#anya is plain terrifying

[p3chris]

Mission 35 comes out in anime soon!

*manga spoilers ahead*

If we look from the perspective of Twilight getting worried about the safety of his cover, he does actually have a somewhat logical reason to want to seduce Yor.

[I say somewhat because if Twilight truly wanted to be safe, perhaps the safest option would be to swap out Yor and avoid contact with Yuri completely. But throughout the entire spectacle, Twilight never considers simply changing wives. That says something in itself.]

The ostensible benefit Yor gets from their marriage is camouflage from the SSS. But if Yuri reveals his status, Yor will find that the marriage cover is unnecessary after all - under Yuri's SSS protection, she won't get into trouble for being single.

With that knowledge, Yor can safely quit the marriage and leave Twilight (and his mission) in the lurch.

Of course, we readers know this is still unlikely to occur. Yuri has no intention of outing himself because he is terrified of Yor's potential disapproval, and what Yor truly fears is not actually getting caught by the SSS but her actual profession coming to light. Yor is also becoming reluctant to leave because of Anya and him. But Twilight doesn’t know that. For him, it is clear this arrangement is not secure.

But if Yor was genuinely attached to and happily in love with Loid, she would not go raising any alarms to Yuri. Their romantic involvement would add a layer of protection should the original terms of their marriage agreement fall through.

In this context, the honey trap makes sense.

Except... When Twilight jumps at the chance to honey trap his wife, there is none of the above thought processes shown.

Despite the manga telling us Twilight mode is engaged, his thoughts are certainly not Twilight thoughts: there is none of his cautious overthinking and risk-benefit assessment, he makes this inexplicable leap from nowhere to the conclusion that he has to perform a honey trap, and he plain forgets what a violent drunk Yor can be.

Which means he is not thinking straight. He does not know what he is doing.

That makes the Twiyor fan in me very happy.

[hannah-the-red-head]

A Moon Knight Fanfiction…

But, where the Moon Boys are shipped with a Reader that’s Basically Yor Briar from Spy x Family

Who’s also a single mom raising a little girl with telepathic powers and has a dog with the power to see the Future.

Basically, I’m going to write the Moon Knight storyline but it’s reader insert Fanfiction where I ship the Moon boys (Marc, Steven and later Jake) with a single mom!Reader who has the skills, super enhanced strength, speed and flexibility of Yor Briar from Spy x Family.

Why?

BECAUSE I CAN AND WILL!!! *maniacal laughter*

Here’s how this is gonna go:

-Reader or Y/n Briar is a Black Widow turned Single Mom after retiring from S.H.I.E.L.D post Endgame. But in order to secure a better life for not only herself, but her daughter and sweetheart of a big dog, Y/n decided to take on one last mission that has the small group of three moving to London.

-Personality wise, Y/N is soft spoken, polite, kind, sweet and mature. She is innocent when it comes to love, becoming easily flustered and losing control over her own actions. However, when going on missions, her personality does a complete 180, becoming a natural born killer that’s calculated, cold and just plain terrifying.

(A better way to describe Y/n’s mindset is the moment where Yor considered “getting rid of the competition” so Anya can get into Eden College or the times where Yor innocently overreacted to any public display of affection.)

-Appearance wise, Y/N can be whatever the readers imagine, I’m going to be very vague about how I describe her. But she is going to keep her hairstyle (long and kept up) and her outfits are the same as Yor’s in Spy x Family.

-She wears the Thorn Princess dress as her suit and wields stiletto blades as weapons.

-Y/N has the power of a super soldier, the reflexes of Spiderman and Black Panther and the mind of one of the world’s deadliest killers trapped in a petite woman’s body.

-Y/N tries her hardest to hide her secret life from her daughter. But how about you try and hide your association with the Avengers to a curious 6 year old with a overactive imagination.

-Y/n’s daughter, Anya (Full name: Anastasia Wanda Natasha Briar), is a mutant with the power to read minds, easily figures out that her mom is a super spy and that her favorite aunts are Avengers! Waku Waku!~ She reminds you so much of her father, eccentricities and all.

-As for the recent addition to the family, Bond is a big white dog that looks more like a mix between a polar bear and a seal with black mitten paws. Not only is he a big sweetheart, but much like his little master, Bond has the ability to see into the future that only Anya can translate because of her telepathy. He was named after Anya’s favorite super spy (in this case James Bond rather than Bondman.)

-As for the mission, which Nick Fury himself personally asked Y/N to accept, was an investigative one, the target being a mercenary that caught SHIELD’s attention after HYDRA’s infiltration was exposed.

-Unfortunately, the database hadn’t fully retrieved the idenity of the mercenary aside from his current location. Which is where you come in, to find this mercenary and try to recruit him to the New Avengers initiative.

-It’s the kind of mission Y/N can finish in two days, but this mission is proving a bit difficult, especially when said neighbor is so damn charming that Y/N is slowly falling for the sweet insomniac with a love for Egyptology.

[kpforpresident]

They meet in an adult night class but they’re there for very different reasons

Clearly I’m a little confused about what an adult night class is so I went where my mind went, but reading it back I realized they probably meant like a night school class?! So forgive my oversight lol. I hope you still like it, anon. 

//

A dim red light glowed from the hanging fixtures, lending a seductive feeling to the room. Dark, slinky music poured from the speakers fixed into the corners. Lexa stood awkwardly in the corner of the darkened, mirrored room. Her gaze darted around uncertainly as she tried not to stare too long at any of the exposed midriff or cleavage on all the other students. Clad in a plain black tank top and soffe shorts that had seen better days, everyone else was in skin-baring bras and tight booty shorts. 

“Anya,” she hissed, grabbing her friend as she walked by to stretch on the wall, “where have you taken me??” 

Anya looked at Lexa, eyes flicking pointedly down to where Lexa had her bicep in a death grip. 

“Lexa, unclench, pull the stick out of your ass,” Anya whispered, prying Lexa’s fingers off of her arm. “It’s just a pole dancing class. You can handle an hour of hot sweaty women gyrating, you aren’t going to burst into gay confetti.” Lexa glowered but didn’t respond, biting her lip to hold back her snarky retort. 

A gorgeous woman- Raven, Lexa remembered from sign-in -with a long dark ponytail walked fluidly to the front of the room, talking confidently over the quiet murmurs of the students. 

“Everyone, welcome to Spin. Class will begin in about five minutes, please find a spot on the floor to stretch and get limber before we begin.” 

Lexa grumbled slightly but sank down obediently in her spot, stretching her legs out in front of her and bending to grab a toe. A gorgeous blonde sank down next to her, shooting her a radiant smile as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to her thighs as she flexed her toes straight. 

Lexa watched, open mouthed. The woman was clad in a black bra that zipped up the front, somehow containing a mountain of pale cleavage within its confines. Tight black shorts stopped slightly above her belly button, abs flexing slightly as she bent and stretched. Her hair was clipped half up in a tortoiseshell claw clip, golden waves shifting slightly as she fluidly sank into the splits. Lexa knew she must look ridiculous as she openly gawked at the goddess next to her. 

“So,” the woman said in a slightly husky voice, “come here often?” 

Lexa laughed slightly at the ridiculousness of the statement. The blonde quirked an eyebrow, curious. 

“I’m Lexa,” Lexa said as she stuck out her hand. “And no, I do not. This is my first class, and I’m inflexible and slightly terrified. Are you new here, as well?” 

 The blond, radiant blue eyes twinkling, shook it firmly. She slowly unraveled herself from the floor and rose to standing. Among her, the other participants rose as well, each moving to stand next to a pole. Lexa looked around as she also stood, wondering what secret signal she had missed.

 “I’m Clarke, Lexa. It’s nice to meet you. And no, not my first time- I teach this class.”

[universitychallenged]

UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE 2021/22, Episode 12

GASP! As any regular reader will know, I am extremely biased in favour of arts colleges, and the sight of a music college at the start of this week’s show caused my heart to double-time. Honestly, I haven’t been so excited since Courtauld’s magnificent run two seasons ago. 

DUNDEE: 145 ROYAL NORTHERN COLLEGE OF MUSIC: 135

Team Vibe: Dundee: a dinner party, with a Spotify playlist entitled Chilled Out Weirdness, featuring lots of mid-price wine, with polite goodbyes

Royal Northern College of Music: a dinner party, with a Spotify playlist entitled Weird Vocal Shit My Opera Teacher Won’t Like, featuring lots of mid-price wine, descending into the ad-hoc multi-person performance of Eight Songs for a Mad King with additional piano

Grandad Count: RNCM the slightly older with an average age of 24. Who cares! They’re MY PEOPLE.

Diversity Count: Not the worst, but not the best. 

Style News: Dundee the clear winners here, bringing two bold images in the form of strawberry knitted tank top (Russell) and fishy – carp? – print shirt (Spurrell). RNCM, I expect more from you! Plain-coloured tops WILL NOT DO.

Cult Hero Of The Episode: I was dreadfully tense for this episode, because musicians (including one composer, Wills, who looked familiar, and two vocalists, my specialism) on UniChall is basically the same as me being on there. It was a shaky start, and it looked like the casually confident Dundee were going to punish them (I did like Captain Stonier’s unflappability), but minute by minute, RNCM clawed their way back. The last time I was so heartily shouty at the telly I was watching the Euros final. YES! Musicians CAN know stuff about pickled plums and Russian physicists! I’m giving it to all them, because though they were just pipped to the post, they might hopefully come back as a high-scoring loser. 

Handsome Person of the Episode: Captain Chrisp was giving me Anya Taylor-Joy in The Queen’s Gambit vibes. But mmm, Carew. Except for the tattoo of some music on your arm (if this must be done I insist it must be in 5/8 and be serialist), you had me at ‘Sega Genesis?’.

Horror Bonus Round: (Jez, reading this in one breath, the timbre of his voice descending with increasing gloom): ‘Astrophysicists uses the abbreviation CDM for the universal material that is assumed to exist with little or zero relative velocity under the  under the standard cosmological model. CDM stands for ‘Cold what?’

Regular Music Fail By Composition PhD-owning Composer, Kerry Andrew:  ‘The X-Files!’ I yelled, in terror, after 1.234 seconds of the synth-based TV theme round, when I have watched all of Stranger Things (the correct answer) twice because I loved it so. ARGH! Wasn’t quick enough to get Bladerunner or Assault on Precinct 13, though did get Twin Peaks in a heartbeat, because we watched it after Girl Guides in 1990. Good God, I’m old. Props to Carew for getting the Beethoven piano question in no time at all.

Dream Bonus Question Round: 2/3 in the screenwriters round, 2/3 in the Women’s Prize for Fiction, 2/3 in the British coastal geography (’Scarbados!’ I shouted), 3 out of 4 in the John Le Carre film adaptions. Standard.

Jezza-Watch: It’s time for Let’s Guess What’s On Jezza’s Tie! What was it tonight? Owls? Snails? Answers welcome; I need to know.

‘Low temperature fusion?’ guessed Dundee’s Captain Stonier. ‘No, it was cold fusion,’ said Jez, stony-faced, in the manner of a terrifying 1970s headmaster from a children’s horror novel. ‘We asked for a two-word term and you gave a three-word term.’ ‘OK. Sorry,’ said Captain Stonier, meekly, bearing the brunt for all of us.

‘Who’d have thought time-wasting would be so useful?’ Jezzo said, after the gaming bonus round. Oh Jeremy, you don’t even BELIEVE in your own curmudgeon-li-ness. You’re not fooling anyone, you know...

Kerry and Andy’s Score: 25, with Andy doing the majority of the leg-work.

Brain Food: Hearty vegetable soup. WINTER IS COMING.

Tweets of the Day:

Please feel free to share, retweet, shout about this blog! Let me know that you read it, and I’ll keep writing it :)

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[sebbybooks]

Our Vintage Summers (PT2)

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

~ She was his one. He was her only. Not even the essence of time could keep them apart.~

He was in my house.

After Sebastian turned down the invitation to come over tonight he showed up hours later right as the storm made its ways towards us. Sebastian was somewhere downstairs talking with my sister, because I could hear her overly enthused laughter fill up the entire house. Anya called for me to join them once more but my legs felt full of heavy metal. I was still clutching onto the picture that rendered me voiceless. Standing at the top of the staircase staring back at it under better lighting the exact year was unclear, but if I had to take a shot in the dark I’d say this was taken around the time a gallon of gas was only a quarter. Despite the couple in the photo sharing our exact features there was no way that they could really be Sebastian and I.

Each step that I took down the stairs felt like I was walking into the eye of the storm and no amount of positive affirmations could calm my shaky nerves. I wasn't sure what I planned on doing once I was face to face with Sebastian again. A thousand thoughts swarmed through my mind with questions on top of questions. In the end none of them had practical explanations or made any sense whatsoever. Considering I found the picture in plain sight surely that meant my grandmother knew about it. I wondered if she wanted me to find it and that's why she left me her house? The one thing that I knew for certain was that Sebastian being here was no coincidence. I mean after all he had dropped into my life with such curious timing.

"Finally! We were going to send a search and rescue party up there if you didn't come back down sooner!" Anya waved me into the living room where everyone was seated. It didn't take me more than two seconds to spot Sebastian. I studied his face like it was the ceiling at the Sistine Chapel hoping to see something remotely different than what was photographed. The only differences I spotted was the clothes and hair. In the picture the man’s hair was shorter and curlier from what I could tell. The Sebastian that was present in my house had much longer hair that was pulled back. His face was clean shaven it showed off all the imperfections that he did not have on the outside. Apart from those two things both guys were identical and it fucking terrified me.

"I went looking for candles." There wasn't an ounce of moisture in my mouth. My throat felt so dry you'd think I swallowed a jar of cotton balls. I took baby steps as I entered into the room feeling like my world was titling on its axis. Remi moved a spot down on the sofa assuming that I was going to join her. The thought of being only a few feet away from Sebastian for some reason halted me in my place. Sebastian was sitting on the edge of a tufted gray ottoman in the center of the room as he shook beads of water from his hair. His clothes were so soaked they practically formed to his body. Just from seeing him for five seconds the tightness in my chest returned with a vengeance. It was as though my own body hummed to life in his presence. I had to steady my breathing if I didn't want to heighten the sensation of having what felt like a premature heart attack.

"And did you find any?" Anya asked.

"What's the point the lights are back on now." I cut her off as I twist in the direction to face my sister who eyed me skeptically.

"I didn't mean to show up like this in the middle of the night unannounced. I seemed to have run into some car trouble trying to get back on the road. This house was the first place within miles." When Sebastian stood up I paid absolutely no mind to the visible formation of his chest through his wet tshirt. The polaroid was still folded in the palm of my hand and when I felt no one was looking I shoved it in my back pocket.

The smile adorning his face slowly began to fade when he realized I hadn't spoken a word to him yet. There was so much that I wanted to ask him. I just didn’t know what was the right thing to say that didn’t make me come across as someone who escaped an insane asylum. We were not friends and we were barely acquaintances. For all I knew I just let in a complete stranger who spoke of my grandmother like she was a darling saint. All I could do was mentally laugh at the thought. I wonder did he even know her at all?

“Well it's a good thing you have been here before and knew the way back.” I briskly left back out of the area not exactly caring that I wasn't acting like myself. At that moment I can honestly can say that not a single fuck was given. It wasn’t like I was going to confront him in the middle of the living room and have five pairs of eyes look at me like a deranged woman. Though by the looks of it I did that on my own already. Hitting me like a wrecking ball all of a sudden a wave of tiredness passed through my body. The idea of getting rest felt like a turn on, and yet there wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to be able to fall asleep tonight. I sensed someone hot on my heels, but I was too lost in thought as I scrummaged around the kitchen cupboards looking for something strong to drink.

