#maybe they find some way to get blood through hunting or trading or something idk

[milezryn]

iiii like to hc that someday in the future when tav dies and astarion doesn't because he's immortal that he goes down into the underdark and finally makes amends with all of the spawn he brought to cazador all those centuries ago. where he can see that all of the work he did, that impossible choice of giving up ascension to be better, that it all paid off in the end because the spawn have built themselves a civilization that's thriving and happy. that he can sit down next to sebastian and properly, truly apologize. sebastian has no obligation to forgive him, certainly, but there's an understanding between them of the position astarion was in at the time and the fact that, no matter how horrible what he did was, he did not have a choice. and id hope by that point that maybe astarion would have healed enough as a person to understand that and not hate himself forever for his part in ruining these people's lives, but also i feel like he'd be just as likely to take a place there beside them for a time just to feel like he's making up for just a sliver of it. idk i really want a fic where astarion and sebastian just talk post-game, because their interaction in game shattered my heart

[franniebanana]

CQL Rewatch - Episode 10

Confession time: I don’t like Xue Yang. I appreciate him for all his villain-y villain-ness, but I don’t like the character. I find him kind of annoying in this series, because they just have him so over-the-top nasty all the time. He’s like a caricature of a person. Granted, I haven’t watched the Yi City arc, because, as I think I said before, I read it and once was enough. So the other thing that kind of bothers me here is that we have two villains vying for screen time: Xue Yang and Wen Chao (Wen Chao obviously gets more)—and I guess it’s a bit much. Like, it’s not enough that Wen Chao is on their heels, trying to get the Yin Iron from them, so we need to add this scene where they watch someone else fight Xue Yang. That’s another thing that’s kind of goofy. Why put Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji in this scene at all when they barely do anything? Wei Wuxian uses Binding/Bonding to stop Xue Yang from getting away, but that’s the only real contribution.

See? This is what they do for the first ten minutes of the episode. This could have been told to them or shown in a flashback easily. Easily. There’s other things we see in flashbacks that are arguably more important than this capturing of Xue Yang and introduction to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. With a lot of things, I’m like, if it was good enough in the book, then it’s good enough in CQL. At a certain point, I have to wonder if they just felt like they needed a fight scene in every episode. Director/writers were like, we gave you that scene with the chicken, now let’s get back to the action scenes! This is my personal preference, but I don’t mind being told some things, versus being shown everything. Like, it’s okay to hide some things from the audience so that they payoff is better at the time its revealed. (I will be forever bitter about how the headband meaning was revealed right away—that was such a great moment in the book, and I feel like CQL robbed the audience of that).

I feel like this is the only part in the whole series where they hint at anyone being gay, and it comes in the form of Xue Yang accusing Wei Ying of touching him inappropriately (basically, I’m not going back to check the subtitles). It would have been funny for Wei Ying to kind of play along with that, but censorship (rip)—I do like his line about how no one can best him in being cheeky, though.

I’ve never been happier to see Nie Huaisang, because that means we’re finally moving on to something else. Woohoo! Let’s go to Qinghe!

I like here how the distinction is made between people who are in clans and people who aren’t. I also like the set-up of how WangXian is similar to Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan: we cultivate together because we have similar goals and ethics, and that they are respected doing that.

And it’s interesting how Jiang Cheng says how it’s an honor to meet those two, but when Wei Wuxian says that he and Lan Wangji went on a night hunt for the same reasons, Jiang Cheng scorns them. He implies such a thing is enough to not let him back into Lotus Cove. I guess he doesn’t extend that same courtesy to Wei Wuxian, which is not surprising. I really like Jiang Cheng as a character, but he struggles with having good relationships. His interpersonal skills aren’t great. I mean, just look at him at the end—irreconcilable damage has been done to his relationship with Wei Wuxian. Can they be civil to each other? Of course! Do I think they’re really ever going to be friends and brothers again? I sincerely doubt it. And this isn’t all Jiang Cheng’s fault or anything; I think it’s mutual, and both of them parted on good terms, but the understanding is that they may never cross paths again. Honestly, that’s what I like about Jiang Cheng—I like that he’s complicated and is stubborn and his pride is important to him; I like that he’s jealous and will hold a grudge forever—that’s what makes him interesting to me. And I love the theme that choices were made, and you can’t go back to how things were. I love that this series/book shows that blood isn’t thicker than water, that sometimes it isn’t enough just to be family—that there are things that can destroy those kinds of bonds, but that that isn’t the end. You can start over—and if anyone gets to start over, it’s certainly Wei Wuxian. Went off on a tangent there, sorry.

I like how much they act like friends here. It’s just so relaxed, so intimate. Just the two of them, because all the others have walked away, including Jiang Cheng. If I didn’t know the story, I’d be wondering why it seemed like Wei Wuxian is closer to Lan Wangji than Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng scoffs at him, while Lan Wangji embraces Wei Wuxian’s words, and he’s only known him six months or so. It’s quite telling. I’m glad I’m rewatching this, because there are so many moments I’ve forgotten about that are really nice (I’ve watched the special edition cut about twice, and a lot is cut out, as you know).

Another moment I forgot about: Wei Wuxian standing up for Xue Yang. Not, of course, because he thinks he’s a good man, but because he doesn’t think they should execute a man when they don’t have all the facts. I like the contrast between his way of thinking and Nie Mingjue’s, who is quick to anger, stressed out, and ready to take everything out on Xue Yang. It’s understandable that he wants to just end Xue Yang, considering the threats from the Wen Clan, plus word on the street is that Xue Yang murdered an entire clan, albeit a small one. Nie Mingjue is worried about his own clan, not to mention the Gusu Lan Clan, who he specifically asks about when greeting Lan Wangji. He feels the impending threat from the Wen Clan and he’s not about to take it lying down.

And then you have Wei Wuxian defending a man who in his eyes is innocent until proven guilty. Like I said earlier, I think they all know Xue Yang murdered all those people, but I do like the fact that Wei Wuxian tries to push Nie Mingjue into making a more reasonable choice: waiting until they have all the facts. It’s a nice foreshadowing of what’s to come with Wei Wuxian himself, where most people aren’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Look at that smile! aldslkf

Okay, so first Lan Wangji hears something on his roof, so he grabs Bichen and prepares for a fight. Then he hears Wei Wuxian mumbling drunkenly about how the tiles are rougher in Qinghe than in Gusu, and that little smile forms on his lips. It’s so quick—blink and you’ll miss it. His expression is so soft, so warm, so gentle. Think about this—six months ago, he would have leapt on that roof to go fight Wei Wuxian, and now his reaction is this honeyed smile, reserved at this point only for Wei Wuxian. I mean, have you seen him smile for anyone else? Okay, fine—he smiled at the rabbits too. So the great Lan Wangji only smiles for bunnies and Wei Wuxian.

