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greatqueenanna · 4 years

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Why A Frozen Heart does not support a redemption for Hans.

Whenever I explore the Helsa tag for neat fanart and ideas, I always come across a post or two about Elizabeth Rudnick’s book, A Frozen Heart, and why this book supports the idea that Hans should get a redemption arc. It is no secret that I’ve talked about this book before in debates on my Hans related posts, and why I actually don’t consider this book part of the Frozen Franchise Canon.

Jen Lee and Chris Buck had no involvement in it. I cannot find any sources where Jen Lee, Chris Buck or Elizabeth Rudnick talking about this book.

There are a number of inconsistencies between the book and the original film Frozen. I4

It is labeled as a ‘retelling’ for young adults, basically telling a story differently than what was presented in canon. It’s almost a remake.

Disney Corp. doesn’t seem to consider it canon either, given the fact that they presented this image at the Hyperion Frozen Performance in 2016.

To give some perspective, A Frozen Heart was written in 2015. If it the book was 100% canon, then they would have to acknowledge the family from that book in this performance. Also, Frozen Heart talks about how some of his brothers have blonde hair, to which here they all have red.

But with this being said, because of the fact that it keeps being brought up by the Hans Redemption fan-base, I feel it is finally time for me to revisit the book - I re-read all of Hans’ chapters, and after doing this, this is my conclusion -

Hans is still very much portrayed with sociopathic traits and still does not deserve a redemption arc, as he is very conniving and evil in this book, just as his whole family. I do agree that the portrayal of him as a sociopath is not the greatest in this book, as he demonstrates fear and anxiety. Regardless, he still shows traits of being narcissistic and manipulative, and states himself that he doesn’t feel emotions, which are big traits when it comes to ASPD.

More Under the read more. *WARNING*, this section i going to be very long, sorry.

Evidence 1: Fleeting Sympathy

The first evidence of sociopathic traits comes early on, when Hans supposedly feels sympathy for his oldest brother’s wife.

She (Caleb’s Wife) looked painfully uncomfortable, and for a brief moment, Hans felt sorry for her(....)Well, at least father is kind to her. Hans acknowledged, some of his sympathy fading. (pg. 27)

Now, it is easy to misinterpret this quote as Hans showing empathy. However, the author labels this as sympathy, not empathy. What’s the difference?

Sympathy is like pity, where someone will acknowledge that someone is suffering. Empathy is when someone actually feels bad about it, and wants to help said person or see them feel better.

Here, Hans simply acknowledges that Caleb’s wife is suffering, but doesn’t feel out right sorry for her. In fact, it states that Hans only felt sorry for her for a brief moment, and this pity is fleeting. Why? Because Hans puts his own suffering above hers.

If Hans actually felt empathy for her, he wouldn’t acknowledge his own suffering, and instead just comment on how uncomfortable she looks. For example -

“She looked painfully uncomfortable. Hans felt bad for her; he knew what it was like to be ignored and her struggle made him wince.”

Or something like that. But Hans is actually saying this -

“Well, she’s suffering, and that’s sad, but my life is worse so who cares.”

Here, it clearly shows that while Hans can recognize that people can be sad, but will always put his own emotions and needs above other’s.

Evidence 2: Disrespect

Now on to how Hans treats Lars. Lars has an understanding with Hans because he used to be the younger brother, thus he’s nicer to Hans. Hans even recognizes that Lars is the only person he can talk to - but there’s a catch. Hans only wants to talk about himself.

On pg. 39, Hans states that Lars could go on and on about History. The chapter states that while Hans find his hobby endearing, he refuses to listen for more than a few minutes, often getting up and leaving without telling him anything. This shows that Hans has no real respect for Lars or his interests, and only indulges him because Lars is the only one who treats Hans nicer.

On page 60, Hans also shows disgust for the villagers giving him something in place of tax payments, showing no sympathy for their situation and finding their alternate payments disgusting.

Evidence 2 Envy for Power and Praise.

There is a moment in the book where Hans daydreams about being the only son, and getting constant attention from his father. This is on page 28 - 29.

His frustration here is not that the King is abusive, but that his father ignores him. And only him. In fact, he indirectly insults his older brother.

“Hans wondered if Caleb even appreciated his father’s attention.”

Without considering his brother’s emotions or stance on the subject, Hans shrugs away any empathy for his brother and out write states that Caleb doesn’t appreciate the attention he gets from their father.

Of course, the argument could be made that Hans’ brothers treat him poorly, so there’s no reason for him to feel pity for them. And while that may be true for some of his brothers, Caleb has never been shown to be abusive towards him. Thus, his envious comments are unwarranted. He simply doesn’t like him because Caleb receives the attention from his father that Hans craves.

It is also worthy to note that Hans does not desire love or compassion from his father. He only wants him to give him what he believes he is entitled to - praise and becoming a King.

Later on, Hans basically becomes a lapdog to his father in order to convince him to let him go to Arendelle. The author mentions this -

“Even now, when he had been given a role of some honor, he couldn’t let go of the bitterness of his past. But never mind that, he thought, I’ll show them soon enough.” (Pg. 58)

This shows that even now when he has slowly started to earn respect from his father, and gaining an honorable position at his side, it is not enough for him. He craves more power, and only becoming a King will supposedly satisfy this thirst.

On Page 85, Hans shows envy at Anna and Elsa sharing a bond.

Evidence 4 Objectifying Others

Hans feels entitled for a wife in the early pages of the book. This goes to show that Hans does not view women as people, but as objects to further his own status.

“And while he had heard the royal affairs coordinator discussing possible suitors for his brothers, Hans had not heard a peep about a possible wife for him.” (Pg. 32)

Later on, when Lars tells Hans about Elsa being single, he essentially treats her as if she’s a tool for his advantage, not a human being.

“This plan meant getting his father to trust him and convincing a woman he had never met to marry him(...)He would have to stop spending his days daydreaming and learn how to become more conniving.” (Pg. 42)

It’s so easy for Hans to just accept the fact that he would need to be conniving in order to get what he wants. He doesn’t feel bad for thinking it, nor does he try to consider what Elsa has been though. She’s just the mysterious princess who he needs to convince to marry him. Nothing more.

“No matter what Queen lay in wait for him inside Arendelle’s castle, Hans knew that he would find a way to become her King.” (Pg. 59)

Again, overall disinterest in Elsa as a human being, and only refers to her as a ‘what’ and that she is his for the taking. This is further supported on Pg. 65, when he runs into Anna thinking its Elsa.

“That, he thought, could not have gone better. Princess Elsa of Arendelle was practically his!”

Later on, after the run in, Hans is disappointed that he ran into Anna instead of Elsa, even considering running into her a joke. Pg. 71 -72. The only time he starts to consider Anna, is when he realizes that Elsa is unreachable. “Considering” is a strong word or course, as he is basically just throwing away one item and getting another, easily talking about how he wants to overthrow Elsa.

“It was all obvious now. He would marry Anna and overthrow Elsa.” (Pg. 77)

Again, Hans is so easily able to just announce these things without feeling even a bit of remorse, and treats the sisters as tools.

We’re not even half way through the novel yet, and Hans has already showed his blatant disrespect for others, objectification of others, bitterness, and entitlement for power and possessions. Not once has he shown any sort of reluctance or empathy for his actions and thoughts, and has an unquenchable thirst for power.

To avoid this getting too long, I’m going to do a “Lightning Round” of quotes that shows Hans’ terrible nature.

“Hans let a out a sigh of relief as a warm feeling flooded his chest. Now, now, he told himself. Remember why you’re here. This is a business transaction, nothing more.” Pg. 100

While throughout the novel Hans does indeed show that he actually might have some kind of admiration for Anna, and even enjoys some of her antics, he makes it very clear that he has no interest in actually falling in love with her and stops himself when he thinks he might be enjoying her company.

Next, while Anna and Hans are trying to tell Elsa about their engagement -

“Hans remembered the advice from his father(...)If you wanted to get someone to like you, you just had to act like a mirror. People love their own reflections.” (Pg. 104)

This shows that even in the novel’s universe, Hans purposefully mirrors people because he knows it will get people to like him.

This is a big one. When Hans and his men find Elsa’s beautiful grove -

“Hans had been clinging to one single reassuring thought: Elsa was a monster. (...) It was this, her utter lack of humanity, which guaranteed Hans his chance to be a Hero. If the people of Arendelle feared Elsa, they would want her to be captured and restrained. They would want her to abdicate her throne, and in turn, they would want Hans to take it.(...) All he had to was make sure that she never created anything like this again. He would destroy this glen and any trace of beauty.” (Pg. 198 - 199)

In this long passage that I summarized to the main points, Hans displays disappointment and how disgusted he is that Elsa is capable of beauty, because he wants everyone to think she’s a monster. He even states that he will destroy all evidence of Elsa’s beauty.

The book also recognizes Hans’ actions towards the chandelier.

Hans looked around the room desperate for a plan, and noticed the giant chandelier directly above Elsa. (...) True, it might kill her, but would that be so bad? One less obstacle to the throne.” (Pg. 226)

Chapter 26 showcases the darkest Hans has ever been throughout the novel. The entire chapter is filled with such hateful and entitled comments from him, it’s ridiculous. Honestly, I could sit here and quote the whole chapter. But let’s just get a couple of the worst things.

“Hans shook his head, He wasn’t there to fill a hole in Anna’s heart. He was there to win a throne. (...) The Westargaards didn’t do emotion - that was the one legacy he had been given.” (Pg. 244)

This confirms that Hans doesn’t feel emotions, something he feels he inherited from his family.

Now, this one hurts. I wanted to cry for Anna. I want this quote to really sink in, especially for those that feel that this book justifies a redemption arc for Hans.

“Did she honestly think this was one such tale? Hans couldn’t help himself. After years of bullying by his brothers, after years of taking the joke but never making the joke, after years of being the thirteenth son, he was going to get the last laugh. And he wanted to make it count. (...) She looked up at him, confusion racing across her face. At one time, he might of pretended to care. But he was done playing games.” (Pg. 244 - 245)

A few quick observations -

Later, on page 258, Hans states that the reason he didn’t like to be a murderer was because he didn’t want to be considered a brute, not because he felt anything for Elsa (or Anna for that matter).

On page 271, Hans states that he feels ‘pride’ when Elsa falls down in grief over her sister’s death.

And finally, after everything was said and done, and Hans had failed, he feels absolutely no remorse for his actions, and instead shows pity to only himself.

“If only I had acted a moment sooner, Hans had thought. Then they (the sisters) would never have known forgiveness. Never felt the love of a sibling again. Just like me. Just like my entire life. Elsa would have been dead. Anna would’ve followed soon after, and I would have taken what I deserve.” (Pg. 285 - 286)

And with that, I put this book down. While, again, there is no concrete evidence to say that this book might be considered canon, I still respect what Elizabeth Rudnick wrote here, despite that some of her facts were a little off. She was really good at being able to capture a sociopathic mind, and even able to give me chills, even if it wasn’t perfect at all times.

There is honestly no source, no canon or non-canon work, that supports a redemption arc for Hans. Even in A Frozen Heart, contrary to popular belief.

#greatqueenanna/analysis #Frozen #Frozen: A Frozen Heart #Prince Hans

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onemilliongoldstars · 4 years

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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 32

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

32/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter 11

Lord Pike’s eyes are as cold and merciless as the ice of The Wall, and there is not a flicker to them as his hands tighten around her neck, an iron band cutting into her skin. He does not seem to hear her gasping cries, or feel the prying of her fingers, her nails digging so deep that warm, sticky blood spills across their skin. She tries to feel around behind her, but there is nothing she can use as a weapon, and his weight is so heavy on her chest that she can scarcely breathe. When she opens her mouth to scream again, no sound comes out and his eyes glint, his fingers tighten. Her head spins, and she reaches up to claw at his face, his eyes, her nails scouring through his skin until it looks as though he has been mauled by a wild beast. Beneath her fingers, his skin begins to crumble, and she watches in horror as it peels away in long, bloody strips, falling away to reveal an empty face behind it.

The touch to her shoulder jars her so violent that she startles awake with a gasp, jerking away from the touch. Through the dim light she makes out Harper’s figure, holding out a candle and hesitating over her.

Her eyes are creased with concern, one tendril of curled hair falling out from her braid as she takes a slight step back. “I’m sorry, your majesty, you wanted to be woken before the dawn?”

Her breath seems to return to her in staggered stages, and she pulls air back into her lungs. Her voice is weak and broken when she answers. “Yes, yes I’m sorry Harper. I was just startled.”

Concern still lingers at the corners of Harper’s gaze, but she gives a nod and turns away to light the tapers around the room and stir the fire into life.

Clarke pulls in a slow, unsteady breath, watching her with vacant eyes. Her fingers ease up to touch softly at her neck, the ghost of a bruise tingling beneath her fingertips. It seems impossible that her nails are not caked in blood, and her throat not hoarse with screaming, and bile rises in her throat when she thinks of Pike’s skin falling away into her hands.

Harper must sense her disquiet, because she breaks the silence with mindless words as she draws the water and warms it over the fire. “The weather should be fair today, your majesty. The sky was as pink as a peach last night. Summer will be here before we know it.”

“Yes,” Clarke eases herself slowly from the bed, wriggling her toes against the cold slabbed floor. “I do so long for it.”

“We all do,” Harper smiles, and steps behind her when she settles into the chair in front her looking glass. “Will you wear your crown today, your majesty?”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, reaching out to run the pad of her thumb over a rose petal in the vase before her. “For today, I think I would like to forget I am the queen.”

The sun has risen by the time she descends the final sandy steps onto the private docks behind the castle. It is already a warm day, and she is glad of the hazy, light fabric of her dress, baring her back and her arms just as she used to when she was young and care free in Highgarden. Her hair is pulled back into soft golden braids, a golden, rose shaped clasp keeping them together, and a light stole is draped over her arms, in case the weather turns. The dock is quiet in the morning sunshine, but for Lexa, Anya and Lincoln, waiting patiently beside the low, bobbing pleasure barge. Lexa is dressed more lightly than Clarke has ever seen her before, with britches and a white linen shirt, pulled with a honeycomb stitch at the top of her arm. Her tunic bares her arms and is fastened down its front with silver direwolf pins, her hair pulled back in a simple braid.

As she approaches Lexa turns and offers a smile so wide she is caught off guard for a moment. Gone are their secret smiles of the past, shared glances hidden in the embers of their forbidden love, and in its place is something that seems to have risen from the spring itself, its head turning to the new sunlight. Her heart stutters, as it hasn’t since those fateful days in Winterfell so very long ago, and she feels a flush rising to her cheeks as Lexa nods her greeting.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” She returns, as she crosses the final few steps that separate them. She has to dig her nails into her hand to keep from reaching out and touching Lexa, so great is the depth of her feeling. Though they cannot be heard here, there may still be eyes watching, and it wouldn’t do to stir any unrest in the people. “Have you been waiting long? I apologise, I slept poorly.”

“No,” Lexa’s brows twitch with concern at her words, but she doesn’t comment. “No, not long at all.”

“Your wolves are not with you,” Clarke observes, as they fall into step walking down the dock together towards the pleasure barge. When Lexa shakes her head, Clarke cannot help but press, eager and curious. “I have never seen you without them.”

They come to a stop beside the barge and Lexa turns to look at her with eyes that see straight to the deepest parts of herself. “Perhaps,” She muses, softly, “they know that I don’t need them, not here and now.”

The words catch at her tender heart more acutely than she expects, and when Lexa offers her hand out to help her down the gangplank onto the barge, she finds that she is trembling at the touch. They board one after the other, their guards accompanying them. The pleasure barge is a long, shallow vessel, towards the front of which a low bench is hidden from the sun by a canopy of hazy curtains. Clarke sinks into the cushions there, and after a moment of hesitation Lexa joins her. The curtains swing about them, and though they are not alone, the illusion is almost as good.

Behind them, Clarke’s most trusted and expert oarsmen push away from the dock so silently and smoothly that she barely realises they are moving until the dock begins to slip away and leave them with only a distant view of the city.

Lexa must notice her glancing over her shoulder, because she asks, quietly. “Are you worried about leaving it behind? If only for the day?”

Clarke pauses and considers her words, glancing back at the imposing towers of the Red Keep, reaching up into the blue sky as if they intend to pluck the sun from its perch themselves. Part of her worries, a part of her that she expects will never stop worrying, but it is not enough to draw her back. “No,” She answers honestly, and Lexa’s smile makes her eyes shine.

As they sail smoothly from the harbour, Clarke runs her hand over the embroidered cushions below them, trailing her fingers across the golden stitching.

“It’s beautiful,” Lexa comments, obviously watching her, and Clarke nods.

“It was made for King Thelonious and his wife, to allow them to leave the city in privacy and luxury.”

“I never met the king’s wife,” Lexa admits, “But I hear she was a beautiful and clever queen.”

“So do I,” Clarke offers her a small smile. “King Thelonious loved her very dearly. He was never the same after her death.”

Lexa’s gaze holds hers. “They were lucky to have each other, even for such a short time.”

Warmth and peace washes over her, as it always does when Lexa looks at her so deeply and truthfully, as if she is the thing she is most sure of in the whole world. Clarke has to glance away, to keep herself from flushing and stuttering like a fool, and after a moment she manages to find her words enough to speak.

“Aden once told me about your mother, he said that she was the only woman your father ever loved.”

“They were very devoted to one another,” Lexa admits, “Or so I have heard,” Her voice changes, catching and breaking over some unspoken emotion. “I never met her.”

Clarke reaches out and twines their fingers together, keeping her voice soft. “You must miss her.”

“No,”Lexa conjures up a smile which is as false as a mummer’s mask. “How could I miss something I never even knew?”

“A bird caged for all of its life will still miss the sky,” Clarke counters, and squeezes their fingers to ease her words. “You can admit it, I won’t think any differently of you.”

“I know you won’t,” Her thumb rubs a gentle circle over the smooth skin of Clarke’s palm.

They are disturbed by Octavia clearing her throat obnoxiously from beyond the hazy curtains. Clarke glowers at the hazy shadow of her shape and she catches Lexa biting back her smile as she calls out.

“Yes, Octavia?”

“Your majesty,” Octavia must take that as her cue, because she puts her head around the curtains and can’t look either of them in the eye when she says. “There are refreshments for you, would you like them brought in?”

Clarke purses her lips, annoyed despite herself, and then nods curtly. “Yes, that would be fine I suppose.”

“Thank you, Octavia,” Lexa puts in, still trying not to laugh at Clarke’s utter lack of manners. They settle back onto the bench as plates of dewy strawberries and goblets of cool, watered down wine are delivered by their guards and set upon the low table before them.

“The sea here is so beautiful,” Lexa comments, as Clarke picks up a strawberry. “So blue and clear and bright.”

“There are legends of mermaids in these parts,” Clarke tells her, offering out the plate of fruits. “Sirens who would steal away sailors’ hearts with their songs and seduce them with their beauty.”

Lexa’s eyes linger upon her face. “I think I understand their plight.”

—-

They finally slow when they reach a spit of land, barely big enough to call itself an island, with sandy shores and a few rolling hills on which long grass and a smattering of trees grow, some hanging heavy and colourful with their fruit. The island has no dock and so their shallow ship simply slows to a stop amongst the sandy shores, bobbing back and forth in the clear water.

Lexa gazes out onto the spit of land and her brows furrow, “Where are we?”

“This is royal land,” Clarke explains, as their guards busy themselves preparing to disembark. “Nobody comes here but the king or queen.” She cannot help but smile at the blush that dusts Lexa’s cheeks when she adds. “We will be completely alone.”

“I see,” Lexa tries to hide her smile, “Would you like me to carry you to shore, my lady?”

“Not at all,” Years of practice with Wells make it easy enough for her to follow Anya and Octavia into the water. Slipping her shoes from her feet, she gathers her skirts in one hand and holds the other out for balance as she slips from their vessel and into the warm, shallow waters. The sand shifts beneath her feet and for one horrifying moment she thinks she might fall, but rights herself just in time.

