#dttw

Noel said he wrote the first verses of dttw in Argentina (and he crafts a very imaginative story about it considering that Liam was also famous for changing the lyrics of his songs 🙃) and at the time of the interview, the last time NGHFB visited Argentina was in November 2018.

Source for the quote

Clarke’s grip tightens so abruptly, the glass in her hand cracks ominously. Shit. Loosening it carefully, Clarke swallows around the obstruction in her throat and levels a forced smile she’s sure is far too sharp at the corners on the woman. The old lady stares back, eyes twinkling.

“I wouldn’t say it’s at that stage,” Clarke says; she’s trying so hard to keep her bite out of her voice that it careens the other way instead, airy and breathless. Revolting. It makes her sound exactly like the woman is implying.

The woman chuckles, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a measured sip before lowering it and suggesting, “It will be soon, then. I’m familiar with these things. Lots of grandkids, you know.”

“We’ve only been dating for a few months,” Clarke says dismissively. The liquor burns its way down her throat.

“The older you get, the more you realize time doesn’t matter much.”

Clarke blinks. She looks at the woman, and decides to take a moment to indulge herself.

She imagines how those fragile old bones would snap and splinter under her fists. It would certainly wipe that knowing smile off that withered face.

Clarke has never envisioned herself living particularly long. For most of her life now, when she imagines the future, there’s nothing but blood and ash. Vengeance; anything that comes after is irrelevant, a blurry gray that doesn’t matter. She can’t even imagine herself as an old woman.

It’s something she’s long known isn’t meant for her. A special handful of Others left a lasting impact on the world. Her father was one of them. Going on two decades since his death, Arkadia was remembered fondly, worshiped by the people, plastic stars still strewn through the city, plastered on windows in remembrance. Even Spacewalker was remembered, despite how brief Finn’s run had been; he was still celebrated every year.

For the rest of the Others, they appeared like shooting stars; here to momentarily burn their way through the atmosphere, and then disappear forever, leaving nothing behind but an empty black void.

It takes her a moment to return from her reverie. When she does, she registers the smile on the woman’s wrinkled face, watching her as if Clarke was lost in thought over her supposed love for Alexandria Woodward, Polis’ darling, the most coveted woman among Polis’ top ten bachelorettes, the charity princess who donated so much she single-handedly brought Polis’ homelessness down to zero.

Clarke hates her. And this ancient cunt who thinks she knows everything.

She’s just started to consider all the ways she could kill her and make it look like an accident when a soft hand lands on the small of her back and makes her jump; another hand gently encircles her wrist to keep the wine from sloshing over the rim of her glass. Before Clarke can process anything else, warm, full lips press against her own. Her eyes shut and she leans into it automatically, all the air leaving her lungs.

“I wondered where you disappeared to,” Lexa murmurs as she draws back. Clarke finds herself leaning forward to chase her lips, and the moment she realizes, she blinks and pulls back. Lexa has that typical expression she wears sometimes, both as Alexandria Woodward and the Commander. An face that could almost be considered blank, were it not for the amusement dancing in her grey eyes and hidden in the slightest uptick to one corner of her full lips. She inclines her head toward the old woman in lieu of a glance. “Mind if I steal her away?”

She doesn’t wait for a response, smoothly pulling Clarke towards the dance floor, but the old woman still calls to them, “Enjoy your evening, girls.”

Clarke can tell, by the way Lexa ducks her head, that she’s hiding a smirk. Clarke rolls her eyes as she turns to face her when they reach the center of the dance floor.

“Shut up,” Clarke grumbles, even as she languidly leans into Lexa’s body, stretching her arms around her neck and drawing close enough their chests press together. She can tell by the way Lexa’s tongue darts out to wet her lips that it hasn’t gone unappreciated.

“For the record, I’m definitely not in love with you,” Lexa drawls, staring apathetically at the couple dancing next to them. Of course she’d heard their conversation. Probably from across the room. “I’ve only just approached the threshold of being able to tolerate your presence without trying to kill you.”

Despite herself, Clarke’s lips curl up on one side. “The feeling is mutual, though I’m sure my tolerance isn’t nearly as generous as yours.”

“I surmised as much after you stabbed me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes again, as Lexa spins her. “But did you die? Get over it.”

“I said I’ve managed to stop trying to kill you. I said nothing about not wanting to.”

“Neither did I. I don’t know if I’ve ever spent a moment around you not wanting to kill you.”

Lexa’s next spin curls Clarke into her arms, back pressed to front, where Lexa can murmur into her ear, “Or wanting me in some other capacity.”

—

Hey check it out! I posted a chapter for the first time in months. Anyway, first of all of my updates because I promised I would write one for each long fic. Thanks again for 500 follows ilysm 💞💞

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49106659/chapters/168591319

The review is in:

(From my beta love you bee)

Final product:

Thank you so much! 🥹🥹🥹