And I think he really regrets leaving like this. They’ve built up this relationship—this rapport—with one another, and Lan Wangji ends up leaving in the night, basically without a word. Wei Wuxian is too drunk to even know he’s there (if I’m not mistaken, Wei Wuxian calls for him, thinking that’s he’s still inside). Lan Wangji doesn’t know what’s ahead—everything is uncertain: the Wen Clan has ordered all major clans to send one inner disciple to be indoctrinated immediately, there is the issue of the Yin Iron (and Lan Wangji still has a piece of it), not to mention people like Xue Yang who might be roaming around causing trouble on the Wens’ behalf. Lan Wangji is certainly fearful for his home and his people, worried about the Yin Iron going to the wrong hands, likely worried about Wei Wuxian just in general, and regretting leaving him high and dry. This is such a sad moment, and maybe it’s just me feeling that way. It always leaves me with a lump in my throat. I also think it mirrors a later scene where Lan Wangji is on the roof and Wei Wuxian is leaving.

Also that fucking wangxian.mp3 playing in the background for this whole part—of course I’m going to get emotional!

Perfect response: Wasn’t me!

I mean, couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy, though. The captain was such an asshole, and I don’t blame Jin Guangyao one bit for what he did. That man emotionally and verbally abused him I’m sure on a daily basis. Not saying that murder is the answer to your problems, but in this made-up fantasy world that is CQL/MDZS, that guy fucking deserved it.

I also like how even though Nie Mingjue is super pissed and upset by what Jin Guangyao did, he still catches him when he gets run through, and he’s absolutely torn up about banishing him. It’s pretty powerful when it cuts back to him in his idk throne room (whatever you’d call that, I know it’s not a throne room, whatever) and everything is smashed up. Like, this man is enraged. The last thing he wanted to do was banish Jin Guangyao, but he had to. He couldn’t keep a man like that around. Jin Guangyao, by murdering the captain, had lost Nie Mingjue’s trust. Not to mention, who let Xue Yang out? Was it Jin Guangyao? Nie Mingjue doesn’t know; in his mind, Jin Guangyao could have been responsible for that too.

So, I actually really don’t like this. Wen Chao has already spilled the beans on the “evil Gusu Lan Clan” earlier, implying that they did, in fact, stand up to the Wens, and now he says outright that they sent forces to Gusu to burn the place to the ground. I hate that they tell us this! It’s so much better in the book when you don’t know what’s going on until Wei Wuxian finds out at the indoctrination! This is one of the most annoying things about Untamed—they spoil all the big secrets right away. In the book, the big secrets hit so much better when they’re finally revealed. It’s honestly a great feeling that the payoff is so good. Watching Untamed, I was just like, what?! Don’t tell them yet! Like the headband?! Argh!! Yes, we got that one good scene, but I would have traded that for what happens in the book (of course, the whole being tied up with the headband probably wouldn’t have made it into the tv series…). [NB: I laughed when I was reading over this again and saw that I’d already brought up the headband. Sore spot lol.]

But also, does Wei Wuxian not look worried enough here or is it just me? I feel like he should be more concerned. Even though he has the utmost confidence in Lan Wangji’s skill, he’s just one young man up against a huge force from the Wen Clan.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

[sloppy-butcher]

Mechanical Memories

Amanda Young (The Pig) X Survivor! Reader

Notes: Just a lil fanfic idea I’ve been dying to try write. Amanda is a complex character and I’ve been chomping at the bit to try to write for her! maybe it goes well?? idk? I tried keeping the reader gender-neutral but if I’ve messed up I’ll change it!

You have many enemies lurking in the Fog of the Entity. Yet one of them sticks out the most for being the most savage and brutal. A woman who runs around with a Pig mask on her head. But what lies under that rotten flesh is something, or someone, that seems all too familiar. 

word count: 3148

TW: mentions of death and self-harm

She’s hated you from the first moment she saw you. Whenever you were unfortunate enough to be dragged into a trail with her it would always end in either of two ways. Sometimes she would single you out among your friends, driving you like cattle away from your safety in numbers until you were all alone with only her and that knife of hers. An easy target. This was her offer for a quick death. 

Other times, you were not so lucky. She would kill everyone else and then kill you. It would be a long, drawn-out trial, one which would be filled with the anguished screams of the others as you failed to help them followed by your equally long and drawn-out death. If you were cunning enough and not in an altruistic mood, you would escape having used your friends as bait and diversions. But, of course, the trade of 3 dead for 1 escape is not a good business model and in the end, you’d always buckle and succumb to your stupid human desire to help others. Those eyes of black, sunken beneath the rotten pig’s head glared at you with undeniable, unquestionable hatred. 

You could never understand why or from where such loathing had stemmed and for a long time you had bitterly accepted that you would never know. It was their job to kill you after all. Why expect them or her to show anything other than pure, unadulterated malice. But something was off about her kind of hatred. There was something in how she would chase you, feverishly and unrelenting, and in how she seemed to take immense pride in your downfall. Watching you suffer seemed like a drug to her but you assumed it was like that for all the other bastards in this hell-hole. Until you realized that with her it was different.

It was never like this with the others. With them you could feel why they hunted you; some for sport, others a meal and a few simply because they were told too. Obedient dogs, all of them. Except her. She never played by the rules and she never liked it when you didn’t either. 

She would have hated you even more if she knew what you were doing. It was so quiet, the night was cold and the woods around you was seeped with fog and darkness. Right now you weren’t in a trail, rather you were in the in-between time. The moments where you would be allowed safety and rest while you waited for other victims to join you around that eternal campfire. But you weren’t by that fire of warmth and solace. Instead, you were walking deeper and deeper into that ever-expanding, ever-darkening forest. 

You don’t know what exactly compelled you to all of a sudden get up and just start walking. You had no destination in mind, no motive and no reason to leave the circle of fire-light. You knew it was a fruitless effort wandering this wood, every time one dares to venture in they are always turned right back. Be it either the cold, the lack of true direction, fear for what may lurk in that darkness or some other-worldly forces that drove those back to the campfire, none had ever escaped the forest. But you kept walking.

You looked down at your hand and saw the jigsaw piece. A disgusting memento cut from, presumably, the skin of a person. The piece burned in your palm and seemed to almost glow under the cast of pale moonlight. From where you had acquired this distasteful piece was unknown but you had a suspicion. It was from her. But you couldn’t seem to remember when she had given it to you. It confused you. Made your brain rot with its presence and possible implications. Why did you have this? Why would she, of all things, give this to you? The jigsaw piece made you think. And it made you walk.

Your twisted desire to understand the purpose of such a grotesque keepsake pushed you forward into the forest. It put fire under your feet and seemed alive as it led you through the quiet trees. Something about the jigsaw piece... was odd. Still moist with blood it looked almost familiar. But you pushed that thought aside and kept walking on. Step after step, foot before foot. Weaving through trees and pushing through small bushes. You had been walking for so long that your mind had begun to wander away from you. You were barely paying attention to your surroundings, everything just looked the same under that half-fill moon, until your foot hit concrete.

Your eyes focused and you saw the forest floor give way to cracked cement beneath your feet. Raising your head you were surprised to see the Gideon Meat Factory stand before you in all its glory. You didn’t actually believe you’d make it here. With all the stories you had heard about how the woods never let anyone leave the camp-fire, you just assumed that eventually, you would end up back where you started. Yet here you were, bathed in the flickering lights of the warehouse. But you didn’t give yourself time to ponder the small details nor gawk at the building's outward might. You were here now and she was waiting for you inside.

