thoughts, trying not to get ahead of herself. If there’s anybody with a personal interest in the other, it’s definitely Lexa, and she tries not to let her attraction for Clarke project unrealistic scenarios onto her imagination.

“No,” answers Lexa, now doing her own best attempt at trying to remain casually unaffected by the conversation. “What about yourself?”

“Nobody,” answers Clarke. “Still waiting for the right person to come along.”

Lexa nods and tries to act unaffected by this new piece of information, though she files it away in her mind as she tries not to get too caught up in hope that maybe the right person is her. Instead, Lexa turns her attention to Harper and Monroe.

“So how long have you two been dating?”

Harper and Monroe bid them farewell after they finish their drinks, claiming that they have an early start to visit Harper’s parents the next morning. Raven and Anya are absorbed in a conversation of their own at the other end of the table, and they soon disappear to the bar for another drink, where they stay, finally leaving Lexa alone with Clarke.

With some newfound privacy, Clarke wastes no time in questioning Lexa about the other night.

“So I heard a rumour that you’re MI6,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she regards Lexa with curiosity.

Lexa hesitates before she answers, wondering whether she should go along with the lie or construct an entirely new one for Clarke’s benefit. But there are still twelve hours until her flight out of the country, twelve hours in which Clarke could easily contact somebody very important and let them know that the intruder from the other night is not who she claims to be. It’s easier to go along with a lie that has a few forged documents to support it.

“Well, yes,” nods Lexa.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing inside the White House?” Clarke asks.

Her eyes are full of intrigue, her really gorgeous eyes, and Lexa has to remind herself that confessing all her secrets to a new acquaintance who happens to be the daughter of a powerful world leader would probably not be her cleverest idea.

Instead, Lexa leans back in her seat, looks Clarke in the eyes and then, using a line that Lexa is pretty certain she picked up from a movie, deadpans, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Clarke’s reaction is worth it. Her face cracks open into a smile and a bubble of laughter leaves her throat, and though Lexa’s words were intended to be aloof and mysterious in a way that she hoped might charm Clarke, Lexa is the one that is left feeling disarmed.

“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” says Clarke.

“Only the pretty ones,” Lexa quips back.

“And does it work?”

Lexa feels her entire body relaxing because this, this is how you flirt with pretty girls, not whatever bumbling mess she made of herself the other day. She reaches for her a drink, taking a sip and savouring the moment as Clarke watches her and waits for Lexa’s answer, then glances up at Clarke with a trace of a smile on her lips.

“I don’t know, does it?”

Why, oh why can’t Anya be here now to witness her charm Clarke with carefully chosen lines?

Clarke looks away shyly, picking up her own drink as a way of giving herself something to do. And with Clarke caught off-guard, and her own confidence spiking, Lexa presses on with the apology she’s been so desperate to give ever since she saw Clarke across the bar and realised she might have a chance to redeem herself after their first meeting.

“Clarke, I really must apologise for how I came across the other night,” says Lexa. “I promise you, that’s not normal behaviour for me. Obviously I had a lot going on and then you showed up and took me completely by surprise.”

Clarke looks back up at Lexa, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and she says, “Normally when girls fall for me, it’s not because they’ve been tasered.”

Lexa’s cheeks flush pink, though she thinks that Clarke’s teasing is flirtatious rather than actually mocking Lexa.

“Hardly my finest moment,” admits Lexa.

“I know there’s probably a lot you can’t tell me, but I’m curious about one thing,” says Clarke. She leans a little closer, then asks, “How do you get into being a secret agent?”

Lexa relaxes somewhat, because she doesn’t need to construct elaborate lies to answer this question. She can just be herself and tell the truth, and hope that Clarke likes the real Lexa.

“I joined the army straight out of school at eighteen,” answers Lexa. “Well, I tried to. I shattered my kneecap during basic training and had to drop out.”

Lexa grimaces at the memory. One moment she had been pushing herself to complete the obstacle course in the best possible time, and the next, one of her fellow trainees’ hands, slick with the rainwater that pounded down relentlessly over the training compound, slipped through her own while helping her up a sheer wall and she was falling from the high obstacle. The only thing that Lexa can remember from that point with any degree of clarity is the sickening pain, and she feels a twinge of pain in her knee as she recalls the horrendous agony.

“I had surgery on my knee and lots of physiotherapy,” Lexa continues to tell the story, while Clarke listens and watches with concern on her face. “I was just thinking about starting training again when a friend recommended me for a vacancy in intelligence. I went for it and I got it and now here I am.”

“Wow,” says Clarke, appearing impressed. “That all sounds way more exciting than my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” says Lexa. “Your mum is the first female President of the United States!”

“Mum,” grins Clarke, mocking Lexa’s accent.

Rolling her eyes and pretending to be offended, though she secretly thinks that Clarke’s playful teasing is the best thing to happen to her all year, Lexa asks, “Did you ever think that your life would end up like this?”

The smile slides off Clarke’s face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She pauses for a few seconds before she answers.

“In a way, no,” Clarke tells Lexa honestly. “Obviously she’s always been in politics, but this is completely different. But also, it feels like this was always supposed to happen. I have a really vivid memory from my childhood - I must have been, like, six - and I got mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let me play outside after dinner. My dad pulled me aside and said, ‘Clarke, you have to listen to your mom. She’s going to be the President one day.’ And I think I believed him.”

“And now here you are,” concludes Lexa. “She’s the President.”

“She is,” nods Clarke, smiling proudly. “I’m so proud of her, proud of everything that she’s achieved and everything that she wants to do in the future. She’s been President for two months and she’s already leading that new global climate change initiative. There’s so much more that she wants to change. She’s the most amazing woman and the best mom I could ask for. But I do miss my old life sometimes.”

“That’s completely understandable,” says Lexa.

“God, you must think I’m such an ungrateful shit,” groans Clarke. “Complaining about being the President’s daughter when there are millions of people around the world who face real struggles every day. I’m so grateful for my life and everything in it. I mean, if my mom wasn’t President, there’s no way I’d be having a drink with a mysterious spy!”

“Mysterious?” smirks Lexa.

“You broke into my house and I have no idea wh-” Clarke trails off mid-word and Lexa thinks she can see everything click into place in Clarke’s mind and the understanding wash over Clarke’s face. “It’s to do with those other problems with the security, isn’t it?”

