#lexa had a fire simmering in her at all times

[puthyflapps]

Has Clarke ever walked in on fuck boy Lexa getting sucked off by some girl the locker room or at a party? (Let's say Clarke has been in a relationship since before meeting Lexa in this scenario so while she's been interested she hasn't ended her relationship for this fuck boy)

Well the gag is, the two of them have been best friends since they were in diapers and they’ve also been in love with each other for as long as they can remember. The issue is that neither of them have ever been brave enough to fully cross that line; afraid of rejection and/or ruining the friendship they share. As the pair grew older they each dealt with this simmering tension in their own way. Lexa threw herself head first into the hormone filled waters of the high school social scene whereas Clarke chose what she perceived to be a much simpler path…flat out denial.

So to answer your question, has Clarke ever walked in on Lexa and another girl, the answer is an easy and resounding yes. The unfortunate part is that it’s happened several times and each time Clarke has accidentally walked in on some girl down on her knees between Lexa’s legs or caught sight of an explicit text message flashing across Lexa’s phone screen, it’s come at the worst time possible. Every time Clarke finds herself thinking that she might finally take a chance on the girl she’s loved her entire life along comes a painful reminder that Lexa would never give up her extracurricular activities to be with one girl.

And poor, idiot Lexa who’s convinced herself that if she can’t have the one girl she truly wants most in this world then the next best thing is to simply have every girl, is so oblivious to this trail of chaos she leaves in her wake. The most egregious example being the night of Octavia’s 18th birthday party when unbeknownst to Lexa, Clarke had walked in on her and on-again-off-again girlfriend Costia getting reacquainted in the Blake’s pool house.

Clarke wasn’t entirely sure what about that night felt so different or why she had the sudden urge to abandon this cat and mouse game and just admit to being hopelessly, stupidly head over heels for the girl. Maybe it was the endearing way that Lexa ignored protests from the other players as she consistently rigged games of beer pong in Clarke’s favor by knocking in her wayward shots and gifting her the ball back time after time, blatantly ignoring the 2-shots-per-turn rule. Perhaps it was the goofy way Lexa had shouted across the party for Clarke to ‘watch!’ as she did a backflip into the pool. Maybe it was the sweet way Lexa smiled at Clarke while they slow danced that night; not caring one bit that Clarke spent the whole time rambling on about some book she’d been reading while stepping all over Lexa’s toes as she struggled to find her rhythm.

It was hard to say what moment had finally tipped Clarke over the precipice but, whatever it was it had surely left her with a fire in her belly and an urge to find Lexa immediately. So she set off in search of the girl, slinking expertly through the crowd of sweaty bodies and pausing only momentarily to ask the birthday girl which way she’d seen Lexa go. In hindsight, when the words “pool house” rolled off of Octavia’s lips, Clarke should’ve known what she was about to bear witness to. But, she was high off the feeling of young love and her brain was dulled from the abhorrent amount of cheap beer she’d had to drink that night so she thought nothing more of it.

And ya know, the worst part wasn’t opening the door to find Costia’s lips wrapped around Lexa’s length. It wasn’t the way Lexa’s own lips parted in pleasure as her cheeks flushed an annoyingly sexy shade of pink. Nor was it the way Lexa grunted and moaned in pleasure before telling the girl servicing her that she “missed this” and “missed her”. No, the worst, most heartbreaking part of it all was the way Lexa lied straight to her face later that night when Clarke asked where she had disappeared to earlier. Yeah, the way Lexa’s eyes had subtlety grown wide in shock at the sudden inquisition, and the way her cheeks tinged that stupid shade of pink again as she stuttered her way through some half assed excuse about catching up with a few friends, that fucking hurt.

It hurt so much because she couldn’t even tell her best friend about the girl who broke her heart at some stupid birthday party.

[stomp-that-ho-regard]

I saw one of your old posts about C/lexa shippers latching onto Yasha and BOY IS IT TRUE. Looking back Lexa had very little personality besides ruthless leader but fandom!Lexa was secretly soft and loved candles and flowers. It feels like fandom just latched onto her as a new chance at Lexa and didn't care that she was essentially just a different shell with some equally problematic cultural appropriation.

Slow your roll there, anon. We do not shit-talk Lexa in this house. 

While I do agree with you that fanon Lexa was indeed softer than canon Lexa, she did have soft moments in the show. Did fandom take that idea and exaggerate it? Absolutely, yes. But they didn’t pull it out of their asses. Which is NOT the case with the Yasha situation.

Also, can we (by ‘we’ I mean fandom in general) please learn the difference between ‘no personality’ and stoicism? 