It was easy enough to squeeze through the large metal door and it was even easier to find your way around the interior. Its layout was exactly the same as it was in trails and you had had enough of them to know this place like the back of your hand. However, it wasn’t easy finding her. You had nothing to alert you to her presence, no heartbeat, no ominous aura, nothing. You had been searching for her for several minutes, trekking through the place as quiet and nimble as you could. Looking in corners and in all those little hiding spots you could remember that were downstairs. You were almost ready to give up when you stumbled upon her.

It was the room above the shit-covered bathroom. The walls were lined with pig-masks and designs for other torturous machines. In the center was a work table, on it were those signature devices, reverse bear traps the others called them. And working at the table, with their back towards you, was her. Wiry black hair cascaded down the shoulders of a red-coated woman. 

She didn’t seem to notice that you were there, your ability to remain silent impressing you. You were better than you thought. But now the problem was how to announce your appearance to her without triggering her attack mode. You considered clearing your throat. Or taking a more dramatic approach and just outright speaking. In the end, however, you didn’t have to decide anything. For she had already turned around to face you.

You froze. There was quite a distance between you two but even from where you were you could have sworn you saw her jump at the sight of you. Maybe you surprised her. The only reason she turned around was not to greet you but simply to retrieve a part for her project. Now she was stuck under your stare, shocked to see you in this place. 

There was a long silence between the two of you, in that time no one dared move. ‘So what now?’, you thought. ‘What do I say to her? Or do I just leave? Would she even let me leave?’ Again that decision was taken from you as you felt your own right hand move as if on its own accord. It reached out in front of you and dropped the jigsaw piece to the floor. Suddenly you knew what to say. You knew what to do.

“Who is that from?” Your voice carried around the metal walls of the warehouse. You were surprised, and if not a little grateful, that it sounded so normal and loud. She, however, didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes fixed solely on you. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have been terrified beneath that glare of hers. But now wasn’t the time to be scared. You had to fake it, fake your confidence and conviction until she did something. 

She didn’t. She never moved and never broke your stare. But as the tension built up, so did your understanding. She didn’t need to speak to give you an answer. You already knew who the jigsaw piece was from. You just didn’t want to admit it.

“No!” You cried. Your outburst echoed impressively around the whole building. “No. It can’t be from me!” You began patting your arms and legs as if to check yourself for something. “I’m not... missing anything! I...” your breathing hitched and you began to feel yourself becoming unhinged. Desperate you look up at her. “I haven’t died. I-I’d remember if I had! I’d remember if you had cut that”, you pointed the flesh on the ground, “from me.” 

You took a moment to bring your racing mind back under your control and as you did you were hit with the realization that you were wrong. Many times you had watched your friends get butchered by the killers yet somehow they’d always end up back at the camp-fire safe and healthy. No one ever seemed to remember that just hours before they were hacked into by a knife or someone’s claws. You assumed they just didn’t want to think about it but... it makes so much more sense if they just forgot. No one ever remembered their death, not even you.

You felt your hands begin to sweat. “How many times?” Your voice now was barely above a breathless whisper. Again she gave no verbal response, only watched as you came to your own conclusion. A lot. You felt your hands begin to shake. “All this time. All this death. And...” Your eyes began to swell. “I’m still not happy.’’ You had to stop yourself from crying. You could feel the wave start to  crescendo and you knew it wasn’t long before you’d break and drown. But you couldn’t do that here. Not in front of her. A flame burst inside you and gave you the strength to keep the thoughts at bay therefore not offering her the front row seat to the show of your fall into despair. You wanted to spite her. 

So you bit down of your sadness and, with newfound fire, scowled at her. She blinked in amused surprised. Although rage burned in your heart, you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of watching you go up in flames. You were under control now, total control. You let your anger give you strength but you did not let it consume you. 

“Why do you hate me so much Pig?” You asked, your tone holding no emotion save for tired indifference. You were done playing games, tip-toeing around the fact that this whole situation is one big fuck up. You were tired and you just wanted answers. You couldn’t help but pass a small chuckle at her expected silence. “Of course, I know the answer to that as well.” Her interested peaked, she cocked her head ever so slightly to the side as an indication for you to elaborate. She was going to allow this, for the time being, you provided entertainment for her, a well-needed distraction from her otherwise mundane work. 

“I’m not stupid despite what you might believe.” You were picking up steam now, the words seeming to pour out of you like an unchecked facet. “I know it’s your job to kill us. The other killers like you do it because they like it, watching us all suffer. But you, are different.” You pause and cast your eye over to her, ensuring that she gave you her whole attention. “You hate me specifically. I’ve seen how you look at me. Forgive me if I sound egotistical but I cannot deny the way you seem to dislike me so much more than the others. You only ever want to see me suffer. You couldn’t care less about the others.”

The room hummed with the ever-flickering electrical lights and you watched her intently, waiting for a sign. She remained still but you could hear her breathing. Heavy and filled with anticipation. She was eager to hear your answer. “Those eyes, that look of utter angry and loathing, I’ve seen it all before. Its the look I give myself when I look in the mirror.” Pig raised her head and narrowed her eyes, where were you going with this?

“You hate me,” you swallowed, suddenly nervous at the prospect of revealing your ideas. “You hate me because I’m just like you.” This seemed to have stirred something within her as she inhaled slowly, puffing out her chest and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t like that accusation at all. It was a bold statement and her mannerisms indicated that you needed to provide proof for such a claim. You quickly obliged. “We’re the same, you and I. We both hate ourselves. We sit alone in self-made isolation and we drown ourselves in our own hatred. But, I suppose, the reason you stand there,” you point to her as if there was an imaginary line separating you and her, “and I stand here is that you took that hatred and dispelled it onto other people. And I...” You trailed off. Taking a deep breath you continued, you voice light with airy resentment.

“But I see that even after killing and hurting other people, after indulging yourself in what you thought would help you, you still have enough self-hatred left to...” your eyes trailed down her arm. She quickly shoved her hand behind her back and growled.

“Leave.’‘ Her voice boomed. It caught you so off guard that she even spoke to you that for a moment it didn’t even register what she said. Regardless you had come too far to just walk out now. So you remained put. She growled again. “Leave. Now!” Her voice was scratchy and deep, riddled with what sounded like neglect, like she hadn’t spoken in years. 

“Or what?’‘ You were getting cocky now, “You’ll kill me? I think if you really wanted me dead you would have done so the moment I-”. Suddenly you felt something hard strike your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs. She had lunged at you, closing the space between you two in one swift step. With incredible strength she tackled you to the ground, your head hitting the floor with a dull thud and making your vision blurry and leaving everything smelling like copper. She loomed over your chest, blade no longer hidden beneath her sleeve.

“You know nothing of me!’‘ Her voice oozed with an animalistic need for violence and blood. “How dare you come here and make such statements! You know nothing.’‘ She was breathing heavily now, unhinged and letting her emotions run away with her. You looked up at her and saw yourself looking back. You saw a person with the ability to hurt and the ability to do horrible things. She was in a dark place but if your theory was correct and she was truly like you, then she could come back. Or at least, try. You sighed.