I never caught a whiff of alcohol in my grandmother’s possession for as long as I stayed in her care. She probably assumed Anya an I were deviants and couldn’t be trusted to be under the same roof as it. It was a miracle when I located a bottle of Prichard's Tennessee whiskey hidden away above the kitchen shelf. Half of it was already gone it was probably just another thing my grandmother kept to herself. She kept her life tucked away like she was forcibly trying to keep everyone at bay. I just never understood why.

“Mind if I join you?” I spun around immediately almost tripping over my own two feet.

I shielded the bottle underneath my arm looking back at Sebastian like I had just been caught. “I really hate to keep asking you for favors but can I get some ice for my hand?” He held up his wrist and the back of his knuckles were bloodied. His hand looked like he was in a wrestling match with the member in the Fantastic Four, the one known as Thing.

"That looks pretty bad." I say.

He nodded in agreement. "Surprisingly it doesn't hurt right now. I know if I don't put ice on it soon I'll be paying the price in the morning." Sebastian's mouth set in a discontented line.

I removed the whisky from my hold placing it on top of the kitchen island. My back was turned away from him as I paced around the kitchen getting the stuff he needed for his hand. I could feel his eyes watching my every movement and it didn’t help knowing that there was a photo burning a hole in my back pocket. “Do I even want to know what happened?” I asked absentmindedly.

“It’s kind of a long and complex story.” He tells me.

The bitter tone in Sebastian’s voice made me wonder if the torn flesh on his skin was accidental or intentional? All I knew was that it was a can of worms I did not want to open considering I was already trying to make sense of seeing my face in a completely different time period. My hands were busy putting ice cubes in a cloth that I found in a random drawer. I tied it in a knot at the end before handing it off to Sebastian. "Then why don't you just skip to the ending?"

A strangled laugh erupts from his throat. "That's the problem. . . there isn't one." He leaned forward on the counter that separated us and for a brief moment I sensed that he wanted to say more but chose differently. It was almost like he was fighting with himself about what was going on in his head. Perhaps he was telling the truth about leaving Nantucket he had changed out of his clothes from the beach. Sebastian's sleeves were bunched up his arm near his elbows, and there was no denying that this guy went to the gym.

"Wait!" I blurted. Acting on instinct I lunged forward taking back the ice rag I had just given Sebastian. He looked at me confused and I don't blame him for it. "I really think you should clean that first to prevent an infection." I wasn't sure why I cared so much it was no skin off my back if he didn't take my advice. Despite my better judgement the hushed voices in my head kept pushing me and pushing me to keep him close.

"Sia it's really not that bad." Sebastian looked down at his battered hand assessing the damage himself.

"Don't say I didn't warn you when a nasty bacteria festers on your hand." I say nonchalantly all the while hoping he changes his mind. Sebastian scrubs his hand over his jaw while looking at me with wonder.

"Isn't that little extreme don't you think?"

"Suit yourself then." I shrug.

I placed the ice rag back on the counter for him to get. I grabbed the whisky bottle by the neck and headed over to the cupboard to get a drinking glass. Before I walked away to leave out of the kitchen Sebastian responds. "Ok fine you're right." He lets out a little sigh finally caving in.

It was a small victory I'm not quite sure why I was so elated that I won. My emotions were constantly flip flopping in his presence I was having a hard time keeping up with myself. In my head I alternate the decision of showing him the picture now or wait for the right moment. The problem was there wasn't a right moment and it wasn't like he was going to stay in this kitchen forever.

"Let me go get a first aid kit." I tap my fingers on the countertop, wondering to myself what on earth was I doing? I purposely avoided going into the living room because if it's one thing that I knew about my big sister it was that she had a talent for smelling out bullhsit. I couldn't even lie to her as a kid. It wasn't a skill I could easily master and keeping secrets from her practically duals as lying in my book.

Despite me not being in this house for more than a decade my feet guided me through the house on muscle memory. I was headed for the guest bathroom on the first floor. It was the only bathroom Anya and I were allowed to use despite there was at least two bathrooms on every floor. As I thought to myself I started to take notice that this placed hadn't looked lived in for years. So I could only assume that the medicine cabinets were bare. The bathroom door was closed and a dim light shinned from underneath.

I heard a voice coming from behind the door so I stood quiet next to it long enough to hear that it belonged to Anya. Her voiced sounded muffled as though she was purposely trying to talk in a hush tone. The conversation sounded one sided because I could only hear her voice. "What am I suppose to do mom? She's suppose to remember by now that's what you said."

Silence followed after that and I could hear my sister stomping her feet against the tiled floor. I thought about knocking on the door to see what had gotten her so upset, because I didn't like that I was ease dropping. However, what she said next stopped me.

"I checked everywhere mother!" Anya exclaimed out of frustration before resuming to a lowered tone again. "She didn't leave anything behind. What if you were wrong and this time is different?" There was a beat of silence again and all I could hear was faint sniffling. From the sound of it Anya had been crying.

I counted to five in my head before I started to knock on the door. Anya began wrapping up the call with our mom. The water from the sink started to run then within a minute Anya had the door open with a fake smile on her face.

"Sia! Heeey!" Her voice drawled out as she ran her hand through her wavy black hair that was a stark contrast from my own. My hair started to gray at the ripe young age of sixteen. When I noticed that it was changing at a rapid pace and I couldn't keep up with dying my roots. I eventually said fuck it and died it a silvery gray. It took some getting use to but the look eventually grew on me.

"What are you doing down here? Don't you have some new furniture you want to sit on?" Anya's mischievous smile grew big, while trying to make her voice sound as casual as possible. As per usual I caught the sense that this was her way of trying to deflect on the conversation she had with our mother. It was hard trying to decode what the hush whispering was about. I knew if I brought up what I overheard Anya would finesse her way out of telling me the truth like always.

"Are you talking about Sebastian?"I asked, feigning stupid.

She frowned looking completely annoyed at my inept ability to posses a dirty mindset like her own. "Of course I'm talking about Sebastian! I'm sorry did you not see the way he was devouring you with his eyes just a few minutes ago?"

I couldn't control the laughter that came out of my mouth. "Devouring me with his eyes?" I repeated. "Have you found yourself in mom's stash of Nora Roberts books again?"

"No need." She said before hesitating, "I have them downloaded on my kindle smart ass."

When I tried stepping around her to get into the bathroom she blocked me from going inside. Positioning herself in the center of the door, while out stretching her arms so that I wouldn't surpass her.

I cocked a brow. "Do you mind? I need to get some things out of here." Considering our height difference wasn't on an even playing field I wasn't in the mood to tackle my sister. I just wanted to get the items that I needed and go back to the kitchen.

"I'm just going to say it. I think you should sell the damn place." She came out and said not missing a single beat.

"Anya I haven't even signed my name on the deed yet. Beside this property has been in our family for generations doesn't that mean something to you in the slightest?" I asked her. Instead of giving me a more practical response Anya dropped her arm in surrender. "No it does not."

We stood eye to eye with lingering silence between us until she caved and sauntered down the hall huffing like a child once again. Instead of chasing her down and asking her where the hell that random question came from all of a sudden. I shelved it next to the other unanswered questions I had gnawing on my brain. I quickly scavenged around the bathroom for what I needed. All I found was antiseptic ointment that barely made its expiration date and with luck gauze. When I went back into the kitchen Sebastian was sitting on top of a counter with his back against a wall. His lips were wrapped around the bottle of whiskey as he downed it like it was water, and he was a man dying of thirst.

"Your chest must burn by now ." I said in amusement as I placed the stuff I procured next to him. "And who said I was sharing that?" I pointed to the bottle in his hands.

He smiled and flicked his eyes to his drink before bringing it back to his mouth. I don't understand why but my mind seems to turn into putty when he stares at me like he sees every intimate little detail about me. Which is strange because I've only see him twice, yet ever since that moment on the beach I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. I'm pretty sure I might have manifested his car breaking down only for him to return.

"Considering that it's mine may have something to do with it." He swept his tongue across his bottom lip, making sure to savor every last drop. The raspy tone in his voice alone could kill me.

"So you're admitting to drinking on the job then?" I cleared my throat while I unraveled the gauze. I wanted to focus on the task at hand, because being only a few inches apart was becoming harder than I thought.

"It was from your grandmother. It was a here you might want to drink this first kind of gift." He leaned his back against the cabinets and our eye contact was immediately broken.

"Oh." I said unsure of what he meant by that. It was hard trying to envision the version of my grandmother he knew. This coming from the same woman who told me not to chew gum around her, because it made me look like a cow chewing cud. I found it a bit unbelievable that there was a benevolent and even considerate side to her.

"May I?" I asked, gesturing towards his hand. My heart was thudding rapidly against my chest like I had never laid eyes on a man before. I was fighting with the primal instinct to sink my teeth into him. At least Anya would be proud to know that the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

Without even waiting for permission I gently lifted his hand while I ran it under the sink. During the first half I worked in an awkward silence. Getting lost in my thoughts I kept replaying moments that took place in the day that seems like it would never come to an end. I thought about the fact that my grandmother was gone and she was never coming back. An after the rocky history I had with her of all the people she could have picked she chose me to be the one to get this house. It didn't make sense to me whatsoever and to top it off her unlikely friendship with Sebastian was even more puzzling to my mind. Something just didn't add up to me.

"I'm starting to sense that you're not a talkative person." Sebastian says before he takes another swig of whiskey.

Still looking down I paid attention to my handiwork as I lightly dabbed his hand with antiseptic ointment. "Actually I'm a very talkative person. I just don't know you that well."

"Fair enough." I didn't have to look up to see he was inhaling his drink like a fish at this point. I wondered if Sebastian was using the alcohol to mask his own grief. I may not have understood his relationship with my grandmother but he lost her too I suppose.

Reaching up I decided to take the bottle out of his hands. "You could at least leave some for me." I brought it up to my mouth feeling the liquid fire smoothly glide down my throat. Sebastian holds my stare like before but this time I was the first to break. It was like we were playing some unspoken game of cat and mouse. It was an unnecessary tease that cultivated out of thin air.

Sebastian wets his lips. "Can I confess something to you Sia?" For a second my heart stopped. All the air going to my lungs felt trapped at the thought that Sebastian knew about the photo as well.

"That depends." I huffed out an elongated sigh. Instead of answering his question I responded with one of my own."Are you going to tell me what happened to your hand first?" I carefully watched as his chest rises and falls. He pins me with a hopeless expression as he searches my face like it was an antidote for his misery. I finish wrapping up his injury, but he doesn't lift his hand from mine. A tortuous heat sweeps over my skin that moves to my very core.

If it were anyone else I'd remove it in a heartbeat. That was the thing though, as crazy as it may have sounded he wasn't anyone else. In my head I sounded like every cliche under the sun but deep down I knew I wasn't wrong. I stared at our semi joint hands, feeling frightened and confused by how a simple touch from Sebastian felt like I had finally reached the end of my crushingly long journey of searching for someone I thought I dreamt up.

Glee, sadness, and pain overwhelming crashed through me all at once. It felt as though my soul was crying from being set free after being caged up for so long. Somehow I had managed to unlock so many emotions, but nothing as much a memory accompanied it. Almost like it was solely a phantom feeling. My body ached for the missing part of me that was no longer there.

"My car is perfectly fine." Sebastian looks deeply into my eyes and not even for a second does it silence the madness in my head. As quickly as I felt it the sensation suddenly was lost. I edged my hand away from him causing his hand to lose support.

My jaw goes rigid and my lips twitch. "I really hope you have a decent explanation as to why you lied to me or I'll have no problem calling the cops." I snap.

Sebastian stiffens. "Sia before you freak out on me let me at least say one thing first." He lifts himself off of the counter in one fluid motion. I slowly back away from him feeling that ounce of whiskey I consumed sour on my stomach while fearing the absolute worse.

"You have less than ten seconds before I start fucking screaming." I threatened. I felt insanely stupid, I knew there was more than meets the eye with him. Good or bad I was too trusting of those feelings I had from earlier that derived from the land of make believe. I saw and felt what I wanted to.

Sebastian tries to approach me, but I hold up my hands to stop him. "I'm not trying to scare you." Looking back at his pleading expression it wavers from disgust to tenderness. I want to believe him, but that is how I fell for his trap in the first place.

"Five seconds." I grit out. Ignoring any of my warnings he takes steps towards me and I'm frozen in place. Sebastian draws in a deep breath, and as he opens his mouth to speak the most insane thing happens before my very eyes. I swear I might have imagined it. One second he was real and standing right in front of me the next I watched as he faded away. Then as if on cue I saw blackness as I felt my body sink to the ground.

Tagged for Updates🐚:

@faithhasnowords @infinityflamesworld

*A/N* Hi lovelies! I hope you all are staying safe at home💕

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

No rush, but if you're in the mood for another question: pick your one favorite and least favorite season of each of these series :) Charmed, BtVS, Angel, Friends, TVD. I know it's hard to pick just one favorite and one least favorite, so good luck ;)

Charmed

Favourite season: Season 4

What can I say about this season? It’s just brilliant. Although Prue is my favourite character, the aftermath of her death, introduction of Paige and transition to a new trio is handled brilliantly. I love the different dynamic that Paige brings to the show and how Piper and Phoebe’s worlds are completely turned upside down by losing Prue and finding Paige. I love getting to know Paige in episodes like A Knight to Remember and A Paige From the Paige, I adore seeing the process of Piper accepting Prue’s death and embracing Paige and their magic in episodes like Hell Hath No Fury and Lost and Bound. And despite the controversy surrounding the Cole/Source plot, I enjoyed Phoebe’s arc in this season with adapting to becoming the middle sister, getting married and pregnant and suffering the most life-changing, soul-destroying losses imaginable. We even got a Leo-centric episode with Saving Private Leo which finally gave us insight into Leo’s past. Season 4 is a consistently strong season in my opinion (albiet with a weak finale) and episodes like Charmed Again, Hell Hath No Fury, Charmed and Dangerous and Long Live the Queen are some of the most memorable episodes of the series for me. You can read more about why I love season 4 here.

Least favourite season: Season 8

This season is so weak. The show could’ve (and probably should’ve) ended with season 7 so the whole season suffers from a complete lack of direction. All of the characters have already gone full circle with their arcs and development so there’s nowhere new to take them. As a result, they all feel watered down. Phoebe and Paige lose all of their personality and spark, whilst Piper is reduced to a stereotype where her snark and sarcasm is taken to unnecessary levels. Billie and Christy are poor villains for the final show-down and neither actress fits within the show. They steal too much focus from the sisters and since it’s the final season this is the season that should be all about the sisters. In addition, there’s a complete lack of sisterly moments in this season, Darryl is absent and Leo is removed for a large part of the season. Not to mention, Paige and Henry and Phoebe and Coop are rushed romances established simply to give Phoebe and Paige their “happily ever after” for the season finale. Even the final episode is pretty weak. Whilst I appreciate the happy ending, it all seems cheesy and too good to be true, and it’s way too Piper-centric and lacks balance. You can read more about why season 8 is my least favourite here.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Favourite season: Season 2

This season is a solid and a really great season. We have Spike and Drusilla as the best villanous pairing in teleivision history, a brilliant two-parter with a dramatic twist in Surprise and Innocence, the Angelus arc which I never get tired of watching and a strong ending with The Becoming Part 1 and 2. For Passion alone this season deserves to take the number 1 spot, but my love for Angel/Angelus (and Bangel) only adds to how much I love the season.