Something that’s always pissed me off is how stoic male characters are consistently lauded and fawned over, and stoic female characters (which are already rare) are described as ‘having no personality’ or ‘having one facial expression’. Which simply isn’t true in most cases, and certainly isn’t in this one. ADC played Lexa beautifully and showcased plenty of emotion while staying true to Lexa’s grim and strict warrior upbringing. I really think that in anyone else’s hands, the character would’ve either completely fallen flat, or would’ve been so overacted that it became theatrical and cringey.

Lexa was stoic, pragmatic, and a leader. Yasha was none of those things, which is why I was confused by the comparisons. She was socially awkward and... that’s it. Which was clearly meant to be a charming trait, but didn’t really land with people who didn’t already have Yasha tunnel vision. And it didn’t land because it didn’t stem from Yasha’s backstory, it stemmed from Ashley. She’s awkward and goofy and in turn it seeps into her RP, even when it makes no sense for the character.

Maybe some people did see her as ‘a new chance at Lexa’, but that’s hard for me believe considering that the obsession started the second her official art was released. At that time, we still didn’t know much about Yasha. Same with all of the characters. They were literally just going off of her introduction and a portrait.

On The 1/00, we learned about Lexa’s view of the world and of herself. The pain she was still feeling from Costia’s death. How she trained the Nightbloods, and was essentially a mother figure for them. That despite her being capable of ruthlessness, she truly wanted peace for her people, and was trying her hardest to get the clans to quit warring with each other by forming The Coalition. For the extremely short amount of time we had her (just 16 episodes), we were given a whole fucking feast of a character. There’s a reason the Guest Star™ outshined the mains. (In addition to that, she just happened to be god damned beautiful too.)

Yasha however, largely remained an enigma for the better part of a 141 episode campaign. So I can’t agree with you about Yasha being ‘essentially just a different shell’ of Lexa. Unlike Lexa, the main reason people fell for Yasha was her looks, because they literally didn’t have much else to fall for.

These are two wildly different characters with two wildly different fan situations.

So no more comparisons, please and thank you.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Ice and Fire II

MORE GoT!

Previously on Ice and Fire

1. Dany

The memorial was a farce, but still, she bore it for her people. Dressed in black and head held high, Dany knew that on the other side of the sea, the proper steps were being taken to immortalize her husband. Back in his home, the death of the Khal would be celebrated for weeks, would go on until the next came, and she could do nothing, could never go back because it would mean her induction into the hall of widows.

And so she lost not just her husband, but her home as well. She mourned both equally as the empty pyre burned without the body while her daughter stood beside her and watched in much the same way.

When the day was done, when all that was left was smoke and ash, Dany finally turned to her daughter who remained beside her to the very end, even after dismissing the rest of the group who joined the wake.

“I know you’re angry.” To her credit, Lexa didn’t flinch, just grit her teeth and look down before staring back at the embers that still glowed. “But you were not born to lead the Khalasar.”

“That is exactly was I was born to do,” she disagreed, a slight snarl to her words that Dany could picture only her husband. The dark paint hung heavy over her daughter’s eyes, made them burn brighter. “If I’m not there to challenge for it, it will be gone from my father’s blood, from his father’s blood.”

“You were born for the Iron Throne. That is your blood.”

“That’s yours,” Lexa growled, jaw clenching.

“You’ll understand--”

“One day. Yes, I am aware. I await that day eagerly.”

“Your father gave--”

“I know!” Lexa snapped again, eyes flashing wrath upon her mother. “I know what he gave. I know for what.”

With the words hanging in the air, her daughter turned on her heel and stalked away. Dany flinched just once before turning back to the scene before her. Alone with herself and the sea and the smoke, she wiped her cheek, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

2. Clarke

The word came that a meeting would be necessary, that the return of a Lannister to the halls of Casterly Rock was so farfetched a notion that those possessing it could not believe it enough to leave first. And it boiled Clarke’s blood, despite the fact that she was not certain what to expect. But it was simple enough. She would go and make her claim, and that would be enough. All too soon, she felt the weight of her name in her bones, as if it had been awoken with proximity and power, like a siren’s call, a devious drug. She wanted to be the goodness her uncle spoke of being. That was all the honor she felt.

There was still much to be done, and so she doubled her efforts to learn everything she could from her uncle, made plans, sent ravens to the families she would meet on her trip, when she reached her lands. The plans were made and drawn up for their departure in a few months, but the death of the Khal delayed them indefinitely, as the Hand was required.

There was a rain that fell as Clarke found herself thinking of such things. She tucked herself in the small upstairs of the old building the horses used as a barn. The roof bowed and leaked in spots, but it was hidden in the woods, and it was quiet, and it was a place she could sit and draw and try to think, to decompress, to free herself from the swirling thoughts and overwhelming pressure that she placed upon herself to live up to names she only read about in books.