“So I was right. We really are alike.” You expected her to end you, to drag that knife across your throat and end you but she didn’t. The Pig’s eyes widened as she realized she was playing right into your trap. She was in the same state of hysterics that you were in just moments before. She looked down at you on the floor between her legs and wanted nothing more to kill you. But she didn’t. For some reason, she could no longer find the will to hate you anymore. 

Slowly the Pig’s breathing regulated and her body lost its stiff tension. ‘This is all so stupid’, she thought, ‘This kid, this stupid little brat... has come all this way just to see me?’ She looked down at you and saw no fear in your eyes. There was nothing, no contempt or resilience. Only exhaustion and something she knew all too well, the look of someone who didn’t care if they died. You weren’t scared, you were just here and you were just waiting. How she envied that, how you didn’t appear to care about dying. About losing your legacy and being a disappointment. She didn’t want to fade, she was given new life and wanted nothing more than to preserve it. But she went too far and let it consume her until she was left with nothing but the hatred for herself because she knew that she will never be good enough for him. Or for you.

She didn’t want to think about all those horrible things she had done to you. She couldn’t bear the thought of it all. She didn’t deserve this. She was immoral, unjust and a failure. Her head began to swell with all the self-directed detest and you watched as she began to slip away back into that dark place. You needed to pull her back somehow. You needed to keep her here long enough so that she could find herself again. You reached and gently touched the hand clenched around the neck of your shirt. She filched at your fingers and snapped her head towards you. For a moment you thought she was going to attack you but instead all you saw was...

“Brown.” You whispered. She blinked, confused.

“What did you say?”

“Brown.” You repeated just as vague as the first time. “I always thought your eyes were empty and black but they’re brown.” The Pig gawked at you, disbelieving and utterly shocked. Eventually, she let out a breathless laugh.

“You’re fucking crazy.” She sighed and stood up. Surprisingly she offered you a hand. After a moment's hesitation, you took it. “Just like me.”

  ~

The next time you encountered The Pig was in a trail. You had been preparing yourself for the worst but nothing too brutal or devastating happened. It was ordinary, well as ordinary as things could be in a place like this. When she eventually downed you and stuck her head into the jaws of that metal contraption, she seemed to linger above you. You inhaled sharply when you felt a hand slip into your back jean pocket. It was her. You didn’t need to see what she had given you in order to know what it was. Another jigsaw piece. She wanted you to come back.

The thought of returning to her alone and without the judgment of the cosmic ‘thing’ that drove her to madness ignited something inside you. And you couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of your lips.

[eremiss]

23. Parched

son of bitch forgot the readmore woops

Thanalan’s sun was unforgiving, blazing irreverently overhead as Gwen wiled away bells filling her satchel and assorted jars with whatever she could find between Camp Drybone and Broken Water.

Gwen swiped an arm across her brow and belatedly wondered if she actually managed to wipe away any sweat or if she’d merely smeared it around. After a moment of debate she ducked under a jut of rock to cool off and give her feet a break, surveying her surroundings as she caught her breath.

The desert was a place of opposites, the land and air both bone-dry unless it was monsoon season, searing hot during the day and near freezing at night. The desert was sandy and flat in some places, rocky and hilly in others, every ilm of it rough and parched unless it was oversaturated and flooding with more water than it could handle. Stubborn plants, some wiry, some scraggly, some with delicate little blossoms, all of them tough and hearty, had found ways to survive, or even thrive, despite the unforgiving conditions.

It was nothing like the dense, loamy forest she was used to. In the Shroud the ground was covered in lush grasses, mosses and ferns, the air muggy in the summer from the almost-nightly thunderstorms. The ground was softer and very few plants perished for want of water; even the harder, more densely packed parts were at least a bit damp and run through with some stubborn roots.

The Shroud was towering and vibrantly green, while Thanalan was expansive and painted in reds and browns.

When Gwen first arrived in Ul’dah she’d worried if botany and gathering would be viable, as she’d come to rely on the trade both for money and to feed herself when work was scarce. X’hrun could only help so much, and the last thing she wanted was to be a burden. 

Momodi had been happy to set her straight on the matter, and happier still to come to an arrangement that involved her gathering whatever ingredients the Quicksand’s kitchens were lacking. Rather than paying her directly, Momodi struck a deal with Otopa to reduce the rate of Gwen’s room, giving the fledgling adventurer’s purse a modicum of breathing room while sparing the proprietress the prices in the markets and the cost of couriers.

After wisely spending a bit of gil on books about the desert’s flora and fauna, all of Gwen’s lingering doubts about the proprietress’ claims were laid to rest. Honestly, it was not so terribly different than the Shroud once she knew where to look. She could still get by on the surprising bounty of the desert, either from selling what Momodi didn’t need or by partaking in it herself. 

Black pepper, mustard seed, garlic, parsnips and carrots didn’t fetch high prices, but they were easy enough to find and necessities for a multitude of common dishes. Someone was always willing to buy them, though not for too much. 

Saffron fetched a high price, but it was difficult to find. Crocus flowers could tolerate a lot, somehow always finding a shaded crevice or shadowy patch to grow in, but even they had their limits.

If she was willing to take a risk, the alchemist’s guild was perpetually in need of scorpions and vipers, and they didn’t split too many hairs when it came to compensation. Antivenoms and antidotes were a vital part of first aid and there was a (dubiously) steady demand for them, for one reason or another. Most went to Phonistery and the Immortal Flames, neither wanting to risk their stockpile running out. 

One wrong move, however, could mean Gwen would need a dose of the antivenom she was trying to help create. Once she had thicker gloves and quicker hands the scorpions, at least, were far less harrowing. 

Once she’d found something of a routine, once she’d figured out how to make her way, Gwen quickly grew accustomed Thanalan and its extremes. Sometimes she was even a bit fond of it all. Duskfeather seemed to prefer the wide open skies and bright sun to the Shroud’s crowd of branches and dappled shade.

Gwen didn’t even mind the heat all that much, though that didn’t mean she was enamored with it. Maybe her parents’ talk about ‘desert blood’ actually had some weight behind it, though she had no idea how similar Thanalan and Dalmasca actually were. She used to think a desert was a desert and that was all there was to itt, but of course nothing was ever so simple, and she’d learned the error of her ways quickly enough.

At that moment, on a day when she traded training in red magics and dueling for simpler manual labor, Gwen didn’t have the zeal or patience to search for crocus or hunt scorpions. Instead she’d chosen to substitute rarity with quantity, spending her time trimming sprigs of laurel, collecting handfuls of pungent mustard seeds and digging up thick, knobby popotos and ginseng roots..

Gwen hefted her pack, the weight of it providing a solid sense of satisfaction that made the dirt on her knees and under her nails, the scrapes on her knuckles and and the sweat running down her face more worthwhile. She took a long drink of water that nearly drained the skin, forcing herself to not to finish it off despite the fact her mouth still felt a little dry. 

One of the things she’d learned about the desert: ration her water, and save the last of it until a fresh source was within sight (or reach, damn mirages.) Nothing made a trek through the heat more grueling and desperate than being out of water.

She weighed her waterskin in her hand thoughtfully and scratched her fingers through the dry, brittle earth at her side. How long had she been out foraging? She leaned out of the shade and squinted up towards the sun to gauge the hour.

