#wondertwinc

[call-him-benjamin]

Jorah/Dany & Daryl/Carol || heart beat here [+WTC]

[blacksiren]

I'm Killer Frost.

[ofhouseadama]

“Don’t be an ass.” + Roarke please.

He might be less infuriated, if he couldn’t understand her motivations, if he did not understand his place in them. Memory is a distorted looking glass, but he remembers the morning of the Conclave, Clarke’s last aborted attempt at an alliance, at salvaging the Ogeda before its survival was left to fate and the untrained hands of the Skairipa. 

Five years is a long time to think, and Roan has wondered many times what might have happened, had he agreed to the alliance then, in the courtyard, holding her stare. 

But he’s holding her stare now, in the bed of the cabin where he found her, weeks after the bunker door opened. Up in the mountains, with a family of wolves to keep her company. Half-wild, half-tamed, growing vegetables in her garden and hunting with four-legged companions, lifting her voice to sing with them in the moonlight. She is no one now, not the Wanheda, not even Clarke Griffin -- but a woman who lived five years alone, carved out a hard existence with her own two hands. Names, he knows, are just things we give to other people. 

On his trips -- as often as he excuse them, always alone -- he gives her hearty stew, fresh bread and butter, liquor from the bunker’s still. She inhales it, and he remembers what it’s like to go hungry. 

He steals the bread from her plate one night, watching her eat, and her hand claps around his wrist before he can see her move. They both startle, and he laughs, dropping the thieved sourdough. Her face shudders, then opens again at his near-laugh, her lips curling into a canine grin. 

“Don’t be an ass,” she chides him. 

Come back to Polis with me, he wants to say, because he infuriates himself, because her people do not need her but he might. Come to Azgeda with me, to explore the ruins of his childhood, the settlement that will spring up in time. But he is merely yet another who shaped her into poleaxe she became, the ruthless girl who stepped over the bodies of hundreds to save thousands more. 

She is at peace. Or something close. 

“You never ask me to leave with you,” she says, tracing the line of his cheekbone with the backs of her fingers. 

“You never ask me to stay.”

Pausing, she worries the pad of her thumb under his chin. “Your place is among your people. Mine -- is not.” 

“Five years of solicitude is enough penance.” Fingers curling in the golden waves of her hair, he pulls their faces close. “There are worse sins than a crisis of faith. Besides, Pakstokodia, when has anyone ever apologized for making you who you are?” 

Her brow furrows. “Wolfheart?”  

“You yearn for your place in the pack, to defend it,” he explains. “I know who you are. And I am sorry, for the Conclave. For everything that led up to it, that was within my control. It was... a zero sum. In the end. One that left me half-dead in a fountain, crawling out of the black rain and trying to hold my insides together with one hand.” 

“I deserved this,” she whispers. 

“Any of us did.” 

Her bed is worthy harbor for their broken souls, fragmented and splintered as they are. Laying next to her, he can almost believe that they will never have to sacrifice their humanity again. One of his hands anchors to her hip, calloused fingertips wandering lightly over warm bare skin. Under the furs, none of the world’s problems can reach them -- the cabin is now as much his escape as hers. 

There are the new clans, and the old, tension lines revealing themselves as they begin to reclaim the Earth. Roan is thirty-four, and so, so tired. 

“I didn’t think that kings apologized.” Her palm flattens over his heart. 

He is not a king here, not in bed with her, he could say. Instead, he brings their mouths to meeting, traces her bottom lip with his tongue. 

When she reaches climax her voice joins the wolfsong outside. 

In the morning, he leaves, like he always does. He must return to his people, to the battle lines being drawn. He does not ask to leave, like he never does. Instead he lingers on the uneven front steps, turning to her as he fastens his cloak. Nuclear winter is biting, and unyielding, but he is an Ice King and he will never let the cold show. 

Clarke appears in the doorway, wrapped in flannel and one of his furs.

“Will you come back?” she asks, as if she does not know the answer.

But it is a question, and a start. His lips quirk into a smirk. 

“Don’t be an ass,” she chides him, padding barefoot to him, to brush one last kiss against his lips. She presses a piece of paper into his hands. “Give this to my mom, tell her I’m thinking of her.” 

“I’m a king, not a messenger boy,” he teases her, in a tone of voice that no one else would know was teasing. He readies his horse for the hours-long ride back down south. 

She bares her teeth, smiling. “But I’m your Wolfheart.” 

“Mine?”

Stepping into the snow, she does not flinch. Like an Azplana. But he has not given her that name. 

“Come back,” she orders him. 

So he will. 

[soverymediaaddicted]

“ I’ve liked you for awhile now. ” + one of our otps?

Twin I’m harkening waaaay back to Rizzles for this.

Maura could feel someone staring at her. After a moment she looked from her book with a smile. “Jane..?” she asked after a moment when Jane just continued to stand in the doorway.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” Jane said finally, leaning heavily on the door, happy just to be near Maura.

Maura could feel her face twitching into a smile. “I would hope so, Jane. Or this is very poor timing.” She patted the coverlet and smiled as Jane fell heavily on the bed. “How was the bachelorette party?”

[pitchsecretadmirers]

this desert life

Happy happy Valentine’s Day, @wondertwinc!

Summary: “Well, it’s not quite a fishbowl. More like an aquarium.”

Ginny, Livan, and Blip spend spring training at Mike's Arizona house. There's a pool. And lots of flirting and near-misses. Eventually, Mike and Ginny have to figure out what's going on between them, right?

Rating: Teen Word Count: 7590 Additional Tags: Spring Training, Post-Season One, Slow Burn

Click to read

[habibialkaysani]

mina's tumblr crushes:

@blacksiren 

@starklinqs

@longjohnsilvcr

@wondertwinc

@wayneskent

@nyssalghul

@felicityollies

@canariesatom

@karasunovolleygays

[blacksiren]

“I love you.”

[blacksiren]

“You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I’m not sure what peace is supposed to feel like but I think it may feel a lot like you.”