“Your uncle was looking for you,” Lexa’s voice appeared as she climbed to the loft. She saw the candle flickering in the storm and followed it, like a lighthouse’s beams, despite her own duties, despite her own worries and thoughts.

“I told him I would be back after dinner.”

“Normally I am the broody one who climbs things and sulks.” She took a seat down beside the girl and her book.

“I’m not sulking.”

“Do I get to see?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for days.”

It was accusatory, and rightly so, as Lexa deserved the wrath that she knew would come if she ever gave into her own temptation. She was smart enough to look out at the fields and at the horses standing down by the pond, flicking their coats in the rain. If she looked at the girl beside her, she’d be done, and she knew it.

“I’ve had a lot to finish.”

“Is that it?”

“What else could it be?” she smiled softly and took the open book, finally working up the courage to look through it when Clarke gave no complaint.

“Yes,” Clarke hummed. “What else.”

Under the words, Lexa’s ears burned, but she did not look up. Instead, she just played with the corner of a page and admired the artwork in the book, encompassing almost everything. Quietly, she listened to the rain and turned the pages, passing countrysides she did not recognize and castles that she did. People she might never know and faces that seemed to haunt her appeared. The horses appeared, making her smile, each with their own personality.

Clarke was too anxious to look at the princess’ face, but she couldn’t stop herself from sneaking a peak and instantly regretting it. The awe that spread there was unexpected and made her even more nervous. Lilac eyes lingered on each line of her work. Those eyes were normally so powerful and stern, now were amused and surprised, were delighted and simmering almost warm and more welcoming. Lexa couldn’t know, Clarke decided, there was no way that she could know what multitudes her eyes betrayed.

“That’s my mother,” Lexa whispered, cocking her head slightly at the image of the woman on the menacing throne followed by another where she was simply walking through the garden. “You should paint her. She would love that.”

“She has official portraits.”

“Still,” she nodded, becoming serious. “You capture people who are real.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that me?”

“Yes.”

Lexa ran her fingertips along her brow on the page, along the slope of her jaw.

“Do I look so serious all of the time?”

“Sometimes. When you’re there, when you’re not alone with me. When you are, you look like this,” Clarke promised, turning the page, revealing a small smile and happier eyes.

Again, Lexa was quiet. Her lips clocked half way and stayed there, grateful she was not so serious as previously thought. She liked to see herself through Clarke’s eyes. It was refreshing, just as it was to see the parts of the castle she captured, and the way her uncle was somehow a great man, esteemed and full of pride in Clarke’s rendition. Just like her mother looked wise and gracious and kind. Just like the horses looked unique, and the world was full of joy and sorrow and fear and safety. It was all so personal.

And then she turned the page and froze, her hand hesitating before tracing the spine of the book.

“You never met him,” she whispered.

“I just took what you said and tried to imagine it. Was I close?”

“Very,” Lexa nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe you might like to have something.”

“The dead are gone, Clarke.”

“I know,” she nodded quickly. “Believe me, I know.”

She watched Lexa flip the page once more to a brief sketch she made of her own mother based off of what she could gather and the one portrait she saw when she was a child and visiting Tarth. Her father was on the other side, or at least who she thought he would be. Quickly, Lexa turned back and came face to face with her ghost.

“You were close,” she mutters. “Would you... if I told you could you try again?”

“Of course. If you would like.”

Once more, Lexa peaked at Clarke’s parents, the myth of the war. She squinted and tilted her head.

“Your father had a much more square jaw. Like yours.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw a painting once. I can show you, if you’d like. The maesters keep all kinds of stuff locked up in the basement.”

“I don’t know if my uncle would like that very much.”

“It’s for you to decide.”

“Let me fix your drawing,” Clarke ignored the option while it weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

She assumed that she might come face to face with her father at Casterly Rock, if there was anything left of him. She even found herself looking through the Hand’s book one evening just to find his page nearly empty minus the word ‘traitor’ scrawled neatly on the lines.

The rain kept coming, dripping from the roof as Clarke found herself leaning against one side of the open loft with Lexa across from her, lazing and interested in the work happening on the page.

“What parts did I get right?” the artist asked, hoping to keep all thoughts strictly on the page.

“The eyes,” Lexa nodded. “They could be severe, and intimidating, which is what you have. And the jaw. It is close.”

“Okay. I can work from there.”

“I don’t think we have anything with his face on it.”

“I thought so.”

At the edge of the field, the horses appeared, shaking wet manes and tugging up grass at the roots. Lexa watched them in the grey day and did nothing else except sigh. For a moment, even here, even with Clarke, even at ease, she yearned for her home, yearned for the Grass Sea and that life, ached to be somewhere understood and not so severe and cold and rigid.