When she looks back to the boat, Lexa’s astonished expression draws a delighted laugh from her and everything feels light and delicious as she watches Lexa pull her shoes from her feet and follow her into the water. When she too stumbles, Clarke holds out her hand to steady her and Lexa laces their fingers together, holding tightly as they make their way together up to the beach. The sand is warm and soft beneath their feet, and their fingers stay laced together even as they find their feet.

“Ser Lincoln and Captain Snow will go on ahead with the servants, your majesty,” Anya says, once they have approached. “And ensure everything is safe and set up. We will follow,” She indicates to herself and Ser Roan. “Just in case.”

Clarke gives Lexa a wide smile and she feels filled with a childlike glee as she leads the way from the beach to the well trodden path through grass and trees.

“Where are we going?” Lexa looks to her, expression open and curious, and Clarke squeezes her fingers.

“You’ll see.”

They tread their way carefully through the undergrowth, their shoes still held in their hands. Beneath their feet, the grass is as soft as sheepskin, warm from the sun and sandy, and Clarke luxuriates in the feeling as she walks. Together, they make their way to the highest point on the island, their fingers never untangling from one another, exchanging soft conversation. Though the air is warm and the sun glows down upon them, it feels as if they are back at Winterfell again, sitting in the library or walking the battlements, so comfortable is their quiet conversation.

“This place is beautiful,” Lexa says, as they walk through a grove of orange trees. “So quiet and peaceful.”

“The best is yet to come,” Clarke promises, with a smile, and guides them into a clearing.

Still shaded by orange trees, before them the gentle rise they have been climbing falls away sharply into the sea, and the view it exposes is a breath taking expanse of crystal blue waters. In the distance, the mainland is visible: the tall towers of the Red Keep and gathered around it like sycophants the rusted tile roofs of the city. Upon the ground are spread rugs and cushions for them to lounge on, hazy strips and fabric hanging from the trees to keep the hot midday sun from their faces, and a spread of breads and cheese, meats and fruits, is awaiting them.

Lexa casts her a shy, surprised smile. “You planned this.”

“Of course,” Clarke fights against the beam that is threatening to spread across her features. “Won’t you sit, my lady?”

With a smile Lexa sinks onto the floor, settling upon the cushions. She turns back to their combined Queensguards as Clarke follows her, and waves her hand to them. “We are perfectly safe here for the moment, you may all go.”

Octavia and Anya exchange a disgruntled glance, but when Clarke nods her agreement they move away reluctantly, peeling back into the trees until you could almost forget they were there. They are suddenly as alone as they ever are, but there are no nerves now and when Clarke looks up into Lexa’s face she feels contentment shine through her, like the sun into a darkened room.

“I can understand why you missed your home when you were with us in Winterfell.” Lexa tells her, once they have both settled back into the cushions, so close that they are almost touching. “Truly, this place is beautiful.”

“Oh, Kings Landing is not my home,” Clarke shakes her head, and curls fall over her shoulders. “Even now, it is nothing compared to Highgarden.”

“We’ve never really spoken about Highgarden,” Lexa gazes down upon her, “You have seen every inch of my home and yet I know almost nothing about yours.”

Something pinches in her heart at the mention of home and she has to avert her gaze, running a stray thread of embroidery from one of the cushions between her fingers. “Highgarden is like… a dream compared to Kings Landing. The sun always shines and the sky seems to go on forever and ever.”

“Tell me about your favourite places to go, when you were growing up there?” When Clarke looks at her, surprised by her words, Lexa explains, with the most earnest tenderness. “I want to know you Clarke, all of you.”

The smile that has been tugging at her lips appears, unbidden and difficult to shake away. “Once I learned to ride I used to love setting out into the rose fields alone. Our lands went on for leagues, I could ride for a whole day and never meet anyone who bore me ill will.” She glances at Lexa from beneath her lashes and watches the queen’s face begin to colour under her hooded gaze as she continues. “When I became older and young lords began calling I would ride with them out to the orange grove or the orchards of peach trees, and we would find some shadowy place to hide away.” She has the distinct pleasure of watching the blush settle and darken upon Lexa’s cheeks, and laughs quietly at the sight.

Lexa makes a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat, but leans in to accept the strawberry Clarke offers as a peace token. The juice spills over her fingers and across Lexa’s lips, and Clarke struggles to tear her gaze away as Lexa’s tongue darts out to catch the sweet droplets. Her breath comes out in a soft sigh, and Lexa’s eyes are dark, even as she draws herself reluctantly away. Clarke pours them both a goblet of wine, desperate to drown out the yearning hum that has settled in her breast, but when their fingers brush together, the touch of Lexa’s warm hands sends a shiver through her like she has never felt before and she feels like a young maid again.

Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, as green as the leaves that stretch for the sky around them, and Clarke feels almost breathless at the sight. Lexa finally tearing her eyes away only barely helps her claw back her sanity, and she takes a long draft of her wine to hide her flushed cheeks, though she is sure it barely works.

“I’m sure you charmed many young lordlings into giving away their heart to you.” Lexa finally jokes, her voice weak, but Clarke laughs obligingly anyway.

“There were several marriage proposals,” She admits, at last, sharing a teasing smile with Lexa. “But none who were remotely suitable.”

“It is a fair archer who could ever catch the heart of a Lady Clarke Tyrell,” Lexa’s voice is soft and her eyes glance away to the view, as if afraid of what she will see in Clarke’s expression.

Unable to help herself, and unsure why she should, Clarke reaches out and traces gentle fingers over the back of Lexa’s hand, easing it over until she can lace their fingers together and Lexa’s eyes are drawn back to hers again.

“It is a good thing that you shoot so well then,” She murmurs into the space between them. “I would not want to give my heart to any but you.”

Lexa’s breath escapes her in a stutter at her words and when her fingers tighten which affectionate tenderness, Clarke swears her heart stops in her chest.

“I once wondered what it would have been like if we had met before… everything.” Under Lexa’s curious gaze she is powerless but to continue, “If you had to come to Highgarden as a guest of my father and our eyes had met over feasts and dancing.”

“I know what would have happened,” Lexa remarks, her voice so low that Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise. “I would have been helpless before you, Clarke.” Lexa’s thumb tracks a warm stroke over her palm.

“And I you,” She admits, in a whisper. “Of all of the suitors, not one has ever compared to you, Lexa. Sometimes I-” She cuts herself off, suddenly shy and uncertain She has kept her heart so closely guarded for so long, the chains that protect it are stiff and old.

Familiar fingers, warm and rough from years of swinging swords and pulling back bowstrings, nudge at her chin and when she raises her gaze she finds Lexa looking back at her, eyes as soft as summer grass. “You can tell me anything, love.”

The name sounds so perfect falling from her lips and Clarke leans into her touch as Lexa cups her cheek.

“After all we have been through, all we have seen and survived, sometimes I still fear that my love for you will break my heart open.” The words leave her in a rush, and when she glances up at Lexa she worries what she will see in her eyes.

Despite her fears, there is nothing but love in Lexa’s gaze, and when she offers out her arms, Clarke falls into her embrace gratefully, allowing Lexa to wrap her arms around her and press them together so tightly that Clarke feels as if she is sinking into her. She is surrounded by Lexa’s warm scent, pinewood and something sweet and soft, a flora she cannot place, and when Clarke rubs her cheek against her shoulder, her lips skim the exposed skin above her shirt.

“My love,” She speaks with more tenderness and emotion than Clarke has ever heard in any two words. “Clarke, I promise to protect your heart, no matter what. I swear it, before the old gods and the new.”

Clarke’s breath hitches, and she blinks tears from her eyes as she places her hand very carefully over Lexa’s heart, spreading her fingers apart. Beneath her touch, she can feel the steady thrum of Lexa’s heartbeat, and it is like opium to her, spreading peace throughout her body so that her voice is calm and measured when she answers.

“And I promise to protect yours, always.”

Lexa’s hand still rests on her cheek, and when she guides Clarke’s face gently up to look at hers, it feels as natural as breathing to part her lips and breach the space between them, kissing her. Lexa’s lips are soft beneath hers, the fingers that thread into her hair and hold her close- as if she would ever wish to escape this blessed prison- are impossibly gentle. This must be the heaven her Septas told her about, Clarke thinks, absently, for how else could she explain the pure, unadulterated joy that spreads through her at Lexa’s touch. They break apart only when they have to gasp for breath, foreheads pressed together and lips still brushing. She feels as if she is addicted to Lexa and cannot bear to pull herself away, if even for a second. For her part, it seems that Lexa feels the same way, because she does not unwrap her embrace, keeping them so close together that they are sharing breath.

Still, Lexa’s eyes flicker open and find Clarke looking up at her, and her expression shifts with the slightest unease. “Is this alright?” She asks, in a whisper, and Clarke lets out a soft breath of laughter.

“Of course,” She answers, and cradles Lexa’s cheeks in her hands to bring their lips together again.

Lexa’s lips are like a tonic for an ailment she did not know she had. They taste like strawberries and wine, and her skin is soft as butter beneath Clarke’s touch. Their bodies seem to move as if they know exactly where they should be and when, like a dance that they never knew they had been learning, but in this moment Clarke cannot think of any reason she wouldn’t want to be as close to Lexa as possible. Her body shifts and she drops her hand to curl at Lexa’s waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of her linen shirt, until she is pressing Lexa back into the cushions, their kisses becoming hot and heavy and more desperate than Clarke knew love could be.

The brunette gasps for air again, and Clarke takes the momentary respite to continue pressing her lips to Lexa’s jaw bone, tracing its sharp ridge with her kisses, worshipping the valley of her neck until Lexa runs a tender thumb over her cheek and draws her up. She kisses her quickly, though there is nothing chaste about it, it is all fire and passion, as if she cannot help herself, and then says, her voice breaking over her ragged breaths.

“Clarke, I don’t- We have to stop now if-”

“I don’t want to stop.” Clarke insists, and presses back into her love like Lexa is air and she will suffocate without her. “Please, please Lexa.” When still the northerner hesitates, Clarke adds, a desperate yearning to her voice. “You are the only person I will ever love like this,” Her throat is tight and she brushes away the tears that slip down her cheeks impatiently. “Please, Lexa. Please let me love you and know what it is to be loved in return.”

Gentle fingers curl around hers, stilling her furious movements, and Lexa meets her eyes with green so deep Clarke thinks for a moment that she can smell clover fields and a fresh spring rain. Tenderly, she runs her thumbs over Clarke’s cheeks, catching her tears. “All I want is to love you,” She admits, in the quietest of whispers.

When their lips meet again, it is with the softest of whispers of a sigh, and it feels to Clarke more like a homecoming than any journey’s end she has experienced before. Lexa falls back against the cushions beneath her, hands around her hips urging her to follow, and when Clarke fumbles a little settling herself above her, they exchange a slight, nervous chuckle which brings them back together again.

The feeling of Lexa’s body beneath hers is like nothing she has ever known. She has ridden the finest stallions and sailed in the fastest ships, she has commanded her enemies to die and killed men with her bare hands, but that is nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline she feels with her legs on either side of Lexa’s body, her hands framing her face like some beautiful portrait.

For some time they are simply lost in one another, kissing and learning one another in a way they have never been afforded a moment to before. The lightest of touch appears at Clarke’s bare leg, where her skirt has ridden up, playing with the fine hairs there, and she reluctantly pulls her lips from Lexa’s to meet her questioning gaze. Lexa seems nervous beneath her, the touch of her fingers is so light that Clarke is sure she will pull them away in a moment if asked, so she reaches down and pulls Lexa’s hand further up her calf, hauling a strangled gasp from her lover.

As Lexa’s hand continues its steady, uncertain exploration of her body, Clarke fingers at the laces that pull the neck of Lexa’s shirt together, giving Lexa her own curious look. As if to answer her question, Lexa sits up a little, and with a moment of awkward struggling, pulls her shirt over her head. Clarke’s eyes widen at the sight of Lexa bared before her. Though she has seen the pale expanse of Lexa’s chest before, today her lover wears no bindings and her breasts stand tall in the center of her chest, nipples already pert and puckering.

The sight is enough to draw an audible gasp from Clarke, and Lexa laughs softly, even when Clarke tosses her a glare. With renewed vigour, Clarke falls upon her exposed skin like a woman possessed, kissing, sucking and nipping every inch, working her way steadily down towards Lexa’s breasts and beneath her the northern queen shivers and whimpers. When she reaches up to cup one, and runs her thumb over Lexa’s nipple, Lexa jolts beneath her, arching up into her touch and letting out a soft moan. It’s enough to heat the pool of desire between Clarke’s legs and she begins to feel herself become uncomfortably wet, shifting a little for fear that she will drip through her light chemise and onto Lexa.

She worships Lexa’s breasts as if they are the statues of the Seven themselves, and she a devoted Septa. Neither is left untended for long, and she delights in the strangled moans she tugs from Lexa’s body with every purposeful stroke of her tongue. Truly, she would have been content to spend the whole day learning how to make Lexa squirm and shiver beneath her, but soon her lover finds her strength again, and she finds herself gasping against Lexa’s skin as her hand travels up beneath her dress, circling the underside of her knee for a moment to give her the chance to stop if Clarke hesitated.

But Clarke is far from hesitating, in fact it feels as though every sensible thought from her mind has vanished other than wishing that Lexa would touch her harder and faster. Their eyes meet as Lexa’s hand continues its journey up her body, both shivering at the intensity of the feelings between them, until finally Lexa’s fingers brush against the hairs around her cunt, and they both still.

“I- I-” Lexa cannot seem to find her words, her eyes suddenly wide, and Clarke shakes her head, silencing her.

“I can show you.”

True to her word, she takes Lexa’s hand in hers and guides her to the touches that she has learnt make her quiver and scream into her bedclothes. Lexa’s fingers feel different to her own, and the touch makes her shiver like she has been trapped in the ice for years, but she encourages her concerned lover to continue. Where her fingers are soft and well practiced in this routine, Lexa’s fingers feel longer and warmer, and though she is still finding her footing she touches parts of Clarke that make her squirm and whimper. Lexa’s fingers run the line of her wet slit, eyes wide with amazement, and when they journey upwards to bump clumsily against her clit, Clarke spasms with desire, a high keening escaping between her lips. At that, Lexa’s eyes flash with hungry desire, and she nudges away Clarke’s guiding hand, her fingers running circles over the sensitive little bud.

She sits up, her free hand grasping at Clarke’s back to keep her steady and close against her. Her lips finding a path from Clarke’s earlobe down to her collarbones, cursing softly when she comes up against Clarke’s dress. For a moment her touches to her cunt hesitate, and Clarke whimpers, grinding her hips wantonly down onto her hand. She cannot bear to think that Lexa might pull away now, and instead she reaches up to pull at the laces and clasps of her own dress with frustration, until the flimsy sleeves fall down her arms and expose her heaving chest.

Lexa makes a delighted noise, falling upon her breasts like she has been fasting for days, and when her lips seal around Clarke’s nipple, she throws her head back and cries out, pressing only harder into Lexa’s touch. Her crest comes too quickly, she feels as if she is galloping towards it on a stallion that she cannot control, and when she falls over the edge it is with a high pitched cry, falling forwards into Lexa’s waiting body.

There are a few moments of uncertainty, as she reaches down to help Lexa work her through the aftershocks, but then Lexa’s arms are around her, easing her tired, sweaty body back into the cushions and holding her close. Lexa gazes down at her, awe shining in her eyes, even as she runs a hand through her hair, brushing the sticky tendrils away from her face.

“That was beautiful,” She breathes, and Clarke can’t help but laugh, even as Lexa continues earnestly. “Truly Clarke, I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. Thank you for letting me-”

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, voice low and throaty, and the sound of it sends a shiver through Lexa. Just the sight reinvigorates her, and Clarke clambers back on top of her lover, her dress still tangled around her waist, to press her back into the cushions. Lexa’s widened eyes meet hers and she brushes the softest kiss to her lips, pouring every tender thought she has had into this touch.

“Can I return the favour?”

“I-” Lexa hesitates, staring at her, and her cheeks begin to pink as she says, quietly. “I do not know if I can… I have never…”

“Oh you can my love,” Clarke smiles, “I will show you that you can.”

With that, she begins to trail her way down Lexa’s body again, like an adventurer picking her way through unknown terrain, she takes her time to familiarise herself with every rise and fall of the body below her. Lexa is all muscle and sinew, her body built from years of training and leading an army. It is so different from Clarke’s own softness that she is fascinated by it, by the way Lexa’s breath shifts with she kisses the underside of her breast, by the way she keens and jerks when Clarke places a bite to her ribs. Lexa’s britches are little issue when she comes to them, she simply pulls at the laces and Lexa lifts her hips obligingly to tug them down and reveal dark, wiry, wet hair and the beautiful scent of her arousal.

Carefully, watching her lovers face, Clarke touches her gently, exploring her wetness and watching the way that Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath hitching at certain touches. When Clarke takes her finger, covered in the evidence of Lexa’s want, and sucks it clean, she fears the girl may pass out. Unable to help herself, she leans in and draws the flat of her tongue along Lexa’s slit. Beneath her, Lexa jolts at the touch, a strangled cry escaping her. Clarke looks up, concerned that she’s done something wrong, but then Lexa’s hand curls in her hair and tugs her unerringly back down again, and Clarke smiles into her wetness.

---

It is some time later when Lexa runs her hand through her lover’s golden locks, pushing them back to gaze upon her sleeping face. Clarke’s delicate braids have begun to unravel in their fervour, her hair sticky with sweat, and Lexa feels a twinge of satisfaction in knowing that her restless fingers contributed to such disorder. She knows that her own hair must be equally unkempt, but she cannot bring herself to care about that, or anything else, when Clarke’s sleeping body is resting upon hers.

With the sun dappling the ground through the leaves of the orange trees, everything feels calm and peaceful. This island is like a paradise that their real lives cannot touch, and in that moment she wishes so deeply that they could stay here forever and let the world find its own way. Perhaps Clarke feels her discontent through the beating of her heart, because in that moment she stirs, her eyelids flickering open to reveal blue like the summer sky looking up at her.

Lexa feels a tinge of regret to have disturbed her, but how can she truly be sad when greeted by the sight of Clarke’s beautiful eyes blinking up at her, clearing the sleep from her vision.

“I fell asleep?” The southern queen asks, her voice rough with fatigue. “I’m sorry, I-” She goes to move away, but Lexa tightens her arm around her just a little. Clarke relaxes back into her hold with a grateful sigh, and then offers a wicked smile that makes Lexa glad they had managed to redress after their ardour. “You exhausted me, my lady.”

Lexa flushes a little at her words, bashful despite their earlier intimacy. “You were tired,” She admits, and her expression softens with concern. “You said you slept poorly?”

A shadow passes across Clarke’s face at the reminder, and she half shrugs, as nonchalant as possible. “I had bad dreams, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?” Lexa prompts, and runs a hand down her bare arm ever so gently.

Clarke hesitates, mulling over her words for a few quiet moments, before reluctantly admitting. “I dreamt about Pike, that he was in my rooms…”

The mention of the treacherous lord’s name makes Lexa bristle unhappily, her jaw clenching even at the thought of Pike so close to Clarke again. But the bags beneath Clarke’s eyes and the genuine exhaustion she sees in every inch of her body is enough to placate her, and she reassures her quietly.

“Pike is gone. We both watched as the executioner took his head.”

Beneath her, she feels Clarke shiver, and a bite of revulsion runs through her as well. As evil as Pike may have been, the sight of his head being cut from his body is not one she wants to see again.

“I know I just-“ She hesitates again, and when Clarke looks up to meet her gaze, there is something terribly sad in her eyes. “Sometimes it is as if… I have been so terrified for so long, my body has forgotten what it is to be safe.”