Least favourite season: Season 7

Whenever I rewatch BTVS, I rarely make it through the final season. It’s just not a good season. I don’t like the direction Buffy and Spike’s relationship is taken in, I dislike the introduction of the Potential Slayers, the after-math of Willow’s dark arc is handled poorly, the Willow/Kennedy romance is rushed and completely forced, The First is a poor final villain to end the series with particularly following villains like the Mayor, Angelus, Spike and Dru. All of the supporting characters (Willow, Xander, Anya, Dawn etc.) are pushed aside and given no real arcs or development. Overall this season is completely forgettable and a very weak end to a brilliant series.

Angel

Favourite season: Season 2

Ah, it’s so hard to choose because it’s a toss-up between season 2 and 3. At this present moment, I’m going to go with season 2. I love Darla’s arc in this season and her dynamic with Angel, it’s also so satisfying to see Dru and Darla wreak havoc together. Angel gets pushed to arguably the darkest place he’s ever been (up until this point) and I love seeing him lose all faith in the world, life and humanity only to then have an epiphany where his entire perspective shifts and he gets absolute clarity. Seeing Cordy, Wes and Gunn go off on their own is great, I love their dynamic and how strong they are in this season. This is also the final season that features Kate, who I really like and think is very underrated. There’s a lot of focus on other minor characters who I love such as Lilah and Lindsey. This is also the season that we get the newest additions to Angel Investigations: Lorne and Fred. Honestly, the end of this season really lets it down for me, but the beginning and middle is so strong with Darla and Angel that it always sits near the top as my favourite season.

Least favourite season: Season 4

This probably won’t come as a surprise to any Angel fans reading this. Season 4 is undoubtedly the worst season of the series. It takes a beautiful, complex, well-developed character in Cordy and completely decimates her. Everything that she is and that fans love her for is stripped away, her agency is removed and she’s hijacked by an evil being who uses her body to commit horrendous acts. Seeing Cordy!Jasmine sleep with Connor will always make me feel physically sick. For Angel to have to witness that and endure the pain of seeing the woman he loves having sex with his adolescent son is disgusting. Overall, the treatment of Cordy and Connor in this season makes me so uncomfortable. Fred and Gunn’s relationship is dismantled to make way for Fred and Wesley, which in my opinion is by far the weaker ship. Even the appearance of Angelus and Faith later on in the season doesn’t make up for the rest of the season. Losing Cordy and Lilah are huge losses that also make this season my least favourite.

Friends

Favourite season: Season 3

This is a great season. Whilst every season of Friends is generally a mixed bag in terms of the quality of episodes, season 3 is pretty consistent. The ensemble feels at its strongest in this season and every episode gives focus to the group as a whole. Ross and Rachel’s relationship is great in this season and their break-up is genuinely heart-breaking; we have Janice this season who I find highly entertaining; Monica and Richard’s relationship which I enjoy (despite being a Mondler shipper) and of course, the chick and duck. Despite this being a sitcom, all of the characters go through genuine development in this season too. Joey gets to experience what it’s like to be on the other side of things when he falls for Kate who plays around with his feelings; Chandler navigates his first serious relationship with Janice where he has to try and overcome his fear of commitment and later deal with the hurt of their break-up; Monica deals with the loss of her first great love in Richard and has to reconsider what she wants from her future; Rachel progresses in her career and tries to establish her own identity and independence for the first time; Ross has to face up to the damage his relationship with Carol has done to him in regards to his jealousy and insecurity. It’s rare that we see character development like this in a sitcom, but season 3 is definitley a strong season for this. There are so many golden episodes from this season: TOW No One’s Ready, TOW the Flashback, TOW the Football and TOW the Morning After.

Least favourite season: Season 9

Lets get this straight, there’s no such thing as a bad season of Friends, however, this is the weasest season in my opinion. I don’t like Chandler’s move to Tulsa, the direction Ross and Rachel’s relationship takes, how Rachel’s feelings for Joey are handled and the two parter TO in Barbados is my least favourite season finale, I really, really don’t like those episodes. I also find that there are quite a lot of episodes in this season that are just plain bad and not funny like TOW the Sharks, TOW Phoebe’s rats and TOW Monica sings just to name a few. Overall, there’s not a single season 9 episode that I could name as being a favourite or even coming close to being on my top favourite episodes list.

The Vampire Diaries

Favourite season: Season 3

This is an easy choice for me (although season 2 is a very close second). I love season 3. It’s the season of the Originals and for that reason I can’t do anything else but love it. Klaus is the best villain and feels like a genuinely terrifying threat to the gang. The overall plot across the season is tight and well executed. Despite my dislike for the triangle, it’s handled amazingly in this season and it’s the only season where I can genuinely appreciate the triangle and the dynamics within it. As a Stelena shipper, I live for the angst between Stefan and Elena in this season and adore every single scene they have together. I also love Stefan’s arc with him being forced to become Klaus’ side-kick to save Damon and then being compelled to turn off his humanity despite how hard he fights against that. It’s a great season for Stefan’s character and shows the complexity of him better than the previous two seasons. Elena is also at her best in this season. Her strength and resillience really shines through and in this season she stops feeling like a by-stander and like someone that’s taking charge of her life and getting shit done. Alaric’s arc is dark and heart-breaking. Caroline and Tyler are strong in this season and they’re one of my favourite TVD ships. However, Klaus and Caroline’s dynamic is intruiging and brings a new flavour to the show. And although I never wanted Elena to become a vampire, the season finale is fantastic and a very strong ending to a brilliant season.

Least favourite season (note that I haven’t watched seasons 7 and 8): Season 5

Urgh, this season is just the worst. It totally retcons the mythology and history of the show with making Stefan a doppelganger. As much as I love Paul’s acting, Silas is such a crappy character. The Travellers are pointless; Damon and Elena’s on-again-off-again relationship is tiresome, the Augustine plot goes no where; the switch from high school to college is bumpy; Stefan is completely sidelined by awful writing choices; the best character on the show (Katherine) is done a huge disservice and her exit from the show is pitiful; Bonnie suffers once again (surprise, surprise); the introduction of Nadia just doesn’t work; there’s stupid scenes and episodes that are present for the sole reason of baiting Stelena shippers (5x04 and 5x18) and the finale is completely dumb. There’s not a single thing I like about this season.

Thanks for asking, lovely! 

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 23

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

23/30

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter Two

The walls of the castle rise around them, towering to cut through the deep blue of the sky. Ivy curls up the walls, striking against the red brick, and Lexa casts her gaze over the angular towers and fortresses with reluctant admiration. The castle is built to withstand the longest siege and the most violent of weapons, and she knows that if King Thelonious had not agreed to a peace treaty, the northern army would have languished outside these walls for years before finally being defeated.

A sharp tug on the heavy pauldron around her shoulders jerks her back to reality, and she winces as Anya checks the straps fastening the plate armour to her body with harsh fingers. The squire who had dressed her earlier is a trusted son of one of her lords, but still Anya insists on checking the armour herself. In each rough tug, Lexa can feel her cousin’s fury, which she had expressed so eloquently in words Anya would not want Tris to hear when she had told her of her plan to train with the king. Never mind the opportunity to improve relations between the two kingdoms, Anya is sure that this is a trap to have her unceremoniously killed, and so half of her Queensguard are gathered to watch them, their swords at their hips. Lady Tris is with them, eagerly exploring the rack of weapons, and Liberty lingers close to her, while Honour, Valour and Spirit prowl the training grounds restlessly, startling the southern attendants. The latter wolf, with his black merle pelt almost as dark as Honour, is the direwolf she sees the least, more likely than his siblings to disappear into the woods for weeks on end and appear only when she is facing her biggest challenges. When he had appeared from the woods on the journey south, she had realised with a sinking heart what a struggle this trip would be. Even now, Spirit seems unhappy in the light of day, his fur prickling.

“This is lunacy, I hope you know that,” Anya mutters, low in her throat, as she checks a strap on Lexa’s chest plate, and Lexa resists the urge to snap at her.

“Your fears are unfounded when I have you all to protect me,” She points out, as calmly as she is able, and Anya snorts dryly.

“We are still outnumbered in this city.” Her eyes meet Lexa’s again, and they are dark with meaning when she cautions. “Do not let the north fall because of your wrath Lexa.”

The words spark a fury in her stomach and she yanks herself away from Anya’s fussing hands, fixing her with a glower as her squire scurries up to her side with her sword. “You know I would never.”

A ripple of excitement passes over the field, and when Lexa turns, she sees the king approaching, an excited smile upon his face. He is accompanied by several of his small council, which Measter Titus had informed her is filled to the brim with Lannister sympathisers. The few ladies who had wandered their way onto the field to watch them train whisper to one another gleefully when he sends them a dashing smile, and though the attendants try to flutter around him, he sends them away with a flick of his hand. He is already armoured in beautiful gilded southern armour, which Lexa is sure has never seen a day of fighting, and he gives her a cheerful smile as he approaches.

She meets him in the centre of the field, managing to smile in return, but the king does not seem to notice her reluctance.

“A beautiful day to spar, is it not?” He is practically glowing, and she can’t help but feel endeared to him in a strange, childish sort of way.

“It is indeed.”

“I hope you’re well rested, your majesty,” He jibes her playfully and she arches an eyebrow. “I intend on fighting as hard as any northerner today.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lexa nods her approval, “Shall we begin?”

Their swords ring out through the clearing as they clash together, accompanied by the low comments exchanged between ladies, soldiers and servants. It is a slow, steady fight, the sort experienced between two rivals new to one another and feeling out the other’s style and weaknesses. Fighting Finn is a strangely familiar experience, and it takes several blows for Lexa to realise that she is remembering the many blows she exchanged with southern fighters during the war that was her father’s and became her own. There is something in his step, in the swing of his sword and the strength and timing of his blows that tells her that he was trained by knights instead of soldiers. Still, he is a good fighter, and clearly enjoying himself immensely, if the beam on his face and the flushed, happy exertion in his cheeks is anything to go by.

“You fight very well,” He puffs out between blows, and it takes her a moment to realise that he is talking to her. “I had heard stories- but they do you- no justice.”

“Thank you,” She answers, shortly, and in her surprise, he is able to twist his sword cleverly and send hers flying from her hands. Behind her, she hears her Queensguard leap forwards and the growl of her wolves, but Finn simply laughs and steps away, wiping at the sweat on his forehead.

“I need the rest,” He tells her, good naturedly, and ushers forward the attendant who carries goblets of weak, cold mead for them to drink. “Thank you for agreeing to spar with me, your majesty.”

“You enjoy it more than your other kingly duties?” She asks as they take a moment to rest under the beating southern sun.

“I confess I do.” He wrinkles his nose, and it draws a reluctant smile from her. “I’m fortunate to have patient advisors, I am not used to being king yet.” He falters, glancing at her uncertainly. “I shouldn’t say such things to you, I suppose.”

“No,” She shrugs lightly, though of course he shouldn’t. “I understand more than most how you feel. I too was made queen before I was ready.”

“How did you find your footing?” He is so earnest that she is taken aback. Truly, she realises, looking at his upturned face in the sunlight, he is nought but a boy at heart, who wants only to hunt and fight and go home to a good meal and a pretty wife. The final thought tugs at her heart and she swallows her mead.

“I surrounded myself with people I trusted, and listened to my instincts.” She says, at last.

He nods thoughtfully, his brows creasing. “I am lucky to be marrying someone whose heart and mind I trust so completely,” He smiles at his words and Lexa feels her blood turn to ice as he says, “And who is so beautiful.”

“Shall we?” Quickly, she discards the goblet of mead and pulls her sword from its scabbard with a trill of metal.

Their second fight is more brutal than the first, because each time Lexa looks at him she can only imagine his hands on Clarke, his lips pressing to hers and whispering sweet nothings into her ears. What a fool she had been, she thinks with every swing of her sword, to think that Clarke’s pretty words were true, that her kind touches and smiling lips were only for Lexa. A woman like Clarke has learnt to make the best of every situation and what better situation than marrying a handsome, young heir to the throne of the south. Her sword comes down with an almighty crash and the prince is thrown to the ground so bodily that there is an exclamation of terror from those watching. It is only this that stops her sword from delivering the deathly blow, and she is frightened to see that her hands are shaking when she drops her weapon and holds them out to help the king back to his feet.

She barely hears him laugh and say, heartily, “We shall have a tourney in your honour, your majesty! Perhaps you and I could ride against each other? We are clearly so well matched.”

When Anya escorts her back to the castle, she looks into her cousin’s eyes and knows that Anya was right about everything. From now on, she vows to feel nothing for Lady Clarke of House Tyrell.

---

Harper comes to her early that morning and as she helps her dress, she tells Clarke the location and names of the mother and son in hurried words under her breath and seems half terrified of the words that come out of her mouth. Clarke is immensely glad for the distraction; she’s been awake since sunrise thinking of the foolish sparring sure to be going on between Lexa and Finn in the yard. When Finn had told her of his plans to train with the northern queen, she had tried to persuade him not to attend, had even asked him to join her for breakfast with a hand lingering on his arm and a flutter of her eyelashes, but he had merely laughed her off and promised to find her when they were done. She had tossed and turned all night deciding whether to go and watch them, but she knows that if she were there she would not be able to stop herself from calling out- and perhaps for the wrong person.

Harper’s information gives her a much needed distraction, and she despatches Octavia to inform Raven and ask the blacksmith to watch the address that Harper gave them throughout the day. She is barely aware of Finn’s excited grin and chatter throughout their lunch together, and she walks the rest of the day in an agitated daze, agreeing to wedding plans and greeting the nobles filtering in from the four corners of the land to attend their nuptials.

Octavia returns to her when night has long since fallen, and Clarke slips into the plain clothes Harper had left for her, sweeping a drab cloak over her shoulders. They have long since perfected the art of slipping from the castle unseen using the hidden tunnels in the walls, and emerging into the dim streets of Flea Bottom is no longer the shock of relief that it once was. Octavia takes the lead, guiding her through the crowded streets with ease. It has been some time since Clarke last came to Flea Bottom, the slums where the poorest of Kings Landing live hand to mouth, but she has not quickly forgotten it. Here the smell of Kings Landing, that putrid stink of people living too closely together, is stronger than anywhere else, and it takes a few minutes for both women to be able to breathe it in. The castle walls rise in the distance, but from here they seem a world away.

There is little of the fine balls and wondrous feasts that fill the castle in these cramped, dark streets. Here, misery reigns supreme, death a master of all things, and they are forced to crowd against crumbling walls when fights break out between drunken men on the streets and women begin to scream at each other like alley cats. The dirt covers the cobble stones such that it licks at their boots and covers nearly an inch of Clarke’s hem, and she doesn’t stop to wonder about what they’re stepping in. Octavia leads the way through winding alleys until they are suddenly joined by a third figure. Raven falls into step next to them as naturally as breathing and tells them all that she had learnt in short, sharp words.

The small rooms that the mother and son live in are over the top of a carpenter’s shop, and the carpenter happily takes the money the Lannister soldiers give him to not ask any questions about the young woman and babe inhabiting the one room upstairs. The woman barely leaves, and soldiers bring scant food and water to the door for her to take to her babe. Soldiers have been standing guard all day, but Raven says that they are bored and easily distracted. No one comes to look in on the woman, and they grouch loudly about the uselessness of their task.

They pause a street away from the carpenter’s shop, and Raven looks at Clarke sharply.

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s no job for the future queen.”

The words pull a scowl onto her face and in the face of disapproval she only becomes more certain.

“I need to speak to her myself.” She tells her firmly, and Raven must sense her annoyance because she doesn’t press any further. “How are we going to get to her?”