Clarke worked on her sketch, re-working it as best she could, careful not to interrupt the brooding. She took extra care to try to find the lost, thoughtfulness that the princess held to herself. She took extra care to draw out each moment as long as she could, because this was a gift, and they might never have this together again.

“It’s not far off,” Lexa finally nodded, holding the paper that Clarke tugged out of the book. Reverently, she cradled it in her hands and took in every inch of it.

“We should head back soon,” Clarke murmured, closing her book and setting it aside.

She did not move again, did not want to do anything else. The rain reminded her of home, of the fogs that would stick around the island and make it impossible to walk three feet without bumping into things, so that the whole world felt far away and she could be alone in the middle of everything.

This rain, this storm, this old barn, it was the fog and she was safe from everything, just for a little while. When she moved, it would disappear, and the only person who understood what it was like to have an entire life to grow into before being born, sat beside her and looked just as lost.

When they went back, Lexa would not look like that, and Clarke would miss it.

3. Tyrion

With no reason to leave the palace again, the Queen kept everyone busy at home. The days were long and busy, while the clouds took their time, not noticing at all how full of life the years of prosperity had made the land. A line of visitors came and went, asking favor, offering their apologies for the loss of the kingdom, and the Hand of the Queen found himself busy with managing the operation, preventing fires, and helping to reclaim his name and home.

He sighed as he moved through the corridor, pausing only to rub his sore knee from all of the chasing around of the day.

After the death of the khal, he never realized that his life would get even busier. He expected a bit of mourning and rest, though he should have known better from his patron. In all of their time together, Tyrion knew that Daenerys couldn’t stop. She was physically incapable of stopping for any amount of time, and he beat himself up for not seeing it sooner.

What he allowed himself to realize, however, as he made his way toward the gardens, was that now they were in a time of funerals. It was a time in which people would die of old age or accidents, but rarely because of clashes or battles. While they once existed when every day was the precipice of their last moments, now, they were stuck realizing that people could die, even during times of peace.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” a soldier greeted the Hand with a solemn bow.

“Have you seen my niece?”

“I saw her with the princess earlier.”

“Any idea where they might have gone?” he asked, growing slightly annoyed.

“No, sir.”

The friendship of the two might have been the biggest godsend since the appearance of dragons. No other politically motivated event held as much weight as the next generation building attachments and loyalties amidst a history of turmoil. Tyrion knew it best of all, and though he hadn’t broached the subject of marriage with his niece, he knew that it would be discussed shortly. Possibly someone from a smaller house closer to Casterly Rock. Perhaps someone from the North.

The King in the North was already on his way to his new dynasty after meeting someone from a smaller house, and it only increased the loyalty of his people. The Starks of Bear Island and an impressive brood of four, while the new Starks of Riverrun, comprised most notably of his once wife, had three. The next generations of their world were being born across the land, and the new connections would be vital to avoid future squabbles.

Though he knew history was damned to repeat itself, he hoped to be long dead before another run of war.

“Why are you still standing here?” he snapped at the guard who hopped to attention and looked around before quickly moving in the opposite direction.

Pondering too many things and moving pieces, he continued his hunt.

Weaving through the bushes and blooming flowers, the Hand strained his ears to hear the newly familiar laughter of his niece. Over the past few months, he’d grown used to having her around. It wasn’t hard to show her off, to parade her around, much to her annoyance that she bore with a good-natured smile. And it wasn’t hard to have someone worry about him, bring him tea in the evenings, show him her sketches of the day, take down his words as he kept working on his book of history.

It wasn’t hard to want to have family around, he realized, in his old age. He wanted a family, and for some reason never really took the time to notice.

Somewhere in the middle of his remembering, Tyrion heard the familiar laughter of the only other Lannister in existence, and he smiled to himself at the sound, something he was learning to savor and hold.

“He was quite handsome, wasn’t he?” Clarke asked.

“He wasn’t terrible looking, at least from a painting,” the princess responded. “I don’t think he’s the best looking Lannister though.”

“Oh yeah? Would you say it’s my uncle?”

“I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

There was an honesty in the words that made Tyrion pause and grow worried. He didn’t have to, but he turned the corner and saw Clarke blush at the revelation, the two paused after slipping through a normally locked door from the basement, hidden near the lemon trees.

“Thank you for showing me. It was… It was everything.”

“Maybe you’ll paint a better one. I still think you should illustrate the Hand’s book for him. The epic of our history deserves beautiful pictures.”

“I’m not that good.”

“You’re spectacular.”