Lexa has to shut her eyes for a moment, to hide the pain she feels, and instead only tightens her arms around the girl in her embrace. She knows what it is to be scared, has faced down an army of thousands with the weight of a nation upon her shoulders, but always she has had a sword in her hand and her own army at her back. She can’t imagine how Clarke must have felt, alone and virtually defenceless in the capital.

Soft lips press against hers, drawing her from her thoughts and she opens her eyes to find Clarke looking back at her, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Let’s not think of sad things,” She instructs, “Tell me something happy, please Lex.”

“Alright,” Lexa can’t help but steal another kiss, before allowing Clarke to settle back into her side easily.

“One of our horse boys disappeared while we were here,” She casts her companion an exasperated smile, “Surely seduced by the excitement of the capital. Anya managed to find a new boy within the day though- a lad called Peter who calmed her mount when he spooked in the street.”

“The boy just appeared from nowhere?” Clarke asks, ever so lightly, and Lexa hums her agreement, running an absent minded hand through her hair.

“As if he were sent by the Gods,” Lexa agrees, then smiles to herself. “Though I’m sure the gods have many more things to trouble themselves with.”

“Will you take him back to Winterfell with you?” The words are enough to give them both pause, and Lexa hesitates, contemplating the painful thump of her heart.

“Yes,” She murmurs, eventually, “He will work in the stables.”

“Aden will be glad to see you again,” The joviality in Clarke’s voice is as false as silk roses. “You must make him write to me and tell me how Rose is doing.”

“Stop, please,” She is surprised to find that her voice is breaking over her words. When Clarke meets her gaze, there are a sheen of tears to her eyes as Lexa begs, “I don’t want to think about leaving, or Winterfell, or any of it. I just want to think about you – and love you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke cradles her cheeks in her hands and leans forwards to capture her lips again. “I love you too.”

Their foreheads pressed together, their bones tired from making love, and the sweet smell of oranges in the air, Lexa could almost believe that this moment would never end.

Clarke is warm in her arms and when she twists to press a kiss to the side of her head, she hums happily. Lexa gives a soft sigh, following Clarke’s gaze out to the crystal waters and the bluest of skies. “Then that’s all we need.”

It’s a lie, but a beautiful one.

---

It is a warm, bright day, the first of many that the southern summer will bring, when a messenger girl, almost tripping over her own feet to give a deep bow of deference to her queen, tells her that a representative from the Iron Bank has arrived. Clarke’s brows furrow, and she thanks the girl before asking her to have both the guest and Queen Lexa sent to her private audience chamber, with the utmost discretion.

Harper watches from where she is checking Clarke’s new bed linens for poison, and asks, quietly. “Is there anything I can do, your majesty?”

“Have refreshments sent to us Harper, if you would. And when you’re done go to Grand Measter Orrin and ask him for the leather satchel from across the sea, and bring that to me.”

Harper nods, and bobs a curtsey, before hurrying from her solar. Clarke runs a hand over the skirt of her dress; her eyes linger on her crown, but when she looks in the mirror she sees a woman who could easily be underestimated and that is exactly what she wants.

Lexa has already arrived by the time she gets to her private chamber, and is pacing back and forth before the window like a caged animal. Soon, Clarke knows, she will have to return to the north. The life of a courtier in Kings Landing does not suit her, and besides she has her own country to rule.

“Your majesty,” Lexa turns at the sound of the door, catching sight of her. There are still servers arranging sweet wine, cheese and fruits along the table, and so all they can do is look at one another, their hearts pounding.

“Our friends from across the sea?” Lexa asks, pointedly.

“They will be here soon,” She reassures her. Unable to help herself, she crosses the room, breaching the space between them so that they can speak more privately. “I believe it is truly them this time.”

“As do I.” Lexa nods seriously. “We must present a united force, they must understand that we are not pawns to be played in their games.”

“We will,” Clarke assures her, and steps away as a knock comes to the door. Often, she feels as though she is the tide and Lexa the shore, and though they are forced to retreat from one another somehow they always come back together.

“Enter,” She calls, as she settles herself into the high backed chair at the head of the table, carved with elaborate roses and stags. Lexa steps up behind her, her hand upon the back of her chair, and Clarke thinks they must make a rather striking tableau because their guest’s eyes widen as he is shown inside.

Dante Wallace looks much the same as he had all those months ago, though his hair is more silver now and there is gauntness to his expression that wasn’t there when last they met. He bows, low and elegant, to them both, and offers a charming smile when he straightens up again.

“Your majesties, well met.”

“Well met Master Wallace,” Clarke answers, with a nod of her head. “I hope your journey was not too strenuous.”

“The crossing of the Narrow Sea is never easy on old bones, your majesty.” Dante gives a small smile. “But I had to come to meet the new queen of the south.”

“Please, sit,” Clarke gestures to the chair before her. As Dante sits, she pours him a goblet of wine, “We have met before.”

“Indeed, but I have not met the new queen,” Dante takes the goblet she offers with a nod of his head. He offers her a smile which is almost paternal, “I thought you would go far when last we met.”

“It is terrible circumstances,” Clarke glances down at her own goblet, “But I intend to do whatever it takes to keep my country safe.”

“It seems that you are keen to maintain the good relationships King Thelonious left behind,” Dante observes, and his eyes linger on Lexa long enough to make it clear what he is referring to. “I hope that that courtesy extends to us.”

“I hope so too, Master Wallace.” Clarke glances back at Lexa, as if she had forgotten she was there. “Have you met Queen Lexa of the Northern Kingdom?”

Master Wallace doesn’t flinch away from her expectant expression, a cordial smile on his face. “I have not yet had the pleasure, your majesty.” He nods to the northern queen, “Your majesty, we at the Iron Bank have written to you since your reign began.”

“I am aware,” Lexa answers, steadily, and only the slightest shift in Dante’s expression gives away his annoyance.

“The queen and I are keen to ensure that relationships between our nations are close.” Clarke informs him, a steely edge entering her tone.

Almost as if she were listening at the door, a knock comes and Harper is shown inside. Clarke waves a hand at her, motioning her closer without drawing her eyes away from Dante Wallace.

The foreigner watches the handmaiden’s approach, a flicker of hesitation in his voice before he says. “That is excellent news. All any of us want is peace.”

Harper deposits the leather pouch into Clarke’s hands and retreats without a word, closing the door softly behind her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” At his words, Clarke dips her hand into the pouch in her dress and pulls out the iron coin that has been beneath her pillow for so many nights. With careful precision, she places it onto the table between them and watches as his face turns grey. Into the silence that hangs between them all, she says. “There are others in Braavos who feel similarly.” She reaches into the pouch, her fingers closing around the cold, withered skin of Cage Wallace, and places the face onto the table between them.

Dante Wallace stares down at his son’s face, and his expression draws as if he is going to vomit. He recoils away from the sight, his chair legs scraping against the stone flag floor with a terrible squeal, but he doesn’t get very far before Lexa’s strong hand clamps around his shoulder, keeping him down.

The silver blade she presses against his throat shines in the candlelight and Clarke sees the master’s eyes bulging with fear.

She offers her prettiest, rosebud smile. “It wouldn’t do for people to find out that you once sought to undermine our close relationship. It would be terrible for the Iron Bank’s reputation.” With a sigh, she puts the face back into the bag and pockets her coin again, as Lexa slides away from the Braavosi banker.

Clarke is slightly impressed that Dante doesn’t flee in an instant. Instead, he takes a moment to straighten out his robes, and stands with all the grace a man just held out knifepoint can possibly have.

He clears his throat and speaks weakly. “As you say, your majesty,” he gives a nod of his head to them both, and turns for the door, but Clarke’s words pull him up short.

“And I’m sure you will be happy to erase all of the crown’s debts to you, won’t you Master Dante.”

---

The sun draws in, painting the sky with long strokes of apricot and rosebud pink. This is quickly becoming one of her favourite parts of the day: her petitioners have all gone home, and from her place on the balcony with Wells she can hear the sounds of people in the city downing tools and streaming into the inns and alehouses of the city.

This balcony is hers now, just as the castle behind it is, and the city sprawling out below, and while that weight has not become any lighter, she has learnt to bear it better in the weeks that have passed. Beside her, Wells seems more relaxed than he has in years, and she glances over at him curiously, taking a sip from her goblet before asking.

“You seem to be in good spirits, my friend?”

Wells considers her words for a moment, and then nods. “I am.” He answers, and he offers a smile that warms her to the bones. “I feel more content than I have done in some time.”

She eyes him with interest, “May I ask why?”

“You are the queen, you may ask whatever you wish.” He teases her, and she scowls at him over the rim of her goblet. “Truly though,” he continues more seriously. “For some time I have been wondering what I will do next… there is no place for a disgraced prince in your court.”

She cuts through him, abruptly alarmed by this line of talk. “There will always be a place for you here, Wells, you know that. This is your home as much as it is mine.”

“I know, but as long as I am around there will always be a challenge to your reign, whether I want to be or not.” He sets hardened eyes upon her, “I am done being a pawn in their games. I will not be used against you.”

“But where will you go?” Her wide eyes are set to him, her heart thrumming in her chest.

He takes a deep breath, “I know this sounds strange, but I would like to return to the Maesters in Oldtown.”

Her brows crease and her mouth drops open to protest, but he speaks over her.

“I have always wanted to learn more, and now that I am no longer a prince I am free to do so. Who better to learn from than some of the wisest men in Westeros?”

“Maester Wells,” She rolls the words across her tongue like a sugar coated almond, considering them. After a moment she admits, reluctantly. “It would suit you.”

He smiles, and reaches over to place a hand upon hers, squeezing gently. In the glowing evening light, she sees the lines that have been carves around his eyes and the heaviness that rests there, and wonders if he sees these confessions of age and weariness in her too.

“I will not go without your blessing, but I truly think it would be the best for your reign if I were to leave.”

“Of course you should go,” She frowns at him, “If it is what you want I will not stop you- though I will miss you dearly.”

“Thank you, my friend,” He smiles, and she is reminded of the youth they shared, of chasing one another through the castle gardens and stealing away from their Septa. Part of her aches for those times, but she knows now that they will never be what they were before. That innocence was stripped from them long ago and the best they can hope is to find some happiness in the world they have now.

“What about your son?” Her voice is pitched so softly that Wells can pretend not to hear her if he wishes. When his expression shifts to sadness, she presses a little further. “I don’t think that they allow babes in Oldtown.”

“You’re right,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I love my son, but I could never care for him as his mother did. Whenever I look upon him-” His voice breaks and she turns away, giving him a moment to gather his emotions.

“I think you would be a wonderful father,” She murmurs, to the warm evening air, and Wells squeezes her fingers.

“Thank you Clarke but… it would not be fair to raise my son when everytime I look at him I am reminded of everyone I lost.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Clarke assures him, after a moment, “Though I think you’re wrong. I will make sure Benam is protected and well cared for.”

“I meant what I said,” Wells fixes her with a firm gaze, suddenly more sure of himself than she has seen him in years. “I want you to raise him, acknowledge him as my son and your heir.”

She presses her lips together, considering. There is a part of her, she is ashamed to say, which sees the advantages Wells is offering her and wants to take them without hesitation. But there is another part of her, a larger part, who cannot help but think of Aden’s words to her in the Winterfell crypt what feels like a lifetime ago. “Are you sure you won’t regret it? Every son wants to know his father, and every father wants to know his son.”

“I am sure,” Wells looks at her with grave eyes, and she senses that he has given this great thought. He stands and takes a few steps to the balcony, looking out over the patchwork of red tiled roofs and snaking streets. “My father wanted the Baratheons to rule this land for all of eternity. He thought that we would always do what was right for our people. While watching him wage the war against the north I saw for the first time how difficult it was to be a ruler,” He shakes his head and glances back at her, a pitiful smile upon his lips. “My father was a stronger man than I, and I saw him be pulled in every different direction by advisers who sought to influence him. For some time he lost sight of his wisdom and his faith and all he was fighting for, and in that time so many men died in an unnecessary war.”

Clarke stands, her skirts swaying soundlessly around her legs, and moves to join him at the balcony. “Your father was a good man,” She tells him, softly. “Please don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t,” Wells assures her, “He had merits that I do not. He was certainly braver and more shrewd than I will ever be, he had more wisdom and ruthlessness. That is how I know I cannot be king… but that doesn’t mean my son might not be better than I am.”

Clarke’s brows crease and she glances to him, “Benam?”

He meets her gaze and speaks earnestly. “Raise him Clarke, and teach him to be the sort of king this land deserves. At least then the Baratheon name will live on and my father’s legacy will be satisfied.”

“After all you’ve seen, you still want Benam to be king?” Clarke shakes her head, astounded.

“He will have the best teacher there is,” Wells smiles at her, touching her hand very gently. “And besides, from what I understand you are unlikely to be making any heirs yourself.”

Her eyes widen and her head snaps to stare at him so violently that she feels her neck twinge. “What?” She demands, and her fingers tighten instinctively about his. “What have you heard?”

“Not heard,” He promises her, “Only seen with my own two eyes. You seem to be very attached to Her Majesty Queen Lexa.”

“I-” Clarke scrambles for words, like a fish out of water, and Wells laughs very softly at her floundering. “Are people talking?” Clarke demands, at last, “Do people know?”

“No one knows but I, and perhaps your Queensguard if they were not dropped atop their heads as infants,” Wells laughs, and then continues at her stricken expression. “Peace, friend. I only know because I have watched you fall in and out of love since we were babes.”

“And you still want your child to be raised by me?” Clarke asks at last, with a watery, derisive laugh. “Who makes such unwise decisions?”

“Oh Clarke,” For a second she thinks she sees pity in his eyes. “We don’t choose who we love. I know that, above anyone else.”

“Soon it will not matter,” She shakes her head, and forces her eyes out to the slowly darkening horizon. “She will return to Winterfell any day now.”

“And she will take your heart with her,” Wells observes, quietly. When her gaze turns to him, he offers a sad smiles. “The common people may think that we are blessed with all manners of riches, but content is a crown seldom enjoyed.”

At that, she can only nod, and they stand there together for some time, watching as the sun eases further and further through the sky, leaving trails of indigo in its wake. A knock comes to the door, startling them from their reverie, and when Harper steps in and introduces Queen Lexa, Clarke’s heart throbs.

“Your majesty,” Lexa hesitates at the doorway to the balcony, her gaze flickering uncertainly to Wells, “I apologise, I thought you would be alone at this hour.”

“That’s alright, your majesty,” Wells bows his head to them both. “I will take my leave, I have suddenly got a hankering for roast lamb and new potatoes.”

“Prince Wells, you really don’t have to-” Lexa protests lamely as he places down his goblet and inclines his head to Clarke.

“Nonsense,” Wells shakes his head, a smile playing upon his lips. “Thank you for your counsel, your majesty, as always.”

“Thank you, Prince Wells,” Clarke smiles, watching him leave, and when Harper closes the door behind them both she crosses the space between Lexa and herself and takes her love’s hands within hers. “I am glad to see you.”

“And I you,” Lexa confesses, and the stars dance within her eyes when she leans forward to steal a kiss from Clarke’s lips. It leaves Clarke breathless and smiling, and she can’t help but pull Lexa back to her by her hand, pressing their lips together again until they have to break away, laughing very softly.

“Would you like to sit?” Clarke gestures to the two chairs left empty on the balcony, but Lexa takes her hand, smiling a little sadly.

“No, I couldn’t bear to be that far away from you tonight,” Their hands still clasped, she pulls Clarke towards the low stone wall, and they lean against it together, so close that their shoulders brush, and look out onto the stars just beginning to show themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your time with your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Clarke runs her thumb over the smooth skin of Lexa’s palm. “We have said all there is to say tonight,” At Lexa’s curious glance she explains. “He tells me he wants to become a Maester.” Lexa makes a soft, interested noise, and she continues, a little hesitantly. “And that Benam should be my heir.”

“His son?” Lexa’s eyes widen, focusing with an intensity that Clarke has not seen in her before. “That is an interesting proposition- he does not want to raise the child himself?”

“He says he reminds him too much of Ivy, the boy’s mother,” Clarke meets her gaze and squeezes her fingers. “Wells loved her very much and she was killed by Pike’s men.”

“That is terrible,” Lexa’s expression is soft with sympathy and understanding. “Wells must miss her immensely.”

Clarke nods, and then asks quietly into the silence that settles about them. “What do you think I should do?”

Lexa sighs ever so softly and turns to look at her properly, her expression intense upon Clarke’s features. When she speaks, she is incredibly serious. “I cannot tell you what to do Clarke, but if you would like my advice… you are young yet and could easily bear many heirs of your own.”

Clarke’s eyes meet hers and her voice breaks over her words. “And if I do not want to bear many heirs of my own?”

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat, and she swallows. “I would… ask you to be sure when you make that decision. Life is long Clarke, and your reign is yet beginning. You may find it helpful… perhaps even desirable… to have a king by your side some day.”

“I am sure.”Clarke takes their clasped hands and presses them against her breast, above her heart. Her voice wells with emotion when she says. “I know what I want, I know who I want. You will live in my heart always Lexa, and I could never bring myself to try to replace you.”

“Oh Clarke,” There are tears sparkling in Lexa’s eyes. “You know I would never ask you…”

“You don’t have to ask,” Clarke shakes her head, “And you could go away and marry hundreds of other queens and kings, but I would still love you just as much as I love you today.”

“My heart beats only for you.” Lexa answers, without faltering. “I will never love another, not until my dying breath.”

At those words, Clarke can’t help but lean forward to capture her lips, kissing away the tears that fall down her cheeks and wishing that she can soothe the anguish that rages through them both. Lexa’s arms wind around her waist, holding her close, and when they break apart their foreheads touch, so that they are looking deeply into one another’s eyes.

“You understand that we can never be wed while we are queens?” Lexa murmurs, their lips almost brushing. “My people have fought hard for their independence, and while it may have been for the wrong reasons it’s my responsibility to help them find their way now.”

“And I cannot abandon the south without a leader,” Clarke lets out a very soft sigh, resting her head against Lexa’s shoulder and enjoying the feeling of being held, of strong arms clutching her close. “And so we are like the sun and the moon,” She muses quietly, her eyes fixed to the sky darkening to twilight. “Destined never to be together.”

“But when they meet, even if ever so briefly,” Lexa murmurs, brushing her hair back from her forehead and pressing a soft kiss close to her ear. “The sky is filled with the most beautiful colours. We will be that way Clarke, I could not live without you for very long.”

Slowly, Clarke peels herself away from her lover’s arms as she thinks about what Lexa means. “So we shall meet in secret?”

“Until all is settled and we can be together as we should be,” When their eyes meet Lexa is soft, but determined. “As I say, I can no longer live without you.”

“Nor I you.” Clarke breathes, enraptured by the sight before her.

“And we cannot leave two great nations within sovereigns,” Lexa brushes softly along her cheek. “So we must meet, for the good of our people.”

Clarke’s lips quirk, and she echoes. “Our people.”

“And one day, when all is said and done,” Lexa cradles her very close, as if afraid she will vanish. “I should like to marry you, Clarke Tyrell, if you would be obliged.”

“I think I should like that more than anything else,” Clarke catches her lips again and when they kiss it tastes of roses and cold winters nights and promises to be kept.

#clexa #clexa gotau #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clexa fic #dreamsofray

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (8/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: My first draft of this chapter was a third of the length that this chapter is now, because I was so excited about all the action that I left out a lot of crucial details. I've gained a lot of appreciation for SJM and other authors who write books with a lot of action as a result. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 9 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3.

Tamlin hears the scream from across the house and it doesn’t matter that he’s just taken the first bite of his dinner, he starts running, his sword already in his hand. He can hear Lucien and Vassa following behind him.

They’d all been warning him that his lands were not safe and he hadn’t minded, but this scream sounded like Elain and Tamlin does not think about the possible scenarios or their implications, he only runs.

When he reaches Elain’s room, the door is locked, and Tamlin doesn’t bother to knock before ramming his shoulder through the wood and storming inside.

There is blood on the white carpet, still fresh and red, the hot copper smell making him want to howl with rage and fear.