Well, it didn’t actually matter, did it? She was almost out of water. That was the clearest sign it was time to pack up and return to town that she could ask for.

As she stood up and dusted herself off she glanced down at her arms, bare from the mid-bicep down to where her thick gloves reached just above her wrists. She fancied she could, maybe, feel her skin growing a bit too tight and hot.

She’d find some aloe first, then she’d head back to town.

-----------------------

I started out wanting to do a sick fic but then it started getting away from me so I scrapped it. I like this waaaay more! :D

idk if it would actually be reasonable/profitable/reliable to gather shit in a desert but hey the nodes are up in game all the time so

idk what other people did for their WoL’s housing situation for the very beginning/very early MSQ, but I decided Gwen lived at the Hourglass while she got her shit together

[hermesmultivitamins]

astra inclinant

im recovering from surgery and I went to take a nap and then I got a story bug about a b.echo breakup and four hours later this happened idk man

read on ao3 here

And I’ll take care of you

Along the way

My love one day at a time

We’ll leave our troubles behind

-The Hunts, Along the Way

~~~

In hindsight, there were dozens of times that she should have seen that it was over.

On the ring, he called out Clarke’s name in his sleep sometimes, occasionally muttering something about leaving her behind afterward. It was the times when he didn’t cry, when he smiled as if the dream involving his best friend was pleasant instead of the nightmare of leaving her behind, that left her with a sick feeling she tried to ignore.

Echo never mentioned it in the morning. Clarke was gone, and no amount of talking about it was going to bring her back.

(She tried not to let it hurt when he woke up and a flash of disappointment came over his face, as if he’d been expecting blonde hair next to him instead of brown).

Echo should have known--and perhaps did, but refused to accept--that it was over when the nightblood child said his name.

(In six years, seven months, and some odd days, she had never heard Bellamy’s voice as full of hope as when he said “ Clarke’s alive ?”)

The moment finally comes some 130-odd years later on a planet endlessly far from Earth.

She’s in a meeting with Abby, Kane, and Indra on the bridge of the ship when Emori bursts through the door.

“Abby, it’s Clarke,” she says.

Echo follows the rest to the hospital wing, unsure of what to do, and her heart breaks for both Bellamy and herself at the scene.

Clarke is laid out on the table, blood gushing from her side as Jackson works furiously over her. Bellamy stands off to the side, soaked in blood that that is not his own. He leans into Murphy, who appears to be half holding him back, half supporting him.

“Let them work,” she hears Murphy say to him. “She’s lived through worse, a little stab wound isn’t enough to take out the great Wanheda. Our princess is tougher than that.”

Suddenly, Echo knows she doesn’t belong in this moment, and with one last fleeting look at Bellamy, takes her exit.

Bellamy doesn’t return to their cabin that night, and in the morning Echo goes to check on him. Murphy is standing in the doorway, and updates her quietly on Clarke’s condition.

Clarke’s asleep on the bed, her heart monitor beeping gently. Her prognosis is good, Abby had said, the antibiotics should take care of potential infection and the wound would heal. And still, Bellamy had refused to leave her bedside. He sits in a stool, slumped over with his head pillowed on his arms that rest on the edge of her bed.

Murphy gives Echo a look full of pity, and as she follows him out of the room, she wonders for how long he’s known it was over for her.

~

Bellamy doesn’t take a break until Clarke opens her eyes, and even then it’s just to go get her some food. Echo stops him in the hall. She knows what he’s going to say before he says it, so she speaks first. At least she can do this on her terms.

“You’ll never care for me like you care for her,” she says. Her tone is without malice.

“Echo, I...” Her heart flutters for a moment, a brief hope that he’ll say she’s wrong.

“I’m sorry,” is what he says instead.

“It’s okay, Bellamy,” she says, and then: “Go. Be with her.”

~~

Jackson passes Echo and Murphy in the hall on his way to check Clarke’s vitals. He smiles gently at Bellamy’s sleeping form next to her. Nate had been right about these two.

“Bellamy?” Clarke says upon waking before her eyes even open. He’s there, holding her hand. Her eyes flutter as he sits up. “You shaved,” she says, bringing a hand to his cheek. “You look like my Bellamy.” He smiles as a tear rolls down his face, and says in a voice so low Jackson isn’t sure if Clarke even hears him: “I’m always yours.”

~~

John Murphy was a witness to the very first Clarke and Bellamy interaction (and many since), but this was by far the most ridiculous. The surgery to repair Clarke’s injuries had been fairly substantial, apparently making it difficult for her to sleep. Madi, ever the meddler, had casually let this slip while eating breakfast with Bellamy, who had immediately gotten up to have a word with Clarke about this. The solution to this was of course to have Bellamy stay with Clarke in her cabin.   Platonically . Madi bounced from room to room saying it was “so Clarke could sleep better”-Lindsay Lohan had nothing on this girl. On the fourth night of Bellamy platonically staying with Clarke, it was Murphy and Emori’s turn to take Madi. He was hesitant at first-he and Emori had been making up for lost time since they reconciled, but Madi’s doe eyes and the way she said “please Uncle John” were more convincing than if she’d pulled the commander card.

But of course, Madi forgets her sleeping clothes in Clarke’s room so of course Murphy has to get them because Madi and Emori are “girl bonding” or whatever.

Which is how he sees the most Ridiculous Clarke and Bellamy Moment of All Time.

Bellamy is asleep on his back, with Clarke tucked into his side. His arm is wrapped around her, his hand resting just below the area where she’d been injured. Her free hand was splayed across his chest, and Murphy could not believe that Bellamy, who was finally single and more muscle-y than ever after six years in space with nothing to do but exercise, was wearing a shirt while in bed with the woman he’d been in love with for literally over a hundred years.

Murphy laughs and grabs Madi’s pajamas, wondering if it would take the two leaders another hundred years to figure out what everyone else already knew about them.

~~

After negotiations with the Eligius Three decedents begins, Kane understands immediately why Harper and Monty had Jordan wake up Clarke and Bellamy first. They are natural partners, knowing what the other is thinking without words allow them to work seamlessly together in order to secure a future for their people.

It was impressive, how in sync they were, and for once, there were nearly no hiccups in planning peace, until of course, the issue of Madi comes up.

The leader-Artemis, her name is-of the Eligius Three people had listened to the story patiently, staying in surprising silence as Bellamy explains the history of the commanders and Madi’s role in it.

“So your child, she is the leader of your people?”

“She is an important figure to our people, yes. But she is a child. And we intend to let her grow up without the responsibility of leading her people.”

Kane does not miss the way Bellamy doesn’t correct Artemis when she indicates toward both Clarke and Bellamy when she calls Madi “your child.”

“Alright, Clarke and Bellamy of the Sky People, you have yourself a deal. You may establish a settlement here, on our land. In exchange, your doctors will train our healers, and we’ll work together to build a hospital.”

There was of course, more to this deal, but this was the gist of it.

Seemingly forgetting their status as esteemed leaders for a moment, Clarke turns and throws her arms around Bellamy. He lifts her up in celebration, spinning her around.

Peace, Kane thought, this is what peace looks like.

~~~

There’s not too much to do aboard a spaceship full of hundreds of sleeping people.