“Are you going to counter everything I saw with that golden tongue?” Clarke accused.

“Hopefully.”

As they made their way around the edge of the fence and back into the normalcy of the day, Tyrion cleared his throat and made it as if he was just walking through the garden.

“Uncle!” Clarke smiled, warm as ever. “How are you? Were you looking for me?”

“I was on a walk. The doctor prescribed them to me from time to time,” he grinned and bowed to the princess. “I see you two are getting on thick as thieves.”

“I’m showing Clarke all of my hiding spaces of when I was a child,” Lexa offered, returning his bow.

“A tour unlike any other. I once found you asleep in a closet behind a broom,” he remembered with a chuckle. “Walk with me a bit.”

Clarke smiled and accepted with a nod, while Lexa offered her arm to accompany them. The Hand saw it all and wondered what was to come next. Just as he was sure there was a stability to be reached and upheld, he could see that it was tenuous at best.

“Lexa was kind enough to show me the towers. I liked the view.”

“And what were you looking at last?”

“I took Clarke to the archives,” Lexa supplied, seeing how much Clarke didn’t want to admit it. The truth might hurt too much coming from her. “She wanted to see her father’s portrait.”

“We have a much better one at Casterly Rock,” Tyrion supplied. “It was done when he was just a little older than you, before the first War.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“You will.”

“When are you planning on heading back?” Lexa asked.

“After the wedding,” he nodded. “We have a long journey north, and then we’ll head to the coast.”

“I haven’t been to the north yet,” the princess realized. “I’m excited most to see the pretty lands Clarke has described.”

“Not your Uncle Jon?”

“Him too, I guess,” she smiled as the party paused. “I will let you two continue your walk. I think I have some things to attend to.”

“Thank you for taking me,” Clarke offered.

“Good afternoon, your highness,” Tyrion bowed his head again.

With a smile unusual to her lips, the princess departed the small family, leaving the two Lannisters watching her graceful movements.

“Please don’t,” Clarke sighed as soon as they started off again.

“I wasn’t,” Tyrion offered, grinning to himself at how clever she was. Sometimes it wasn’t hard to remember that she was part of his bloodline.

“There’s nothing happening.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

They walked toward the seawall and smelled the breeze as it ruffled their hair and twisted up branches from the pavilion. Tyrion weighed his words, made even more difficult now that he learned there was something to worry about.

“You’re a smart girl,” he patted her hand. “I don’t think I have to say anything.”

He chanced a look to watch Clarke clench her jaw as blue eyes stared out at a bluer sea. Sometimes she looked so much like his brother that he didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Sometimes, she was foolish enough to believe in things that might get her killed, Tyrion realized.

Perhaps it was genetic.

“Sometimes I wish I’d stayed on that island.”

“I’m glad that you’re here.”

He hoped it was enough, and a small part of him let himself believe that it was. Clarke took a seat on the edge of the world and smiled fondly at her uncle before turning her attention back to the tower of the castles.

4. Lexa

The highest point in the city was accessible only through a labyrinth of stairwells. It was primarily off limits to everyone, and no one ever had need to traverse to the top. The view was unbeatable, but the cost was too much.

As a child, Lexa spent hours searching the horizon for her father’s ships, for the horizon and a faraway land. She tasted the breeze from faraway places and watched the entirety of King’s Landing working away their days.

Now, it was a hideaway. It was an escape. It was the closest she could get to the stars and that she could escape from the heaviness of every day and the expectations her mother renewed in her effort to cultivate her into a ruler.

It was a place to disappear, right in the middle of everyone, and Lexa craved it.

“I thought you’d be up here,” a voice whispered in the dark, making the princess smile.

“And I thought you’d stand me up.”

She didn’t have to turn around to know that it was a beautiful blonde from far away who stood near the door and surveyed her. She didn’t have to see because she could feel her, could smell her from the northern wind.

“Why would you think that?” Clarke asked, finally stepping inside the tower’s spindle.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“My uncle has kept me busy. Preparations for the travels north.”

“You kissed me the other night,” Lexa reminded her. “You came to my room and kissed me and left without saying a word.”

Clarke clenched her jaw and looked at Lexa in the dim light of the moon and the stars and her lantern. She placed it on the sill and tried to buy herself some time. There really weren’t words for it.

Unflinchingly, Lexa watched Clarke move and held her breath, nervous for what might come to light in the dark.

“This is silly. Just an infatuation,” Clarke shook her head. “I can’t have any distractions now. Not with my uncle pouring so much into me. He looks at me like… like… like he finally sees a future for his name.”

“You believe we are doing something wrong?”