From behind him, he can hear Vassa’s gasp, quiet and quickly muffled. Lucien is already crouched, studying the blood, but within seconds he turns to another object and his eyes go wide. Tamlin goes on stalking the room, though he thinks already that it’s futile. Elain’s scent brings him to the bloody spot a few feet from her desk, where she left her gardening hat, the crushed flowers she wore in her hair this morning.

Her face, her warm eyes and the flush on her cheeks, her lips, is the image in his mind when Lucien starts to say his name.

“Do you see this, Tamlin?” Lucien’s question means more than the sum of its words, that’s evident from his tone, but Tamlin’s mind is roaring, beyond strategic comprehension.

Elain is gone. Somewhere, Elain is bleeding. He had always thought that when someone was stolen from his house, it would be him, one final judgement on his leadership. Now he imagines the blood leaking from her skin, the blade crosshatching her throat or belly, and there’s acid in his throat, an incomprehension. He could try and tell himself that he is horrified about the scandal this will cause, the terror that will descend from the Night Court, but he cannot tell himself such a lie.

I see things, sometimes, she’d said only hours ago, and he’d only told her to stop revealing her secrets. He’d left her alone in the woods. She could have been taken so easily, or been identified and followed.

Lucien is still talking, and finally Tamlin looks at the object that’s only a few inches from the blood: a piece of bone, wrapped in a worn blue silk that’s shot through with gold threads.

The power coming from the bone is unbelievable, filling his mind with whispers that cascade, one over the other, until Tamlin isn’t sure what is real and what is unreal and what is created by the bone. There are words that sound familiar, and words in languages with sounds he’s not sure he could making with a lifetime of training. From the bone come words and whispers and singing, all beckoning him toward what appears, at first glance, to be a relic of nothing in particular. All the sounds beckon him, though. Each tries to draw him nearer, and Tamlin has just enough presence of mind to realize that whether or not this object is trying to ensnare him, he cannot follow where it leads.

With an effort, he pushes those whispers out of his mind, until it’s only Lucien and Vassa in the room with him, staring at him as if they’re waiting for his command.

“We need to get to Koschei,” Vassa says, crossing the room to them, her amber eyes steady as she speaks the name of her jailer. “He’s the one who’s taken her. I know it”

“First we need to figure out what this is.” Lucien gestures toward the bone, still crouched. His face has gone pale. He, too, can hear the whispers.

“What does the bone have to do with Koschei?” Vassa asks.

“Are you suddenly an expert in magical objects?” Lucien snaps at her.

Tamlin slices through the air with his hands. They both turn to him, their silence heavy and expectant. He was never trained to give speeches, but as son to the High Lord, Tamlin was always meant to lead a war band, provide a strategy at the crucial moment, and he finds that he can slip into this guise of himself even when his blood thrums with guilt and rage.

“We don’t know for sure that it was Koschei. This court has other enemies. The Night Court has its own share. And Elain herself could be a target. But if Koschei has taken her, we need to find her quickly.” From what he’s heard, Koschei would make Amarantha look like a child working her first spells. Whatever mettle she’s revealed, whatever abilities the Cauldron gave her, he does not think Elain can defend herself against him. He scents the air, heart thumping in his chest. “Her maid’s scent is in the room.”

“Her name is Melis,” Vassa says, her voice steady. Vassa, whose own training as a ruler never falters. “I would have thought she’d come for me first.”

Lucien reaches for her, leans his head against her hip, but never takes his eyes from the bone, as if he’s worried it will bite. “If it is Koschei, he's already far ahead of us. What would he want with Elain?”

“The Cauldron made her a seer,” Tamlin says, and although he should be thinking of strategies, enemies, plots and means of escape, his mind is fixated on the way Elain looked, making this revelation. The desperation in her eyes. He should have looked for her, when she hadn’t appeared at his dinner table. He should have stationed a guard outside her room, stood vigil himself. Gifts or no gifts, Night Court or no, he should have realized she was too precious to be left alone.

“If she could divine a way for Koschei to escape,” Vassa says, “he would tear apart the world in search of her.”

“Should we summon Rhysand? I can’t winnow in directly, not over such a distance.” Lucien looks first at Vassa, then at Tamlin, and then he turns again, as if transfixed, to the bone. “Would Koschei have dropped this and not noticed? It could have gotten him away from that lake of his. And if he’s lost it, he’ll come back for it. Perhaps he wants Elain for some grander purpose. Another vision.”

“I never saw him with a bone,” Vassa says, “and we need to hurry, whatever we do. You don’t understand what he could be doing to her.”

“You’re sure it’s Koschei?” Tamlin asks.

“There’s a trace his magic leaves behind. It was always bitter in my throat. I don’t sense it here.” Her hand rests over her heart, the palm pressing hard enough to leave a mark.

“Then you’re not sure?”

“I have felt his hold on me tighten these past few weeks. The enchantment has gotten stronger. As if he wanted to remind me that my safety was an illusion. It felt like he would pull me to him, no matter where I might be.”

“No one’s magic can reach so far,” Lucien says, and when he looks away from the bone to meet Vassa’s gaze, Tamlin knows that whatever his bond with Elain, it is endangered by what lights Lucien’s russet eye now, amidst the fear and the questioning. “You should have told me.”

“Koschei was always going to claim me again,” she tells him, reaching for his hand. And then she turns to Tamlin, resolute. “We need to go to him. As soon as we can be taken.”

“You will remain here,” Tamlin tells her, steeling his voice to match hers. “You are my guest, under my protection.”

“You don’t know if this is a trap,” she says, and her chin is set. For a moment, he thinks of Feyre, but Vassa remakes the image of a queen inside his mind, an alternate image of strength. “If he’s found a way to leave the lake, he could easily come back for me.”

“We can’t give him both you and Elain,” Tamlin says, hands on his daggers. “Lucien, you’ll stay here and ensure that Vassa is safe. Rhysand and I can go to Koschei.”

The look on Lucien’s face would be comical if it weren’t for the situation, but before he can respond, there’s a noise like the ripping of some great fabric, and once again, Tamlin is running toward the sound.

His great hall, with its tall ceilings and stone, is the only place that could create such echoes, and his steps thunder through him as he runs, his dagger in one hand as he tries to think. He has power, but he’s never been particularly skilled with spells that require finesse. He’s more powerful in his beast form, less vulnerable to the influence of magic, but he cannot lose his grip on himself, his High Fae mind. Not if Koschei is as powerful and subtle as Rhysand and Vassa have led him to believe. Not if Elain hangs in the balance.

Tamlin pulls the sword from its sheath at his back, and he takes those last galloping strides into the hall, readies himself to lunge at Koschei, he silences his steps to preserve those last seconds of surprise. But before Tamlin can survey the scene, his eyes catch and trip on Elain’s, the warm brown glittering with tears and the first light of relief --

Golden light between them, a ringing in his ears, his heart.

He knows that there are more important things, but still he watches her for a little eternity as something comes to rest inside of him, something that was waiting for centuries, heavy on his shoulders. For a second, all the terror and rage in him is gone, and he could swear that for a second, the fear vanishes from her eyes, too, and everything is bright and lovely --

Except the knife at her neck, held by fingers that are elegant and strong and thrumming with magic, limning the veins of the death-lord who wields the knife, who has orchestrated this strike. Koschei.

Tamlin wrenches his eyes from Elain until he is facing Koschei, his sword poised and ready to strike. He’s lost the ability to surprise, but he is muscled where Koschei is lean, and if he plans his strike well enough, he’ll get the knife out of those hands, make sure Elain is free. He has his powers again. He’s no longer Amarantha’s slave.

“You know I’ll kill her before you reach me, High Lord,” Koschei says, his dark eyes depthless and unblinking as he taunts. Power flows off him in waves, charging the air, lifting his white hair off his shoulders. “Such a waste of a gift, don’t you think? I would have thought you’d keep her just a bit safer, but you’ve never been able to protect those you love. Then again, I’ve heard such rumors about you. That you let them all go wandering off.”

“What do you want?” Tamlin grinds out, trying not to listen or to react. He will be silent until he is all deadly motion. If he dies fighting Koschei, it will be all right, as long as Elain is safe, as long as Lucien and Vassa have enough time to escape.

“I only want what’s mine, High Lord. I come to claim the lovely Vassa.”

Koschei’s gaze shifts over Tamlin’s shoulder, and as his pointed teeth are bared by a smirk, Tamlin knows both that Vassa has entered the hall, trying and failing to sneak past heightened senses she does not possess in human form. And he knows, too, that thanks to the distraction of her presence, this is his only opportunity to strike.

He runs at Koschei, sword drawn, the claws ripping through his hands as he draws near, but where the death-god stood is only empty air, Elain falling to the floor, her fingers reaching for the rusty ring of old blood at her throat. Her maid runs to her but Elain puts her hands up and Tamlin grabs those hands, pulls her toward him as he whirls around toward Vassa, caught in Koschei’s arms, blue flames forming a harness at her chest and shoulders, her bronze skin gone pale.

Tamlin runs for Koschei, Elain behind his body, shielded, and he sees Lucien coming at the sorcerer from behind, and for a second there’s a wild hope that wells in him, thinks that the difficulties of this battle have been overstated, that they will lop off Koschei’s head and Lucien will set fire to his corpse and they’ll ask Cook to make an extravagant dessert to celebrate their victory.

But before he can take a second stride, Vassa is screaming, fingers clawing at her throat as the shriek explodes, jagged, from her throat, and Tamlin runs faster. He will save her, just this once he will do something, save the day, but as he reaches Koschei and Vassa, Koschei reaches past Tamlin, wraps his fingers around Elain’s wrist, and he and Vassa begin to disappear. Behind them, Lucien throws out his dagger toward Koschei, but it falls through the air without resistance. And Tamlin feels his fingers sink into Elain’s flesh more easily, as if she has become insubstantial, invaded by the air itself.

Without thinking, Tamlin grabs Elain by the waist and pulls her away from Koschei’s grip, running in the opposite direction as he sheaths his sword and runs the fingers of that hand from her shoulders to her fingertips as around them, the fabric of the world rends and ripples with a groan and crackle, a series of tiny explosions. Vassa and Koschei’s forms flicker, interrupted by hundreds of tiny bright pinpoints interposed between whatever matter gives them form, growing brighter and dimmer as they

He knows that he should watch Vassa to see if there’s a last opportunity to save her but instead Tamlin whirls toward Elain, runs his hands down her arms, squeezing her delicate fingers, trying to ensure that she is flesh and bone and here in this room, solid and breathing and unharmed. There is dried blood all down the front of her white dress, blood all around her neck, but Elain looks at him with startled eyes and then she runs for Vassa and Koschei, barely more than specters.

Koschei turns toward her, reaches out an arm again, ready to make himself corporeal or to conjure up some dread spell. Even as mist, even with whatever binds him, he has found something essential in Elain, who aims herself at what remains of Vassa, the woman and flame entwined and vanishing. He’s never seen such a terrible expression on Elain’s face, such determination.

Tamlin launches himself across the room and pulls back, once again he shields her behind his body.

Elain claws at him, tearing at his tunic, the lengths of his hair, she screams Vassa’s name, but Tamlin doesn’t release her until the death-god and the queen have vanished completely and the only sounds in the estate come from Elain’s lungs, screaming giving way to sobbing as she runs for Lucien, crouched on the ground where Vassa stood, his hand on new scorch marks. She rests her hand on Lucien’s shoulder, clutching at him, and Tamlin wants to growl and rage with the jealousy that fills him, mingling with his ever-present guilt.

Once again, he stood by while a woman was harmed, then captured. He couldn’t land a single blow on Koschei.

He wants to go to them, to apologize, to form a new plan. They had fallen into almost this same stance, with Vassa, within an hour that feels like its own hellish eternity, but now Tamlin hangs back. His hands are fisted as if he could attack the air.

Across the hall, he hears the shuffle of slippered footsteps.

That pink-skinned maid of Elain’s, the one who cut her, who took her to Koschei, darts towards the kitchens, the servants’ quarters.

Thinking only of that rusty ring at Elain’s throat, the blood on the carpet, Tamlin lunges after her, his daggers in his hands. She will not escape. She will tell him what he knows, and then… to think of the consequences, the after, would only make him lose whatever control he has. Instead, Tamlin lets himself slip into that deadly calm he’s worn for centuries as he runs after the pink figure, her green skirts swirling in her wake.

When he reaches her, pins her by her shoulders against the wall, she gives a little cry, and for a second Tamlin is startled at the ease of her surrender. Then he sees the claws on his hands. She’s afraid that he will rip her into bloody ribbons.

She’s not wrong.

But though Tamlin lets the claws remain, he holds onto his control. He only unleashes his growl when he says, “Tell me how Koschei found you.”

The maid lets out a buzzing squeak, and Tamlin flexes his fingers, studies them for just a moment, as if to say, think about what I could do.

When he turns back, Elain has wedged her way in between them. Once again, her face is blazing and determined, the expression slamming into Tamlin, so that he actually staggers away, the claws disappearing, his daggers clattering to the ground.

“You will not kill Melis,” Elain says, throwing out her arms. And even though Tamlin knows he could overpower her in a second, he feels the force of this gesture also, lets it buffet him as the knowing, which had surfaced for a moment when he saw her, held by Koschei, now breaks over him like a shining, deadly wave.

“I will not kill Melis,” he says, bowing his head to the female who is somehow, impossibly, his mate. “She will be safe in this house until the next time she threatens you.”

“I won’t--” the maid says, her words like a bee trapped against a window, buzzing and frantic.

Elain’s fingers go to her own throat. He watches her go pale, then press her lips into a line. Soon, he thinks, the shock of the hour will overcome her, but for now she pulls herself taller, becoming a creature with claws of her own. He wants to throw his arms around her, ignoring the demands of the moment, the implications of the gesture, the fact that she would not welcome his embrace. Somehow, he keeps his hands idle.

“I would not make any promises,” she says, her voice low and too calm. “You have committed an act of war, and who knows if I can shield you from Lucien or my sister’s mate? So you had better start by telling us how Koschei found you, and what he wants so badly with Vassa, and how we find her.”

At this, the maid only nods her head, which Tamlin supposes is her only option, since he can tell that Lucien is standing at his shoulder.

“He took Vassa,” is all Lucien says, and there are no words in Tamlin for that kind of grief, the kind that eats away at a person and can convince them to make a thousand terrible decisions, and so he reaches for Lucien’s shoulder and clutches the knot of muscle and bone, and makes a vow.

“I will bring her back,” he says, and when his eyes meet Elain’s, somehow she does not look away. Instead, right before Melis runs for the second time, she gives the smallest nod.

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nicka-nell · 4 years

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I'm Kiyoomi Sakusa and I'm a germaphobe - Chapter 33: When everything breaks, I believe in you.

Words: 1.624 Warning: angst, manga spoiler

Chapter 32 - A new heart beats | Masterlist

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

Kiyoomi had written to them that he was not coming to the training and what happened to (y/n). They look at him with fear and embrace their sad friend. “We’re here for you. Okay?” Atsumu calls to him and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, we’re here for you, no matter what happens.” Bokuto adds and sits down next to Kiyoomi in a chair. “Stop now! Everything will be fine!” cries Hinata, who does not want to see what has just happened. Osamu is the only one who says nothing. Because he feels most connected to Kiyoomi and (y/n). For him, the situation is not as difficult as for Kiyoomi, but he loves (y/n) too. He doesn’t want to see her die. And that Kaede of all people is operating on her... That must be terrible for him. He has the life of his sister and niece in his hands. Quietly he sits down on a chair and looks sadly over to Kiyoomi. Carefully he grabs his hand and presses it firmly. “Listen, Kiyoomi, we both know how strong (y/n) is, she’s gonna be fine, we just have to believe in her.” Osamu says with a serious voice and feels the pressure on his hand, which is created by Kiyoomis handshake. “Yes...” he whispers quietly, and again his tears flow. It takes several hours for Kaede to come out of the operating room and see Kiyoomi and his friends. He takes off his face mask and walks up to the people. “Kiyoomi? Look at me...” Keade orders him and waits for Kiyoomis sad red eyes to look at him. With a groaning sound he squats and looks up at Kiyoomi. “(y/n) is doing fine. She made it. It looked worse than it is. She will wake up in a few hours, and if all goes well, she will be out in a few days.” The relief is seen in his face and sobbing he takes Kaede in his arms. “Thank you! Thank you Kaede!” Kaede returns his embrace and paints circular movements on Kiyoomis back with his hand. “I promised you I would save her.” he whispered quietly. “But... what... what about our baby? What about our daughter?” asks Kiyoomi who now interrupts the embrace and looks critically at Kaede. “Kiyoomi... please relax a bit. She is all right too. That shot didn’t hurt her. We will, however, keep an eye on both in the next few days. But like I said, she’ll be able to go home with you in a few days. Promise me you’ll go home now, get some rest and come back. You need to rest.” He would rather stay here, waiting for (y/n) to wake up and stay with her. But he knows it would be unreasonable. So he nods a little absent-minded and leaves the hospital with his friends. “Shall we go with you home? I mean... This was not easy for you.” asks Hinata, who is worried about his friend. “No... I’d like to be alone with Osamu and then go home. Thank you all for being here...” he answers Hinata and looks into the circle. Nodding, his friends hug him and say goodbye to him, with the remark that he should call whenever he needs someone to talk or distract. “Why did you want to be alone with me?” Osamu asks him and picks up Kiyoomi, who is already heading for his house. “I know... that (y/n) is very important to you. That you love her. I appreciate that, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for her and for us. If (y/n) gets out of the hospital... And if we can finally hold our daughter in our arms... Do you want to be her godfather? I know you’ll love her as much as Kaede loves her. You’re one of the few people we’d both want to give our little sunshine to without hesitation. Because we trust you and we know that she’s in good hands with you if anything happens to us.” His voice is serious and so is his look. Osamu looks at him with big eyes. “Her godfather? Really? That... I’d be honored, Kiyoomi. I’d like to be her godfather.” In his words, his eyes begin to become glassy, and he has to refrain from crying. “You idiot...! Let’s go to my store together and drink to (y/n), your little princess and me as her godfather.” He sobs and hugs Kiyoomi. “Okay... okay! It's all right now. Let go of me.” Kiyoomi sighs and follows Osamu to his shop. While Osamu pours himself and Kiyoomi sake, his gaze remains on his friend. “Hey listen Kiyoomi... If you want, you can stay here. I can imagine that it’s not easy for you to be in that house by having your shared memories.” Kiyoomi nods and looks over to him. “Thank you. I may really come back to that.” Together they drink some sake, eat some Onigiris and talk about (y/n) until both fall asleep tired in Osamus apartment. - When Kiyoomi goes back to the hospital and enters (y/n)’s room, she is talking to Kaede. She seems to have just woken up because Kaede told her about everything that happened. Relief draws her face as he tells her that her baby is also fine. But one more time her eyes shine as she sees Kiyoomi enter the room. With a pack of Miya Onigiris, a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a few clothes, he stands in the room door and warmly smiles at his wife. “I knew you’d make it, (y/n). Because I believe in you.” Are the first words that leave his mouth as he approaches (y/n) and Kaede and puts the flowers, food and clothes on the table next to (y/n). Carefully he takes her in his arms and gives her a long loving kiss. But the kiss becomes salty after only a few seconds, because Kiyoomi cannot hold back his tears again. “Kiyoomi... You don't have to cry. Everything is all right.” (y/n) tries to calm him down. “It’s not all good. I believed in you, but I was worried too. I should have protected you... No, I should have protected both of you. Instead, all I could do was just call a doctor and hold you in my arms. I should have been there for you.” he sobs. “Kiyoomi... please don't be like that. What else could you have done? You’re also here for me now. And Kaede said that all the hours I was in the operating room, you were there and you believed in me. You couldn’t have supported me better. You couldn’t have supported us better. You did a great job, Kiyoomi. Now look at me the way you’d look at me otherwise. You look like a pile of misery.” She grins at him. “I see that you are slowly coming back to your wonderfully loving nature.” Kiyoomi now also grins sarcastically. - Kiyoomi visits (y/n) in the next three days at any time he has the right to visit. He brings her flowers, something to eat from Osamus shop, reads books to her and talks to her belly where their little girl is in. He’s glad he didn’t lose her. Because he couldn’t bear to lose her. He loves her, and he always will. Because she’s his wife. Today she is to be released and full of anticipation but also afraid Kiyoomi is standing in front of the hospital. He looks around to see if there really is no one with a gun in the crowd. But all people are unsuspected. Still slightly exhausted, but with a happy smile, (y/n) steps out of the hospital together with Kaede, whose shift is also coming to an end. He lovingly embraces his wife and encloses her cheeks with his hands. “I love you, my princess. Let’s go home and be finally together.” His voice is still slightly sad, as he would have wanted to prevent all this. But (y/n)’s smile makes him stop thinking about his failure. “Let’s go home, darling.” She whispers softly and gives him a gentle kiss on the lips. “You know I’m still here, right?” interrupts Kaede them and looks at them sulking. Laughing, (y/n) beats her hand on Kaedes back and smiles. “Yes, my savior, we know that, of course you’re coming with us.” Arriving at home, Kiyoomi goes directly to their bedroom with (y/n) and makes her lie down again, as she should take care of herself. Anxiously he lays down beside her and holds her hand in his. “I love you, (y/n). Please promise me you’ll always stay with me. I was very afraid of losing you. Losing our baby... I don’t want to see you like this again.” His words are accompanied by his pain, and he notices how his eyes become glassy again. “Kiyoomi... everything is alright. Really. We are with you and we will always be with you, my beloved. Don't forget that. I love you too Kiyoomi.” Gently she gives him a kiss and takes him firmly into her arms. With her hand, which has just stroked his back, she walks through his curly hair and smiles at him. “I’ll always be at your side, Kiyoomi.” she whispers, and this time it is Kiyoomi who pulls her to himself and distributes several loving kisses on her cheek, hands and stomach.