Lexa can’t help but smile to herself. As much as she feels as though revealing the exact details of her top secret mission to the very person whose untimely interruption the other night led to its catastrophic failure, Lexa is impressed with Clarke’s intuition and intelligence.

“Not just a pretty face,” teases Lexa.

“So,” says Clarke, her face burrowing into a frown of deep concentration, as she asks, “were you the one responsible for the others or were you trying to stop them from happening?”

“Trying to get an idea of what was behind them so we could stop them from happening again,” answers Lexa. “Unfortunately, somebody showed up before I could actually do any investigating.”

Clarke grimaces and mumbles an apology, before she tentatively asks, “You’re not going to get fired, are you?”

“No. Just demoted to the really menial missions where there are no beautiful girls to distract me.”

Clarke blushes and replies, “I knew you were secretly a charmer. Nobody looks that good in a shirt and tie without being a smooth operator.”

Once again, Lexa feels a pang of sadness for the more dapper side of her wardrobe that she left behind in the hotel room. Knowing that Clarke is into that kind of look only makes Lexa more frustrated with herself that she chose not to dress up a little more for her night out.

Lexa is also worried about Clarke’s words. Though she thinks she’s doing a pretty good job of letting Clarke see the real her, she wants to make sure that Clarke knows that it’s just Lexa’s job that is extraordinary, not her.

“I don’t make a habit of this,” Lexa tries to explain to Clarke. “I don’t want you to think that I’m this international super spy who travels the world and beds a different woman in each city.”

“So I’m special?” asks Clarke, a hint of a teasing smile crossing her lips.

Lexa relaxes a little, then answers breathily, “You have no idea.”

Lexa is like a glass of ice cold water in the middle of a desert, like the sun on Clarke’s face on the first day of spring after a cold winter. Clarke has met a lot of people in her twenty years of life, and particularly in the last few months as her position in the public eye has grown, Clarke has met a lot of people who decide to try their luck at getting it on with the President’s daughter. But there’s something unique about Lexa, a burst of something refreshing, that makes her stand out from the crowds of mediocre frat boys that usually approach her in bars.

Perhaps it’s the fact that she comes across as so quintessentially British. Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa is a typical example of her people, having not met a Brit in the flesh before, but Lexa has a delicate politeness interspersed with delightful charm that has Clarke warming to her immediately.

Of course, that’s ignoring the obvious magnetism of Lexa’s job. Clarke can hardly believe that she’s sharing a drink with an actual secret agent, her very own female James Bond, and the few anecdotes that Lexa shares from her career are so shrouded in combined excitement and intrigue that Clarke can’t help the way that she drinks up every single word, wanting to hear more.

Clarke realises very quickly that she’s attracted to Lexa, but who wouldn’t be? Lexa is gorgeous, a face that is two-thirds cheekbones and the rest lovely lips with a slight natural pout to them. Clarke has been attracted to Lexa since their first meeting, despite the awkward blunders from Lexa, though Clarke realises now that their initial encounter only endears her to Lexa more, knowing that even an international super spy is a flawed human. Clarke is slightly sad that Lexa isn’t wearing a shirt and tie again, having always had a little bit of a weakness for ladies in suits, but the top that Lexa wears tonight shows off toned biceps that cause Clarke’s mouth to dry out every time she ends up looking at them.

Like now.

“You’re staring,” says Lexa, her words snapping Clarke sharply out of her drooling trance. “Have I got something…?”

Lexa glances down at herself, searching for whatever imperfection she thinks might have caught Clarke’s eye, and Clarke is quick to correct her.

“No! There’s nothing.” After two and a half drinks, Clarke feels bold enough to add, “You have very nice arms, that’s all.”

“Oh,” responds Lexa, eyebrows raised in apparent surprise at Clarke’s compliment. “Thanks.”

Seeing Lexa a little bit flustered has Clarke momentarily regretting her decision to voice the truth. But arms have always been a weakness of Clarke’s, on both men and women. There’s just something about seeing a pair of strong arms and the implication of what those arms could do to her in the right situation, and all the moisture leaves Clarke’s mouth and moves south as she tries not to picture Lexa’s body above her own, one arm pinning Clarke’s hands above her head while the other does wicked things between her legs.

Clarke hasn’t had enough to drink to process thoughts like that.

Arms are Clarke’s weakness but so are tattoos, which Lexa also has. There’s an intricate, almost tribal-style tattoo curling around Lexa’s right bicep, and Clarke likes it very much.

“What does this mean?” asks Clarke, reaching out to trace her fingertips across Lexa’s tattoo.

Clarke doesn’t miss the way that Lexa shivers slightly at her touch and she watches a ripple of goosebumps erupt across Lexa’s forearm. The bar is warm, almost too warm now that it’s getting busier, and Clarke knows that Lexa can’t be cold. The realisation that Lexa is reacting that way to her brings a smile of satisfaction to Clarke’s lips.

“It doesn’t really mean anything,” answers Lexa. “I got it when I was eighteen. I was about to join the army and I was worried about being surrounded by men twice my size so I got it because I liked the design and I thought it might make me look tougher than I felt.” Lexa pauses, and then adds, “I know this is stupid, but I also hoped that getting a tattoo would make me look gayer.”

Clarke laughs at Lexa’s reasoning, though she understands completely. She’s been guilty of adjusting her own appearance depending on whether she wants to be considered attractive by men or women, though nothing ever as extreme or as permanent as getting a tattoo.

“I like it,” she tells Lexa, brushing her fingers over the tattoo one final time before she lets her hand drop back into her own lap. “Have you got any others?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out, won’t you?” replies Lexa.

The elusive response is laced with flirtation and Clarke can’t help but hope that Lexa is implying that there might be a continuation of this conversation later, only with much fewer clothes. The thought is enough to render Clarke dazed and speechless.

When Clarke makes no immediate reply, Lexa seems to interpret her silence as something that it isn’t and starts apologising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t actually talk to girls very often,” admits Lexa. “Well, I do, but never like this.”

“Like what?” asks Clarke.

Lexa hesitates and frowns, as if trying to find the right words to explain what she means, and then starts talking.