“Jasper and Monty are going to create a distraction, they’re just waiting on my signal.” At Clarke’s nod, Raven turns out to the street and whistles sharply three times. There are a few moments of silence, and Clarke is beginning to feel a flicker of uncertainty when a sudden crash shatters through the night air. Everyone turns, and as they look down the street they hear a man shout furiously and a herd of no less than twenty pigs go trampling through the street. People throw themselves to one side as the animals rush to get away from their captor, and city guards lounging on street corners and enjoying the comforts of prostitutes curse and take off after the swine.

The sight draws a smile from Clarke, despite herself, and the three of them use the distraction to slip around the corner and up to the door beside the dark carpenter’s shop. There are no guards around, as everyone in Flea Bottom turns to watch the pigs cause havoc, and Clarke bangs heavily at the door, hoping that the girl is not asleep.

“I’ll stay here, listen for my signal in case the guards come back.” Raven instructs and Clarke feels a pang of fear for her.

“But what will you do if they return?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Raven eyes are drawn past her, and Clarke follows her gaze to find the door swinging open and a fearful, pale face looking out at her.

“What is it? What’s going on?” The girl blinks owlishly at them. “Who are you?”

“We’re here to help.” Clarke insists, and tries to push through the door past her, but the girl holds out an old, rusted dagger from behind the door and scowls at them.

“Get back,” She hisses, twisting to place the door more firmly between them. “I might not be able to see very well, but I can still kill you.”

“I’m sorry,” She lifts her hands, stepping away and her eyes widen when she realises that the girl’s eyes are slightly clouded. “I didn’t mean any offence. I just wanted to ask you about Prince Wells, I’m a friend.”

“I don’t know the prince,” She is quick to answer, but the twitch to her eyebrows gives her away and Clarke glances behind them anxiously.

“Please,” She fumbles in the pouch at her hip, “I promise we’re friends, here.” She holds out Wells’ ring, and the girl hesitates before slowly reaching out to run her fingers over it. For a moment she just holds out in her hands, turning it over between her fingers, before her voice hitches and she speaks.

“Where did you get this? Where is Wells?”

“We’ve heard he’s being held prisoner by the Lannisters in the Citadel, just like they’re holding you prisoner.” Clarke’s speaks quickly and fearfully. “Please, we’ve distracted them but who’s to know when they’ll come back.”

The girl draws in a shuddering breath and runs her fingers over the ring again before finally stepping back and allowing them inside. The door huts behind them and she leads them up a dark, rickety staircase until they come out into a room within the rafters of the building. It’s dim and draughty, but a small fire burns in the fireplace and there is space enough for a bed and a few chairs around a rickety wooden table. In the corner is a crib and Clarke gasps softly when she hears the baby begin to gurgle and fuss.

“You’ve woken him.” The girl says with disapproval, slipping around the furniture in the room to gather the baby up into her arms. Her voice softens impossibly as she murmurs to the squirming child wrapped in soft white cloth. The girl settles into one of the chairs around the table and Clarke takes it as their invitation to do the same, sitting opposite her. She can’t quite tear her eyes away from the baby and when he squirms she sees a glimpse of olive skin and dark hair.

“Is that…”

The girl fixes her cloudy eyes upon her and it is unnerving but Clarke maintains her composure. “The prince’s baby?” She finishes for her, “Yes, I know he’s his.”

“What’s his name?” Her voice shakes, but the girl answers anyway.

“Benam Baratheon,” She tucks the boy closer to her breast, protectively, and Clarke can’t help the small smile that glances over her lips. The mother has no time for sentimentality however, as she speaks shortly. “Who are you? How did you know about me and Benny?”

“My name is Lady Clarke of House Tyrell,” Clarke confesses, and sees the girl’s brows raise. “I was a good friend of Prince Wells and I asked the right questions of the right people.”

“I know you,” The girl admits, and some of the fury in her shoulders slackens and softens. “Wells would talk about you sometimes,” Her lips twist into a sardonic smile, “I always thought he might be in love with you.”

“Not in the way it seemed he was in love with you.” Clarke reassures her gently and the girl nods.

“My name is Ivy, so you know.”

“Ivy,” Clarke steels herself, “You know that it is the Lannisters who keep you here, don’t you?”

“Aye,” Ivy laughs, careful not to jostle the baby, and there is something sharp to her voice. “They don’t let me forget it.”

“We need to get you out of here, but not tonight.” Her gaze finds the baby again, “You have to be safe, you and the baby, and we need somewhere you can go.”

“We’re ready,” Ivy holds the baby closer to her chest, “Take him if you must, let me find my own way out. Benny has to be safe.”

“No!” She shakes her head emphatically. “I believe Wells loved you, I won’t leave you to the mercy of the Lannisters. We’ll find out another way of getting you out.” Her mind works quickly, thinking of the ways they could help the girl make her escape. “It may not be me who comes to you again, Ivy, but whoever it is you can trust them as long as they tell you ‘the rose grows stronger’, do you understand?”

“I do,” As Ivy speaks three sharp whistles come from outside and Clarke feels her heart sink.

“We have to go,” She looks back at Octavia, a silent sentinel up until now, and the soldier nods her agreement. “I’m sorry Ivy, remember what we said.”

“I will,” Ivy follows them to the stairwell, watching as they slip away into the night, and Clarke allows herself one glance back, unable to stop staring at the tiny bundle held in Ivy’s arms.

The streets are still is disarray when they slip out through the night, and Raven grabs her by the arm to haul her in the right direction. Clarke can hear the loud footsteps of the soldiers returning and their laughter, and her heart tells her to run, but Raven keeps a tight hand on her arm and hisses.

“Don’t, you’ll draw their attention.”

The blood pounds in her ears, deafeningly loud, and it’s all she can do to follow Raven’s instructions and walk normally. Her breathing sounds ragged, and Raven’s grip on her is the only thing that keeps her from bolting when a soldier calls out.

“Hey, you!”

Raven’s fingertips are biting into her arm, sure to leave a bruise.

“Where did you just come from?”

“Now run!” Raven pushes her forward, and moments later they are flying over the slippery ground.

The cobblestones are still slick under foot and they scramble to keep their grip as they bolt down the alleyways, Clarke lifting her skirts in a fist to keep from stumbling over them. The sound of pursuit is loud behind them and when they turn a corner and find a street crowded with people shouting about pigs they duck and weave past drunken men and shouting women and fighting children. Clarke’s feet move beneath her, faster than she thought possible, and she forces herself not to glance back to see whether they are still being followed. She turns sharply down a small alleyway, not pausing long enough for the prowling thieves to catch her, and pushes her way into a crowded washer women’s hall. For a moment the brightness and heat startles her and stumbles, almost blind, past the women pounding linens in dirty, hot water. Shouting voices scold her and slapping hands push her through the hall until she emerges out of another door and into the dark night air again, running straight into a cloaked figure.

For one terrifying moment she thinks it is the Lannister soldiers and she has been caught, but the voice that chastises her is familiar in another way.

“Watch where you’re going!” The rough northern accent scrapes through the words, sending them lilting and staggering across the street, and Clarke blinks through the darkness to recognise the face of Lord Bolton.

He seems to realise who she is only moments later because he takes a hasty step back, unhanding her, and she feels her face flush at being caught running around Flea Bottom in the dead of night.

“Lord Bolton.” Desperately she scrounges for some excuse, but to her surprise, the northern lord only bows his head.

“Lady Clarke, excuse me.” He turns on his heel, disappearing into the night like some sort of alley cat, and she watches him go in astonishment. Falling back against the wall of the washer women’s hall, she adjusts her hood so that it once again covers her face and pulls in a few deep breaths. The events of the night swirl through her mind, and she looks back to where Lord Bolton had disappeared so swiftly, but before she can make sense of it someone is touching her shoulder and drawing her around.

“Octavia!” Clarke lets out a sigh of relief, glancing anxiously behind her. “Raven?”

“She went another way,” When Clarke opens her mouth to protest, Octavia speaks over her. “She’s be fine, she properly knows these streets better than either of us by now.” Octavia looks her over and her eyes widen, “What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I-” Clarke looks back at where she saw the northern lord moments before, and hesitates over her words. In the terror and darkness of the night, she barely knows what she saw, and as her heart begins the quieten she can’t help but second guess herself. “Nothing,” She says at last, shaking away the thought of Lord Bolton’s wide eyes. “Nothing at all.”

---

The days pass by in a flurry of inane activity that Clarke cannot bring herself to focus on. How can she decide whether the third course of the wedding day feast should be duck or goose when Wells’ son is held prisoner by Lannister soldiers just outside of the castle walls and the thought of Lord Bolton’s face will not leave her mind? Her thoughts plague her and even Finn notices her distance, giving her anxious, curious glances which she barely manages to assuage with a gentle smile. They spend little time together now, as Finn is drawn further away by affairs of the land and Clarke is forced to welcome each new visitor who arrives for her wedding. There are breakfasts and lunches to be had with visiting nobles, walks around the gardens and embroidery circles to join, balls and feasts in the evening and Clarke goes to bed with aching feet and an aching soul. Lexa is everywhere and nowhere at once, and the poison sits under her mattress with Lexa’s letter wrapped around it.

The worst thing by far is the lunch Finn insists they have in his chambers with the northern queen. She cannot contest his arguments that they have yet to sit down and spend any time with Lexa, and when she goes to protest, he reminds her that she had once said how much she liked the northern woman. So, she is forced to sit in the king’s solar with the sun streaming in through the wide windows and bathing Lexa is soft, golden light. They eat soft eggs and fresh asparagus and tender guinea fowl, and Clarke cannot bear to look up from her plate as Finn and Lexa talk of war and tithes and taxes. She feels not of this earth, as if this is all some horrible nightmare happening from afar and she can barely eat a morsel upon her plate.

When Finn comments upon her lack of appetite, Clarke feels Lexa’s eyes settle upon her and has to bite her tongue to keep from speaking when Lexa says, politely.

“I hope nothing at this table offends you, my lady.”

The question is so gently phrased, and yet she has to swallow down her sharp response and fix them both with reassuring smiles when she answers. “Not at all, your majesty.”

“It’s probably wedding nerves,” Finn beams at her, proud to have such a soft, feminine wife. “You are being run ragged with preparations, aren’t you my love?”

The pet name sits around her neck like a yoke and Lexa’s eyes do not falter in their steady gaze.

“I am.” Clarke manages, finally, and turns back to her food as they lapse into silence.

Lexa’s ongoing presence in the castle weighs heavily on Clarke. There are times when she forgets the woman even exists, forgets anything outside of her worry for Wells and his son and Pike’s plots, but then she will see a Stark attendant or glimpse sight of one of the wolves and remembers all over again that Lexa is still in the castle. From time to time she sees a glimpse of white fur and realises that Faith is close by. The wolf has enough sense not to stick to her side, but still it is reassuring to feel her presence again.

She tells herself fiercely that her feelings for Lexa are of no importance any more, she is set to marry Finn and in the process undermine Pike who seems to have a firmer hold on the young king every day. Besides, the safety of those under her protection is the most important thing now and she can’t let Pike throw the country into another war just to gain power for himself.

Octavia’s brother has agreed to bring them Pike’s keys, but to get into his rooms they will have to be assured that he will not suddenly return to walk in on them. There is only one chance to find some sort of proof, and they cannot risk being interrupted. It is to this end that Clarke finds herself sitting in a secluded part of the gardens with Finn, in the warm evening sunlight, and suggesting, lightly.

“Perhaps you should go on a hunt, my lord.” When his curious eyes fall on her, she explains with a smile. “The wedding will be taxing on you too, this would be a good way to relax.”

“A hunt,” She can see that the idea is appealing to him, there is nothing Finn loves more than being on horseback and the strains of ruling have not allowed him that for some time.

“Take your privy council as well,” Clarke takes his hand and squeezes it gently, saying with a flutter of her eyelashes. “They work so hard.”

“An excellent idea, my love.” He lifts their clasped hands to his and presses a kiss to hers.

“Your majesty,” The hushed voice of one of Finn’s attendants, young boys who are all eternally irritating to Clarke, breaks through their moment together and Clarke fixes him with a cold gaze. The boy is not perturbed. “You have a meeting with the lords of Sunspear this evening.”

Finn’s expression crumples, and Clarke lets go of his hand with a sigh, offering him a smile when he looks her way.

“I’m sorry,” He says, and she shakes her head.

“The life of a king,” She gives him a sympathetic smile, and as he walks away she stands and steps out onto the garden paths. Octavia waits to one side, meeting her gaze when she approaches, and no words are needed between them for them to fall into step beside each other. The gardens are quiet, many of the ladies are engaged with sewing circles and afternoon naps at this time of the day, and so they walk in relative peace. As with every spare moment she has nowadays, Clarke’s mind fills with worries about Ivy and Benam and Wells, and she finds herself quite distracted as she wanders beneath the hot afternoon sun, so much so that when she turns a corner she walks straight into an approaching figure.

Lexa’s hands shoot out and catch her by the shoulders, but the moment their eyes meet she releases her as if she were made of ice. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and she stares at the northern queen.

“Lady Clarke,” Lexa speaks first, regaining her composure, and Clarke tears her eyes away long enough to realise that Anya stands at her back. “My apologies.”

“No, no, it was my fault.” Her voice falters over her words. “I was just-”

“I’m going-”

They both indicate the path ahead of them and Clarke feels her stomach sink at the realisation that they will have to walk together. Lexa is similarly uncomfortable, if the pinching of her lips and the tightening of her jaw are anything to go by, and they fall into step together without a word. The silence settles around them, like a stiff basque constricting them; the air seems to become suddenly hotter and thinner and Clarke finds herself touching tentatively at her ribs. Long gone are the days that they could spend in endless, fascinated conversation, entranced with one another. Clarke feels bare before Lexa now that the northern queen has seen her for her true self, and she can’t stand to meet Lexa’s eyes. Always better at silences than her, Lexa walks quietly, and Clarke stews over her words; she can’t bear to make the usual inane small talk with Lexa as if she were nothing more than a visiting dignitary, and the feelings bubbling in her chest finally emerge in stumbling words.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t return to Winterfell.”

Lexa’s eyes widen slightly and Clarke hears her draw in breath sharply. “You were rather busy.” Lexa finally answers, and there is a steely line of anger beneath her voice.

The words cause her heart to ache, and Clarke swallows back the flash of fury that she feels. Perhaps it’s because her heart is finally beginning to feel too heavy for one girl to bear, perhaps it’s because she has fought too fiercely with her own guilt to allow Lexa to open the wound afresh. Regardless, her veneer of civility drops and she answers quickly.

“You can’t- there were things here that could not be left unattended.”

“I can see that.” Lexa’s response is so dark that she almost flinches. “How is your husband to be?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you must know I-” She bites her tongue over her words, suddenly aware of Anya and Octavia walking a few paces behind them. Whispers travel far in this city even when one thinks they’re alone and she is determined not to have everything crash down around her now. She pulls in a breath and in the silence Lexa too seems to be considering her words. “We do what we must.” She says, at last.

Lexa doesn’t respond and they walk in silence, Clarke’s anger bubbling in her chest. It’s as if finally speaking to Lexa has broken a dam to let everything out, and she can’t bite back her words any longer, finally saying in a low voice.

“You know I would never have poisoned you.”

Lexa breathes in sharply and Clarke catches sight of the pain that flickers over her face and feels an echo of it stutter through her own chest.

“I know,” Lexa admits softly. She meets her gaze and for a moment it is all Clarke can do not to think of those stolen moments in the Godswood in Winterfell. Lexa’s eyes seem older since then and she fears that that is her fault. “I hope, at least.”

They walk in silence for a while longer, a slight more comfortable than it had been before, until they come to another fork in the path. They pause, and Clarke gropes for something to say to prolong the moment before their separation. As Lexa opens her mouth to bid her farewell, Clarke rushes to say.