Chapter 34 - From nightmare to dream and picture book (END)

Taglist: @kara-grayson04 @suna-allie @pleasemelafook-outta-ere

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livlepretre · 4 years

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for the writing ask! 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 30, 31, 32, 44, 48, 51, 53, 54 (any other advice?) - sorry for all the questions. im just really curious, lol

oh geez haha I will endeavor to answer!

8. Favorite trope to write.

obviously enemies to lovers 😈

9. Least favorite trope to write. can I list fluff as a trope

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I hit publish the same way other people do impulsive things like jump off a bridge (I did that too once. woke up with nightmares about it for weeks). When you’re doubting yourself-- and I doubt myself all! the! time!-- the best thing to do is to steel yourself for like 5 seconds, take the leap, and then wait. Most of the time people are incredibly kind and receptive, and whatever plot point was causing the anxiety will either go unnoticed or will be appreciated by someone out there. I feel like so long as the writing comes from a place of honesty and isn’t about sensationalizing or taking advantage of anyone, then it will work out.

13. How do you deal with writers block? I let myself put the work down and don’t stress about it. I have a rule where I only write if I feel like writing. It’s a hobby for me, so if I decide I would rather watch The Office or go for a walk with my husband, I just do what I want instead. A lot of times that’s because I have writer’s block, but writer’s block can’t be pushed.

If I am determined to write here are some strategies I employ:

Chances are I’m stuck because I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, or I’m not certain of what a character would do. So I reread the story up until that point, make notes on anything I laid down earlier that is relevant to the part I’m on, and map out character motivations. Hopefully this helps me create a working outline that will push me forward.

If I’m stuck because of trouble writing the story in a more profound sense, I put the story down and start something new and low stress. In other words, I intentionally start a project where the bar for publication is super low. For example, both Love Bites and (The Stars Were Brightly Shining) are pretty much first draft stories. I would write the chapter and hit publish same day (most of the time). This gave me something fun to do that was still exercising the writing muscle but also gave me the opportunity for positive feedback and made writing fun again.

If I can’t write at all, then I turn to reading. I read things that I really like, and I take notes on what I like about the story both from a narrative structure/plot perspective and in terms of the writer’s style and word choice. In theory we’re supposed to read a lot as writers, and writer’s block is a great chance to do so.

And, eventually, I’ll be cooking or typing up something for work or in the shower and the missing puzzle piece will fall into place. It’s okay if that takes months. I’ve had 4 hiatuses on FE that have lasted 4-6 months each. So long as you want to finish the story, you will.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? ehhh probably watching seasons 1-2 of The Originals so I could figure out certain plot elements for FE. I do get sucked into research holes every now and then, but as they’re largely useless I try to scramble out of them as quickly as possible. (I say this with fear in my heart for the research I would have to do to write the 1492 time travel story I have in mind)

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

Poetry, books I read and love, folklore, songs, my unhappy adolescence

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

Honestly I get A LOT of motivation from everyone who reads and sends me a message. FE is a much bigger and much more arduous project than I anticipated, and the support has been a HUGE help. Also, for my other projects like SWBS, it’s such an inspiration to keep thinking about it and to get back to it whenever someone mentions it to me. I really do thrive on the community aspect of writing.

Also, it’s turned out that the older I’ve gotten the more disciplined I’ve grown as a writer. I’m 30 now, and there’s a huge difference between my writing habits the last few years and what passed for them when I was 21 and writing After the Fire, But Before the Flood.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken collarbone, and a concussion, with bruising along her face, from where it connected with the side pillar, and along her throat and chest from the seatbelt. Two dead parents. A low buzz throughout the town: her name on everyone’s lips. - Nights at the Museum

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Damon looks at her and cants his head to the side and he tells her, voice flip and unreachable as only his can be, “I see you’ve cheated death again.” He makes it sound like it’s him she’s cheated by not finishing the turn.

She opens her mouth to respond, but what can she say? Death still sits heavy in her lungs. Smoke burns her eyes and blood clogs her nose. She could choke on the smothering weight of it all. On the weight of his expectation in her. His disappointment.

“I never wanted to be a vampire,” she tells him, finally.

The look Damon gives her strips her bare. Somehow over the past six months she has let him in, and now that he is here, she cannot hide from him. “You never wanted to make a choice with your eyes open.”

-Innocence

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

well this is pretty spoilery for FE, so, reader beware:

Rebekah has her pinned by an arm around her waist, her back flush to Rebekah’s front, both of them kneeling on the bed, while Rebekah reaches around and slowly fucks her with her hand. - Fairytale Ending

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Right now I am very fond of this:

Looking up into his face, into his eyes, gone dark and blue as the river back home when the moon was low in the sky, she finally admits the truth she's been hiding from herself for months. The thing she has been most afraid to ever, ever say, even to herself. Her gravest sin, which in this moment, feels like her redemption. "I love you." Saying it out loud is like the moment she drove the knife into her own side. - Fairytale Ending

31. Hardest character to write.

Damon -- he has a very particular kind of humor and cynicism which I find really difficult to replicate (although I think I’m getting more confident)

32. Easiest character to write.

Klaus-- literally there is nothing too extreme, it’s so much fun

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. This will make like no sense but it’s from a creative writing class I took in high school, and the feedback was actually given to one of my friend, and I’ve remembered it ever since: “You have to use your avocado knives.” The context was basically he mentioned a pair of avocado knives sitting on a table and they never come up again. It’s the chekhov’s gun idea: when you put something down in the story, you have to actually use it. Everything in the narrative should have meaning if it’s mentioned, and work either functionally, metaphorically, or emotionally.

48. Favorite genre to write in. Horror.

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words. I’ll assume this is for FE:

Gothic horror, where the blood is both in the grass and on the heroine’s hands.

53. What does writing mean to you? It’s just something that I really, really like.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

I shared the bulk of it yesterday so here’s the rest: do what you want and have fun.

#evanescentrainbow #asks #ask game #on writing #fairytale ending #innocence #nights at the museum

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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years

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Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 32 – Wings of Trouble

“Oof... I am so sorry... Sorry I’m such a pain in the... Ooof...!”

“Save your apologies. This is nothing for us. We are simply doing what we should – tending to the legitimate visitor of Lukedonia. After all, we are the proud Central Knights.”

A Central Knight with a slick pair of sunglasses replied, his stance tall and solemn.

He was carrying Yuhyung on his back, to deliver the grievously exhausted human to his bedroom.

Several Central Knights they ran into on their way would flicker their eyes at their behind, surely a strange sight in their homeland.

The moment an unknown error occurred upon activation of QuadraNet, Yuhyung had to fling his arms here and there, like a visual designer who received a request for editing with only 10 minutes left from deadline.

At the end of a marathon of toil came a knockout for the human researcher.

He was not really knocked out; he was both conscious and awake.

Nonetheless, he did not respond to name-calling and shakes the surrounding spectators offered, as if he were under a sleep paralysis.

And nobody posed a question or reprimand at the man.

Everyone knew that the virtual beast was not completely at peace; they have merely put it under a stun.

Which means Yuhyung would have to cross off from his calendar the day he is allowed to fly back home.

Not to mention nobody knew how much more work would be waiting for him for the duration of his prolonged stay.

To add to his burden, Lukedonia boasted not a single soul they could assign for Yuhyung to help him, so he was to be entrusted with the entire labor.

Perhaps that was why Yuhyung could not orient himself back to his usual self, which is why Lascrea had to call upon one of her Central Knights to take him back to his bed.

“You have done well.”

Said Rael, who had been tagging along from the communication chamber.

He volunteered for an escort that was not needed at all.

It was his duty to attend to Lukedonia’s official guest, as the ambassador of nobles.

At least that was the reason he gave.

When Yuhyung finally hit the comfy bed with his back, the Central Knight walked outside, as suggested by Rael when he said he can take care of the rest.

That was when the blonde noble pulled out what he really wanted with his guest.

“I have something to tell you.”

Instantly Yuhyung stopped whining upon the elegant blanket.

Rael had to add on to what he said, for the human’s eyes bloated and began rolling like crazy upon hearing that there was something Rael wanted from him.

“No, you’ve done nothing wrong. You said you did not see this trouble coming at all.”

However, that did nothing to pacify Yuhyung.

“Uh... Uhm... So... W-w-what can I d-do for you...?”

Now the researcher was shivering as if he were met by a pack of ravenous wolves.

Which is why Rael felt guilty as hell.

He knew what he was dumping on Yuhyung, since no one else was supposed to know what he was about to unleash.

However, he knew he could not undo this; his honor, dignity, and life as the head of the Kertias were at stake.

“This would sound outrageously sudden, but... Do you remember what happened the day we left KSA?”

“Uh... Oh, yes! Of course I do. I was trying to safekeep the gas KSA was once developing, but it crashed and... But why would you ask me about that?”

“Have you ever tried that gas on non-humans?”

“Non-humans? Uh... No, I haven’t. I mean, it was supposed to be a top secret, and it was targeted towards modified humans in the first place. So nobody ever thought of using it for non-human creatures.”

Yuhyung was rubbing Rael’s face with his eyes as he spoke, making it very conspicuous that he had no idea why the Kertia would pull out this topic at this moment.

Checking very carefully – perhaps too carefully – that there was not a soul around, Rael started to explain as calmly as possible.

He told Yuhyung that he cannot summon his soul weapon, and he has not the faintest idea why.

Since he has never brought up Grandia after he was exposed to Yuhyung’s creation, for now he decided to presume the gas is the cause of such phenomenon.

And Rael made extra-sure that his words were cautiously chosen, so that he would not offend the human.

Nevertheless, he wished his speech were a little better, because Yuhyung’s body shriveled as he continued, to ultimately grovel at his feet.

“I-I-I am terribly sorry, sir! I... I did not expect you to go through such trouble because of me...!”

“Uh, we don’t know for sure if your gas is to really blame. No need to apologize already.”

“Already...? So you’re saying you expect to see me apologizing someday! So allow me to do that right now! Please, just go ahead and kill me, sir!”

Rael kneaded his forehead, holding quite a fabulous showcase of a bow and confession.

“Please don’t do this, I pray you. Right now I need your knowledge. Is there any possibility that gas could affect a noble like me...?”

“Uh... I don’t know. Right now the answers I can give you are limited. It’d be best for me to analyze the components of the gas to deduce the result, but...”

Rael knew that Yuhyung must stay at Lukedonia until the unidentified issue with QuadraNet is thoroughly mapped.

‘Does that mean I have to just sit and wait?’

Rael could feel terror and discomposure rushing through his veins.

He could not tell when his name will be taken off from the waiting list. And what if in the meantime, somebody sees through what has bound him?

At the same time, Rael could picture the patriarchs of Kertias, taking him apart with vicious speech as if they have waited for all their lives.

However, coercing Yuhyung to do something about this will not take him anywhere.

Knowing that made Rael’s chest clench harder, but there was nothing else he could do.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

“Uh... I’ll try to see if I can come up with any possible reason why. No, I’d rather start my research at this...”

“No, please. No need to do that. QuadraNet is all that matters right now, so please concentrate on bringing it back to life. We can handle my soul weapon later.”

Stating the exact opposite of what lay in his heart, Rael told Yuhyung to get some rest before he left.

Yuhyung could not remove his eyes from the door for a while even after the noble ambassador’s departure. He managed to move only when his waist dispensed a sound.

Which made him scowl so hard he looked like a completely different person.

Yuhyung’s face turned darker at the dreary voice from his walkie-talkie.

But he knew he should not waste his time in answering.

“N-no, sir. I’m here.”

Yuhyung nipped at his lips, as if he could not believe what he was about to do.

He was, however, powerless against his party’s demand.

At the end of Yuhyung’s tale came a hoard of maniac laughter.

<Yes, this is it! At last, the Illiness clan will see the light!>

Yuhyung ground his lips together as Deneb cackled, seemingly oblivious of the human.

Yuhyung apparently was hating himself that he has actually done it.

*****

As invisible skirmish was whirring to life in Lukedonia, Frankenstein was in no better situation.

‘Just what is the problem...?’

He had been pondering ever since Tao relayed to him what had happened with the QuadraNet.

At first he landed on the same page as the three modified humans of RK: Union may be behind all this.

As for Frankenstein, he had a good reason to suspect the Union.

He could still see how the man in the iron mask stood in the werewolf realm.

And now that Tao sent a troubleshooting report that there might have been an attempt of hacking, his suspicion started to spread like wildfire on a field of reed.

He thus coordinated his train of thoughts the same way Tao did.

If there really was an attempt of hacking from within, and if the Union is to actually curse for it, the ones responsible would be the ones with history of contacting the Union.

‘Which would be the werewolves.’

He did not feel like he was being too dramatic, because of the new facts Tao shared during their briefing.

Frankenstein frowned and shook his head as he was thinking of the brown-haired werewolf doctor.

‘Fine. Dr. Adne walked under Maduke’s wings on his own feet to serve as lead researcher in several of his projects. However, that does not serve as a proof that he is in alliance with the Union.’

And even if Adne is still dreaming of being a scientist, that did not put him in alignment with the Union, Frankenstein thought.

‘It’d make more sense for him to side with us. I mean, from a scientist’s point of view, I doubt he can find any other project more mouthwatering than the QuadraNet project.’

Frankenstein was trying his best to soothe himself, and his effort was made to naught due to an ominous idea that decided to poke him out of blue.

‘Things would change if his interest lies in biotechnology instead of IT. That is one thing now no one among us can provide.’

And if Adne really is an affiliate of Union, that would mean they have exposed their most confidential project to their worst nemesis.

Frankenstein grit his teeth tight in order to stop his head from losing control.

He even had to mumble to himself to accomplish the feat.

“You’re rushing, Frankenstein. Yes, you are. Even if he was once pledged to serve Maduke, it’s too soon to make him the culprit for all this.”

Frankenstein repeated similar statements a few more times before he reached for a plate of sandwich to fill his stomach.

He did not cease his skimming of documents as he was eating, which was why he failed to realize how the monitor – which he definitely turned off after talking to Tao – was blinking with light.

How it was turned off by itself promptly afterwards, as he continued to make his eyes and mouth busy, exhibiting nothing more in particular that could be spied from him.

(next chapter)

Do you remember how in Chapter 17, Rael thinks to himself that Yuhyung’s bag felt lighter than he last held it? Now you know the reason why. This fic is still in the stage where small troubles slowly build up into a crisis. It’d be a headache for me coordinate all the microscopic plots once I reach the crisis part, but I’ll do my best. :)

#korean webcomic #korean webtoon #fanfic #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

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stilessdylanobae-ddixonlove · 6 years

Text

Some of us are Human - Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and Y/n’s Apartment (Chapter 7)

Author: what_the_hell_is_a_stiles826

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Melissa McCall, Coach Bobby Finstock, Sheriff Noah Stilinski, Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Malia Tate/Hale, Lydia Martin, Liam Dunbar, Nicole Y/L/N, Rhiannon King, Issac Lahey and Reader.

Summary: Flashbacks reveal what else happened the night of the battle. Scott, Stiles and Y/n return back to school and Derek and Argent investigate further. Plus (lucky number seven) Stiles and Y/n finally share their first kiss.

Note: Yes, I use a lot of gifs because I love them. Get over it. Or don’t, I don’t care. (She said sweetly with a smile.)

Warning: Mention of more sexual acts? Cursing and Fluff.

Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight

~A few nights ago~

Argent pulled up to the factory, parallel to the entrance doors just in time to see Derek and Scott being thrown out of them, landing on their backs resulting in them turning back into their human forms. “Come on!” Argent yelled from the driver window and the two werewolves looked up at him with their heads still on the ground. Liam and Hayden limped back to Mason’s car and hopped inside of it, while he waited for Corey. Blaze appeared in the doorway with the Siren, holding his neck and more angry than ever. At the sight of their two newest enemies coming their way, Scott and Derek ran for Argent’s car and Corey quickly let them out of the mountain ash circle before he fixed it and climbed into Mason’s car just as fast. Scott and Derek finally hopped in Argent’s car as fast as they could and he drove away, his loud engine fired and bounced off the large building behind them.

“Holy shit, that guy is strong!” Derek said as he wrenched his shoulder in pain from his rough landing.

“You guys alright?” Argent asked as he sped around a dark corner. Scott finally was able to catch his breath when they approached a red light and spun in his seat to see Mason’s car behind them followed by Lydia’s Toyota and Stiles’s Jeep.

“Yeah.” Derek replied. “You’re positive you stuck him with that ginormous needle? Because if you missed-” Derek whined.

“I didn’t.” Scott held up an empty vial of Deaton’s poison made specially for Blaze and Derek smiled.

“Thank God.” Argent spoke as they finally approached the hospital. Argent watched Stiles help you inside the building and be greeted by his ex girlfriend. He swallowed loudly as he leaned against the side of his car. Everyone followed in after the two of you and watched you be taken away into intensive care while Lydia walked up to Argent, a worried look plastered onto his face and sighed.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t going in because of Melissa?” She asked. Argent grinned shyly before answering her awkward question.

“It’s not just that.” He said. “Y/n has always been like another daughter to me. I am terrified of losing another one.” He admitted, the pain in his eyes. Lydia nodded and leaned against the car with him.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you stayed out of the fight back there.” She stated. Argent sighed and remained looking forward. “Why did you?”

“I haven’t stamped a bullet since Allison died.” He began. “Or even wanted to picked up a gun.” Chris said to her. “I have.” He continued. “But I’ve come to the conclusion tonight that I need to. Because what would I fight for if not the few remaining people I care about?” He grinned. Lydia smiled back at him in agreement. “It’s what Allison wanted.”

“To protect those who cannot protect themselves, I know. Why do you think I am here? Also, I don’t totally hate Y/n.” She shrugged and Argent chuckled.

Inside the hospital doors, everyone stood nervously waiting for any news about you. Lydia and Argent finally entered together after the rest of you and sat down next to Scott and Malia. Stiles pushed through the swinging doors and looked around at the crowded room of people that just helped rescue you.