“I’m not a stranger to talking to girls as part of a mission,” she tells Clarke. “Sometimes I get given a mark, I flirt with her a bit, tell her everything that she wants to hear, and get information out of her.” Lexa pauses momentarily again, chuckling softly under her breath, then continues amusedly, “You’d be surprised how easily some people will tell you exactly what you want to know after you tell them their hair is pretty and give them a couple of orgasms.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush at the thought of Lexa giving girls orgasms, and it takes a few seconds for her to realise that the girl she’s picturing in her head is her, with her fingers fisted through Lexa’s brown hair and her back arched off a bed as Lexa’s mouth works its magic between her legs and oh wow, this got inappropriate fast.

Clarke reaches for her drink and takes a long sip to cool herself down, hoping that the lighting in the bar is dim enough that Lexa won’t notice the pink tinge to her cheeks.

“But that’s work,” continues Lexa, apparently oblivious to the truly debauched direction of Clarke’s current thoughts. “I can do all that with my eyes closed because there’s no attachment there. It’s just another mission. A routine, a certain state of mind.”

“Okay, ladykiller,” teases Clarke.

Lexa shoots Clarke a look, something almost like a glare but ten times more devastating and with a hint of ‘done with your shit’ to it. If Clarke wasn’t attracted to Lexa before, then she definitely would be now, with the slightly aloof stare that Lexa gives her that is equal parts arousing and intimidating - exactly what Clarke likes in a girl.

Lexa finally relaxes, though Clarke doesn’t think she will be able to follow suit, and continues talking.

“I never really let myself talk to girls for me, you know?” says Lexa, and Clarke nods to show that she understands. “So when I do, I’m sort of completely out of my depth. You’re here, and I like that, and I like you, but internally I’m panicking because I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

There’s something endearingly attractive about Lexa’s honesty. And even though their lives are completely different, Clarke’s so regimented by the security measures in place and her desire to stay out of the public eye while Lexa’s life is full of thrills and uncertainty, Clarke thinks that this might be an area where their lives share a similarity. Because Clarke never really allows herself the luxury of getting close to other people too. Since coming into the spotlight in the last year or so, Clarke’s sexual encounters have been sparse and only with people that she implicitly trusts to remain discrete, while the possibility of romance has been so distant it might as well be on another planet.

Something about being here with Lexa, about flirting with Lexa, just feels right. Clarke can only hope that trusting her intuition won’t become something she regrets.

“I’d say you’ve done pretty well so far,” says Clarke flirtatiously.

With the slight buzz from the alcohol, it’s easy to speak her mind, a sentiment that seems to be echoed by Lexa.

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” confesses Lexa.

Clarke realises that Lexa is watching her, green eyes full of an intensity that Clarke thinks she recognises as desire. Lexa’s gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, and Clarke smiles in triumph.

“See?” says Clarke, exhaling softly as she turns slightly in her seat so that she’s facing Lexa properly, rather than just sitting side by side. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”

Lexa shakes her head and starts to lean in, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to keep watching Clarke’s lips. Clarke lets her own eyes drift closed, tilting her head slightly to the side in anticipation of their lips meeting. She feels Lexa’s breath hit her face, still warm, and knows they they must be an immeasurably small amount of time away from actually kissing.

And then Clarke’s phone goes off.

“For fuck’s sake,” groans Clarke.

She can’t believe that they were so close to kissing. Their lips must have been only a hair’s breadth apart. If only they had spent less time flirting in the lead up to the kiss and more time just getting the fuck on with it.

“It’s fine,” says Lexa, who looks disappointed about the interruption but still leans back to put enough distance between them to clear Clarke’s head. “It might be important.”

It’s not important. A text from Raven lights up the screen of Clarke’s phone and she unlocks her phone to read it, her heart still aching with disappointment.

Raven Reyes Left with hottie. Don’t wait up.

“Your friend has made quite the impression on Raven,” says Clarke as she taps out her reply - a thumbs up followed by a series of lewd emojis. “They’ve gone.”

“Anya has never been one to mess around,” shrugs Lexa. “If there’s something she wants, she’ll make sure that she gets it. I think that them leaving together was inevitable from the moment…”

“Lexa, I don’t want to talk about Anya and Raven,” says Clarke, switching her phone off to avoid any further interruptions and placing it face down on the table.

“No?” asks Lexa, her breath hitching in her throat.

Clarke shakes her head and just goes for it, reaching up with one hand to cup Lexa’s face and using it as an anchor to draw Lexa’s mouth to hers, even as she leans in herself.

Lexa lets out a little grunt of surprise as their lips collide, then relaxes, one of her own hands coming up to tangle into Clarke’s hair. Clarke coaxes Lexa’s lips, softer than she could ever have imagined them to be, open with her own and swipes her tongue into Lexa’s mouth, while her fingertips traced a gentle path along the sharp plane of Lexa’s jaw.

Kissing Lexa is unlike anything Clarke’s has experienced before, and certainly seems like it is realms away from the other slightly tipsy kisses she’s shared with strangers. There’s a certain familiarity to kissing Lexa that feels as though Clarke has done this a thousand times before, yet the thrill of a first kiss is still there.

And a really good first kiss it is too. Clarke has experienced her fair share of first kisses before, and the thing that most of them share is awkwardness. Noses that bump together as they get used to new angles, teeth that are a little too sharp and tongues that are too invasive - all things that Clarke has come to expect from kissing somebody for the first time.

But this feels as though Lexa has read and memorized a manual entitled How to Give a Great First Kiss. Because that’s exactly what this is. It’s by no means a perfect kiss, but as first kisses go, Clarke finds it hard to imagine how it could be improved. It’s just the right amount of tentative, Lexa’s lips are curiously explorative, and her hand in Clarke’s hair keeps Clarke anchored to reality when she feels so giddy that she could soar away and leave the entire world behind.

Even though Clarke was the one to initiate the kiss, she feels as though she has relinquished all control. Clarke is glad she’s sitting down because her entire body feels as though it has gone slack beneath Lexa’s lips. Lexa must have magical kissing powers, because Clarke doesn’t want to stop doing this ever.

And maybe Clarke can’t do this forever, because she will eventually need to do things like eat and shower, and she has responsibilities like college and showing her face at the right times to support her mom’s political career, but fuck if she isn’t going to try to keep doing this for the foreseeable future. Which is why Clarke lets her free hand drop to Lexa’s thigh, running her fingers in light circles across the rough denim of Lexa’s pants. She gradually pushes the patterns she draws higher and higher up Lexa’s thigh, not with the intention of actually touching Lexa there, because even though this is what she wants, even Clarke has a boundary of what she’s willing to do in public with a virtual stranger. But she pushes her hand high enough to just give Lexa a hint about where Clarke would be very happy to take things tonight.

Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect, because Lexa pulls back from the kiss and rests her hand over Clarke’s, stopping its movements.

“Clarke, we shouldn’t…” gasps Lexa, letting her forehead drop against Clarke’s, her eyes still close as if she’s trying to will herself not to succumb.

“I know,” agrees Clarke. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Lexa lifts her forehead off Clarke’s and puts a bit of space between them, staring down into her own lap as if trying to avoid looking at Clarke’s directly in the eye.

“No, I meant that we shouldn’t … you know,” says Lexa, letting Clarke fill in the end of the sentence. “I fly back to England in the morning.”

Clarke’s heart feels heavy with disappointment as she tries to wrap it up in a layer of humor.

“And you’re worried that after one night with you, I’ll be hopelessly in love with you and heartbroken when you leave,” teases Clarke. “I’m a big girl, Lexa. I can manage my own feelings.”

“Actually, I was thinking of how early the flight is and the fact that I still need to pack. But you’re right. We’re never going to see each other again. It’s probably for the best that we leave it at a kiss.”

Clarke can’t help but find herself wondering how many times Lexa has bedded a woman for one night in a foreign city, only to never see her again. At least a few, Clarke decides, if not countless times. The thought brings an unwelcome sting to Clarke’s eyes as she wonders what is different about her compared to all those other women for Lexa not to want to sleep with her, and she quickly blinks away the tears before they can even start to glisten in her eyes.

“That’s probably sensible,” Clarke says, her words agreeing with Lexa even though her mind is screaming the opposite.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you though,” adds Lexa, reaching out with one hand to lace it through Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke has a horrible feeling that Lexa is trying to let her down gently, but she squeezes the fingers back anyway and tries to keep her emotions in check.

“Yeah, same.”

Lexa tilts her wrist, glancing down at the chunky - and probably very expensive - gold watch that she wears.

“It’s late,” she tells Clarke. “I’ve had a wonderful evening but I really do need to go back to my hotel. Are you going to be okay getting back on your own? I can call you an Uber if you like. I’ll even go with you on the way back to…”

“No, it’s fine,” says Clarke, shaking her head conclusively. “There’s a car waiting a couple of blocks away to take me back to the White House.”

“Good,” nods Lexa. Her gaze drops to Clarke’s lips, like she’s about to lean in for another kiss, but then she looks away, getting to her feet and saying, “Can I walk you to your car?”

Clarke masks her disappointment with a smile, standing up and picking up her jacket from where it hangs over the back of her chair. Clarke slips her arms into the sleeves, knocks back the rest of her drink in a single gulp, then nods to let Lexa know that she’s ready to leave.

The walk to the car is a silent one. Clarke wants to reach for Lexa’s hand, or to loop her arm through Lexa’s, perhaps under the guise of being a little unsteady on heels after a few drinks, but she chickens out at the last minute and they end up walking side by side without saying a word until they reach the vehicle.

“Well, here we are,” says Clarke, filling the awkward silence with unnecessary words.

Full of chivalry, Lexa reaches for the back door and opens it up, holding it open like a chauffeur so that Clarke can get into the back seat. Right when Clarke thinks that Lexa is going to close the car door and leave without saying even goodbye, never to see each other again, Lexa speaks up.

“Can we swap numbers?” she asks Clarke, taking her own phone out of the pocket of her jeans and tapping on the screen a couple of times, before holding it out to Clarke with a new contact open, ready for Clarke to input her details. “If you’re ever in London, I’d love to show you around.”

“Sure,” nods Clarke, accepting the phone and typing her number. “And if you’re ever back here…”

“I’ll give you a call,” promises Lexa.

Clarke can’t help but wonder how much truth there is to that promise, whether she will ever visit London or if Lexa will ever return to D.C., how quickly Lexa will forget about the few hours spent in Clarke’s company that will probably become an inconsequential dot in a life that is a constant whirlwind of adventure.

Lexa takes her phone back from Clarke and presses the green call button, and Clarke’s own phone starts to ring in her pocket, giving her Lexa’s number to add to her contacts later.

“I guess this is goodbye,” says Lexa, as she tucks her phone back into her pocket and takes a step back, her hand still resting on the open car door. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

It’s all a little too formal, like they didn’t spend the night flirting and then end up kissing. It’s like a business transaction, not a goodbye to a person whose tongue was in Clarke’s mouth not even ten minutes ago.

But that’s how it ends, Clarke’s brief encounter with a gorgeous British spy. The car door slams shut and the engine rumbles to life as the driver pulls away from the side of the road. Clarke lets her head drop against the window, trying her best to ignore the fact that Raven is somewhere in the city getting it on with a hot woman of her own, while she has been sent home without so much as a parting kiss.

It’s going to be a long and lonely night.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: San Francisco III

could you do more of nerdy writer lexa? she gives me life.

Previously on San Francisco

There was a way to the city after dark, so that something was always happening. But on the rainy, dreary Friday night, Clarke had something in particular in mind to occupy her time. That was how she found herself skipping over puddles and tightening her raincoat up against the squalls and wind of San Francisco’s wind and rain as she made her way downtown.

There was a little invitation that hung on her fridge at her apartment, and Clarke tried to ignore it every single day. She didn’t want to go to the reading. She hadn’t heard from the cute, nervous author since Clarke snuck out of her bedroom a few weeks ago. It all made sense, as to why, but she kind of hoped she’d made enough of an impression to hear from her.

It was a packed event, but Clarke wiggled her way and took a seat in the middle of the crowd as everyone awaited the first reading of the newest novel from wunderkind Lexa Woods. She listened to people around her as they beamed and speculated and conversed about their favorite parts of the last novel.

While Clarke skimmed the room and saw the novel-types that wrote important articles about things like this, she looked at the hand out and the picture of the author that was tucked on the page. People were beaming and dissecting her work, and yet Clarke was the one that knew about the cat she didn’t like but loved anyway, and who knew about the whiskey and the glasses and what Lexa’s sheets smelled like, and how her voice sounded at four in the morning after three orgasms.

