( people didn't go around praying to wanheda, they prayed to never meet her. some hoped and wished she'd fall dead, plenty more wanted to kill her — it was a cultural belief among the grounders, you kill someone and absorb their power. no one ever uttered her title with reverence, just a healthy mix of disgust, fear, and a select few managed to turn the word into the metaphorical manifestation of a knife to bury in her heart.
i've heard what they call you now.
alright wanheda, savior of us all. but maybe you forgot the last time you were saving us, i was saving you!
you are so out of your league...
clarke buttons her lips. jaw set, teeth grinding. thoughtlessly, a minor mirror as venti reaches to touch his neck, she brings a hand up to cover her mouth. one more blockade against inadvertent admissions, a mild attempt to crush the newest thing that's managed to betray her — her own tongue. then he's suggesting they go inside, and absently she nods in agreement. today's episode in fitness has come to an end, she's cold once the sweat starts to dry and heat just continues streaming from her body in vaporous tendrils. clarke will even lead the charge towards the elevator that will bring them under cover from the (treacherous, evil) rain and down towards warmer, more populated levels of the ship.
and the second the descent starts — )
Please don't ever call me that. ( honest enough imploring, though escaping the rain doesn't lift the curse. this one hour time limit really is going to throw a wrench in the works of figuring out how to avoid horribly uncomfortable conversations like this, and until they do, more truths will slip through the cracks. this time at least, it's only a painfully honest showcase of self loathing. ) I hate it. I hate it so much, and everything I did to earn it.
no subject
i've heard what they call you now.
alright wanheda, savior of us all. but maybe you forgot the last time you were saving us, i was saving you!
you are so out of your league...
clarke buttons her lips. jaw set, teeth grinding. thoughtlessly, a minor mirror as venti reaches to touch his neck, she brings a hand up to cover her mouth. one more blockade against inadvertent admissions, a mild attempt to crush the newest thing that's managed to betray her — her own tongue. then he's suggesting they go inside, and absently she nods in agreement. today's episode in fitness has come to an end, she's cold once the sweat starts to dry and heat just continues streaming from her body in vaporous tendrils. clarke will even lead the charge towards the elevator that will bring them under cover from the (treacherous, evil) rain and down towards warmer, more populated levels of the ship.
and the second the descent starts — )
Please don't ever call me that. ( honest enough imploring, though escaping the rain doesn't lift the curse. this one hour time limit really is going to throw a wrench in the works of figuring out how to avoid horribly uncomfortable conversations like this, and until they do, more truths will slip through the cracks. this time at least, it's only a painfully honest showcase of self loathing. ) I hate it. I hate it so much, and everything I did to earn it.