“She hit her head pretty hard.” He said. “Among other things.” He fidgeted. “Scott, your mom is in there with her right now with like three other doctors.” Stiles let his head hang in deep remorse.

“What now?” Issac asked and Stiles shook his head and brought his shaking hand up to his mouth.

“We wait.” Scott told everyone. And that’s what they did, all night long. Several of them falling asleep in their seats and some on the floor. Scott, Issac and Stiles were awake the entire time, however. They watched re-runs of ‘Friends’ playing quietly on the small TV monitor that sat in the left corner of the waiting room. Stiles read the subtitles and thought back to all the times he’d watched his favorite show with you. He couldn’t bare never hearing your laugh again.

The sun began to come up, waking your sleeping friends who still sat anxiously waiting to hear about your current state. It was around eight that morning that Melissa finally showed her face again. She brought fear and regret into the room with her, until she smiled.

She smiled at them and sighed gratefully.

“She’s going to be okay, guys.” Melissa told your friends and grinned at all the relieved faces standing before her in the waiting room. She nodded, reassuring them again that you were going to make it out just fine. “She’s stable and should wake up soon. But she’s got a lot of swelling in her throat and shouldn't talk much until it goes down.” Melissa finished explaining.

Each of your friends took turns coming to see you before you had even woken up. Stiles was last. He stayed late that day. He entered your room and watched you breathing, laying peacefully in your hospital bed with your neck in a white brace. He sat down next to you and let a tear escape down his cheek.

“I am so sorry, Y/n.” He told you.

He sat in your room with you for another twenty minutes in silence, waiting for you to wake up when Sheriff Stilinski suddenly showed up behind his scared son.

“Come home as soon as she wakes up?” He asked his son, trusting it wouldn’t be too long now. Stiles turned and nodded at him. Then he watched his father exit the hospital room and close the door. He turned back to you and took a big breath before opening his mouth to speak.

“Next time we’ll both be stronger. And more prepared.” He began. “Because you know if we are going to be a part of this pack...a part of this crazy world we can’t be vulnerable. We have to take care of each other.” He swallowed, pushing the pain in his voice down and gathered himself before continuing the next thing he wanted to tell you. He brushed a piece of your y/h/c hair behind your ear and smiled at your resting face. “When you left, it sort of broke my heart.” He paused. “Which I really wasn’t expecting because I was with Lydia...” He looked down to your bruised shoulder. “But that’s when I realized you were more than just my best friend and it was like once I let that feeling in, it only grew stronger and I didn’t know how to handle it.” He grabbed your hand in his and rubbed the back of your thumb for a few moments. “I’ve always wanted you to be mine, Y/n. I don’t know why it took me so long to admit. But I promise I will tell you all of this when you are awake.” He finished. He felt your finger move against his and he darted his eyes down at it, needing to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He watched your thumb move and quickly looked back up to you waiting desperately for you to fully wake up.

You squeezed his hand in yours and slowly opened your y/e/c eyes. He sighed with relief and stared at your injured body while listening to the beeping of your steady heart rate.

“Hi...” Your voice was raspy and quiet.

“Shh. You aren’t supposed to try to talk yet. The swelling needs to come down.” He informed you. You nodded and tried to swallow, but it hurt and you cringed. “Your mom and sister are here. They just went to get something to eat. They are coming right back.” He said. You returned his smile, something you were able to do and didn’t let go of his hand until your family came back into your room.

___

~Present time~

Stiles hung up his phone and walked back into your bedroom where you still stood next to your dresser and Nicole stood next to you.

“That was just my Dad. You want a ride back to school today right?” He asked you. You smiled and nodded at him, knowing you needed to go back to school even if you just got out of the hospital. “Alright, I’ll pick you up in a few.” He told you before leaving your room again.

“You know Mom is going to be pissed that your leaving already.” Nicole told you, raising her eyebrow. You sighed and put your crossbow back down.

“I know. But I already missed one test, I’m sure I’m failing several classes now. I have to go back.” You told your younger sister. “Stiles isn’t happy about it either but he knows he should probably check in with his classes as well.” Nicole nodded before opening her glossed up mouth again.

“What does Mom think happened to you anyway?” She asked. Nicole had learned the truth about everything in your world not long after you did, being your nosy little sister and all. But you both had decided to keep your mom out of it as long as possible, knowing she’d be better off.

“Robbery.” You told her. “Scott and Stiles told her I was attacked outside my car and that they got to me just in time.” Nicole nodded, accepting the false story as believable enough.

The time on Scott’s phone read 3:32 p.m. He stood in the hallway of Beacon Hills High and waited for Liam to meet him after school like he’d promised. Stiles appeared next to him, checking the time on his phone as well before placing it back in his back pocket.

“Hey, Buddy.” Stiles smiled. Scott grinned back and they both moved out of the way as the hall began to overflow with anxious students trying to get home.

“How’s Y/n today?” He asked, not yet seeing you himself. Stiles shrugged and spotted their old coach, Bobby Finstock trying to weave his way through the crowd of kids coming forward. “Hey, Coach!” Scott waved. He stopped dead in his tracks, not even the slightest bit happy to see his two past students.

“Oh, great. What now?” He whined.

“We can’t just come and say hi to our old, favorite coach?” Stiles smirked. Coach glared back at him and sighed. “Alright, we’re waiting for Liam. We-“ Coach threw his hand up to stop Stiles’s babbling.

“You know, never mind. I really, I don’t even want to know. Just make sure it doesn’t get me. Goodbye McCall. Stilinski.” He nodded. Scott giggled as Stiles huffed and looked back over to his friend in utter annoyance while Coach left their conversation rather abruptly.

“It’s still weird even talking to him about that stuff. I’m okay with it.” Scott admitted honestly. Stiles nodded his head in agreement.

“Oh and Y/n’s doing okay, I think. Or at least she’s pretending to be.” Stiles answered Scott’s question from earlier. The boys waited a few minutes longer, the hallway mostly clear now. Just the occasional student left at their locker, transferring belongings. “You’re going back to school today too, right?” He asked. Scott nodded.

“Yeah, I gotta.” He spoke. Finally Liam peered around the corner in his lacrosse jersey and stopped in front of them. “Hey.” Scott greeted his Beta.

“Hey.” Liam readjusted his backpack on his shoulder and looked around for anyone who might be listening. Stiles stuck his neck out and waited.

“Hello? What are you waiting for, what’s going on?” He asked impatiently as always. Liam sighed and turned back to Scott, concern circling in his eyes.

“Jessica Eastman. Said she thought she was being followed this morning by a tan dude with messy black hair. I overheard her in English.” He told them. Stiles crossed his arms. “Sound familiar?” He screeched in response to their silence.

“Yeah, dumbass. But I don’t get it. Shouldn’t he still be trapped at the factory?” Stiles asked Scott.

“I mean, yeah we haven’t figured out what we were going to do with him yet.” Scott shrugged.

“Well, clearly he got out!” Liam stated the obvious. Stiles squinted his eyes in frustration.

“So, what are we saying? He can’t be contained with mountain ash?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know.” Scott said honestly. They all were thinking the same thing. Jessica was next to be taken. But even if Blaze got free, he should be greatly weakened by now, maybe he just didn’t know the extent of it yet.

“So, we watch this girl closely from now on.” Scott told them. Liam played with his lacrosse net in his hand and the stick clanked against the floor below him.

“Okay. Well I’ve got practice. I’ll let you know if anything else happens with Jessica.” He reported. Stiles and Scott watched the young team captain exit towards the boys locker room. They reminisced over their lacrosse days together, when Scott was captain.

“Well, someone needs to go check if those creeps are actually still trapped.” Stiles suggested. Scott nodded to his friend and scratched his forehead.

“Come on, we better get ready to go. I’ll call Derek.” Scott said and began to lead the way out. Stiles followed him halfway before stopping in the middle of the hallway and squinting his eyes awkwardly. “What?” Scott stopped and turned around, sensing his friends confusion.

“I want to-” He stopped, flustered. Scott raised his eyebrows. “I want to tell Y/n, uh, how I feel about her.” Scott smiled, a big toothy grin.

“Okay?” He chuckled. Stiles sighed.

“It’s just, if the three of us are driving back to school together...” Stiles started again. Scott grinned and nodded, understanding where this was most likely going.

“Stiles, okay. I’ll find another way back. No big deal.” He said. Stiles licked his lips and turned away for a moment.

“No.” He said. “I don’t have a problem with all of us riding back together. I just...” He paused again. “I guess, I don’t know how to tell her. Or really what to even say.” Stiles shrugged, embarrassed.

“You’re asking for my advice?” Scott giggled again. “You know this girl, you know what she likes. I don’t know, take her on a date. And just be honest.” He told his nervous friend. Stiles nodded hesitantly and they walked outside together.

___

You stood in the field behind your house with your sister and Malia, who came over shortly after Stiles left. A warm spring breeze blew through your long y/h/c hair and you traced the trigger on your crossbow with your index finger.

“I don’t know why you asked me to help you, seriously I’m not a good teacher.” Malia told you. You shrugged and lowered your crossbow back down to your side.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly ask Lydia now could I?” You told her.

“Why? Because you and Stiles are banging?” She asked, blatantly and Nicole lost her composure and began cracking up.

“Malia, I always liked you.” Nicole chuckled and Malia smiled over to her. You sighed.

“First of all, no. We aren’t.” You told them. You raised your crossbow back up and prepared to take a shot by sliding an arrow into place. You raised it up higher and pulled the trigger, missing the large oak tree in front of the three of you. Nicole snickered.

“You seem a little frustrated about that.” Malia teased.

“Will you shut up?” You told her, your cheeks turning rosy and warm.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Allison really didn’t get the chance to show me much more than you, but first off you need to widen your stance and loosen up. Stop being so stiff.” You pulled another arrow into place and took a deep breath.

“It’s kind of hard to do that when you keep bringing up-” You let the arrow fly a little sooner than you even meant to, missing the tree again and almost grazing Stiles arm as he appeared into the field. “Jesus, Stiles!” You yelled.

“Whoa, I don’t have super healing abilities over here!” He whined at you, his hands up in surrender. You smirked and Malia and Nicole exchanged grins behind you. You paused and lowered your bow once more. “She’s right though, you need to relax.” He told you.

“Seriously? If you knew I was practicing, why would you dart out in front of me?” You huffed. He smirked and you began to wonder how much of that previous conversation he overheard. The thought made you more nervous and you came to the conclusion that there really was no chance at relaxing now. “Let’s just go.” You spoke, irritably. The four of you walked over to your back door together and entered one at a time. You, being the last one to enter, closed the door behind you and walked over to the dining room chair that your bags sat in. You threw one over your shoulder, winced a little in pain and noted you probably should’ve used the other side. You grabbed your other bag in your left hand and turned to say your goodbyes, having done so with your mother earlier. Nicole was right, she wasn’t happy with you. “Malia, thank you. I’ll see you later. Nicole, see you next time?” You winked. They both nodded and watched you and Stiles exit out the front door to see Scott in the drivers side of the Jeep. “Why’s he driving?” You asked Stiles. He scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Uh, just to here. I walked from the high school.” He told you. He grabbed your bags from you and threw them in the back as you climbed in the backseat.

“Oh, uh. You can ride in the front.” Scott told you as he exited the Jeep.

“It’s fine.” You turned back to Stiles. “Why’d you walk?” You asked, curiously.

“I just needed the time to think about some things.” He honestly told you and shrugged. You nodded at him as he replaced Scott in the drivers seat and Scott climbed into the passenger side. And with that, the three of you headed back to Stanford after much more time away than any of you anticipated. You bobbed your head to the newest Shawn Mendes song on the radio and soaked in the warm sun on your cheeks as the three of you reached the freeway entrance.

“So, what did Liam say?” You asked.

“Uh, yeah, we are pretty sure Blaze escaped somehow.” Stiles gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“What? And we’re going back to school?” You hollered at your two oldest friends. They both exchanged similar looks of concern.

“Temporarily.” Stiles spoke, with a hint of a question sounding in his voice as he eyed Scott. You sighed and leaned back in your seat.

“We have a lot of people here looking out for things. It’ll be okay.” Scott tried to reassure you. Stiles glanced at your frustrated stricken face through his rear view mirror and sneakily put his arm out behind him and reached for you to place your hand in his. You smiled down at it, waiting and accepted his invitation by connecting your fingers with his. He smiled when he felt you touch him but you couldn’t see it. “Look, Y/n.” Scott began again. “I know you are really wanting to fight back right now, but aren’t you still pretty sore?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said simply as you traced over Stiles’s thumbnail.

“So don’t you think you should just take a little bit of time to recoup?” Stiles asked you, squeezing your hand tighter in his. Scott looked from the corner of his eye to see Stiles hand out behind him, realizing he was holding yours. The sight pleased him.

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing. You guys didn’t do that.” You told them.

“We didn’t almost have the life choked out of us!” Stiles exasperated. You sighed and let go of his hand, slightly wounding him internally. He brought that hand back around and placed it on the steering wheel.

“Alright.” You gave in. You sat back and let the music fill your ears, once again distracting you from the current situation.

____

‘‘Oh, my God! Finally!” Rhiannon threw her bowl of ice cream down on your kitchen counter and ran to hug you as you came inside your apartment. You smiled and hugged her back, glancing around at the sink full of dishes and the pile of laundry sitting in the hamper down the hall.

“Hey, Rhi. Have you done anything around here while I was gone?” You harassed. She ran her fingers across her falling bra strap and pulled it back up into place. You raised an eyebrow and came around the corner to see Issac, shirtless and laying on your gray couch with a blanket strung over the lower half of his body. “Oh! Oh my God!” You yelled and spun around back into the kitchen. Rhiannon laughed and Issac got up, draped the blanket around him and walked to the bathroom. You didn’t turn around until you heard the door close behind him. “Rhiannon!” You hollered and she laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry! Yeah, he’s back at school now too.” She told you.

“I can see that, thanks.” You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, Y/n!” You head Issac yell from the bathroom and you couldn’t help it anymore. You lost it laughing, covering your mouth to quiet the sounds when Rhiannon joined in with you.

“He stopped by to see me and well, yeah.” She grinned. “Not to be weird or anything but apparently it’s nothing you haven’t seen before!” She teased you. You let your mouth gape open and slapped her on the shoulder in disbelief.

“Rhi! You guys already had that talk?” You questioned. She chuckled and bit at her nicely manicured fingernail.

“Well, yeah.” She admitted. You placed your hand against your forehead and chuckled some more, happy she didn’t care that her current love interest is who you lost your virginity to in high school. Issac came back into the living room, fully clothed and awkwardly waved at you. You shook your head at him, still unable to hide your grin. He side hugged your good side and kissed Rhiannon on the cheek.

“I’ll call you later.” He told her before smiling at you and closing your front door. You heard him walking down the steps of the apartment building and then shoved Rhiannon’s shoulder once more and shook your head at her.

“Sorry, seriously. And Jesus, you really are bruised up!” She looked down to your neck and right shoulder. “If I ever see that creep who jumped you, I’ll kick his ass!” She said as she picked up her ice cream bowl and shoved a spoon full into her mouth.

“I don’t even want to know what you were doing with that ice cream.” You raised your eyebrows, left the kitchen and went into your room. Rhiannon smirked, shoved a spoonful into mouth and plopped back down on the sofa.

___

You stepped out of the shower and onto the fuzzy white rug outside the bathtub and ran your towel through your damp hair. You glanced across the hall and into your bedroom to stare at your crossbow that sat on your nightstand. You sighed. You wiped the fog from the mirror with your hand and noticed your bruising was now turning yellow. It was older, less sensitive and your cut wrist was pretty much healed over. The apartment was quiet and all you could hear was the humming of your A/C in the living room and the soft voices on your TV. You walked into your room and looked down to your school books on your dresser as you jumped to slide into a pair of jeans. You were in fact failing a few classes. And you had to do extra credit to catch up, which is how you planned to spend the weekend. Everything back in Beacon Hills was still quiet for the time being and Scott and Stiles had been busy with their own school work while Rhiannon and Issac were busy with each other. You took a sip of hot coffee while listening to the commercials on your flat screen from your now totally spotless kitchen. You still would rather clean than do any homework. A knock on the door startled you and the coffee in your hand spilled over the side a little. You quickly wiped it up and answered the door.

“Issac.” You said, surprised.

“Hey, is Rhiannon not back here yet?” He asked you. You shook your head but opened the door wider, inviting him inside.

“No, but if you’re here she can’t be gone doing whatever she’s doing for long.” You told him. He smiled at you as you picked up your coffee cup once again and blew on it, the steam subsiding.

“You look better.” He said, gesturing to your neck. You took a sip of coffee and leaned against the counter.

“I feel better.” You nodded. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Issac shrugged.

“Scott and Stiles aren’t like, keeping things from me right? Nothing is going on back home?” You asked. He shook his head immediately.

“Nah, it’s been quiet. You think they’d do that?” He asked you. You tilted your head and squinted your eyes at your tall friend. He smirked, knowing you were probably right. Then, another knock on the door interrupted the two of you. You opened it wide this time to see Stiles smiling on your doorstep. He glanced behind you and saw Issac standing in your kitchen searching through the cupboards for a glass.

“Hey.” You said to Stiles, who entered slowly and clenched his jaw at the sight of Issac being so comfortable in your home. “I, there’s bottled water in the fridge.” You told the tall blonde, rummaging through your cabinets. He stopped searching and took a bottle from the fridge, raising it to the two of you as if to say ‘thanks’ and took a large sip. You turned back to Stiles and smiled. “What’s up?” You asked him. He watched Issac fill his cheeks with water and then swallow loudly, shrugging when he noticed Stiles staring.

“What?” Issac asked.

“Uh, nothing. I’ll come back a little later.” Stiles told you and began to turn around. You furrowed your brow and heard Issac’s phone buzz and figured it was Rhiannon by the smile that over took his face.

“Nah, I’m taking off. See you guys later. Thanks, Y/n.” He told you before leaving. Stiles pressed his lips together and turned back to you, still drinking your coffee.

“What?” You asked him, sensing something was wrong.

“I just, I don’t know, I didn’t realize you two were hanging out again.” He shrugged. You smiled, unable to resist it.

“We aren’t really. He was looking for Rhiannon.” You began to explain. Stiles nodded and nervously removed his hands from his pockets. “He’s with Rhi, you know that right?” You grinned. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

“No. No, I didn’t know that.” He scratched his forehead. You set your coffee cup down behind you and looked down to your bare feet, wishing you’d either painted your chipped toenails or put on socks. You grinned devilishly at the thoughts that ran through your mind.

“Were you jealous, Sti?” You asked bravely, crossing your arms and staring into his golden eyes. Stiles stepped back a little embarrassed and began to try and explain himself.

“Well, I didn’t...” Stiles paused awkwardly. He huffed loudly and gave up, not wanting to pretend any longer. “You know what, yeah. Yeah I was.” He told you.

You raised your coffee cup back up to your mouth, hiding the grin on your face as best you could. He noticed it, seeing your cheeks rise up and your eyes squinting happily. He huffed again, wanting you to respond to his honesty but you didn’t. The truth was, you didn’t know what to say but his jealousy made you happy, he fed off of that. Stiles looked down to your yellow, healing neck as you lowered your cup back down and set it beside you, licking your lips. That in itself made him want to explode. He realized, he had nothing to hide. He let go of all of the fear inside of himself long enough to get out what he wanted to say next, realizing the worst thing that could happen was you turning him down. Although, that thought didn’t help calm him any. “Y/f/i.” He said your nickname softly and sincerely, causing your heart to jump to your throat. “Do you want to talk?” He asked. You awkwardly and excitedly, your body flooding with too many emotions to express any of them correctly, walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. You turned off the TV and waited for Stiles to join you. He walked into the room, his hand to his mouth. You stared at him for a minute or two before deciding to help him out.