Across the crowded room, Clarke caught sight of Anya and tried to make herself blend in. She didn’t want to have a conversation, and she didn’t really know what to say.

Luckily, the host for the evening Q and A, and reading came out as the lights dimmed somewhat. Nervously, Clarke settled in and cheered when Lexa emerged a second later, once her accolades were recited.

She was mildly self-effacing, in a somewhat humble sort of way. She was brilliant, but maybe didn’t know how much so, and Clarke found herself captivated by the author on the stage as she sat there and took questions from both the audience and the moderator.

Halfway through, Lexa did a double-take in the middle of answering something about being a young, female writer. Clarke smiled a smile reserved for the writer, and Lexa adjusted her glasses and returned it slightly after stumbling slightly on her train of thought. From that moment on, her eyes drifted to about six rows back and the blonde, curious, confused, and encouraged.

“How much does your life influence what you write?” the moderator continued down a line of questions. “You write along the themes of family, pain, past, secrets, and the intersection of the uncertainty of the future and society. You write of these secrets, and you are very secretive.”

“I’m private,” Lexa corrected, adjusting slightly in her seat. “I think anyone who says they aren’t influenced by their life is lying. It’s formed how I view the world, but I don’t purposefully address things. I just tell stories.”

“Some have claimed that your first work, your Masters thesis, was as close to an autobiography as could be, is that true?”

“I told a story that I had to tell.”

“The secrets continue,” he smiled, sensing her discomfort and electing to switch paths.

Despite herself, Clarke was only more intrigued by the writer who now nervously avoided looking in her direction. She smiled and watched Lexa relax.

After the reading, Lexa felt impossibly eager to find the girl who proved to be a figment of her imagination. When she woke up exactly twenty-three days ago, she was certain she’d never hear from the artist again. It made her afraid to go out to Anya’s events, and it made her afraid to call.

But she locked eyes with Clarke during the question segment, and she felt a little skip in her brain, as if she’d died for an instant, and all neurons refused to work. It might not have registered as more than searching for an answer to a question, but Clarke knew, and Lexa knew that she knew.

But whatever bravery she had left in her, was gone the moment the applause died and she joined the mingling. Inundated with more conversations and oddly enjoying herself, Lexa was constantly on guard. She was convinced one of two terrible things would happen, namely that if she didn’t pay attention, Clarke would sneak up on her, or worse yet, disappear without a word, leaving her wondering what it all meant for another extended amount of time.

When she woke up alone, exactly twenty-three days ago, Lexa didn’t know how to feel, and if she were being honest, she still hadn’t unpacked it. And it was because of that, that she excused herself to the bar.

“You look like you have the right idea,” a voice joined her as soon as she got her drink and savored the first sip. “Gin and tonic.”

They were quiet until the bartender slid over another glass. Lexa looked at Clarke slightly before drinking again.

“The glasses and nerdy thing, right?” Lexa grinned, almost devilishly, if she would have had that in her.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve tried.”

“You left.”

“I’m good at that.”

“I stay,” Lexa finished her drink and stood up a little straighter. “I’m someone who stays. I’m good at it.”

Clarke swallowed and nodded. Stern as Lexa was, she adjusted her glasses and sighed, betraying some nerves and an unsteadiness to herself in the situation. She couldn’t meet Clarke’s eyes except in tiny glimpses.

“I want to stay, if that’s okay?”

Very seriously, almost too seriously, Lexa weighed the words, furrowing with the new information. Clarke smiled because she was absolutely crazy for someone who thought like that.

“What if you leave again?”

“I’ll do my best not to.”

“The last time I asked someone, they lied and said they’d never leave. I like your answer better.”

It was that instant, that moment, after twenty-three days and just a handful of meetings, after listening to the humble, talented, wondrous genius of a nervous girl introduce her book to the world, after finding her in the bar, with just those words, that Clarke realized she was in love. She would look back on it fondly, she decided. That even when Lexa looked away to order another drink, unaware as to what was happening beside her, that Clarke decided she’d tell her one day, because as much as it was simple, witty banter, she was telling the truth. She had no good reason to leave that day other than fear. She had no good reason to offer to stay, except for the exact same reason.

It happened gradually, and all at once, and for that, Lexa was grateful. When she woke up the morning after her reading, and found an artist sketching in her favorite chair with a cat curled up against her side, she didn’t want to believe it.

Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee without saying anything, sat down in her usual spot at the usual end of the table with her usual red notebook and regular old, usual pen, and let herself jot down notes and ideas and things.

Clarke wasn’t dumb though. She sat stark still and refused to move, as if doing so would make Lexa bolt or something. Instead, she drew the same line, over and over again with the flourish that artists sometimes give for no reason at all, and she took little peaks at the girl at the table in the old, bleach-abused track shirt.

And like that, there was almost a routine.

Lexa liked routines, Clarke learned, which was an adventure. She hated how much she loved her cat, despite how much she’d argue otherwise. She was very particular about her methods, and Clarke respected that.

But when they were together, Lexa was different. She kissed like she was desperate for nothing more than that feeling. When she wrote, she was maniacal. But all other times of her life, Lexa was so restrained. She was absolutely fascinating.

To make matters worse, she said things that made Clarke’s head and heart explode. The third week of dating, Lexa mumbled something about liking the order that came to traffic jams. A few days later, as she hovered in the kitchen with the cat, and Clarke cooked and made a mess, she muttered an old spell that her grandmother once prayed and sipped her wine. Not long after that, Clarke learned that one of her favorite things was to win an argument by making Lexa throw her hands up in the air at the illogical nature of Clarke’s insistences.

Dating Lexa was filled with learning things.

It was hard at times, with the shows and the book tour that came with inevitable success. And though Lexa refused to believe that Clarke would stay, she did. She stayed so long, in fact, that Lexa got used to it.

The notebook exploded into dozens of pages against the wall, like a sad, lonely kind of firework. The cat wasn’t even bothered, blinking slowly and turning its head to the side after adjusting slightly. Not even the stalking owner of said notebook and semi-owner of said cat, huffing through the room, shoulders hunched and hands gripped, face stoically full of wrath, bothered the feline who had grown accustomed to such things. The apartment was pristine, was perfectly packed and placed without precariously situated possessions and filled with purposeful placements. The mess on the floor was an anomaly that wouldn’t last long. But it did stay there, untouched and bitterly rotting as the hurler ignored it completely after the outburst. Frustrated and furrowed, Lexa walked once more through the mess and poured herself a drink. For a week, Clarke was away visiting her parents. Lexa was home and eager for more staying, but something messed with her head, and she just couldn’t… couldn’t… word, right.