Monty had built a still, but thanks to his status as a new dad, he and Harper hadn’t had much of a chance to use it. But a few months in, Jordan was finally sleeping through the night, and Harper and Monty have the night to themselves. Monty would have never guessed he’d one day use his engineering skills to build a breast pump, of all things, but he had, and Harper was finally able to enjoy the moonshine Monty had made a year before.

All of the time without alcohol has killed their tolerance, and the young parents find themselves horrendously giggly after just one drink.

“Do you think Clarke and Bellamy will ever get their shit together?” Monty asks. Harper laughs into her pillow.

“The world was literally ending and they didn’t hook up. Besides, he’s with Echo,” Harper responds.

“Oh because that’ll definitely last with Clarke around.”

They both broke out into giggles again.

“That’ll be our project, when we get back to the ground,” Harper says. “Remember that movie Murphy kept watching on the ring? We’ll do that to them.”

“ Parent Trap ? That’s perfect--remember how Jasper used to call them Mom and Dad?”

For once, the mention of Jasper makes Monty smile.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says. “We’ll get Bellamy to cut his hair and then we’ll Parent Trap them.”

Harper rests her head against his shoulder. “Then maybe their lives will be as happy as ours.”

~~~

They name the town--upon Bellamy’s suggestion--after someone whom without they would have never survived long enough to find their peace, and the sign above the gate reads “Lincoln Village.”

Primary construction had finished, and with the help of the locals, the survivors from Earth finally had their settlement.

Not that they needed an extra reason to celebrate, but Murphy and Emori had selected they day that the last house was finished for their wedding, and the whole encampment came together to throw the biggest damn party any of them had ever seen. It didn’t start to wind down until well after dark, when Murphy carries his bride across the threshold of their newly finished home.

Still, some of the Earth survivors--who Octavia jokingly referred to as Earthkru--remain by the fire, roasting treats and trading stories.

Clarke leans against Bellamy, his arm wrapped around her as her head rests against his shoulder. Madi’s laying down with her head in her mother’s lap, her face one of intrigue as she listens to Bellamy’s story.

He can’t remember a time in his life where he felt so at peace, and for this moment, all of the hardship and struggle he’s faced is more than worth it.

Madi gasps--interrupting the story by pointing towards the sky. “Look! Shooting stars!”

She jumps up excitedly, and runs to find a better view with Octavia in tow.

“Can you wish on this kind of shooting star?” Clarke asks Bellamy.

He looks at the girl in his arms, and then at Madi and his sister, laughing at looking up at the sky through the trees.

“I wouldn’t even know what else I could possibly wish for.”

[lucalicatteart]

People of the realm: Yymy

Some sketches of a Verrucalt scholar/adventurer named Yymy (ee-yee-mee), who is somewhat known (only in small groups of course as most people don’t know of the existence of her species) as the rarest of her kind, given that she is  both one of the only few biologically  "female" Verrucalt** and also the only surviving Verrucalt to have the rare genetic mutation that causes somewhat reverse coloring (where most Verrucalt would have  dark stripes, spots, hair, etc. hers instead gets lighter in an opposite pattern). 

She is currently traveling alone, but previously was raised in the cave group of Verrucalt (the ones who live in that elaborate cave system and have an obsession with the stars and sky and etc.), so she still mostly sports their typical clothing and follows some of their traditions, despite being separate from them for almost 40 years now. 

Her main reason for leaving was out of a need for exploration, and her goals to discover the true nature of magic.  She generally felt that despite their reverence for and overall acceptance of their magical abilities, her native group really was not harnessing any new ideas or delving as deep into exploring to concept of magic itself as they could be. So she wasn’t kicked out, but more left out of her own motivations. She thought that other Verrucalt (given their rare abilities) would be a perfect group to work together with on research of magic, however as she was unable to recruit others of her kind who were willing to help her labor to answer her questions, she simply left to find the answers herself... (more info under read more) 

----

 Which isn't really that they were unsupportive or anything like that, but just that her family and friends from the cave group weren't interested in the same ideas as her. They never shunned her or called her research foolish, they just kind of.. were too lazy to want to go out traveling with her or explore ancient ruins with her or etc. lol. So after a long time of begging her sibling to go on expeditions with her or trying to talk to other people in the group about magical investigations and etc (always to pretty lukewarm or unenthusiastic reception), she finally just left to go do all that stuff on her own, whether anyone else wanted to come with her or not.   

 She still has a positive relationship with her family and the other Verrucalt in the cave group, and she checks in on them from time to time to visit her home, but she just thinks they spend way too much time daydreaming and making stories and using reality magic to create their own little realms and etc. and not enough time actually out exploring the main reality and asking questions about the broader world.   

- 

 Part of her curiosity about magic stems from her discovery of differences in perception while being indirectly influenced by certain magical elements. Seemingly due to the same genetic mutation that reverses her coloring, she also has color blindness that causes her to only be able to see in black and white, however one day she noticed that in certain pocket realms (smaller separate usually isolated pockets of fabricated realities stemming off from actual main reality created by magic beings and usually only accessible by them/ through their own means, etc.), this is no longer the case and she can see in full color (despite that not being the purpose of the realm at all and it just being being a seemingly unintentional side effect of,, some mysterious factor), so she is especially curious about the nature of magic and the effects it has on the physical world, particularly what exactly magical properties are, how they differ, and the exact definition of the literal physical nature of magic and magical forces.   

Despite evidence that advanced humanoid magic capable beings have been around for seemingly millions of years,  and thus the study of magic has probably been occurring for at least that long, magic is still largely mysterious and raises many questions in how it operates (magic sometimes seems to be a physical property, sometimes not.. may have something to do with blood, may also not.. may also have something to do with souls, but sometimes not. what are souls? why is magic so hard to control and harmful to physical health? why do species trend towards being less magical as they evolve? what dictates inherent magical energy level? etc.). 

 This fact combined with the knowledge of the Big Informational Gap (where all recorded history seemingly just starts at a precise point 2-miilion years ago despite knowledge that advanced civilizations existed before then, as if all information was wiped and everyone got mass memory loss or something and then resumed everything at the same point the day after (but now with absolutely no records of the past)), leads certain groups to kind of get the idea that  Hidden Secrets of magic may lie in the times before recorded history, prior the 2 million year mysterious record wipe, and without the foundations of the past we'll never be able to understand magic in the present.   

Due to this it can kind of be common for there to be scattered groups who dedicate a lot of their time looking for ancient texts and studying magical civilizations and their information, particularly on techniques of magic that may have been lost and especially knowledge about the nature of magic.  As it is still widely thought to be mysterious, and as with anything mysterious, people like to make myths and theories about the unknown,  so there are a lot of people who believe things like, that maybe some ancient civilizations or groups had a better understanding of magic, or that magic used to be different and was changed, or etc. etc. Which sometimes is reasonable, but some groups still tend to veer into the like, wild conspiracy theory territory, and end up making actual historians and scholars cringe lol.   

But anyway, this is why some people invest so much time into  visiting ancient ruins and hunting down copies of old books and etc. Like rather than looking forward into ways to advance techniques for understanding and analyzing magic in the future, they take the approach that it was perhaps likely that these things were already known in the past, and were lost during the Odd Information Gap, therefore the best course of action is instead to look backwards to uncovering the lost knowledge of ancient civilizations until we can learn from them and better understand what they  knew.   