Lexa tried to keep her voice level, though she felt weak with it in every vowel. The look of hurt Clarke flashed her disappeared almost instantly, hiding itself behind the guise of duty.

“We aren’t doing anything.”

“They why are you up here, with me, right now?” Lexa took a step toward her.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want, Clarke?” Another.

“I don’t know.”

Lexa took the chance to reach up and grab Clarke’s cheeks, her neck. Slowly, she did it, so as not to spook her. All the while, her eyes roamed lips and begged to be told to stop. If Clarke said no, she’d leave. She had that much feeling for her, that she couldn’t imagine not feeling it back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Lexa whispered. “Hang what the hand says. Forget everything else. This. This moment.”

“Lexa,” Clarke shook her head and sighed, though her hands moved and held the princess closer than before.

“When I was a child, I told my parents that I would never fall in love, that I’d rule and never risk anything, but I’m so… it’s so lonely, Clarke. It’s no way to live. And you’ve shown me that. You’ve--”

Before she could finish, Clarke pushed forward and kissed her. Sick of watching her lips move and not feeling it, she kissed her and Lexa gave in, pushing her forward and earning a moan when they hit the wall finally.

Lexa felt Clarke’s tongue and she gripped her hip so hard she was afraid she’d leave a bruise, but she had to anchor herself, and she had to find some normalcy. She tried to find air, but failed. So she kissed her harder.

“Take off your pants,” Clarke whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes just pupil, no longer blue at all in the dark.

“Take off your dress,” Lexa challenged, slipping a leg between Clarke’s legs.

“No.”

“You won’t like it if I have to take it off of you,” she growled, nipping lips. “And I’m growing impatient.”

For a moment, she felt Clarke debate and then smile. She actually smirked right there, pinned between an immovable force and the wall. With all manner of the royalty and title attached to her name and blood, she let her hands drop, slide down Lexa’s front before she turned around.

“Could you?”

Like an idiot, Lexa struggled with the cord and lashes and buttons until she gave up and turned Clarke around and hitched her leg before following the thigh beneath the dress. Chest heaving, Clarke tilted her head back against the cool stones of the tower’s wall and bit her lip.

It was over before it started. Lexa watched with rapt curiosity as the things she was doing to Clarke played across her face. She decided right then and there that she would never do anything as great with one finger.

“We can survive together, Clarke,” Lexa whispered, gently kissing her face as she came down from the high.

Peppered with kisses and soft murmuring, the noise finally reached Clarke’s ears and she understood. She hugged Lexa tighter to her and kissed her again.

“Maybe there’s more than just surviving,” she tried.

“Maybe,” Lexa nodded, small smile on her face.

“Take off your pants. Or you won’t like what I do to them.”

Despite herself, she laughed, and Lexa let Clarke kiss her so hard she would give her anything. In that moment, she understood how her father marched his horses across the sea to take back what her mother wanted.

[kl4us4]

THE RED STRING

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Summary: According to the myth of the Red String, the gods tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those that are destined to meet one another. On the ground, everything is different and the rules are non existent. In the midst of a war, this is how Bellamy Blake discovered that red string.

Song: The Last of Us - Woodlock

masterlist // TRS masterlist

You sit up, feeling Bellamy turn in his sleep. You’re not even sure how he can sleep with the amount of people currently residing in the drop ship. You’re all trying to contain this... virus.

But unfortunately, people came back from the Ark before that could happen. And now there are more people sick.

Thankfully, though, you’ve quarantined the camp. No ones allowed in or out until this thing fades out.

You haven’t seen your mother in a few days. It feels weird yet normal at the same time. You’re glad she’s safe, even if there’s so much you haven’t had a chance to tell her.

“Morning, Bell.” You smile, pushing a strand of hair away from his glistening forehead. He looks paler than normal, the purple around his eyes more prominent than his freckles.

He doesn’t reply, just closes his eyes and makes a small grunting noise. “What do you need from me?” You ask, ready to do whatever he needs you to. He doesn’t reply. His eyes are closed.

“Bellamy," you place one hand on his cold cheek and his eyes flutter open. Looking at him for a few seconds, you begin to wipe the blood from his mouth with a piece of fabric.

"Octavia," he greets with a small smile and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re about to shake your head and tell him you’re not her but someone sits next to you.

"How're you feeling, big brother?" She questions, trying to sound like she's not filled with terror at the real thought of Bellamy dying.

"I'm fine, she's taking good care of me," Bellamy replies as he looks to you, making you smile as you chuckle slightly.

"I know she is." Octavia smiles and squeezes your shoulder before letting go and placing a kiss on Bellamy's forehead, "I'll come back later to check up on you Bell, I love you."

“Bye, little sister,” Bellamy mumbles, closing his eyes with a sad look etched into his features.