She looked at Clarke’s coffee cup that sat, unwashed and a reminder of their last night together a few days before, and she realized it was difficult to write when she was happy, which then led to the realization that she was, in fact, for the first time in her life, happy.

And it absolutely left her fucking irate.

“Lexa! What the fuck am I just hearing about Clarke Griffin and you?” her sister stormed in a moment later as Lexa stared at her notebook on the ground and debated arson.

She felt her muscle tense between her shoulder blades.

It should have been expected, for her sister to appear. She heard her phone buzzing almost non-stop in the other room for almost two hours before the inevitable explosion.

Everything was changing, and everything was different, and she felt the tight grasp of control slipping out of her hands despite her stranglehold on it.

“Please get out,” Lexa sighed and grit her teeth as she gripped the counter.

“I will not get out,” her sister pursed her lips and stepped over the notebook on the ground. “This is insane. Months, and you haven’t told me anything!”

“Please get out.”

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing news, and I need to know everything. You can’t--”

“Get out!” Lexa bellowed, shaking her head from side to side. She closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath.

“Hey, don’t you start yelling at me--”

“Anya! Leave me alone!”

“If you’re having an ep--”

“Get out!” she barked again, finally facing her sister. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

The silence that followed was enough.

But Anya weathered storms like that before, and it did not surprise her that it was happening. Instead, she just nodded to herself, crossed her arms, and waited for her sister to relax somewhat.

“You’re up in your head, aren’t you?”

“Please.”

“You know how to deal with this,” Anya softened. “I should be able to talk to you about dating someone. I can be mad at you. You don’t get to hold the monopoly on feeling things. Get over--”

“You think I haven’t tried to be different? You think I haven’t wanted to not be like this?” Lexa scoffed and shook her head. “It’s not from lack of effort.”

It was things like that, that broke Anya’s heart. And as much as she wanted to hug her sister, she couldn’t do anything like that. It would have been counterproductive. Instead, she moved to pick up the notebook.

“Don’t. I have to,” Lexa murmured.

“Okay.”

Instead, Anya sat at the table and waited the fifteen minutes it took her sister to regain herself.

“What if she figures me out, and leaves?” Lexa sighed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Not everyone is Costia.”

“Clarke isn’t,” she nodded, almost to herself. “Anya, there’s a beautiful girl who likes me and smiles and makes my heart feel like its tap dancing, and she often doesn’t wear pants and my old rowing shirt from college, and that’s all, and what if she leaves?”

“She won’t.”

“She will.”

“From what I’ve heard-- you know-- the only reason I found out about you dating my client,” Anya guilted, half with a smile, “Clarke can’t stop talking about you. She beams. I saw one of her pieces, and it’s… it’s... “

With a shake of her head and smile, Anya pulled out her phone and found a picture before sliding it across for her sister to take a look at.

“I don’t know what this means,” Lexa furrowed and stared at the art that didn’t make sense to her.

“She’s in love with you.”

Lexa just furrowed harder with the answer and stared more intently, looking for something like that in the brush strokes. Once, she almost tricked herself into seeing it, though she just couldn’t.

“I don’t see it.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” her sister grinned.

Almost a year after her sister found out, almost a year of thinking and not thinking and growing and becoming someone who was happy and still lived, Lexa realized that she had to do something.

Everything happened so slowly, so calmly, so easily, that it snuck up, right into her lap. She realized it as she had her hand on the small of Clarke’s back at some dinner party of a friend of a friend. She realized it as she snoozed on the grass at the park with her head in Clarke’s lap while she read or sketched or napped herself. She realized it in the morning when she woke up with lips on her neck and a thigh already between her own, in that lethargic kind of need that settled between their bodies.

She had a cat from a girl she once though she loved, but that girl got sick of her brain, sick of her mind, and she left. Plain and simple, she marked Lexa unloveable, and she disappeared to be happy.

Clarke got irrationally angry and protective after hearing that story, which was the funniest thing that Lexa had ever seen.

That was a moment, too.

As the water ran, and Lexa brushed her teeth, she thought of all those things, and she thought too much about something she was trying to write, and failed to see. She spit and stared at Clarke in the mirror as she tried to have a conversation despite flossing. It was about her father’s birthday, and by now, Lexa was good at deciphering such things, though that was the last thing on her mind.

“I’m difficult to love,” Lexa swallowed and nodded to herself, pushing the glasses up on her nose as they slipped with the movement. Clarke stopped.  “I’m a difficult person to be around sometimes, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it, not completely. It’s okay if that’s not okay. But I love you. I know I love you because I didn’t love Costia, and what I feel for you is so much more. It must be love, logically. What I want you to know, is that you don’t have to love me. I just hope that despite me, you’ll still love me.”

There was never really a moment when Clarke knew why or what Lexa was talking about. Sometimes conversations just happened, right there in the middle of something as mundane as making breakfast or walking to the grocery store.

Lexa put her toothbrush back in her mouth and resumed her routine, avoiding Clarke’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. Clarke was stuck, rigid and frozen, and very unsure of where it’d come from, only learning Lexa well enough to know that to have that many words meant she’d been thinking it for a while.

“I’m difficult to love,” Clarke promised. Lexa kept brushing her teeth. “I am. I get moody and irrational and I like a nice mess from time to time. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with you. It happened right under the red light the first night I met you. It happened again at your reading. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I’d like to stay.”

She smiled. Clarke smiled, too, and went back to flossing as Lexa finished, spit, and rinsed her toothbrush.

Clarke rinshed her mouth, and despite their normal routine, Lexa didn’t move from the bathroom door. Instead, her smile was busting her cheeks and she swallowed Clarke in a hug, twirling her around the small room.

The party was the same crowd that asked her what the ending of her last book meant because they only skimmed it. Lexa excused herself and made her way to the bar, dissatisfied with their nonexistent selection of snacks and eager to find her girlfriend and escape to that fish taco place down on Lynn Street.

She absently wondered if there would ever come a day when she told her sister no when it came to those boring parties she threw. The answer was obvious, but still, Lexa allowed her imagination to flex with the thought as she smiled and sipped her whiskey.