 so idk, Yymy’s pursuit is somewhat common? Like this is a well known about category of scholar/adventurer. There are even a few scattered collectives and groups for people who subscribe to this view and dedicate their life to researching the ancient, so that as a group they can share knowledge with each other and etc.. Though it’s still kind of rare (being a historian or studying history is not uncommon, the part that makes it rare is the specific focus on the search for ancient secrets and lost understanding of magic, which actually a lot of scholars and historians don’t think is true or a worthwhile pursuit). 

 Yymy is not really a part of any groups, aside from like, occasionally wanting to trade knowledge with them. She prefers to work alone as she kind of also has a thing about being The First Person To Discover The True Physical Nature Of Magic or etc. which can lead her to be more competitive and secretive, even in the already tiny communities of people who are researching some of the same things she is lol. She wouldn't want to share her secrets with anyone or join a collective of adventurers since she wants all the notoriety when she finally unravels the mysteries of magic lol. Which she isn't really a fame focused person and generally cares more about practicality than achievements or recognition (so her focus on being the first to know something is out of character-ish), but it's just because it's SO important to her and she's dedicated SO much time and energy to it, she would be really disappointed if someone else were to finally figure things out before she did. 

  -

-

-

 **(The differences between sexes in Verrucalt anatomy are very very minor and they really do not conceptualize their sex or gender in a similar way as we would, but there are 3 main biological variations in anatomy that could count as different sexes, two of them being mostly split 50/50 among the population and one being incredibly rare, which is also the only one capable of bearing children with the other two. Thus like some scholars could  consider it “female” (due to the connotation of “female” being the one that gives birth).. But they’re all so physically alike (all three variations have essentially the same genitalia, there are just a few functional differences where it can be used in 3 different ways) that the "female" really could easily be considered just a variation of “male” that happens to be able to carry children. Or even better, would be considered something different entirely, as for the most part, how sexes are conceptualized is dependent on the culture of Verrucalt* and it would be up to them to define it, rather than up to the gross scientists who like, inhumanely tested on them and partially genetically engineered them for years. 

 Though depending on where you are in the supernatural realm, there will be completely different assumptions or cultural implications of gender/sex everywhere you go, still a good 80% of cultures make the distinction of male and female in terms of biological sex, and 55% do in terms of gender (to varying degrees (like many include other genders besides just those two, etc) with wildly varying meanings depending on culture and area). Thus it is around in at least some form and, depending on the language of the area, is still culturally common as a way to refer to ones self and others (‘she’ or 'he’, etc.)).  

 So as a lone Verrucalt that is traveling, Yymy typically refers to herself as female within groups outside the Verrucalt, and recognizes that many scholars would typically refer to her rare space within verrucalt biology as 'female’  as well. Despite her culture's differing concepts of gender, she still mostly identifies that way which is why I refer to her as  female even if there’s a bit more context than that and it’s not biologically or culturally the same as most human female conceptualization would be. 

 * (Lone traveling verrucalt: Usually conform or adapt to refer to themselves as whatever is the closest match to the culture around them whilst they travel (as is the case for Yymy). This is something seen in many smaller or rare species who have differing concepts of gender than much of the world. Like for example, traveling Ythrili similarly will also usually go by whatever gendered terms people refer to them as when outside in the broader world, despite their own culture not really possessing the same biological or cultural ideas, just because it's usually easier for them to adapt to whatever outside culture they're in at the time, rather than have to explain themselves to everyone along travel routes and various cities (meaning in one city they may go by 'she' , in another city with varying norms they may be considered a 'he' , and in another city they'd be referred to as 'they' or something else entirely that's custom to the area). So anyway, adapting gender terms depending on location is common for travelers due to how widely varied the realm can be.   

Beach dwelling  verrucalt : Do not make a distinction in terms of physical sex at all and simply consider basically every verrucalt to be completely the same, it’s just that some of them have been ‘gifted an extra ability’ from the ‘good energies of the universe’ to help the species by bearing children.     

They do have a few sex related terms, but they're fairly literal and don't have much other implications. Like, they’re not attached to personal identity or any particular social or cultural connotations or outward appearance or etc. It's really just a way to refer to people who can have children, when in conversations about having children.  Also because 'gifted with the positive energy of the pleased nature spirits to be able to bear children' is the only standard they separate people with, this group doesn't even acknowledge the other biological variation they have, even though they could technically classify three, they only really see two since it's just 'same gender but with special powers' or 'no special powers' .      

Though they do actually seem to use some gendered speech, it's not meaningful in reference to anything and is thought to be more of a result of the language of ‘whatever species the Verrucalt originally were prior to modification and experimentation’ (which is currently unknown, and may never be known since all documents were burned and they are no longer very genetically similar to any known species), and then maybe a little of  them adapting their speaking labels and taking some things from the scientists’ language in an effort to better communicate with them while being held at the facility.  Analyzing how they use it in daily speech, it just seems like more of a leftover linguistic thing from the original Verrucalt who settled in the beach area, rather than something they actually developed or placed value on themselves. So it’s kind of more like, they have gendered language but not necessarily any meaningful concept of gender itself, especially not one rooted in ideas of biological sex, as they culturally consider everyone to be exactly the same in that regard.   

 It's kind of like if the words 'he' and 'she' became arbitrary in English and were used depending on the tone and mood of the sentence rather than the assumed gender/sex of the person you're speaking about. So the words are technically still There, as a leftover function, but don't have the same meaning. Like 'He went to the store' and 'she went to the store' would have exactly the same implication except maybe the first sentence marks a more relaxed tone and the second sentence implies more urgency or something.   

 Cave dwelling  group of the verrucalt: do have a distinction between all three biological variations, but find it only medically significant, as it has no bearing on one’s ability to do magic, and most personal identity in the cave group is heavily reliant on who you are as a magic user rather than physical traits. Though they are much more appearance oriented than the beach group and have makeup and ornaments and fancy clothes and etc., those are not seen as tied to or exclusive to biological traits and have more to do with your skin/hair color or stripe pattern (like in terms of what colors would suit you or what jewels would frame your facial features the best, etc.) (not that the different sexes really have hardly any physical variation anyway so even if their beauty standards varied across sex traits they would still be… like… basically the same lol)).    

So unlike the beach group, they do recognize three separate sexes, but as for gender, still have no real cultural concept of it as relating to or even vaguely based in concepts of sex, so they pretty much lack that as well. The most similar thing they have to how we use gender would probably be categorization of individual by their magical preferences, as in their particular variation of their language people in the group are referred to differently depending on what type of magic they do (similar to gendered pronouns but based in a few common ‘types’ of magic users) but this isn’t really tied to sex and they don’t have really any personal identifiers related to sex other than like, having words to describe the physical variations when necessary.   