“Did you bring many northern lords with you on your journey?”

Lexa falters, her brows creasing curiously and Clarke feels unexpected heat rush to her cheeks. She hurries to explain herself, but lexa’s expression only becomes more intrigued.

“I saw Lord Bolton in the city… I didn’t realise the other lords had accompanied you. Why were they not presented when you first arrived?”

“You’re mistaken, Lady Clarke, Lord Bolton remains in the north.”

Clarke blinks, confusion rushing through her. “No I- I’m sure I saw him.”

“I assure you, Lord Bolton is not in the south.” Lexa’s lips harden into a firm line and Clarke shakes her head. “You’ve met him only once, you could easily be mistaken.”

“I am not-” Clarke begins hotly, but Lexa cuts through her so smoothly that she fumbles over her own words.

“We’re clearly not going to agree on this matter, so I’ll bid you farewell.” With a sharp nod of her head she turns on her heel and strides away, leaving Clarke spluttering in her wake.

[clexaweekofficial]

Hey, I’m planning to complete a piece for each day of ClexaWeek, but I’m struggling with the “Useless Lesbian” theme. Any chance of some prompts/ideas? Also, you rock for organising this! Thanks!!

Thank you! ^_^

Work options:

An au where Clarke keeps coming into Lexa’s place of work (coffee shop? Store that sells candles? A restaurant, a bar?) and flirting and Lexa is trying to ask her out but miserably fails every time, whether from chickening out or just plain not being quick enough to do so.

Friend options:

AU where Clexa are childhood best friends and Lexa’s been in love with Clarke since forever but just can’t tell her how she feels

AU where Clexa meet and hit it off but Lexa’s such a useless lesbian that she keeps chickening out of telling Clarke so Clarke just assumes Lexa likes her as a friend and now Lexa is panicking because Clarke is accepting dates from other people and Lexa just doesn’t know how to tell her she wants her so she thinks blurting it out in the middle of a very public event is a good idea.

HSAU options:

AU where Lexa keeps letting Clarke get away with things she’d never let other people get away with because she’s too damn gay and Clarke’s too damn pretty (and Anya knows and never stops teasing Lexa for this). Let’s say Lexa is the head girl/student and in charge of making sure everyone is behaving themselves and Clarke is a friggin trouble maker and keeps grafitting the walls and all and Lexa, who is normally very strict in disciplining her misbehaving peers, keeps letting her get away with it because every time she approaches Clarke Clarke just looks at her with her tongue tucked between her teeth and this half smirk that reduces Lexa to a babbling mess, and Clarke flirts her way out of it and trounces off before Lexa can barely get a stern word out.

AU where Lexa’s supposed to be the ‘bad girl’ in school, the outcast, the terrifying loner who wears lots of black and punches people in the face and yeah, she’s scary and people leave her alone and she likes it that way. Except then Clarke- resident Do-Gooder and basically Glenda the Good Witch in mundane teenage form- shows up and that pretty smile and bright blue eyes somehow rope Lexa into doing free community service and everyone in school is Very Confused about how Clarke supposedly tamed Lexa Woods (everyone except Anya, who is very aware of how useless Lexa is around pretty girls and mercilessly mocks her for it. Bonus points for a scene where Anya is foolish enough to do it while Lexa’s out picking up litter and Lexa nearly stabs her).

College options:

Clexa are roommates and Clarke must think Lexa is the absolute weirdest person ever because Lexa really does keep doing frickin weird things, and saying weird things, but Jesus no one warned Lexa that her roommate would be a blonde bombshell

Clexa are strangers, then acquaintances, then tentative friends, working together on a project for class. They’re totally fine and chill until they both discover (at the same time) the other is into girls. Then suddenly they’re terribly, terribly awkward and tense…

Useless Bisexual options:

Lexa thinks Clarke is the clumsiest person in the world because she literally drops whatever’s in her hands and bumps into things and trips and falls constantly when Lexa’s around. Little does Lexa know it’s just because Clarke is hopelessly gay for her and her heart about jumps out of her chest whenever she sees her.

[filmfanatic82]

Read on AO3 (HERE)

Chapter 7: Raven (II)

Where the hell is Blake?

The question shoots through Raven’s mind for the umpteenth time as she’s forced to watch Clarke and Lexa pretend they aren’t mere seconds away from jumping each other’s bones. She runs her hands over her ponytail and lets out a heavy sigh.

After having spent the better part of the afternoon with Octavia, hiding out from the world underneath the school bleachers, Raven suddenly finds herself craving the younger girl’s presence much more than usual. Sure, she’s always had a soft spot for Octavia, sometimes preferring her company over that of anyone else that she knows. But lately…

Lately, it's been different.

Then again, everything has. Ever since that night a few months ago when Raven had drunk one too many cups of Monty Juice and found herself locking lips with a dark and mysterious junior name Echo.

It had started off innocent enough. Just a friendly game of spin the bottle between the usual delinquents and a few other randoms that went to their school. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

Not until it was Raven’s turn.

At first, thanks to the ever-growing effects of Monty Juice, Raven had thought the bottle had landed on Clarke. Which wouldn’t have been anything new. She had ‘kissed’ Clarke a million and one times before. Usually just a quick peck on the lips or, every so often, when Clarke had downed one too many tequila shots, it would be something deeper.  

And sure it was enjoyable… More enjoyable than any of Raven’s makeout sessions with Finn. But, she had always chalked it up to the simple fact that it was Clarke.

Who wouldn’t enjoy kissing Clarke Griffin?

But, it wasn’t Clarke who moved forward towards Raven. Is was an unknown girl, rocking heavy eyeliner and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ black leather jacket, that slowly made her way across the circle. Her rich hazel eyes locked in on Raven, causing a strange, electric shiver to shoot down Raven’s spine. And…

Shit.

Raven couldn’t move. She sat there, muscles frozen, fixed in the girl’s gaze like a helpless prey seconds before a predator pounces. Breathing wasn’t an option. Nor looking away. All Raven could do was watch as the girl’s red cherry lips inched closer and closer to hers and…

Then, it was as if someone had turned on a freakin’ floodlight within the depth of her brain, finally illuminating the obvious fact that had been there all along.

Gay.

The word flashed in blindly neon lights. A simple yet powerful revelation.

A truth, that up until this point, Raven had been struggling to put into words.

By the time the girl pulled out of the kiss, there was no turning back. Raven’s eyes had been opened and her world could never be the same. And…

It fucking terrified her.

“You okay, Rae?” Clarke questions. She stops drawing suggestive circles with her fingers on Lexa’s chiseled bicep and turns her attention toward Raven.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Raven straightens herself up in the bean bag chair and glances down at her phone once again.

Still nothing.

Raven fights against the itch to shoot off yet another text as her fingers wander upwards and grasp hold of the tiny metal crane that’s tucked away just beneath her soft heather gray t-shirt.

The necklace had been a birthday present from Octavia. A simple yet elegant origami crane on a plain metal chain that all but screamed Raven’s style. She had found it dangling from inside her locker on the morning of her birthday with a handwritten note that said ‘Saw this when we were on vacation and thought of you. Know it’s not a raven, but figured it was close enough. Happy Birthday, Rae. I know it’ll be a good one. Love O’

They had never talked about it nor did Raven ever mention the present to Finn, but it resided around her neck nonetheless. Day in and day out. A tiny reminder of her favorite constant human being in her tumultuous life.

Her Octavia.

Well… Not hers…

But maybe…

The far off sounds of the front door opening echoes throughout the basement, instantly snapping Raven out of her thoughts.

“Who’s that?” Raven asks.

“Not sure. Lex?” Clarke nudges Lexa in the shoulder, breaking Lexa’s intense concentration on the tv.

“Huh?” Lexa gives a hard blink, clearly not sure what was just said.

“The front door just opened,” Clarke responds.

“Strange. Doubt it’s my mom. She got assigned a big case last week and has been pretty much living in her office all week.”

“Maybe it’s O,” Raven offers up with a slight nonchalant shrug.

“Octavia?” Clarke asks, confused.

“Yeah. I invited her to tag along tonight. She seemed to be having a rough day and figured she might wanna join us.”  

“Rough day?”

“Dunno. Just something I picked up on.”

Clarke gives a bit of a nod signaling that she doesn’t need any further explanation. She gets it. “Thanks.”

“Always.”

The dull drone of the tv filters back in between the three of them as Lexa and Clarke zone back out, mindlessly spoiling each other with feather-like touches across the patches of exposed skin.

Raven let’s out another sigh and then, without another moment’s hesitation, gets up and heads up the basement stairs.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Yo, Blake. What the hell took you--” Raven trails off as she rounds the corner into the kitchen and spots…

Anya.

Anya freakin’ Woods. The older of the infamous Woods sister and the one human being on the face of the earth that can manage to throw Raven off of her game in a matter of milliseconds. Anya doesn’t talk. She spars. Verbally poking again and again, until she achieves what she wants.

“Reyes,” Anya says in a calm draw, not fully bothering to look up from her phone.

“Cheekbones,” Raven responds, matching Anya tone. She knows this game well. It’s one that they’ve been religiously playing since the very first time Raven step foot in the Woods house almost six years ago.

“Sexiled?”

“No. Just taking a break from the mad orgy down there.” Reyes makes her way to the fridge, trying her best not to pay Anya any more attention than she needs to. It’s a move. A deliberate and obvious one.

“Hairboy finally learned to share his toys with others?” Anya asks with the slightest rise of her eyebrows. Her classic tell. One that Raven has learned throughout the years to watch for. Anya has the itch to play. “Interesting.”

Raven visibly bristles at the mention of Finn’s name.

Shit.

A wave of instant regret washes over Raven. She doesn't need to turn around to know that a small but noticeable cherisher smirk is crawling its way across Anya’s lips.

“Or is Hairboy not in the picture anymore?”

Raven takes a deep breath as her hand grips tighter around the door of the refrigerator. A thick, suffocating silence settles within the kitchen. It’s her move. And she needs to make it before Anya catches on. Before…

“Hello?” Octavia’s voice cuts through the kitchen bringing an immediate sense of physical relief to every inch of Raven’s body.

“Thank fucking god,” Raven mutters under her breath as she grabs a bottle of water and shuts the fridge. She turns around just as Octavia make her way into the kitchen and greets the younger girl with one of her signature, cocky grins. “You made it. Was beginning to worry we were gonna have to send out a search party or something.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t sure about what to wear and--”

“And you dragged your heels for a good 25 minutes before deciding to raid Bell’s wardrobe?” Raven says finishes Octavia’s sentence with the greatest of ease. Her eyes can’t help but give Octavia a once over, pausing to appreciate just how perfectly Bell’s skinny gray jeans and faded Led Zeppelin henley exemplify Octavia’s nature androgynous features as her mind starts to head towards those ever-tempting thoughts. Thoughts that Raven knows she shouldn’t have. Especially about Octavia. But it’s practically impossible not to.

Not when she looks like that.

“Yeah. Sorta,” Octavia replies, shifting a bit from foot to foot, shoving her hands deeper into the back pockets of her jeans as she does. “Where’s Clarke and Lexa?”

“Downstairs.”

“Cool.” Octavia gives a slight nod and then without another word, ducks back out of the kitchen, leaving Raven once again alone with Anya.

The silence seeps back in between the two of them for a moment or two as Raven’s mind lingers on her Octavia fueled thoughts, then--

“Careful, Reyes. Your gay is showing,” Anya says with a strange underlying sense of knowing to her voice. She slips out of her chair, tucks her phone in her pocket, and gives Raven a parting wink before making her way out of the kitchen.

Checkmate.  

“Fuck,” Raven exhales once Anya is out of sight and races her hands over her ponytail in a burst of undiluted frustration.

Anya freakin’ Woods.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Crying.

Anya’s crying.

Anya doesn’t cry. Never. Not even when she accidentally broke her wrist in four places last summer at the Roadhouse pub.

Oh god… Why is Anya crying?

The question flashes across the blurred mess of jumbled lights and sounds within her mind for the briefest of moments, but before Raven can even attempt to form the words, a blanket of darkness falls upon her once again.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Lightning.

A bolt of freaking lightning.

Raven’s mouth opens to scream as every nerve in her body ignites at once but no sounds come out.

“Clear.”

“Got a pulse.”

“Good. Push another round of atropine.”

All Raven can do is helplessly stare up at the semi-blurry blob like images above her move in a strange, frenetic dance. Tears flow freely down her cheeks, cutting a clear definitive path against her olive complexion.

What the hell’s happening?

Why is her body on fire?

Raven’s mind gropes at the array of questions as they fly in and out of her consciousness, utterly desperate to hold onto one long enough to fully grasp the truth behind it.  

“What’s her name again?”

“Rae… Raven… It’s Raven,” Anya’s voice cuts through the sea of Raven’s fragmented thoughts, so fragile and broken.

“Okay good… Raven… Raven, can you hear me? Can you feel my hand? I need you to squeeze my fingers if you can hear me?”

Raven tries to locate the part of her brain that controls her motor functions but comes up short. Nothing seems to work. She tries again… and again… and again…

“Raven? Raven, stay with me… Shit. She’s coding again. Get the paddles ready…”

Raven battles harder against her failing body as the darkness starts to creep in, slowly invading every inch of her consciousness. She needs to give them a sign -- any sign -- that she’s still there. That there’s still life in her.

But the darkness continues to spread. Blanketing everything it touches with its dense nothingness. A black sea that stretches beyond infinity. It inches closer and closer, only milliseconds away from consuming the whole of Raven.

“Clear!”

Unable to fight it any longer, Raven simply gives in and lets the darkness swallow her whole.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The steady beacon of sound breaks through the darkness of Raven’s mind, awakening her synapses once again. Unlike before, though, there’s a pedicular sense of clarity. As if the lights have been suddenly flipped on in the dark expanse and finally the stray bits and pieces merge together, forming one holistic picture. A terrifying yet decipherable picture. One that Raven needs no further explanation to understand.

They crashed.

Rapid images of glass shattering and metal twisting pop across her consciousness like fireworks lighting up a night’s sky. And then the screaming and followed by a tsunami of pain.

Just the mere memory of it is enough to make Raven want to fade back to the comforting warm of the darkness. But instead, though, she pushes down those memories with a hard swallow, allowing them to venture into the place where she stores all of her other life moments that she doesn’t want to have to deal with.

“I’m sorry.”

The words instantly grab hold of Raven, like a familiar hand reaching out and intertwining their fingers with her own. It’s comfort. A comfort that, up until this very moment in time, she thought was long gone. Only meant to reside in the now tainted memories of Raven’s past.

Raven blinks. Her eyes crack open and the world around her comes into focus revealing a glimpse into her surroundings. Cold and sterile.  A plethora of sickly green tinted curtains mixed with a small army angrily beeping machines. Although she can’t move, she can feel the constricting presence of the numerous wires and tubes, snaking their way into different parts of her body, some pumping her with a concoction of drugs while others reporting in on her vitals.

Raven blinks again and yet another layer of her current world reveals itself. There, tucked away in the far corner of the room, sits an amalgamation of someone she once knew and someone she has always secretly desired to meet. The human being who's solely responsible for the deepest of scars etched across Raven’s soul.

Sure, their clothes and undercut hairstyle are slightly foreign to Raven, but nonetheless, those hazel eyes are exactly the same. The ones that have the ability to bore through her rock-solid emotional walls with the greatest of ease and strip her down until there’s nothing left but the truth. Those eyes are the ones that until this very moment have plagued Raven’s dreams. A bitter reminder of all that could’ve been.

Raven attempts to call their name, but her voice is simply nowhere to be found. The mere effort causes another wave of exhaustion filled pain to wash over her, forcing her eyes to shut once again. It’s too much.