Her goal shifted to getting slightly drunk and taking Clarke home after getting a very unhealthy snack by the bay, and breaking in the new bed Clarke made them get in her ongoing quest to help Lexa modernize her home. Modernize, Lexa was learning, simply meant buying actual furniture.

“Looks like you’ve got the right idea,” a voice joined her, earning a smile.

“Gin and tonic for the beautiful lady,” Lexa told the bartender. “Another double for me.”

“Did you know,” Clarke whispered, the sultry slipping into her voice as she leaned her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder, “how absolutely sexy I find it when you order me a drink?”

“Is that why when I order smoothies for us, I get lucky.”

“We all have our kinks,” Clarke chuckled before thanking the bartender and earning a wary look from Lexa.

“I wish you’d stop calling everything kinks.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of her eyes, Lexa allowed Clarke to win the battle and tug her toward a familiar group of friends, stuck in an intense debate about something that Lexa actually enjoyed. She even outlasted her girlfriend, past their normal signal to try to sneak out was initiated.

“I just want tacos,” Clarke groaned as she tugged Lexa toward their coats. “I don’t care if they’re good or bad. Tacos are always good.”

“It’s ten minutes farther, but much better,” Lexa argued. “Why does proximity have to dictate what we eat when we know superior tacos are down by the bay?”

“But our house is the opposite way, and our house is where the bed is, and these heels are killing me and I just want food, sex, and sleep, in that order-- oh, sorry.”

The whine that amused Lexa to no ends was immediately cut off as Clarke bumped into another body with a little more force than usual. The amusement ended almost instantly, to some degree, as the body turned around.

“I’m so sorry, I was just-- Lexa?” Costia cocked her head and stared at the writer, ignoring the body that bumped into her own, catching her off guard and spilling some of her drink.

“Hello.”

Both just stared at each other, sizing up what time had done to them, picking out the parts that changed, that stayed the same, and then debating whether or not they’d always been that way, or if their minds had crafted littler alternatives and imperfections.

Clarke cleared her throat and rubbed Lexa’s back.

“Oh, sorry. Yes. Um. Costia, this is my much more talented, much less graceful better half, Clarke Griffin. Clarke, this is Costia.”

“Much less graceful,” Clarke repeated with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she forced a smile.

She was gorgeous, but Clarke knew that already. An intense afternoon of weakness was spent looking into Lexa’s ex, as any normal person would conduct upon entering a new relationship. A writer herself, she was not as good as Lexa, in Clarke’s literary opinion. She certainly wasn’t a nice or good person either, in her personal estimation.

“It’s been… what? Three years?”

“Four years,” Lexa quickly interrupted. “Four years.”

“How’s Simon?”

“Who’s Simon?” Clarke interrupted.

“The cat,” Costia furrowed. “You didn’t get rid of him, did you?”

“Oh, you must mean Jeff.”

“You renamed our cat Jeff?” the ex shook her head and frowned.

“He likes it better,” Lexa nodded.

Clarke sensed the impending weirdness as the standoff commenced. She felt Lexa squeeze her hip as she held her close.

“How long have you two been together?” Costia asked, ignoring Lexa’s simple explanation, hiding the sting of moving on.

“Oh, about two years now?” Lexa asked, looking to her date for confirmation. “Going well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Going great,” Clarke chuckled and nodded.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkwardness between them all, and no one knew how to escape it. There were years and years and miles and time and distance between where they’d once been, and where they were, and yet Clarke couldn’t shake the nagging protective anger against the Ex, as irrational as it was, and she certainly couldn’t shake the feeling of contempt that she’d seen her girlfriend naked. That was the real kicker.

“I read the novel. It was impressive. Well received. I could see little bits in it of all those things you kept raving about,” Costia offered. “I didn’t get it, but you saw it. I meant to say congratulations, but it felt weird.”

“Thank you,” Lexa smiled. “It’s still doing well. Been trying something new with the current project.”

“Care to share anything?”

“You know the answer already.”

Despite the time and place and distance, they shared a knowing smile.

“And what is it that you do?” Costia turned to Clarke and waited.

“Oh, not much, I paint--”

“She does these big, beautiful, colorful paintings,” Lexa interrupted the modesty. “And I didn’t get them at first, but then, it clicked. And they feel like… they feel like things.”

“And you’re talking about feelings,” Costia whistle quietly, amazed at the display. “They must be something.”

“They really are though,” the writer nodded eagerly, beaming.

“I can’t beli--”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa stopped her. “But we have a date with a fish taco truck, and I see Anya making her way toward me.”

“Which means we have to run,” Clarke chuckled.

“It was nice to see you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Costia,” the artist smiled. “I’m sorry for being clumsy.”

“No harm no foul,” Costia nodded, perplexed at the almost happiness and joy on her ex’s face, a state of which she’d never seen it before. “Nice to see you. Keep in touch.”

“Alright,” Lexa nodded.

Before she could offer anything else, she watched Lexa begin to slip through the crowd. Bewildered, Costia stood there and watched them leave. She watched Lexa kiss Clarke’s temple as she put her arm over her shoulder, and they both laughed at something meant just for them.

She wasn’t jealous, or at least that was what she told herself. More so, she was simply amazed.

[shorthairdontcare22]

The King of the Delta Blues

Okayyyyyy, here I come, freshly finished 2x06 and a LOT to say (for a change)

let’s start by the overall coverage of the episode :

Timeless have tried new things those last weeks, and man it works ! we’ve been in Salem then for the first time, we stayed in the present chasing after JFK and this week, again the show dynamic is thrown while we have both : present and past, exploring a new balance in the team, from three to four, with Flynn and Mason nonetheless, and boy, those two brought their share and I am glad they did.

How about beginning with Connor Mason :

Connor Mason was OUTSTANDING ! the writers really gave the punch the character needed to be known and liked. In 16 episodes in season 1, I feel like they didn’t give us one moment to get attached to this character and therefore sometimes, at one point it is necessary to think about a character : “Yeah, I can identify to him, I like human, he’s more accessible”.

Mason looses his company, for good and as he says, drunk as ever, “ there goes the obvilion” where everybody is forgotten, for good. Mason is afraid to be forgotten, to be remembered if he is, as a man who failed his company and the values he stood for before RH got in the way, before he “ gave his soul to the devil”.