“Stiles. You, uh.” You cleared your throat and rubbed it gently. “You like me, right?” You asked. Taking a loud, deep breath one you got the words out. Stiles lowered his hands and came and sat next to you. He placed his hands out together in front of him, resting his forearms on his knees.

“I do.” He told you. “So much.” He looked over to you, your eyes glistening in the sunlight that shown through the window behind the two of you. “And before you say anything else...” He put his hand up and closed his eyes. “I need to tell you some other things.” He began. You shifted in your seat and waited for him to gain the courage he needed to continue. You leaned in closer to him and grabbed his left hand in yours and he turned to you, slightly stunned and content by your choice to do that. It earned him the courage he was looking for.

“It’s okay.” You told him. Just like you did when he tried to kiss you all those months ago. He smiled and lowered his head in shame.

“First of all, I am sorry.” He looked down at your hand in his. “I’m sorry I tried to kiss you and then came back to Lydia.” You swallowed loudly. “I...there’s no...” He trailed off.

“Stiles.” You tried to move your hand but he gripped onto it tightly, not wanting you to pull away from him.

“No, let me get this out.” He told you. He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of your hand. “That wasn’t cool. I know that.”

“I think you needed to do it though.” You sighed. “I think you needed that time with her. You needed to know if it could work; if it was right.” You told him, not angry at his decision even though it did hurt.

“But it wasn’t.” He quickly responded. You studied his face and lowered your head. “I know that now.” He paused again. He smiled at you and brought his right hand over to your cheek and then moved it to a strand of your hair that hung over your left shoulder. He played with it in his fingers, grazing your collarbone with the back of his hand. “You know, I told you this next part once already.” He said. You grabbed his right hand away from your hair and held it close to you.

“What?” You questioned.

“In the hospital. Before you were awake, I told you everything.” He smiled. You grinned back at him, intertwining your fingers with his in your lap.

“Okay, but a key part of communication, Stiles, is that the person you are talking to be conscious.” You teased him. He giggled and lowered his head back down. “What did you say?” You asked. He turned back to you and scooted closer.

“I told you that you broke my heart.” He admitted. You furrowed your brow. “When you left. And that I wasn’t prepared for it.” You opened your mouth, saddened by that truth. You never wanted to hurt him, you just thought he was happy with Lydia and needed time to adjust. “I don’t blame you for it. In fact, I blame myself.” He told you.

“You were just trying to be happy.” You shook your head.

“You make me happy, Y/n.” He finally said. “It’s different with you, it always has been. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to figure this out, but I want to be with you.” He trembled a little bit and you unknowingly hung your mouth open for a few seconds. Your heart swelled and you brought your hand up to his cheek, sliding it down his jaw all the way to his chest. He let go of your other hand and slid both of his hands behind your head and through your silky hair. You left your right hand on his chest and felt him breathing, heavily raising his chest up and down as he closed his eyes and the tip of his nose rubbed against yours. You closed your eyes and felt his soft lips press against yours, completely. Finally. The two of you let go and he traced his thumb along your cheek bone and rested his forehead on yours. You smiled at him and lifted your chin to kiss him again, it was a quick peck. He smiled when he opened his eyes to see you staring into them. Then you grabbed his face and kissed him again, longer and more intensely. Your bottom lip quivered as he slowly pulled away once again.

“Wow.” Stiles said quietly, while you were still holding his face in your hands.

“I want to be with you too.” You smiled.

Stiles held you close, his heart still racing. You snuggled into him on your couch and smiled, more at peace than you felt in quite awhile. The two of you felt like you’d waited half your life for this, probably because you nearly had.

“I was going to come over here and ask you on a date. I wasn’t planning for it to go quite like that.” He said. You raised your head up off his chest and looked deep into those brown eyes. “But I’m glad it went the way it did.” He grinned.

“It was perfect.” You admitted and nestled back into his warm body, his long arms draped around you. This was all he wanted in the world and now he finally had it. You two were supposed to take care of each other, he knew that without a single bit of doubt.

“No, really though did you want to go out with me?” Stiles asked you out and you chuckled before sitting back up to face him. You leaned in close and pressed your lips back onto his. “Is that a yes?” He asked. You nodded with a smile that you knew would remain planted on your face for the rest of the day.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked him, your fingers resting on his neck.

___

Meanwhile, Derek and Argent slowly entered the factory doors, fully armed. The mountain ash hadn’t been touched, in fact it was still completely in tact.

“Nice to see you back in action again.” Derek said. Argent huffed back at him and then continued walking down the long hallway.

“Yeah.” Argent agreed simply.

“Have you gone to see Y/n yet?” Derek asked. Argent sighed loudly this time.

“No.” He responded firmly. Derek shook his head in disappointment.

“So, what the hell was this place?” Derek questioned, unsure if his friend even knew the answer. The two looked around at the blackened floor boards and doors, with metal pipes that mazed around the ceiling. “Some sort of old mill right?” He asked, gesturing to the large machinery behind them.

“Yeah, plant processing. Notice all the old bags of wheat and grain?” Argent pointed around them with his free hand, the other still aiming his gun. Then, a somber humming began to fill their ears. Argent turned to his werewolf friend in terror.

“Ear plugs. Now.” He shouted as he placed one in each of his ears. Derek followed his advice and did the same.

“What the hell.” Derek spoke out loud but couldn’t hear a thing. Argent knew what he said by reading his lips and pointed for them to proceed down the hall. A dark, curvy figure appeared from the shadows in front of them. They both stopped, guns out in front of them. The woman, beautiful long curly black hair and bright blue eyes approached the two men confidently. She gestured for them to remove their ear plugs with a smile plastered on her red lips. They refused. Derek and Chris exchanged looks of concern and then turned back to the Siren who stood in front of them, this being the first time they got a good look at her. She pouted and gestured to her chest, crossing her heart to symbolize she won’t try to brainwash them. Argent was the first to remove one of his ear plugs. She hissed at him and he stepped back.

“I just want to talk.” She said. Derek finally removed one of his ear plugs to listen in, it still being held firmly within his grasp.

“Where’s Blaze?” Argent asked. She grinned and traced her fingers along his collarbone and around the back of him as she circled around.

“I don’t know. Your silly magic dust doesn’t work on a Witch. It comes from a tree, tree’s are a part of him.” She said.

“They draw from the earth, damnit.” Derek put it all together. She giggled at his frustration. “Why is he controlling you?” He asked the demon.

“Because I’m powerful.” She told them, undressing the two of them with her eyes. “You can let me out of here, I promise I’ll be a good girl.” She flirted. Derek looked to Argent, completely disgusted by the creature.

“No.” Argent told her. She grew angry at that response and began to sing again, but the two boys returned their ear plugs. She let out a terrible scream that slightly pushed the two men forward. They ran for the exit, making sure to replace the mountain ash to contain the Siren inside the factory for a little longer. “Well.” Argent huffed, trying to catch his breath. “We got our answer. The son of a bitch did get out.” He sighed. Derek sighed and returned his gun to his belt.

Thanks for reading! What a chapter, let me know what you thought.

Next Chapter - Y/n and Stiles go on their first real date.

<<Chapter 6, >>Chapter 8

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #teen wolf

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Text

Progression - Chapter 1

(Dinah’s older than Camila in this, but really, everyone’s ages are kind of screwed up.)

“Why are you making such a big deal about this? If we were in a dorm, we’d be rooming with random people. You know me, and you know Mani.” Dinah deadpans, nudging the front door all the way open with her foot.

Camila sighs deeply, setting an incorrectly marked box on the kitchen counter. “But we don’t know Lauren.”

“We’ll get to know her. Besides, if Mani says she’s good people, then I trust her, and so should you.” She sets the scissors next to the box and starts back through the door, calling out, “Now shut up for 5 minutes and help me.”

Camila frowns at Dinah’s blind faith in a girl she doesn’t know. Sure, Normani trusts her, and while she is a great judge of character, but she hasn’t seen her properly in over three years, and a lot can change in that time. Aside from that, Normani’s character doesn’t determine Lauren’s, since everyone knows, good people can have the worst friends. Yes, Dinah has a point that this is probably better than a random room assignment, but the fact that they signed a lease, a legally binding contract, and now all their money is tied up in this apartment for the next two years, is stressing her out. Damn Dinah and her overly convincing puppy-dog eyes.

The younger girl follows her friend outside to where the moving truck is parked, containing all four roommates combined belongings. “Get that side.” Dinah juts her chin out toward the opposite end of the couch she’s holding.

Camila obeys her friend’s orders and they lift it easily, even though Dinah would be fine on her own, but that would look suspect. The taller girl starts the trek upstairs, smiling in thanks at the young adult male holding the door for them.

“You two good?” He questions in a thick accent she can’t quite place.

“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks.” Camila interjects curtly, noticing the flirtatious look taking over her friend’s features. If she allows Dinah a word in, they could easily be standing there for an exceedingly long period of time for someone carrying an item of furniture that weighs four times what they do.

The boy just nods and exits once they’ve completely gone through the doorway. Dinah glares at Camila for sending away a potential mate, but says nothing. The Latina sighs thankfully, knowing she takes flirting very seriously, and was glad to have stomped it out before it could get started.

Over the years, Camila has seen a great deal of amorous exchanges involving her friend, and she completely understands why. Dinah is easily one of the most attractive people Camila knows. Granted, she doesn’t know very many people, but she counts people on the television, and shop customers as well. Physically, the older girl is pretty perfect; she’s tall, tan, and muscular, with insanely soft and thick hair that was usually some shade between brown and blond without really being either, and was “built like an acoustic guitar”, as Ariana had once put it. The statement had earned her a slap to the back of the head from one of Dinah’s large hands, her abnormally long fingers leaving red marks on the back of the petite girl’s neck for a solid 24 hours, an action the assailant soon regretted when the remark was explained.

The two make it up the stairs silently, efficiently, and slide the plush piece through the doorway. While Camila is content with leaving it in the previously designated area, Dinah suddenly finds a fault with it’s positioning, and keeps moving it in minute, nearly indistinguishable jerks in all directions.

“Dinah, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to center it. Don’t you think it looks weird?”

“No, because there’s only one place to put it,” Camila gestures around the now fully furnished living room, “and it looks fine.”

The older girl sucks her teeth and frowns at her friend. “If I wanted to live somewhere ‘fine’, I’d have stayed at home. I want my apartment to be poppin’.”

“Dinah, we’re college students now. Like, 95% of our income goes to bills and food. We can’t afford to pop; we can’t even afford to sizzle.”

“So we’ll save up, and pool our money. Then we can buy furniture that doesn’t make me want to claw my eyes out from looking at it for longer than 5 seconds.”

“Well, you can spend all your disposable income on popping, and sizzling, and frying, or whatever, but don’t come to me when you’re hungry or need gas money.” Camila kicks off her shoes and places them on the mat beside the front door.

Dinah laughs lightly and follows suit. “You say that like you really think you wouldn’t give me anything I asked for.”

“I want us to do this right, Dinah. You’re 18 now, I’ll be 18 soon enough…Ally’s trusting us not to live at home this year, and I really don’t want to give her any reason to think we’re irresponsible.” She pauses for a moment. “More irresponsible. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

The taller of the two smiles gently and pulls her friend into a strong, but not crushing, hug. “Jesus, Chancho. I’m the legal adult here, remember?” While her tone is teasing, her hold is firm, because she knows everything about this situation is new and had been worrying Camila since the idea had first been proposed almost six months ago. “Everything will be fine. Ally already trusts you, even more than Zayn, and he co-owns her businesses. If anyone should be putting in extra effort, it’s me-which I will, promise-so don’t worry.”

They stand in motionless silence for a few minutes. “We’ve been in this apartment for 5 minutes, and it’s already made you all sappy and gross.” Camila mumbles tiredly into the Polynesian’s chest. Indisputably, Dinah give the best hugs in the entire universe; it has something to do with the perfectly balanced combination of her warmth, softness and comforting scent. Unfortunately, that precise mix is currently working to put her to sleep.

“You always gotta ruin the moment.” Dinah rolls her eyes and shoves Camila back, into the the blue and white striped fabric recliner Ally had given them. “I’m gonna start with the kitchen. Can you unpack the bathroom stuff?”

“Uh-huh.” Camila nods, but makes no effort to stand up. Her body suddenly feels too heavy to support itself, so she just tucks her legs underneath her body and lays her head on one of the arms. She nods off quickly to the sounds of Dinah moving around, occasionally making noises of agreement to whatever was being said until she was too far gone to reply.

“Did you pack the wire rack with the kitchen stuff?” Dinah calls out, waiting a bit for a response before moving towards the more open area of the apartment. “Walz?”

She smiles at the sight of her small friend curled up in the chair, sleeping peacefully. Although she could use the help, she goes back to unpacking without even attempting to wake her up. Aside from Camila’s deep breathing, and the more distant sounds of other inhabitants being alive, it’s pretty quiet; Dinah Jane Hansen cannot stand quiet. Long stretches of silence are uncomfortable to her, and it makes her feel too close to death, unless she’s trying to sleep, then anyone making any type of noise is at risk of literally being close to death. This was one of the many reasons Ally had moved them to separate rooms, multiple times. Camila enjoyed the environment Dinah despised, thrived in it, in fact. Her own love of loud music, television and people had always clashed with her friend’s dislike, a concern that was sat at the back of her mind when she’d realized, for the first time in over two years, they’d be sharing together again. As well as they get along, she doesn’t know if she can survive another second rooming with “Can you turn it down?”, and “D, I have a headache, please?”. It’s not her fault that Camila has sensitive ears.

Since she’s not a total asshole, and doesn’t want to risk waking Camila up, she works without music. This could also be explained by the fact it would be practically impossible to find the box with her headphones inside at this point in time. Naturally, her mind begins to wander, and she remembers Camila’s earlier concerns. For as far back as her memory goes, she’s lived with Ally, and, while she was more than ready to spread her metaphorical wings with little concern for how things would play out, the older woman had been hesitant to let her go. Eventually, they’d reached an agreement where Dinah could go if she could convince Camila to fill the final roommate position Normani and Lauren were looking for. This was difficult simply because Camila didn’t want to move out, and was, although she’d been accepted to the same college as Dinah, planning on going to a different university based solely on the location of the campus. In the end, it took a solid month of groveling and guilt-tripping before she agreed, and thus, papers were signed and money was put down, much to Ally’s displeasure. It was understandable for her to be so upset, as she’d literally raised Dinah, and made her dismay known by dramatically sulking around the house for nearly a month after they’d graduated. A small part of her wondered what her birth parents would say, how they would feel to see her graduating. Ally had refused to tell Dinah what had become of her biological family, aside from something about an “unfortunate accident”, claiming she would learn the full story when she was older. Of course she had a difficult time believing 32 people had all succumb to the same fate, but she was happy with the people she did consider family, and still held onto the belief that Ally would tell her one day.

Frowning, she took a deep breath to clear her head of the negative thoughts and stepped back from what she was doing. She looked around in mild surprise, unsure of when she’d packed away four full boxes worth of stuff, and checked the time.

7:08. It’s been a little over an hour since she started, and about another one to go before Normani and Lauren were scheduled to arrive. Peering over the back of the chair to make sure Camila’s not stirring, Dinah scrolls through her phone and starts playing a random playlist in her “Bops” folder, but still on a low volume, just in case.

Music really is a great way to pass the time, because just as she’s deciding if the top shelf should house mugs or plates, there’s a key turning in the lock.

“Hey, DJ.” Normani grins widely from the doorway, almost instantly being lifted into Dinah’s arms.

“Manz! I Haven’t seen you in-” Dinah quickly lowers her volume and friend, remembering the sleeping girl a few feet away, “forever.”

“What’s wrong?” Normani asks confusedly at the sudden behavioral change. Dinah tilts her head in Camila’s direction as they separate. “And here I thought she’d be the one doing all the work while you were off somewhere drooling.”

“It’s not my fault Walz usually does everything. I’m not lazy, she’s an overachiever.” Dinah doesn’t even attempt to claim that she doesn’t drool, as Normani, Camila, and Ariana had all been too enthusiastic to show her the embarrassing proof in the past.

“How long did you try to wake her up for?”

“I didn’t. She’s taking a nap outside of the full moon or being sick for the first time in like six years; it’s better to just let her sleep.”

Normani nods, knowing Dinah speaks the truth. She’s never met anyone who hates being asleep more than the 17 year old in the recliner. Changing the subject, she raises a large brown paper bag Dinah had previously missed. “Anyways, I brought you guys something.”

“Food?” Dinah questions, although the answer is obvious, and snatches the bag from her hand. “You’re a lifesaver. I thought I was actually going to have to…you know.”

“You mean cook?” Dinah hates cooking as much as Camila hates sleeping, and Normani has trouble understanding either sentiment.

“Yeah, that.” Dinah takes a generous bite out of a random burger and turns towards the partially open door. “Where’s Lauren? I thought she was coming with you?”

“She was, but her parents wanted to have a family dinner tonight, so she transferred to an early morning flight.” Normani pulls the front door shut and locks it. She’s not risking someone just walking in and slaughtering them in their sleep. It won’t matter if Dinah and Camila are there if they get to her first.

“Don’t her parents live in Miami? That’s less than a three hour drive.” As she speaks, a chunky, liquefied mix of meat and bun spills down her chin, dyed yellow from the high ratio of mustard to pretty much everything else between the pieces of bread.

Normani hands Dinah a napkin, not particularly disgusted by the display, as she’d gotten used to her and Camila’s disastrous eating habits long ago. “It was at her uncle’s in Tennessee,” she stretches out on the couch and gestures to the three of them, “so it’ll just be us this evening.”

“If Mila even bothers to wake up.” Dinah replies before realizing something. “Hold up, who said you could sit down?”

“What?”

“Girl, get yo ass up and do something.”

“But Mila-”

“She’s allowed to sleep because she actually did some work before. Did you really believe you could bring us some food and we’d let you get away not doing anything?” The innocent look on Normani’s face says everything, and Dinah laughs loudly. “Hoe, you thought. Now go unpack the boxes for the bathroom.”

Normani sighs theatrically, but starts down the hall anyway, not wanting to feel Dinah’s wrath over something so insignificant, and also because she knows damn well it won’t get done otherwise.

They continue to talk back and forth for a while, calling out to each other across the apartment after they’d determined Camila probably wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

“D, what the hell are these?” Normani rounds the corner holding an cartoon rocket ship bath mat and Space Invaders shower curtain.

“Ally got those as part of our going away present, even though we’ve only gone like an hour and a half away.”

“Did you make sure to tell her you guys were starting college and not kindergarten? It looks like she’s a bit confused.” Secretly, Normani finds the gifts cute, because she’s gotten to know Ally thoroughly over the last four years, and it’s just like her to do something all sentimental like this.

“Walz didn’t want to hurt her feelings by not bringing them, and I don’t want to risk her just showing up and not seeing them in place, you know?” The soft tone in the younger girl’s voice contrasts starkly with the pained grimace on her face. It’s like she’s physically hurting from just being in the presence of the brightly colored accessories.

“That’s really sweet of you, to sacrifice your sanity out of love and fear.”

“Fear? What are you talking about? I’m not afraid of Ally.”

“That’s such a fucking lie and you know it.” Normani smiles knowingly at Dinah’s overly defensive stance: arms crossed, brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and annoyance, and legs shoulder width apart. “She’s your mom, you pretty much have to be scared of her.”

“Yeah, but I’m not. The only time I’ve only even mildly feared her was those couple of times when she got really mad at me, because believe you me, when the 'a’ in Ally stands for angry, you don’t want to be anywhere near her.”

“It’s hard to imagine Ally like that.” Normani sets the mat and curtain on one of the few boxes not yet pushed into it’s proper room yet; not that they even know what it is, since Lauren and Normani decided drunk and tipsy packing, respectively, would be a good idea.

“It’s good you only have to go based off imagination and not experience. Trust me, she’s like a little volcano.”

“What am I when I’m angry?”

“You’re like…a slowly melting block of ice.”

“I don’t-what?”