Everything is too much.

A whisper of a groan escapes Raven’s lips as she fights to remain lucid. It’s so faint that it should be lost amongst the chorus of the machines, but…

But it’s not.

Raven is suddenly aware of the familiar sensation of someone’s hand slipping ever so carefully into her own. Fingers interlacing themselves one by one, like a strong and comforting lifeline.

As darkness starts to seep in once again, luring Raven back into the land of unconsciousness, she can’t help but think that maybe -- just maybe-- after all these years of painful avoidance to the point of almost non-existence, that they can reside in each other’s lives once again.

Just maybe…   

[vvakarians]

Closure

An ending to a relationship in my D&D Campaign and the end of a relationship in my friend group. Under the cut.

Never had Bell needed to set foot in Blackthorn Prison, a veritable fortress to keep the most hated of the dead behind impenetrable walls. It’s exactly what every single one of the prisoners deserved. A cold, hard view to keep them company while the rest of eternity passed them by without even a second glance. This was their torture. Somewhere in the back of Bell’s mind he wished that it was harsher; he wished that the temperature could be felt to a sharper degree, the hardness of the walls and the absence of light dialed up to an intolerable level. At the very least it was a comfort that this is where Davorin had ended up. It was perhaps less than what he deserved but it was something. Ielia had written to him that the paladin would be put into more fitting conditions soon, Bell was just impatient. Rightfully so.

His prosthetic landed with a crack against the stone and he silently winced at the sound. Normally it wouldn’t have been much of an issue but the circumstances under which he had gotten it was...complicated in this situation. It harbored memories that Bell would have rather left under lock and key. While he strode past long dead criminals and evil spirits, Bell tried to shove down all thoughts of that night. Those moments did him no good to remember, not now. New pain fueled him and he wanted to wait for Davorin’s sniveling face to rear up before he let him have it with the old.

Thankfully, the hiss of some half rotted creature drew him from his stupor and he snarled at it, slamming down his heel on the hand that had lashed out from the bars. There was a whimper and an angry screech in reply as it shrank back into it’s cell, two golden eyes peering at him from the darkness. Nothing but pity and a quiet annoyance roiled in Bellamy’s gut for the thing, it had brought this on itself. A waste of skin now, perhaps that’s what would become of Davorin. He had been so prideful, so vain; that was fitting of such a man. As he walked away, Bellamy found himself wishing Ielia would enact that punishment. Or something equally as damning and painful. Something that befit a selfish traitor.

Confidence surged through Bell as he rounded the corner and spotted a familiar silhouette slumped over on the bench in a cell. Stripped of his plate armor, weapons, and shield, Davorin looked insignificant. Even the horrific burn scars where his tattoos had been seemed like a small thing compared to what he had been before. Dressed in just a plain undershirt and his trousers, he looked fittingly pathetic.  It was refreshing to Bellamy as he remembered that he towered over this man both literally and figuratively.  The man didn’t even raise himself until Bell was inches from the door to his cell, no doubt the familiar clack of his prosthetic telling who his company was before he saw the face. An icy pit of anger welled up inside of Bell as he watched Davorin slowly look up, sadness creeping over the once handsome features of the paladin.

“Bell--”

“It’s Lord Kaldwin to you. My first name is reserved for people who actually care”, Bell spat back before Davorin could even finish his sentence, gaining a shocked expression from the other man.

“Really? Already writing me off, just like that?”

“Don’t see why not, seeing as you made the snap decision to just fucking leave like you did. Real nice touch by the way, leaving your shit for me and your daughters to pick up. Or did you forget that you had a family?”

Those grey blue eyes Bell had found comfort in once narrowed at him, full of frustration and a hint of malice now. He hadn’t taken care of himself even in death, the other man noted that his beard had gotten scragglier and there were deep lines where there hadn’t been in life. Maybe, just maybe, his isolation was getting the better of him.

“Why are you here?”, Davorin mumbled, his voice streaked with pain.

“Closure. Ielia told me I was free to come ask all the questions I wanted. Seeing as I was the person closest to you, I think that’s a free trade off don’t you?”

“Then ask. Don’t dance around me with your bullshit”

The smallest pang of guilt pierced through Bell’s mask of confidence but he swallowed it expertly, keeping his head high.

“Fine. What happened? We both know that you shouldn’t be here unless you died, Davorin”

There was a derisive chuckle and Bell watched while the paladin pulled away his undershirt slightly, revealing his broad chest. Where there should be a smooth --albeit hairy-- expanse of muscle on the left side, there was a giant, gaping hole. The edges were still torn, still healing over. It would take centuries for that to completely close., if it ever did.

“Shar took what she wanted. Watched her crumple it into dust before I faded away if you want to really know, it was quite painful”

Bell scoffed, feeling his anger return in waves, “A fitting end, don’t you think? You did metaphorically rip out a few people’s hearts. Mine included”

Uncomfortable silence filled the wing as Davorin leaned back and settled in, watching Bell stand there for a moment. Panic gripped him slightly while he waited for an answer, a comment, anything. This was a little more than unnerving. The other man’s voice nearly gave him a start as it echoed amongst the stone walls, quiet and almost too sad to bear.

“I thought you said you’d never hate me”

Those simple words were enough to enrage Bell and he surged forward to slam into the bars of Davorin’s cell, his cane clattering to the floor with a tremendous sound. His knuckles gripped the metal with white knuckles while he fought back the urge to spit curses in every language he knew. Instead, he decided on the quiet, terrifying anger.

“You broke that trust years before I uttered those words, Davorin! It was one thing to not remember you had a daughter, or that you were practically married to an evil deity of secrets! Amnesia is a bitch and I realize that. What you failed to let me know was that you let that deity fuck with my memories! Memories, by the way, that were of you attempting to kill me! This was before you had any inclination of becoming a revenant, you settled into the security that I wouldn’t remember any of that! It’s not even you attempting to kill me that takes the cake, it’s the fact you would lie to me like that!”

Shock and terror filled the human’s features and he scrambled to get up, to walk forward and meet Bellamy at the door. But the other man took a step backwards shakily, letting go of the bars right as Davorin’s fingers brushed against his. Rage was boiling within the aasimar and he was about to throw inflict wounds onto a dead man just for the hell of it.

“Bell, I didn’t know about that when I found you again! Look at me and tell me that you think I would do that now”

A scoff escaped Bellamy as he shook his head in disbelief, tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, “It doesn’t matter if you wouldn’t do that now. Our trust is broken. I can’t even tell you if I know you wouldn’t anyway, it doesn’t erase the fact you did it once. That was enough to ruin everything. And it’s only part of the problem”

“What on earth have I done besides that?”

For a moment the words caught in Bellamy’s throat, the pain choking him and leaving him without air. His fists clenched at his sides painfully, nails digging into the meat of his palms. He couldn’t just walk away, he couldn’t. With hot tears running down his cheeks, leaving molten trails of gold on his skin he let his voice ring out in the prison.

“You broke your promise that you wouldn’t leave again”

Davorin’s eyes blew wide with a surge of sorrow, a shattered sound filling his sound as he let his hands fall away from the bars. The blue in his gaze was completely whisked away into grey while he sat back down onto his bench and let his face fall into his large hands. There was nothing but pure hatred and numbness at Bell’s fingertips as he scooped up his cane, leaning on it heavily while he waited for something. Anything. It felt as if years passed by as he stood there, wiping away shining tears that stained his skin. This time he did start when Davorin’s thick Imenian accent reached his ears.

“I’m sorry, Bellamy. I had no intention of harming you, nor Rosette and Nadya”

“I don’t want your apology, Davorin. It’s impossible to swallow when you did harm us. You left a six year old girl wondering why her father left her behind, and a woman looking for comfort wondering why she keeps losing people. Your brother thinks it’s his fault that you turned out like this, and Divines know what the hell Anya thinks! We haven’t even found her yet. The part for me was that...I had no warning. I had to go through so many stages of grief in a handful of seconds”, a bitter laugh echoed along the halls as Bell took a breath, “Even worse than that was I had planned on proposing to you after we destroyed my father. I think I can definitively say that I dodged a pretty large fucking bullet there. The man I fell in love with wasn’t ever real. The Davorin Sokolov I know wouldn’t have done any of that, but perhaps I had fabricated him”

Another bout of silence fell upon the two, and Bell had finally gathered the courage to turn around, to just leave. Until the other man spoke again, softly this time, almost incoherent through his tears.

“I love you, Bell”

With a shock, even to himself, Bellamy smiled at Davorin through his own tears and laughed without any of the bitterness from before.

“We both made mistakes, it seems. Proved fatal for you”

“What..what are you going to do now?”

Bellamy cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the head of the cane, his leg had started to ache. But he could still walk away.

“Why would I tell you?”

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, June 27

HARMONY: Okay, I'm trying to be supportive here so don't drive a stake through my heart like last time, but you can't kill Buffy. She's the Slayer. She is so gonna kick your ass. SPIKE (loading shotgun): I've got two barrels here that'll prove you wrong. HARMONY: I knew you'd take this personally. You are so sensitive! How are you going to kill her? Think! The second you even point that thing at her, you're gonna be all, "Ahhh!" And then, you'll get bitch-slapped up and down Main Street--unless she's had enough and just stakes you! SPIKE: Sure, it'll hurt like hell for about two hours... SPIKE grabs HARMONY by the neck and twists. HARMONY gasps in pain. SPIKE: But she'll be dead just a little longer than that. (Summers's home, backyard and porch. SPIKE watches BUFFY from the bushes, then moves forward, striding purposefully toward her, gun at his side. He raises the gun and cocks it. She looks up at the sound, her face wet with tears.) BUFFY: What do you want now? (SPIKE is about to pull the trigger when he sees her tears. His rage vanishes in an instant.) SPIKE: What's wrong? BUFFY: I don't want to talk about it. (SPIKE lowers the gun.) SPIKE: Is there something I can do? (BUFFY says nothing, overcome with tears. SPIKE sits down next to her, setting the shotgun down with a clunk, and tentatively pats her back.)

~~"Fool for Love," Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Episode 85 (S5E7)~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

"Welcome to Serenity" (BtVS/Firefly/Serenity; Buffy, Mal, River, Simon, Jayne, Wash, Zoë; FRMA) by eatyourhartout

"There Could Be Mirrors Involved..." (Buffy/Spike; FRM) by Touchstoneaf

"Afterglow" (Buffy, Spike; FRK+) by nikkixsensei

"Cat's out the Bag" (Spike/reader; NR) by prose-for-hire

[Chaptered Fiction]

Cora de Vil, Chapter 1/? (BtVS (TV)/Descendants (Disney); Carlos de Vil, Kol Beast (OMC), Harry Hook, Mal (Disney), Evie (Disney), Jay (Disney), Uma (Disney), Gil (Disney: Descendants), Belle (Disney), Adam (Disney), Jane (Disney: Descendants), Li Lonnie, Chad Charming, Audrey Rose (Disney); FRMA) by AnimeGoddess19

Funny Shaped Constellations, Chapter 1/? (Tara/Willow; FRK+) by Tastico

The Devil You Know, Chapter 18 (AtS/BtVS/Dexter; Dexter, Astor, Lumen, Deb, Faith, Dana, Darla, Drusilla, etc.; FRMA) by frogfarm

And I Still Do, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike; Willow, Xander, Anya, Giles, Wes, Winston, Potentials; FRMA) by slaymesoftly

Mosaic Broken Hearts, Chapter 15/? (Buffy/Spike;FRK+) by kennedynoelle

More Grimm Tails, Chapter 22 (Buffy/Spike; FRM) by Twinkles

Screw Loose, Screwed Up, and Just Plain Screwed, Chapter 8/? (Buffy/Spike;FRMA) by sweetprincipale

The Darkling, Chapter 71/? (Buffy/Spike; FRMA) by OffYourBird

Daughter of Aurelius, Chapter 8/? (Buffy/Spike; FRMA) by Loup Noir

Speranta Lumii, Chapter 57/? (Buffy/Spike; FRK+) by Irishrose

Home Is Where the Scourge Is, Chapter 22/? (Buffy/Spike; FRMA) by Touchstoneaf

Grave, Chapter 26/? (Buffy/Spike; FRMA) by justsue

The Pull of Darkness, Chapter 1/? (Spike/OC; Buffy, Faith; FRK+) by tvdspnlover

Olivia the Vampire Slayer, Chapters 1-3/? (BtVS/SVU/Forever; Olivia, Giles, Stabler; FRMA) by phouka

Marvel Adjacent, "Life on the Sidelines," (Belle and Sebastian/BtVS; Xander-centric; FRM) by Nycorson

Rating Info

Fiction Rating Key Here

"NR" = "Not Rated"

Authors' given ratings usually trusted, but "general audiences" is increased to FRK+ because of original BtVS/AtS series' ratings. Occasional stronger ratings given when chance glances show they're needed. The "F-bomb" requires FRMA, no matter how it's used, as does graphic depiction of violence. Just covering my BFB. :-)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Short Vid: Pair of terrifying beasts fighting Xander-fu style (completely tongue-in-cheek; non-fandom vid good for a much-needed giggle) by Fire-Bad-Tree-Pretty in

Captioned Still: In regards to Dawn: I also was a possessed teen (Anya, Xander, Dawn in absentia) by ofzeusnotobtuse in

Artwork: Hayden Sherman's Character Design for Angel (sketches) by Jimbus_Christ (Zac Thompson) in Angel Rules

Artwork: Hayden Sherman's Character Design for Spike (sketches) by Jimbus_Christ (Zac Thompson) in Angel Rules

Blurry Still: Happy Pride from AtS (Angel; First Scene) by Goulet231 in

Artwork: (Willow/Tara) by artsying-ifer

Artwork: A Couple More Giles Sketches by flummoxedangel

Video: Ghost of the Robot mini-concert! by JamesMarstersLive (Thanks for the link, @jamie_marsters!)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Willow was so unlikeable this season (4)! (rewatch) by Benz

"Showtime" is an underrated episode by The810kid in Buffy Rules

Random Thoughts after Re-watching BtVS and AtS by owl-quill

[Recs]

10 BtVS Icons recced by petzipellepingo on DW

Once More with Commentary (Fan review podcasts of both series) recced by Priceless at Buffy Boards

[Community Announcements]

Become a Member of the OTW and Vote in the 2020 Elections! by AO3 News

Summer of Giles Starts July 1 by il_mio_capitano in Summer of Giles

Round 2 Signups, DW Buffyverse Bingo, July 4 - November 30, 2020! (Please read linked post, rules, and FAQ before signing up) by bvbmod in buffyversebingo

Round 1 Winners, DW Buffyverse Bingo (June 2019 - December 2019) by bvbmod in buffyversebingo

Nominations are now open for Juletide 2020! (multifandom demi-flash exchange in the style of Yuletide) by tailcoat in fandomcalendar

Round 2 Signups, LJ Buffyverse Bingo, July 4 - November 30, 2020! (Please read linked post, rules, and FAQ before signing up) by bvbmod in buffyversebingo

Round 1 Winners, LJ Buffyverse Bingo (June 2019 - December 2019) by bvbmod in buffyversebingo

Where can I find this training dummy? (photo) by IntelAnonymous in Buffy Rules

ISO: Spuffy site and/or fic recs (Elysian Fields "wouldn't let" her sign up?) by LilyyZara in

Episode Watch List Recs Wanted (newbies prepping for RPG) by Pastordontplay in Buffy Rules

Marvel's Runaways Virtual Experience by Wizard World 10:00 a.m. PST, Sunday, June 28 by @Crazy4ComicCon (Thanks for the link, @jamie_marsters!)