“What’s wrong?” You stress, “What hurts?”

He opens his eyes, looking up at you as he replies. “Nothing you can fix.”

“Tell me.” You urge him, not wanting to let his thoughts sit and simmer alone in his mind.

He takes a breath, furrowing his eyebrows as he fights back tears. “I’m scared, Y/N.” And at that moment all your hope for him getting better vanishes.

You shake your head, trying to collect your thoughts. What are you supposed to tell him? You feel your eyes begin to tear up and Bellamy doesn’t hold back anymore. Tears of his own begin to fall. “No, you’re Bellamy Blake.” You laugh, placing a hand on his cheek, wiping a tear away, “You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of leaving you.” He admits, his brown eyes never leaving yours.

“Stop.” You gulp, feeling it getting harder and harder to breathe as you sit beside him, “You’re going to be fine, baby-“

“And if I’m not?” He persists, his shaking hand reaching for yours.

Sighing, you lay down beside him, sharing the pillow between the two of you. “Then I’m sure we’ll meet again in another life. We’re tethered together.”

He smiles, remembering about how he once learnt about some ancient legend about some kind of coloured string tethering two people together.

You place a hand on his, moving it to your beating chest. “You’ll never be gone.” The reassurement makes him smile - and fall just a little bit more in love with you.

“I’m so in love with you.” He blurts out, literally astonished at how much he loves you. You make him feel so loved.

Smiling, you feel yourself become self-conscious under his gaze. “I love you too. Always.”

He smiles, shutting his eyes for a few seconds and you watch his eyelids with anticipation. Upon a loud noise from outside, his eyes snap open and another coughing fit overcomes Bellamy. Placing a hand on his back, you sit him up so he can breathe better. Another crash. Louder this time. Your head snaps towards the door, then to Clarke who gives you a look of worry.

“Go,” Bellamy exhales, his voice quiet and rough, “go, go, I’m fine.”

Kissing his cheek, you quickly leave his side before heading outside the dropship to discover the origin of the noise. It’s chaos. Sort of what you’d imagine hell to look like. But less fire.

Everything passes your like of sight in rapid speed as you observe your surroundings, almost as if for the first time. The camp gate has been obliterated, their remains pushed to the floor.

Grounders, in every direction, gather up your people. Fear sets in, along with anger and confusion. Octavia is beside you in less than a second.

“What the hell is going on?!” She shouts, rushing up to someone who seems to be their leader. You follow her, clenching your fists.

“Skaikru have ruined the village of Halley on the border of the Azgeda Nation. The truce we once had is broken, Octavia.” The woman states, her voice calm and collected.

Looking to Octavia, you widen your eyes yet there is a crease between your eyebrows. “What truce?” You ask her through gritted teeth. Skaikru. Is that our name now? Is that us? You wonder. “What. Truce?”

“I don’t have time to explain it to you, Y/N.” She turns back to Octavia and you can feel the grounders eyes on you. Looking up, you make eye contact with her and you don’t look away. “Lexa,” Octavia begins, “Skaikru did not do this out of malice. It was an error in the Arks landing, when our people came home they couldn’t control where they landed.”

“Whether it was controlled or not, blood has been shed, Octavia,” Lexa replies, her guards standing beside her are stoic and still, like cruel statues. “And blood must have blood.”

The guards move towards you, but you’re quick to react. There’s adrenaline pumping through you at the thought of Bellamy still in the drop ship, and his sister beside you about to be captured. Swinging your leg high and forcefully, you kick the guard back, buying you some time as O pulls her sword out on the other. As Lexa calls more of them, you both run back into the dropship.

It’s all almost evacuated. Luckily no one patched up the hole Murphy left when he escaped. It’s now being used as an exit for the sick and injured, as the healthy and strong fight the grounders as much as they can to keep everyone safe. Kneeling beside Bellamy, he notices your stunned expression. “Get up.” You order, lifting him by his arms with Octavia’s help. He’s still weak but you try as hard as you can to get to the escape route. “Bellamy, I can’t do this by myself you need to help me, baby.”

Grunting in pain, Bellamy tries to ignore the sharp pain in his lower stomach in order to stand with stability. Incoherent shouts make you jump slightly despite not understanding the language. You don’t need to look back to know who’s behind you. When Octavia lets go of Bellamy’s side, you almost fall but he lets out a pained groan and turns to her. “Octavia, no. Come, come back.” He pleads, out of breath.

O looks to you, her hand on her sword as the guard's approach. “Go, get him somewhere safe. I’ll find you later.” She nods to you, reassuring and calm of your departure.