 -

Some of this may have to do with them being artificially engineered and entirely removed from whatever their native culture (or cultures, since the scientists were thought to have mixed some other species genes in also)  was,  as they were kind of stripped of their background in the facility and after multiple evolutions and generations being killed off and created and etc, they basically were in a state where they were kind of a blank slate. Those that were able to get out of the facility really had no background of foundations to go off of, and as they all look almost identical and were treated identically in the facility (like just as a herd of animals or something, of course with nice activities to do and good clothes and food, but still in a pretty 'all of these test subjects are the same to us, interchangeable beings' type of way), it's understandable for them to have started their new societies with the base notion of "we're all the same, basically, fairly interchangeable", as there wasn't much in their past experiences to imply otherwise.   

-

-

 anyway theres som…. rambles about the concepts of gender and sex in verrucalt communities  and additional random info on , the idea of people who seek lost magic I guess ??? idk lol I was just thinking about ,, like,, other related things and thought vague elaboration would add, More Explanation, despite it probably being unnecessary

[ecfandom]

So I haven't seen much of 1OO S4 but I heard through the grape vine that a replica of the flame got destroyed and that Gaia, Indra’s daughter also ended up with one...idk I'm out of the loop) and all I can think of is that probably means there are a bunch of replica flames lying around. After all Lexa had one embossed on the hilt of her swords as we've seen. And what would be the purpose of having those made? Strategy, maybe? Maybe it's good to have fakes around so that if someone tried to steal it'd be fake. But I can't help but also think that maybe Lexa went around bestowing replicas of the flame to people she cared about. People under her protection. And I'm imagining that Gaia, Indras daughter had to have some experience with the flame to be interested in becoming a flame keeper later in life which apparently she is but like I said I havent seen the episodes. So anyways I'm thinking Lexa goes around with these replica flames...maybe even in secret when she's first becomes commander and is still young and mischievous. And I imagine that she and Indra were close. Like we knew they were close but this would mean they were even closer, almost familial. And Lexa had an affinity for Indra's daughter. About the same age, they probably grew up together. Imagine the three musketeers, Lexa, Costia and Gaia growing up TriKru together, always getting underfoot and climbing trees too tall for them and hunting things too big for them and just causing an overall ruckus. And then one day Lexa gets taken away to Polis to train and Gaia and Costia make secret treks to Polis in the night, giggling and racing each other through the forest in the moonlight to meet Lexa in the market in the morning. Under scrutiny now Lexa is a little more subdued, watching her friends with a gentle smile, standing back a little, as they wander through the markets trying on turquoise beaded necklaces and testing out hand crafted knifes. Being the better marksman of them all, they hand Lexa weapon after weapon to test and sometimes people gather to watch one of the coveted night blood exercise her skill out in public. Her friends clap and cheer them on until Titus breaks the crowd up and shoes them back home. But they always wander back and sometimes Luna, a night blood their age that Lexa promises is cool, joins them on their adventures. The four of them winding their way between the hoards of people gathered to shop and sell and trade. They grow up together like this, scraping together time and making the most of it. Until one day Costia and Gaia are racing each other through the woods, Costia in the lead when there’s a loud horn call and red smoke begins pouring out of the top of the tower. Costia stops dead in her tracks, Gaia nearly running into her back. They stand their staring, Costia beginning to cry, Gaia clenching her jaw like she's seen their older, stoic friend do in times of strife, gathering strength from the copied mannerism. They can't bring themselves to go to the conclave, instead hovering in the tree line that borders Polis. Waiting, waiting, waiting. It feels like forever by the time word reaches them that Lexa Kom Trikru is their new commander, wise and powerful and courageous. Gaia and Costia probably collapse against each other in relief before they remember what that must mean for their dear friend Luna. One life for another, it's better than nothing. Their trips to Polis become less frequent as Lexa grows busier, but they have their moments. Sometimes Gaia hangs back, let's Costia run ahead, and when she eventually breaks through the tree line she spots them, the great commander and Costia, wrapped around each other like school children. All she can do is chuckle and look away while the commander finishes kissing Costia. And then she is all over them, dropping down from a tree and scaring them both into a fit of laughter. And then one day Lexa stops meeting them. Costia grows anxious and fidgety but when questioned she just shakes her head. "Things are brewing" is what she says when Gaia pins her to the earth floor one afternoon and demands to hear whatever glimmers of information Costia has benefited from hearing due to her closeness to Lexa. "War," Lexa tells them solemnly one day under a tree, eyes painted black, shoulder guard in place. "Stay close to home. Do not come to Polis anymore." Then she pulls something out of her pocket and bestows it on the two of them. The friends' eyes widen as they look down at the flames in their palms. "You are under my protection now," Lexa tells them with a sad smile. She grasps their forearms one by one. "Ste yuj." Within weeks there is massacre everywhere. The clans feud among themselves with no mercy and there are rumors that the commander has been slain. As Gaia holds a weeping Costia at night she stares down at her flame and vows that if Lexa makes it, she will dedicate her life to becoming a flame keeper. Lexa rises out of the ashes, triumphant and stained red. They call her Commander of the Blood, the strongest Heda they've ever known. Gaia visits Polis one more time, Costia in tow. She tells Lexa of her deal she made with the Gods and bids her one last farewell before she sends away for fleimkepa training. A year passes, maybe two. She doesn't visit, can't, but she keeps up with news from home as best she can. She hears of the problems up north. The growing insurgence of the Azgeda but every time she hears of this it is followed up with news of the commanders triumphs over them again and again. Until it isn't. She visits for the first time in several years and the guards lead her straight up to the commanders room. She's been asked for. When she opens the double doors she doesn't know what she's expecting. They echo when they close and then she is rushing to the bed, wrapping her arms around a weeping Lexa, distraught and lost and so very small. Gaia hold her until she falls asleep. She helps bathe her the next day, helps clothe her and read through reports lexa is too tired to read through. When she finally has to go back to her training at the end of the week she takes the box with her. Steeling herself, she opens the box and heartbreak follows. Next to the matted hair and the soft round cheek she used to kiss in play now littered with scars and bruises sits Costia's flame. Gaia runs back to Lexa's room and slides it into Lexa's hand against her shaking head and watering eyes. "You can still keep her safe," she whispers and Lexa takes it with shaking fingers. Later Gaia hears of how The commander defeats the azgeda natronas with nothing but two swords powered by the flame. She has stumbled into floudonkru land and reunited with Luna when she hears of the star that falls to the earth with people inside. Violence breaks out again and its like before the coalition. She thinks about Lexa everyday but she can't get back, not with jus drein jus daun wreaking havoc everywhere. So she stays with Luna and she hears tales of Wanheda with eyes like the sky and hair like the sun. And when that devastating day comes and the horns sound and the red smoke rises in the sky, Heda Leksa Kom Trikru's gonplei ste odon, she vows to keep her promise and protect the flame. After fighting her way back to Polis she finds it around the neck of a girl with devestation in her blue eyes and memoriam braids weaved into her hair. "Wanheda," she greets. Clarke stares at the flame around Gaia's neck. "You were her friend?" Gaia nods. "And you? Commander of Death? Were you her friend?" Clarke wraps her hand around the flame against her chest. "I loved her." Gaia eyes her carefully. She sees Lexa's soft, quiet smile as they wander through the markets. Sees Costias blush as she recounts their first kiss in hushed giggles whispered into the dark. She stares at Clarke and then she nods. "She loved you too." "How do you know?" Gaia smiles, taps on the flame. "Because you have that."