[Fandom Discussions]

What is your favorite BtVS season opener and why? by FaithLehane16

Does anyone think Willow was forgiven too quickly in "Something Blue"? by Benz

Angel: "I don't want a bad girl." (Real life metaphors) by AngelBuffy

Spike's Intentions by DeepBreath220 in Buffy Rules

(How many died at Sunnydale High total?) by indiepop-is-back in Buffy Rules

What would've happened if Angel got canceled (after only 1-2 seasons)? by number1angels in Buffy Rules

Why is the show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but she kills other non-vamp baddies? by jdpm1991 in

Opening Credits: BtVS or AtS? by NotGoodAtUser-Names in Buffy Rules

Jasmine was the most unique Buffyverse villain by The810kid in Angel Rules

Would Xander be considered an entitled nice guy? by jdpm1991 in Buffy Rules

If the Scoobies met Angel Investigations, who would get along with whom? by jdpm1991 in Angel Rules

In regards to Xander during (OMWF) by ofzeusnotobtuse in

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

James Marsters Joins the Cast of THE FALLEN (TV) by dontkillspike

Zac Thompson, New Writer of Angel Comic, Q&A by Jimbus_Christ (Zac Thompson) in Angel Rules (Thanks to Angel6 on the Buffy Boards for the link!)

Coming of Age Lessons in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV) at fanpop.com

Zac Thompson and Hayden Sherman on Angel & Spike? (creative team) at Bleeding Cool Comics

Enjoy a FREE PANEL (virtually)! Participate in personal live chats & recorded videos & get autos w/add'l purchases. THIS SUNDAY (JUNE 28) 10a PT/1p ET (James Marsters) at Wizard World's Twitter Page

[hogwarts-is-my-wonderland]

OC Halloween Challenge

October 19th -  Straight up horror AU │ It + Harry Potter Crossover

Featuring Anya Barton, from my series The Barton Saga.

The moment the door closed behind Neville, Harry Potter seemed to change before her eyes. The steely leader sagged, as if his limbs had lost strength, and she all but ran to catch him before his knees touched the ground.

She held him like she would her students. One arm around his shoulders, the hand running through his hair while the other held his wrist, her fingers searching for his racing pulse. 

“We went deep together,” he gasped suddenly, desperately, because he would forget, he would forget if he did not say it. “We went into the black together. I-I don’t know if we can come out this time.” The admittance made him shudder, swallow his bile. 

Anya didn’t know what to say. She had yet to meet the rest of the D. A., but Potter’s reaction was telling. Neville had known all along what they would face - had had years to prepare for the inevitable. But Harry, whom he’d spoken so highly, whom he’d admitted was the reason he chose to stay behind (because when you ran with Harry you ran to beat the devil), had left and forgotten, made a life outside of Hogwarts, outside of Hogsmeade. And yet, he did not forget completely, for he at least had an inkling of what was happening - the reason why he was now in her arms.

Why her? Anya thought. Why had he chosen her to reveal this weakness, when Neville was obviously the better option? Why her, a stranger, instead of a man with whom he’d gone to war?

...

Here in Hogsmeade, a town of approximately 5, 000 inhabitants, children disappear unexplained and unfound at the rate of ten to twenty a year. Most are teenagers, and they all studied at Hogwarts. 

Anya Barton, the newcomer, did not have time to listen to rumours. After having gone through a nasty conflict at her old job, her invitation to tge Hogwarts Instute seemed nothing short of a miracle and she was ready to prove them right. 

Except almost a week into the school term, one of her students disappear. And no one seems to recall the boy’s existence.

When Anya digs in further, she is thrust into a world of madness where she, in plain daylight, witnesses the most terrifying visions come alive. And no one but her and her colleague Neville Longbottom can see them. It isn’t long before Neville reveals the truth - there is an entity that feeds on children, and this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

Eleven years ago, he and his friends suffered a tragedy like no other and stalled the creature. But You-Know-Who was back, and it was time to call the others back to follow their promise of defeating it. Where Anya fit into this scheme remained to be seen, but she couldn’t deny the connection between her and the band of losers. 

[fridatwin]

The One and Only Very Special Arthur's Hot Chocolate Recipe by Eames

For @isidore13

Arthur woke up feeling dizzy and confused. Ever since Yusuf had opened the doors to the personalization of Somnacin during the inception job, every single chemist with an ounce of pride in them apparently wanted to prove their worth by creating the newest possible combination of effects… sometimes with disastrous results.

“Anya!” he called from where he was perched on the cheap chaise longue next to the PASIV, trying to keep the headache at bay. “This compound needs work, there wasn’t nearly enough stability on the second level, and the colors are off…”

“She went out shopping.” a voice interrupted him from behind a mug of something with a delicious aroma. “Whatever it is that young, inexperienced chemists go shopping for these days. Really though, darling, why would you want to work with someone so clearly out of their depth?”

“The job is a piece of cake, and she needed to understand what this life is like… don’t look at me like that, we all started somewhere. The rest of the team is not that bad. What are you doing here, Eames?”

“Rescuing you, of course.” The point man gave him such a disbelieving eye roll that the forger had to chuckle. “She let me in, which means that either she knows a lot more about us than she should or she is definitely too trustful.”

“The whole world knows more about us than you imagine. You think you are this great master of subtlety, but you are really really not.” Arthur commented almost sotto voice, holding the bridge of his nose.

“You wound me, pet” answered Eames passing the mug to the other man. “I am incredibly subtle. It took you five years to realize I was flirting.”

“It took me five years to take you seriously…” muttered Arthur taking a sip. He let his tastebuds soak in the unmistakable deliciousness and smiled. “Holy shit this is good. What is it?”

“The One and Only Very Special Arthur’s Hot Chocolate Recipe by Eames. TOaOVSAHCbE for short.”

Arthur watched the other man really hard. He appeared to be very proud. He sighed, and, wondering how his life had come to this, he smiled. “I think it needs a tiny bit of work. The name, not the recipe, that’s perfection in a mug!” he was quick to add, seeing the other man’s face falling.

Eames smiled fondly. “I highly doubt it’s because of me that everyone knows about us.”

“I’ll let you know, Mr. Eames, that I am the pinnacle of professionalism. You, on the other hand, are the one with a Twitter account that can’t seem to stop babbling about dimples and suits.”

“Petal! You follow me on Twitter?!”

“… sometimes. When I have nothing better to do. It’s not like I like it or anything.”

Arthur had the annoying sense that he was blushing, but it was always like that with Eames: he never seemed to be able to hide his feelings, even in dreams, which was part of why he had such a difficult relationship with the man in the first place. The other man kissed his forehead and caressed his cheek lightly, then moved over to the table with the sketches of the maze.

“Is this the first layer?” he asked almost nonchalantly.

“Yes. And you are not Eames.”

The man didn’t even have the time to take the gun from his holster: Arthur had already planted the muzzle of his Walther to his head and pulled the trigger.

§§§

When he woke up the headache was splitting. He hated getting shot to the head, and to do it all on his own was quite asking for it, if he was honest… but needs must. He took the cannula out of his vein and got up, reading his gun while taking stock of what was happening around him. Worst case scenario, the chemist was a trap, but he wasn’t inclined to think that way… his research was damn good. It was a lot more probable that she had been forced or tricked into something by someone else. It’s not like he or Eames lacked enemies.

Taking full advantage of the few seconds he had on the intruder, he aimed the gun at his head while standing right behind him, taking a good look at his face in hope of connecting him to some previous job. Nothing. He was definitely too young to be someone they crossed personally, so maybe a hired gun? In his pocket, the die and his cell phone, so either some very sure of himself or plain stupid gun. Probably both.

“And what do we have here, hm?” he asked the second the other man woke up. “A wannabe forger? Someone who thought they did some digging good enough to take me out?”

The other man didn’t move a muscle, looking utterly terrified. “Oh my God, I am so sorry Mr Levine, I am not here to kill you, please don’t hurt me!” He took a quick breath and continued, “Mr. Eames sent me, he said I would be able to impress you, he told me what to do and what to put in that stupid recipe and what to say and oh my God take the gun away, I swore to my mother I would be home for dinner…!”

Arthur kept the gun where it was a few seconds more, just for the hell of it. “If Eames sent you, and I am not saying I believe you, but if he did, he told you what to do to avoid my wrath. So go on. I am waiting, and I assure you I am not a patient man.”

“That is a blatant lie, Mike, don’t believe him. He already knows you are innocuous, the only thing you can do is to beg for his forgiveness.”

“Eames.” greeted Arthur re-holstering the gun, not looking away from the poor boy in front of him who looked about to faint or piss himself. “So nice of you to join us.”

Eames kissed him behind the right ear and murmured, “Cinnamon, poppet.”

Arthur visibly relaxed, sheated a hidden knife back in his left shirt sleeve and finally moved his eyes to the more experienced forger. “Seriously, is this the right time to take an intern? I am working.”

“I know, darling, but the lad is kind of gifted… I thought it would be good for him to see if he could trick you.”

“He couldn’t.” responded Arthur flatly.

“Ah, I know. But you are the best.”

“Uh… can I go home now?” said Mike from where he was, still sitting on the chair next to the PASIV, not having turned even after hearing Arthur pulling the gun away.

“But yes, Mike, of course.” answered Arthur in a perfectly amiable way. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Mike looked vaguely horrified at the idea. “No need, really. I don’t think I am cut out for this life, after all.”

Arthur glanced his way, feeling the tiniest tug of guilt for the greenish complexion the young man was sporting. Then shrugged. “If you say so.”

Reading the dismissal for what it was, Mike evaporated from his spot right out of the abandoned warehouse.

“You scared my intern away!” pouted Eames. “Do you have any idea of how hard it is to find someone with even a sliver of talent for forging?”

“He will be back.” commented Arthur. “And you ambushed me! I thought someone had sent this careless cretin after us, I wasn’t sure if I felt more confused or insulted!”

“But I was here the whole time!” grinned the other man. “I wouldn’t let anything go wrong.”

“And you supposedly ‘prepared him’ by telling him the slightly wrong recipe for Perfection in a Mug and that you have a Twitter account? Because that was hardly challenging.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be challenging for you, love, it was just a bit of harmless fun.”

“For whom? Because he didn’t seem very amused by the whole thing…” snickered Arthur. “You should apologize.”

“Maybe.” smiled the forger. “How is your head?”

“Fine.” lied the point man, then seemed to remember whom he was talking to and amended, “I mean, to think right now it’s a rather atrocious business, but this job doesn’t really require that much of my mental faculty. Although we do need to work on this abysmal compound…”

“Well, I gave your team the day off.”

“You did what?”

“I told them while you were under that I was here to sweep you off your feet, and that you needed the whole day to be properly swept. Chivalry and whatnot.” he made a vague gesture with his hand, as if that explained everything. Maybe in some ways it did.

“And of course my team believed you because…” sighed Arthur.

“You are not as unreadable as you like to believe, darling.” Eames seemed almost lackadaisical about the whole matter of their relationship being exposed to perfect strangers. “They seemed to think you needed proper sweeping, anyway.”

“I do not…”

“I know, I know.” Eames interrupted him again, “You are a statue of indifference. The pinnacle of professionalism, right? Not a soul would believe The Mighty Arthur to have feelings.” the whole speech might have sounded scathing, or hurt, wasn’t it for the fond smile on the face of the man delivering it.

“You should know I was called The Ice Man before you came along.” Arthur mock pouted. “I was feared and respected. A force to be reckoned with.”

“But you still are, sweetheart. Just more in a ‘mother bear with cubs’ kind of way.”

“Ew. So I am basically sleeping with my supposed children? That’s disgusting.”

“About that… day off? How do you feel about it?” hopefully interjected Eames.

Arthur made a great show of thinking about it for all of five seconds. “Sweep away, Mr. Eames.”

[illyrian-of-themyscira]

A COURT OF LOST THINGS

FOURTH PART

              “May we talk?” My heart was beating a thousand times a minute at Anya’s terrifying tone.  I nod and step away as she enters.  Her heels muffled as she walks on the carpeted floor and Anya gives the room an appraising look before taking a seat on the bed. I quietly close the door before standing near it.

              “Listen Anya, whatever you think is between your brother and I, it's not there, I promise.  Even if there was something it wouldn’t work out.  So you don't need to worry about that.”

              She looks at me before signing. “Oh silly little bat.  That’s not why I am here.”

              I frown, confuse as to what this could be about. “Then why?”

              “Because you need help getting home.  I will put aside my dislike for you.” She pauses. And she looks as if she's battling whether or not to say what she was about to say next. “To help you.”

There was a beat of silence.

              Surprised, I ask, “Why?”

              “Because the faster you understand this; the sooner you can leave.”

              Oh. “Fair enough.” I say, nodding.

              “Also.” She continues, her face stern and unsmiling. “Careful with my brother.  He plays the tough card but he feels more deeply than you think.”  

I nod and with that she struts out the door.  I slowly made my way to the bed and curled myself in the sheets, confused and elevated as to what just happened.

              The next morning, I was invited to breakfast and was seated next to Calev. I haven't said anything to him as the people around the table chat.  Pushing the eggs around my plate, I couldn’t help but think of the usual mornings I have with my family.  The loud laughter, the crude jokes...I smile softly at the thought, wondering what it would be like if my family were here.

              I felt a slight nudge on my shoulder and I blink. “What are you thinking about?” Calev asks.

              “My family,” I say softly.

              “Tell me about them,” he says.

              I look at him and jolted as I see his eyes already staring right back at me. And I realize as a thought flash in my mind that his eyes...it reminds me so much of the ocean in the Night Court...and I wanted nothing but to keep looking at them forever. But I stopped myself, remembering what he asked and I contemplated if I wanted to.

“Maybe another time,” I dismiss him.  

His shoulders slumps and he glances away. I turned back to my food then as I felt eyes on me. And as I look up, I was met with the queen’s gaze and I wondered if she saw the interaction I had with Calev. She looks as if she will say something, but before she can Anya’s voice pipes up among the table.

              “Seren, let’s meet in the library after breakfast.” she says.

              “Sounds good,” I mumble.  I resign to look down at my plate, not wanting to see any looks.

              As soon as breakfast was over, I practically run down to the library, wanting to avoid anymore interaction. Plopping down on a plush couch, I wait for Anya to come.  The room is huge with two stories and so many books. I just wanted to devour them all.  But that is not why I am here. I hear the sound of the door opening and I turn to see Anya walking in- well, more like sweeping into the room.  Her golden hair piled atop her head neatly and she wore a beautiful lavender gown clinging to every curve of her body. She says nothing to me as she plucks some books off the shelf and piles them on top of the coffee table in front of me.  

So the research begins.  We sit for two hours with no result. At the last page, I shut the book I was reading before sighing. Glancing up at Anya, I suddenly find that she looks so much like Aunt Mor and I have to blink a few times. Why didn't I realize this sooner?

              I was still staring as she finally looks up and frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

              I blink. “Sorry. You just look a lot like my Aunt Mor.”

              “Is she beautiful?”

              “Very.” I say.  At the answer, she smiles knowingly and nods.

              “Tell me about your family.” she says in a monotone voice.  Yet I can hear the little interest tone in her voice.

              I raise my eyebrow at her and ask, “Do you really care?”

              “I suppose not, but indulge me anyway.” she smiles, which looks more like a sneer but I take it.

              “Well my mother and father are the high lord and lady of the night court.  They are mates-”

              “No. Tell me about their personalities. Not their roles.”

              “Right.” I pause. “My mom’s name is Feyre.  She is beyond beautiful and kind.  She is an amazing artist and owns a small shop in Velaris.    We often are in there together painting and drawing. She is my rock and she is desperately in love with my dad, who is as achingly in love with her.  They are mates and one day, I hope to have a love like theirs.  Although, they can be gross at times,” I made a face. “but most of the time, they are cute.