“Stop, we can’t.” Bellamys disoriented and his words are slurred. Octavia pushes you both away, deciding your fate for you. You pull Bellamy along to the other side of the drop ship despite his protests. When you’re outside the outer gates, he finds the strength to push you away from him and you look at him with wide eyes, scared he’ll collapse with no recovery.

“We’re going back, we have to get Octavia.” He states angrily, not looking at you.

“Stop, you can barely walk!” You exclaim, helping him before he can fall over trying to walk on his own. He looks like he’s in pain, the kind of pain not limited psychically.

“She’s my sister!” He deliriously shouts in your ear, making you flinch and look away from him, “And you left her to die!”

“Stop.” You tell him, not being able to take the harsh sounds of his hurtful words. They used to roll off your back but now... now he means something to you. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” He slurs, clearly being affected by the virus inside him. Shaking your head, you pull him further along. More grounders will be coming soon and you don’t want to think about what could happen if they find you.

You can hear approaching footsteps and you quicken your pace. The grounders are already approaching. Your gut falls. What if something bad happened to Octavia?

“Y/N!”

You freeze, turning around quickly at the voice. “Finn?” You respond, watching him halt from his run. Behind him is Abby and Clarke, who looks out of breath. “Where’s Murphy?” 

“Come on, there’ll be more coming soon,” Clarke states, acknowledging Finns help of carrying Bellamy with a small nod.

“No, where is he?” You repeat, your eyes are wide and incredulous. Abby looks down, standing beside her daughter. 

Clarke lets out a loud sigh as she rolls her eyes in anger, “We left him. He’s a traitor. Not to mention he’s the reason this is all happening.” 

Frowning your eyebrows at her, you glance at Finn. “I expected better. From both of you.” You state, feeling a pang of guilt in your heart at the thought of Murphy laying in the dropship all alone. 

“Well, there’s nothing you can do,” Finn states, pushing at the idea of not going back to the dropship. It’s like he can read your mind, he knows exactly what you’re thinking and he can see it on your face. “Let’s go.”

You don’t move. All you do is give one last glance at Bellamy, his eyes fluttering closed, tiredness overcoming him as his body tries to recover from his sickness. He still looks sweet, innocent, like he’s just sleeping. You know what you have to do. “I know what you think you have to do.” Finn states, “But it’s suicide.” 

Walking up to Bellamy, you place a hand on his warm cheek. He looks at you, not really understanding what’s going on. “I’m going to get Octavia and Murphy. And anyone else who needs me.”

“You’re l-leaving?” He frowns, coughing before he looks down at you. Bellamy knows you have to go back for your friends. He’d usually feel the need to try to hold you close, to keep you safe, but he’s realised you’re not a passive person. You can’t sit by and let things happen. Though he tries to keep you close and warm, you start to burn. He lets you leave. He acknowledges that you need to do this.

You nod at him, smiling at how he leans into your touch. Feeling the utmost respect from Bellamy, you finally feel the gravity of how much you’ve both changed. “This is something I need to do.” You tell him something that he already knows.

Bellamy, not telling you you’re foolish, naive, or stupid, nods his head at you. You can do it, he knows someone as strong as you can do anything. “Well then,” he forces a smile, hiding his worry behind the faith he puts in you, “come back soon.”

You both share a smile and share one last glance and you head to the door. Without another word, you run to the dropship and ignore the protests from your friends. Quietly stepping around the back entrance, you peek your head into the dropship. It’s odd. There’s only one grounder beside Murphy, crouched next to him, seemingly talking to him.

But then it turns bad. The grounder uses all his force to slap Murphy in the face and at that moment, you intervene. Kicking the unmasked grounder in the back on the head, he grunts and falls to the ground before you grab a plank of wood from the bench and crash it over his head. He’s out cold. He’s actually out cold. 

Murphy looks up at you, wondering what’s going to happen next. “You came back for me?” His voice is croaky. 

“Yeah don’t think about it too much.” You nod quickly, bending down to lift him up, “There’s no time, we-”

“Watch out!” Murphy pushes you out of the way just in time. The grounders sword swings low, almost hitting Murphy between the legs but he’s able to move in time. 

Murphy rushes to stand behind you as the grounder retrieves his sword and stands at the exit, the exact place you need to go. You’re going to have to take a long way out - to the front of the dropship and through the entire camp.

“We need to find another way out.” You tell Murphy, never moving your eyes off of the grounder in front of you, who just gives you a smirk. “Murphy, somehow we’re going to need to find a way through the camp.”

When your friend doesn’t answer, you turn to face him and, being met with the most hope-crushing image, your shoulders fall. 

“Y/N.” The cold tone and remorseless eyes belonging to Lexa is the last thing you encounter before a dark hood is placed over your head.

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