Then, we learn that Mason never actually did time travel and his reaction to time travel is absolutely HILARIOUS and as every new time traveller, Mason Connor turns out to be a real fanboy when it comes to historical figures, in this case, Robert Johnson.

My favorite part was when he convinces Robert to record his album and his speech is everything I could hope for because it has a strong meaning, to Robert and to Connor : “ you fight back... and this bad luck is gonna keep chasing you until you decide to stop, stand your ground and fight” Paterson Joseph, you’re a KING !

At this moment, Connor knows this is not the end, he’ll find another way to get back to what and where he was, only this time, he’ll do right, he will fight and he’ll stand his ground.

Let’s continue with Flynn :

I always said that Flynn was the most complicated character because he had so much complexity. He acts without a moral compass, he kills, he’s been doing this for too long and the thing is, he can’t stop now, I personally think that he’s into deep.

I LOVED his scenes with Lucy : the first one had a weird vibe and not weird in a romantic way ( please, tell me where are the romantic moves/vibes/words). I mean, the man is literally using Lucy’s own thoughts to get her to talk, this is not romanticism, this is a violation of privacy and almost psychotic. But, in his own weird way, he tries to get her to talk, he tries to get her feel something and it doesn’t work because right here, Lucy is still numb, she’s still off, and this needs to stop.

The second time, when they talk, in the car, that’s when we feel Lucy’s guard down. I loved that Flynn recognized that it was a bit pushy to use what is written in her journal and make it seems like he knows her because he read the journal and I loved that he wants to get to know her, the lucy in the Journal is not enough and she never was because what are the odds that Lucy in the Journal will exist exactly one day ? What is the whole point of giving the journal to Flynn if we have the same outcome when it comes to Lucy ? Maybe it is one of the reasons Old Lucy gave the journal to Flynn, to help our Lucy to make better crucial choices, and keep the mantra that “ we make our future” even if Fate has its ways sometimes.

And I am sorry Garcy fans, but I didn’t get any romantic vibes there either : Flynn talks about his wife, about the little things she used to do, and more importantly he says : “somehow, some way, we’ll save the people we love”. Flynn role is to help Lucy, not only getting Amy back, but helping her, right now because she is lonely, she drinks at night, she goes to sleepless night to sleepless night : Lucy can’t fight back and can’t stand her ground ( Connor Mason resonating ?) if she keeps acting like this.

Lucy is spiraling, wherever we want her to be strong, she’s not right now and I thank Flynn for the real smile he put on her face for the first time in weeks.

How about Wyatt ( and a bit of Lucy and Rufus by the end, because OTT (Orignal Time Team)  :

WYATT LOGAN ( does anyone knows if he has another name because this is a situation when i want to call him by all his names and taking him by the ear and say) : I WON’T SAY I TOLD YOU SO !

Let’s be clear, I won’t even talk about the joke between him and Rufus because I just didn’t get what was funny : Rufus is talking about leaving the towel on the door but yet Wyatt seems to not understand, there is a pause and he laughs; I didn’t get why he laughed, that was not funny, there wasn’t even a joke, I didn’t get it. ahah

I just want to aknowledge three scenes :

- when Wyatt stays behind, he is confused, and Lucy is practically running to the Lifeboat without looking at him : he only gets half a glance while she leaves and that baby was GOLD. Sorry, i KNOW I KNOW we say we don’t go hating on Wyatt BUUUT I am a woman and when I see another woman hurting, I can’t help myself, even in those circumstances ( #ProtectingWyattSquad, pardon me).

- Carol Preston is SAVAGE : YOU CAN’T, CAN YOU ? omg I died on the scene. Wyatt is a soldier, he listens to orders, he doesn’t second guess his orders, he’s acting on them but NOT WHEN IT COMES TO MS LUCY PRESTON. He knows he can’t take the shot, he does not hesitate on taking it because from the moment he sees Carol, he knows he won’t shoot. It’s not about killing Carol, about leaving Lucy with no one, it is about taking a step forward to hurting her and by now I think he realizes that maybe, Lucy’s not all about Wyatt giving a chance to his marriage, and maybe Lucy does have feelings for him, he’s just so oblivious to them ( that’s okay I forgive him)

- THE REALIZATION finishes striking by the end of the episode : he comes back from the raid, he sees them all, smiling, laughing and I don’t know he seems kind of lost ? I personally think he’s actually very lost, not only when it comes to Jessica and Lucy but when it comes to his place in the team. is he still the hot head and reckless soldier he used to be when he joined in? spoiler : NO. Is he still capable to follow the orders we give him without giving the chance to his feelings to play out ? spoiler : NO. Every of these things will come into play when he decides what he wants to be and who he wants to be with.

Realization hits him HARD in the face (THE LOOKS MATT LANTER GAVE DURING 1 MN : WORTH ALL THE EP AHAH)  when Lucy tells him TWICE to get back to Jessica ? ( How many times does Lucy need to tell Wyatt to go back to his wife ? Seriously ?)  She tells him to go to his wife while he only want to talk to her, be with her, only if it is for chatting over a drink, over a stupid boardgame. He doesn’t even take the time to take off his gears, he wants to know how it was, with Flynn ( Yeap we saw that jealous look when she said he was more than fine, WE SAW IT WYATT), he wants to know everything but Lucy is a Queen and she’s not giving in, she stands her grounds and partly thanks to Flynn and his pep talk in the car.

I AM NOT MAD at Wyatt because he has his own s**/% to deal with and I hope he’ll deal with them nicely but I AM SO PROUD OF LUCY !!

Little notes aside :

- Lucy, stop drinking, that’s it, switch to ice cream, you can given the body you have

- I want to hug Jiyja

- that RIYA kiss “ and that’s my love it is how you upgrade a time machine” I LOVE THEM

- LOVE Flynn’s faces and expressions

- Rufus, I am bit mad at you for not comforting Lucy, ONCE ! we’ll talk about it later there were more pressing issues. You deserve to wait for peeing !

- MAMA DENISE... BAD ASS !!

Well if you’ve arrived till here, thank you for reading and we don’t jump, we hang on !!!

@modernlifehistorian @chasethesun18 @simply-anya @bestshipcaptainswan @timelessbae12 @enchanted-keys @fangirlishsite @chloeswans @wyatttoldme