My dad is handsome and one of my best friends. He calls me his princess.” I smile, thinking of the nickname he always calls me. “He was the one that taught me to fly.” I pause, remembering my first flying lesson. I was so scared but he never lost his patience. He stayed near me the whole time and was always there for me. The thought made me miss him even more and I desperately wanted to see him again. “My aunt Mor is so funny, and kind as well but she is very fierce.” I continue on. “You don’t cross her at all.  My mom is trying to set her up with someone right now.  

My Uncle Cassian is very funny and crude.  He, my father, and my uncle Azriel taught me how to fight.  He is also the commander of my father’s armies.  My uncle Azriel is very quiet but he can make me laugh harder than anyone else.  He actually taught me to swim and how to bend shadows to my will.  My aunt Nesta is a viper.” I laugh softly. “Cunning and terrifying.  She feels so strongly that she burns with it.  I admire her a lot.  

My aunt Elain is soft and sweet.  She tried very hard to teach me how to grow flowers,” I snorted, “but I always kill them.  Amren is terrifying but I like hanging out with her. She is so interesting.” I pause to take a breath before continuing.  “I often wonder if the time is the same there.  If they are still waiting for me...” Silence took over after that and Anya and I stay quiet for awhile, before-

              “I'm sorry. If I was in your shoes, I wouldn't know what to do.  I couldn’t imagine being without my family.” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful.

              “Thank you.” I smiled at her before looking at the books on the table.

“We should get back to looking,” I say softly, pointing at the books.  Two more hours pass when the library door opens again and Queen Aelin walks in.

              “I hear you two are looking into getting our little bat back home.”

              “Why does everyone call me that?”  The exasperation plain in my voice.

              “After Calev said it out loud, it just seemed to fit.” The queen explains, grinning. I groan and scrub my face.   The queen stands over the table, looking at the half-opened books scattered all over each other and frowned. “I know of a way to open a portal.  We need the wyrd keys which I have, but...I don’t know if it will work. There are a lot elements to it.”

              I stand up quickly, my heart pounding. “Please can we look into it?”

              “I will look into it with Rowa- I mean, the king.”  The queen walks up to me and squeezes my shoulder, “We will get you home.”  My eyes are wide as she sweeps out of the room.

              “She couldn’t have said that four hours ago.” Anya groans, shutting the book in her lap.  

The doors groan open as Lysandra saunters in, smiling widely and Anya falls back on the couch and closes her eyes, rubbing her temples.  Lysandra sits down beside me with a dangerous grin.

              “Yes…?” I ask with much uncertainty.

              “Two things!” She says, holding up two fingers. “First, we need to get you fitted for a gown. Second, let’s talk about you and Calev.”  At this Anya sits up.

“Now I am interested in you and Calev.”

              “There's nothing to say.  He saved my life and I guess we are friends. That’s it.” I say, arranging the books on the to give me something to do.   Both women start laughing.

              “That is such bullshit.” Lysandra says.  “That boy is so into you, it's ridiculous! There is no way you don’t have feelings for him.  I see the way you two look at each other.”

              “It doesn’t matter!  We can’t be together!” I stand up.  “I have to leave. We can’t be together. I don’t want to hurt him.  I can’t hurt him. Please,” I whimper.  I don’t know why I said ‘please’, but I collapse onto the couch.  My hands scrubbing against the tears in my eyes. My wings drooping beside me.  A hand rests on my shoulder and I look over to see Lysandra looking at me with tears in her eyes.

              “You should tell him,” she says.

              “How can I?”

              “I think you should just try,” Anya says.  We both look at her in confusion.  She analyzes her nails and says, “It is better to love him then to regret it.”  I chew over her words and maybe she is right.

              “I agree with Anya and think you need to tell him whats going on. I think he is in love with you,” At this, Anya sits up a little more.  “We all know Calev can be a cocky bastard but he feels deeply.  You are probably hurting him more doing what you are doing now.”  

I frown and nod slowly.

“Maybe you guys are right.”

             “Of course I’m right.” Both Lysandra and Anya say together.

              The week of the ball comes quick with no progress in sending me home.  No progress with Calev either. I’m just too... terrified.

I was sitting with Calev in the library, both of us reading when Lysandra stomps in, forcing me to come and try on my gown.  When we get into her rooms, the seamstress helps me put on a form fitting red velvet gown.  Its sleeves ending at a point on the middle of my hand and the dress hugged the curves I didn’t know I had till it flared at my knees.  The back was open and draped at my lower back.  

It was magnificent.  

Lysandra points me to a mirror and when I turned to look, I gasp at the woman looking back at me. She looked like a true high lady. As I stared, Lysandra grabbed my onyx locks and swept them into some kind of pretty updo that highlighted my face, especially my violet eyes.

“If this dress doesn’t make him drop his pants, nothing will,” Lysandra chuckles in my ear and my face goes beet red.

written by me

edited by @crazy-fangirl16

Also someone asked me to be tagged and I must have deleted it before I could get your user so either ask me again please or comment below. SO SORRY OML!  

If anyone ever has any questions please feel free to ask.  I don’t bite!   

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

She glides masterfully through the hall, lifted by the invisible spirits she befriended as a child. They hold her up, and carry and turn her as she wills. It would seem that she has made slaves of the unseen spirits that haunt the world around us, but she insists that they are nothing of the sort.

“They are my friends, and they help me because they like me,” she says while hovering a few feet from the floor, high enough that even the assembly in the back can see her clearly. Her body floats and moves with utmost grace, but her face retains a cheeky playfulness from her childhood—that time that so decisively altered her future.

“Have they ever been… rude or harsh to you, madam?” I, the interviewer, asked, but Anya shook her head with glee. “They are the best possible friends I could have asked for,” she replied, “Certainly finer friends than any flesh-and-blood person I’ve ever met.”

This raised an alarm through the assembly. “A witch!” the cry went out from somewhere in the back, and a commotion began. Murmurings escalated, but Anya retained her grace and composure. She flew up at once and floating still in the air, pointed towards the accusing gentleman. “This one, I think he was the one,” she said.

The crowd around the man cleared, leaving him in an uncomfortable spotlight. “What’s this?” he said, shortly before he felt himself gently raised up by unseen hands. As he began struggling, the hands became far less gentle. “Unhand me!” the man cried, and then glared at Anya, “You! You’re doing this! This is a witch’s doing!”

And yet, Anya’s face betrayed neither anger nor vengeful pleasure. She simply watched what was happening, her lips moving swiftly as she murmured up in the air.

The man found himself raised higher and higher, until his head touched the ceiling. And yet, he continued rising until he was forced to lie prostrate on the ceiling—if such a description can be made.

Anya’s face had contorted now. She was frowning, and a keen eye would be able to make out just the hint of fear in her eyes. She was not her childlike self from before. Now, she looked more like a mother learning her child is a murderer.

The man screamed obscenities amidst monosyllables. Without warning, he fell. The crowd cleared away from underneath him, and his body hit the floor with a terrifying thud. Those closer to him reported hearing the sounds of bones breaking. The man wasn’t moving.

“Sorry,” those near Anya heard her say, “Sorry.”

She was tearing up now, and without a goodbye, she flew out of a high window at an unearthly speed. The crowd rushed out of the building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the flying witch—as many had become convinced she was.

It is morning now, and her whereabouts remain unknown. As the city newspapers report on the terrible happenings of the previous night, I find myself on a train taking me far away from the events I reported on last night. Even my tyrannical editor must concede that yesterday’s story was quite well-written. Still, perhaps this rural assignment may hold some benefit.

On the third day, I was preparing to depart from the village with what information I'd gathered about the local mayor's toy collection and how it had been sourced from all over the world. And there she was, plain as a peasant, walking back home with a basket of fruits and vegetables, her face drooping with adulthood.

"You there, hello," I called out, and briskly made for her.

She turned around to see me coming at her, and for a moment, I imagine that she considered fleeing. But she stood her ground and looked away again, perhaps in exasperation at not being left alone.

"You're Anya, aren't you? I interviewed you the other night, do you remember?"

She frowned as if she had trouble remembering it. Or perhaps it was a memory too painful to remember. She nodded and opened her mouth to say something that never materialised.

I took my hat off and bowed. "What a coincidence seeing you here, isn't it? I came here to report on... well, never mind that. What brings you to this place?"

She seemed puzzled I would ask her that. "This is my home," she said, "I was born here, raised here." And then she repeated, with a little less conviction in her voice, "This is my home."

"You understand that you caused quite the sensation in the city, yes?" I smiled to make sure I didn't come off as threatening. "Everyone's been looking for you, wondering where you disappeared to. A lot of people—"

"Please," she held up her free hand. "I want to go about my business now. There's no need to make things worse than they are."

I opened my briefcase and pulled out a notebook. "If you could only afford an interview..." I began, but she immediately began walking away.

"Anya!" I called out behind her, "Please, stop. Okay, I'll put away the book, here, no notebook. No briefcase. No publishing and no newspaper articles and no one will ever know. I just have to know. Will you tell me?"

"What?" she turned around to ask with a bitter face.

"You didn't do it," I said.

"I did it," she said.

I shook my head. "You didn't. It was the spirits."

"There are no spirits. Just the demons. They are demons. What are they? Demons. Demons, demons, demons, demons. That's what they said. That's what they are. Now leave me alone."

I stood there wondering what to say while she walked off with her basket.

"They're not your friends, are they?" I asked loud enough for her to stop again.

"No," she said, "No, they're not."

"But you can't—that means they were never your slaves. You were their slave all along. Is that—" I said, but then I found myself feeling a lot lighter all of a sudden.

I looked at my feet. They were no longer on solid ground. I was floating higher and higher now, while Anya looked at me with a defeated, disgusted face.

It was pleasant, rising up like that. I decided not to resist.

[calliescastle]

We went shopping together. Anya’s boyfriend and I. Our boyfriend. The boyfriend. He doesn’t know that I’m here, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it. He asks me which aisle is next. I have a list, but somehow I don’t know. He pushes the cart. I hold the list so close to my face and read every item over and over. Leave it to me to take a list and forget things. I have written compost bags twice.

I am a product of my creation. Our abuse was and is like smoke, untouchable, impossible to define or to prove. I am the same. I hide easily in plain sight. When I am happy, he assumes I’m Anya, when I’m low I’m sure he thinks I’m the twins. Or maybe he recognizes me and doesn’t say anything about it. Do I want him to see me, or not? I’m not sure. I’m torn between enjoying my mirage and feeling brushed over. When I heard Anya’s boyfriend say my name for the first time I felt humiliated and exposed and I turned over in bed and pouted. And I’m still not sure why.

I don’t feel comfortable around him when I’m by myself. I know I should and that I could, but I don’t. Sometimes I can pretend to be Anya and I feel better but I always worry he will know it’s not her so it’s really just an acting game where there is a loser and the loser is me. I can pretend like he is mine but he is not because if he was he couldn’t be anyone else’s and maybe that’s why I don’t say anything and appreciates when he does the same.

I cannot hide from the others, for the separation between us is obvious and unable to be ignored. I can hear them jabbing at me. “Ally gets overwhelmed by the toaster!” “Ordering take out can bring Ally to tears!” I try not to hear them but I do and I hate it most because they aren’t wrong. It takes me five minutes to choose a shampoo even though I know what brands Anya likes. Even things like grocery shopping are so difficult for me and I don’t know why. It was easier when I had someone to tell me what I wanted and what to was going to be done and how to do it.

He asks me what pasta I have to get. It takes seven minutes and I get three different kinds out of fear of being wrong. I get zoo animal shaped pasta. That would be good for Rosalie, right? I don’t know. Anya would know but I don’t and I’m too embarrassed to ask. He leaves to get himself some bread and I’m still deciding between no name and brand name pasta and I feel hot tears of shame coming to my eyes. I make a decision and fight them off. I get brand name. Old habits die hard, sometimes.

We get to the checkout and it’s the part I hate the most because of its overpowering stimulation. You have to load the groceries on and make small talk and smile and exchange money and fumble through the debit machine and bag your items up while others are usually waiting to use your lane and I feel like my groceries and my inability to speak is being analyzed and judged. To top everything off, my cell phone is going off and I wish it was on silent but it isn’t and I can’t turn it off because I’m preoccupied with the rest of the checkout process. I check the text messages and realize we are pressed for time and my heart starts racing. I don’t think to put it on silent. Anya’s boyfriend bags and talks to the cashier and I stand at the debit machine and look down at my feet and wait. I feel bad because I wouldn’t ever think to ask her how her day was going or to make a joke to her or even how to and Anya’s boyfriend does. Anya does these things too. And she laughs a lot. I have to tell her I have to pay most in cash and some on debit and I rehearse it. It still comes out whispery and awkward. I check the list again. I forgot compost bags even though I wrote them twice. I forgot thyme too. That’s fitting I guess. Never having enough, always running out of it.

There used to be a time when I could talk to people but lately I find it more and more difficult. I just feel uncomfortable. I’m more aware of my symptoms and quirks now and I guess I’m always concerned with how people view me now that I’m aware people could view me as weird or bad. My ability to talk to people was the absence of that fear or knowledge and I miss the ignorance. I also have a deep fear of being disliked. I know there are people in this world that like me (us) and this should bring me comfort but I know there are people in this world who dislike me (us) and that people could be added to that list and that haunts me. I want (have) to be liked by everyone universally and I know this is impossible but anything less is just not good enough and it’s a never ending spiral.

We finish bagging and paying. I sit in the bottom part of the cart and pull my knees into my chest in defeat. Another every day mundane task proves too difficult for pathetic little Ally. I feel the hot shame tears start to return but I can’t cry. I let my legs down. I swing my legs a little like a child as we drive. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. Perhaps i’m the embodiment of the child we never got to be when we had a smaller body and more naivety. Maybe that’s why everything is so difficult and I need people to take care of me. But I also like to drink and have sex so then again, maybe not.

In the parking lot we get everything in the car. He loads and I hold the cart. It is heavy and awkward and difficult to drive. He says he can take it back but I start pushing it towards the cart shed. I tell him I can do it. I wonder if I can. I want to prove to myself that I can do it. I can take the cart back. He pulls out of the spot and starts driving towards me and picks me outside the shed. I'm both thankful and humiliated for being babied.

We are going home now and I will have to unpack and see Rosalie and interact more without an actual task at home and that’s terrifying. I always feel like I have to distract them when I am around and avert their attention. I need attention, so much attention, but I also do everything to avoid it. I am a demon of my own destruction. On our way we see a young mom leading a little girl across the road by the hand. I think that is sweet. I then feel ashamed because if I was with Rosalie walking across a street I don’t know if I would think to grab her hand or not. Anya would, I bet. She is a mother. I have a desire to be, but I just lack the instinct. I want to be good at it but it doesn’t come naturally to me and I’m worried I’m messing her up without even knowing how. Maybe I’m smoke-abusing her. I’m happy Anya is here because I may have a child but I am no mother. Anya’s boyfriend puts his hand on my knee. I wish she was here right now. He removes it. I get a sudden fear he can read minds and I have been found out and I want to cry again.

That’s another thing they bother me about. The crying. I try not to cry so much but I have no many emotions and sometimes they just leak out. In fact, they often do. “How do you know if Ally is around? Is the body crying? Yep, that’s her!” They’re not wrong about that one either. I wonder what they tell him about me. Probably nothing good. I don’t think there’s much good to tell anymore. Maybe there once was, but not these days. My fear of being disliked is very strong around Anya’s boyfriend and it’s one of the reasons I don’t like to be around him that much.