“You’re all cold towards whoever you’re mad at, and you don’t show it at first, but then you start getting all snippy and stay salty for as long as you’re pissed off. You aren’t an explosive person.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s true. And you’re not either, most of the time. Unless you feel really threatened, or somebody does something seriously messed up, you’re pretty calm.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t want people to know I’m angry with them, all the time, and get all suspicious. Why do you think I’m so good at pranks?”

“Because you lowkey want to be a bully, but you know Ally would have your ass, so you found a slightly less abrasive outlet.”

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to stop talking to Walz. Her and all her deep thinking is fucking you up.”

“Are you saying I’m not a deep thinker?”

“No, but you’re not like her, and believe me when I say that’s a good thing.”

There’s a slight pause before anyone speaks again. “What about Mila?”

“What about Mila?” Dinah reiterates, not understanding Normani’s question.

“If Ally’s a volcano-”

“Little volcano.” She can hear the smirk in her voice, even though she isn’t looking at her.

“-and I’m a block of ice, what’s Camila like when she’s mad?”

“Walz doesn’t get mad.”

“Dinah, you’ve known her since she was six.”

“I know that, but I’ve never seen her anything more than moderately annoyed, usually by me or Zayn.”

“I know Mila doesn’t have a bad temper, I mean she spends most of her time with you, we’d know at this point, but nothing?” The eldest resident sits on the arm of the recliner and looks down at it’s occupant, tone dripping with incredulity.

Dinah takes a moment to think before replying. “There was this one time I remember when she was really genuinely upset. We were like eight and three of my friends-you remember those annoying ass girls I told you I used to hang out with right before middle school?-came over to stay for April vacation. Walz had already been there for a couple of weeks, and I was sick before, so of course she got it, but Ally already agreed to watch those terrible children, so she put in place her standard quarantine procedures.” Dinah doesn’t elaborate, knowing Normani is fully aware of Ally’s behaviour when anyone in her household is ill. “It was like halfway through their stay and Ally was in the kitchen, when Walz comes downstairs for the first time in days, looking for her. We were in the living room, so we saw her first, and Sierra, of course, decided to cause a problem.”

“Sierra was the one with the parents that owned those condos, right?”

“That was Genevive. Sierra’s parents bought that amusement park that closed down like two years later.”

“How did you know these people?”

“Public school. Go figure.” Dinah purposely avoids answering Normani’s actual question in favor of finishing the memory. “Anyways, they were just talking all kinds of mess, and I just kinda stood there, because, you know, I was a stupid elementary schooler and these were my cool friends. Then Sierra went too far and threw Q outside into the downpour, Mila went after him, and they locked her out. Genevive and Evie went in the kitchen to make sure she didn’t try to come in through the front door, and I…” Dinah trails off for a moment, noticeably uncomfortable. “I pulled the blinds in the back so Ally wouldn’t see her, then we helped with lunch. By the time Ally found her, she’d already been outside for like three hours.”

Normani’s brow furrows, having heard other stories of how Dinah was kind of an asshole at that age, but that doesn’t make it any less upsetting. “Please tell me Mila came for you.”

“No, but Ally did after I told her what happened."

"You actually told Ally?” Normani asks skeptically. The Dinah she knows would do almost anything to stay out of trouble, or at least modify the truth enough to spare herself too severe of a punishment. Admitting to laughing with your 'friends’ being mean to your friend, then locking said friend outside in the rain with no plans of telling anyone isn’t exactly how one would prevent that.

“Believe it or not, eight year old Dinah Jane still felt guilt on occasion. I couldn’t not tell her, especially when we found out Walz had pneumonia. Ally blamed that on the rain, and even though the doctor said that’s not what caused it, I wasn’t going to try to use that to defend myself. Not the point, so Q was all muddy and gross, and Ally told Mila she was going to wash him, you know, the common sense thing to do, and she lost it. She started crying her eyes out and begging Ally not to, like she almost threw up from crying so hard. It was terrible. My friends were staring in surprise and disgust, and I was so embarrassed. Yes, I know, I was a terrible friend, stop looking at me like that. And Ally was completely freaking out because she’d never seen her like that, and she couldn’t figure out how to calm her down. So she just carried her upstairs.”

“Wow.” It’s a well known fact that Camila is a very emotional person, but Normani has never seen her cry, at least not the way Dinah was describing it. Sure, she’d seen her shed a couple tears at the sad scenes in movies, or from laughing way too hard, but nothing so emotional. “I don’t get it. Why was she crying?”

“I don’t know. We never asked her. I don’t even think she remembers it happening, so Ally decided to just blame it on her fever. You know how Ally likes to be prepared for everything, so that kind of fucked her up for a while. Really though, it was so…unexpected, and out of character. I mean, when I was teaching her how to ride a bike, she fell down the side of a rocky hill, into a stream, and didn’t make a sound. This was something else.”

“You guys had a real weird childhood.” Even though she already knows this.

“You tell me that anytime I tell you anything. And not really, yours was just super boring.”

Normani snorts. “No, my childhood was normal. Ally literally owns a magic shop. Where is the normality?”

“It’s normal to us.” Dinah says with an air of finality, not wanting to dwell on negative memories. “Now, go finish setting up the bathroom.”

“Dinah! Really? You’re gonna make me do more work? It’s nighttime.”

“Yes, now get up.”

“I’m tired."

"Mani.”

“No.” The darker girl whines, stretching out the word.

“I wasn’t giving you an option.” Dinah throws a pillow at Normani, her previously unmoving target effectively dodging the projectile, causing it to hit the sleeping girl in the face.

Camila groans quietly and shifts in her sleep, forcing her eyes open as she knocks the pillow onto the floor. “I…was asleep?”

“You were.” Dinah glares at Normani, more playful than serious.

“Mani?” Camila mumbles around a yawn, recognizing the familiar perfume coming off the figure above her. “I thought you weren’t getting here until tonight.”

The older girl grins down at her friend, and gestures towards the hall windows where the blinds are still open. “It is night, Mila.”

“It’s-wha?” She rubs her eyes, confused as to how it was pitch black out when the sun had been shining brightly just minutes before.

“It’s almost 9:30. You’ve been out for nearly 3 hours.” Dinah’s voice replies from behind her.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Camila speaks to Dinah, but extends her arms towards Normani, signaling she wants a hug.

“You were barely sitting down for 5 minutes before you fell asleep. If I woke you up, you’d just be cranky and do a shit job at unpacking.”

Normani slid down into Camila’s lap, wrapping the Cuban up in her arms. “Plus, you probably wouldn’t have woken up anyway. Dinah’s been playing music this entire time, stuff was being moved around, and we were literally talking right over you for the past 20 minutes.

"And, I made smoothies.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Dinah opens the fridge and pulls out three glass bottles, each containing a different colored puree. Honestly, she hadn’t even remembered she’d made them until now. “Try me again.”

“Shit.” Camila knows she can be a heavy sleeper, but their blender is basically a small glass lawnmower for food items. “Is one of those mine?”

“Of course that’s what you focus on.” Camila adjusts Normani in her lap, so she has a free hand to hold the bottle Dinah passes her.

“Thank you.” She takes a sip of the thick liquid, savoring the, overwhelmingly to every other living being, banana flavor and peanut butter aftertaste. “Have I ever told you that I love you more than most things?”

“Only every time I give you food.”

“Those are very good times.”

“Speaking of food,” Normani interjects, remembering something important. “Lauren wants to have lunch with you guys tomorrow, since she can’t make it here tonight.”

“Sure, I’m free between 12 and 2. I have to get to the bakery for 3:30.”

“I’ll be back by 12:30, since I’m opening tomorrow.”

“Lauren and I are both available then, so lets say, 12:45 at that Italian restaurant across from the town center.”

“The one with the yellow tomatoes in the salad and butter that kind of tastes like gravy?”

“That’s the one.”

“Now I’m hungry.” Normani hears Camila speak the complaint into her shoulder.

“You were hungry the moment you woke up.” Dinah hands her the not completely cold take out bag from the fridge. “Here. Normani brought burgers, so I saved you one and a half. There’s also most of a large fries-don’t you dare look at me like that. You’re lucky I didn’t eat all your fries.”

“You’re a literal angel.” Normani has no time to respond before Camila grabs her face and kisses her wetly on the cheek, then starts in on the stuffed half turkey burger.

“Anyway,” Normani starts, wiping the saliva off her face in disgust, “she’s really excited to meet you guys. I’m just kind of worried, you know?”

“Why?” The word vibrates her arm, which lays limp across Camila’s chest.

“It’s just, I’ve built you guys up so much, she’ll probably be disappointed when the real thing is right in front of her.”

There’s a loud clapping sound as Dinah’s hand connects with Normani’s back, nearly knocking her over. “Girl, you scared me for a second! I thought you were being serious.”

“You could be an actress. That was really convincing.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“I’m being serious. Plus, you’ve got the face for it: acting, modeling, all that picture stuff.” Camila’s voice is muffled as she holds the rest of her burger between her teeth, digging through the empty paper wrappers Dinah left in the bag in search of the spilled fries.

“Yeah, and besides, you’re a great actress, and dancer, and once people get a look at that face, they’ll be dying to plaster it up all over magazine covers, and billboards, and giant posters that’ll hang in horny teenager’s bedrooms.” Dinah admits honestly as she flops down on the couch.

“And park benches!” Camila adds excitedly, probably only really thinking of the park portion of the suggestion.

“Thanks, but I really don’t think I want anyone sitting on my face.”

“Yet another thing you and Walz don’t have in common.” As Dinah Jane is the biggest fan of her own jokes, she fails miserably at holding back the laugh that Normani lets out in full.

Camila waits for the giggles to subside before attempting to respond. “You say that like it’s not one of the greatest experiences ever, for all parties involved.”

“I am the sitter, not the on being sat upon, thank you very much. A face like this must be admired at all times, and that’s kind of hard to do when someone’s ass is all up in it.”

“DJ, the only thing to ever admire your face, aside from you, is your phone camera.”

“On a good day.” Camila holds up a couple of fries, silently offering them to Normani who declines, but reaches her hand into the bag in search on a moderately clean napkin to wipe the ketchup off the Cuban’s face.

“You’re both so damn rude, I swear. I can’t believe I agreed to live with you two. And I was so nice to you, Mani.”

“Right, because everyone wants to hear that they’re attractive enough to be masturbated to, or to be on a mossy, shit covered bench so people can sit on their face in the least sexual way.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so good.”

“Whatever. Can we watch a movie now, or something? Talking to you for longer than 10 minutes at a time is tiring.”

“I’m down, as long as it isn’t a horror movie, or a psychological thriller.” Camila tosses the balled up paper bag into the garbage by the couch, and grins at the offended look on Dinah’s face.

“Chancho, come cuddle.”

“What? You don’t want me?” Normani asks innocently, pouting playfully at the huffing Polynesian.

“No, you can stay right over there.” Dinah scoffs, then her voice returns to it’s previous demanding whine. “Walz, here. Now.”

“Sorry, Cheech. No Mani, no me.”

The two youngest stare at each other, both waiting for the other’s resolve to crack. Eventually, it’s Dinah who relents. “Fine, both of you get your traitorous asses over here.”

“We love you, Dinah Jane.” Normani announces in a sing-song voice, after her and Camila squish the still mainly unwilling addressee into a hug.

“Now you do. I’m picking the movie, and no arguments.” She yanks the remote out of Normani’s hand and snickers at the simultaneous groan from the bodies on either side of her.

They were midway through the first season of some weird British show Dinah had found when Normani attempted to make conversation again. Turning her head towards them to speak, she discovered they were both already asleep. This wasn’t surprising at all, but gave her the time to review their future living arrangements.

Lauren was a great person, even though highschool had been a kind of rocky time for her, and, well, she was a lot like Dinah in certain respects. She enjoyed having a good time, and whatever the definition of that may be at the time, partying till all hours of the night or playing charades in her pajamas, and didn’t let anything get in the way of that. Although their recent conversations had gone significantly better than the ones they’d had over the previous few years, she knew a couple of her highschool friends would also be attending, one of the reasons why she was so glad Lauren had reached out to her to share an apartment, since she wanted to keep her away from those people. Lauren’s parents, Mike and Clara, knew of her past troubles, and were more than ecstatic to hear she was talking with Normani again, who was easily their favorite of their daughter’s friends. It was more difficult to convince them about Dinah and Camila, particularly the latter, as they had been stalking Dinah’s social media since Normani had given them her name, and saw she appeared to be just a normal teenager. Everything she said about Camila, on the other hand, seemed to fuel their apprehension towards their eldest living with her. She didn’t know the answers to the questions they were asking, which made them suspicious, so much so, that Mike had offered to pay for the final forth of the rent if she could get Camila to find a way out of the lease. Now, unbeknownst to her roommates, her parents had taken it upon themselves to invite them all over for Christmas day dinner, after she’d mentioned that none of them had any big plans for the holiday season. She knew how protective Lauren’s parents had become, without being controlling, for the most part, and was slightly concerned with extending the invitation. It would look bad if they didn’t show up, like they were really hiding something, but there would be a lot of questions, probably bordering on the invasive side, and Camila didn’t enjoy talking about her personal life, very much unlike Dinah. She’d tried to say that they were unavailable on the day, but Clara pressed that they could both bring their families, which posed another problem. It was time to talk to Ally before she stuck her foot further in her mouth.

This is a thing now?

It’s also on Wattpad: RetreatingBackwards

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #angst drama #scifi supernatural fantasy #submission #Progression

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merlinficreview · 7 years

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The Student Prince Chapters 31-35 Review!

The Student Prince by FayJay

Word Count: 145222

Chapter 31

“Glad to hear u r OK. Sorry cannot come back this term. Merry Xmas.” That’s the opening of this chapter. It’s a text from Arthur to Merlin and Merlin starts freaking out that Arthur wants nothing to do with him after that whole murder situation. “Of course, Merlin was pretty damned sure that if he'd just seen somebody he was sleeping with turn around and kill somebody they both knew – kill them really quite horribly, and whilst they were trying to run away, at that – well, he'd probably have been a bit horrified himself.” At least Merlin is somewhat self-aware.

Merlin has a chat with Morgause who tells him that he’ll end up killing more people if he takes the job to protect Arthur. Merlin acts like this is brand new information.

Later, Lance and Merlin are getting ice cream and Merlin asks Lance if he would stop loving Gwen if she robbed a bank. Hopefully not. How else is he supposed to get his share of the loot? Anyways, Lance of course says he wouldn’t and brings up Arthur because Merlin is not subtle. Lance tells Merlin to not assume things on Arthur’s behalf. That’s pretty good advice.

Merlin has an aneurism over sending an “I miss you” text to Arthur. Arthur responds with, “Me 2. Hope to see u in the New Year.” Yikes. That’s not really something you text your boyfriend. It would be more like, “See you in the New Year!”

Chapter 32

Merlin and Gwen are taking the train home and Gwen is worried about seeing her mother’s side of the family.

Merlin worries about Arthur, “He was wondering where Arthur was right now, and what he was doing. It was five days since he'd seen his face.” Wait, I’m sorry. It’s only been FIVE DAYS? Calm the fuck down, Merlin, damn. I thought it had been like two weeks or something.

Gwen invites Merlin to go see fireworks with her, Lance and a few other people. Merlin asks if he can bring Will.

Merlin gets home to his mother, “And then he was ringing the doorbell, and he could make out his mother's sihouette through the frosted glass, and a moment later he was holding her tight, startled again that she was so much smaller than she should be and losing himself in the familiar smell of her hair and the warm press of her arms.” Why the hell is he ringing to doorbell to his own home? That’s really weird.

“There was so much he wanted to tell her – about his magic, and about Arthur, and about Morgana and Gaius and Gwen and everything that had happened to him since she waved him off at the train all those months ago. But he couldn't find the words, and he had a lowering suspicion that if he did try to explain himself he'd end up in tears.” Has… Merlin not spoken to his mother since September? What?

A couple of days before Christmas, Morgana breaks her radio silence and asks Merlin, “’Oh my God, Merlin, did you know?’ ‘...sorry?’ ‘Did you know what he was going to do?’ she hissed.” “’You didn't know? Bloody hell fire, I never thought – Uther's going absolutely ballistic. I don't think they're going to show the whole thing on the Beeb after all – at least he's trying to stop them from airing it, but they're quoting the Royal Charter back at him, and it's all on tape, and they've got an army of lawyers, and he can't actually have Mark Thompson or Martin Bashir beheaded, however much he might want...’ her voice was stifled suddenly, and Merlin strained to pick up what was happening. ‘Shit – sorry, got to go. Look, if they air it – you'll want to watch it.’” How fucking useless. I fucking hate it when people start a conversation to make a massive big deal about something and then don’t answer questions or explain what the fuck is going on. It’s a huge pet peeve for me.

Merlin texts Arthur asking what the fuck is going on and his response to Merlin is just as useless as Morgana’s phone call, “Everything alrightish. Do not think pater likes his Xmas present much. Please watch Bashir interview tomorrow if it airs? Am v. sorry about all of this. <3”

Then the chapter ends on that cliffhanger. It would be annoying if it wasn’t painfully obvious that Arthur outed himself in the interview.

Chapter 33

Merlin and his mother are watching the interview Arthur gave and she gets all up in Merlin’s business trying to get him to tell her what the big reveal is. Calm down.

“’How are you finding life as a student?’ Bashir asked, his voice warm and attentive. Arthur smiled. ‘Obviously I have quite a heavy workload, with essays and presentations and things – International Relations is fascinating, but it's not exactly a walk in the park.’ He laughed. ‘And my other subjects are just as bad! I'm afraid I've spent a lot of late nights in the library – that's a bit sad, isn't it?’” What? That’s news to me. When has Arthur ever gone to the library? Does he even know where it is? Arthur is a liar.

Arthur tells the interviewer all about Raisin Sunday and Half of Monday. “’That sounds like fun!’ said Merlin's mother, beaming over at him. ‘Did you do that, cariad?’” I am convinced that Merlin literally never called his mother once in four months. How would she not know any of this? Merlin is a horrible son.

“’Well – more or less like a normal student. There are always bodyguards, and so forth, but I do my own laundry and burn my own toast, like anyone else.’….” Again, when? Arthur gets his toast from the cafeteria. Stop making up weird lies, Arthur.

The interviewer awkwardly asks Arthur about a girlfriend. They have a really long winded conversation where they really beat a dead horse instead of actually getting to the point and Arthur says at least four times, “I don’t think I’ll ever get married,” and the interviewer kind of drops the ball. It’s an annoying conversation because all Arthur had to do was say, “I’ll probably never get married because I’m gay,” instead of beating around the bush for 84 years.

“’I'm really not expecting to meet the girl of my dreams over a jar of coffee, because I'm gay, Martin,’ Arthur said, each word clear and deliberate.” Fucking finally. He could have just said that the second the dude brought up the parents meeting over coffee story instead of going on and on and on and on.

Arthur gives a big long speech about how he can’t hide his sexuality with all the bullies and hate crimes and such and I’m just kind of “too little too late” because he never once did anything about Kay, who he even praised in the interview. So it’s fallen on deaf ears for me.

The interviewer asks Arthur if he has a boyfriend and Arthur says that he hopes so. I would actually be furious with Arthur if I was Merlin, to be honest. Arthur did this entire thing and outed their relationship to the entire world without so much as a heads up to Merlin. He’s an ass. Merlin of course doesn’t see it that way and flips his shit. "Merlin?" said Hunith, her voice going suddenly shrill. “Merlin? tell me you didn't seduce the Prince of Wales? You're not having an affair with Prince Arthur, are you? You're not, are you? Merlin?” Merlin does not love his mother. He doesn’t tell her shit. She probably doesn’t even know what his major is.

Chapter 34

Gwen immediately calls Merlin and confronts him about being with Arthur. Merlin says it’s true then gets off the phone with her to call Arthur… who doesn’t answer.

Merlin then calls Morgana who answers the phone with a whisper. “’Oh, thank God – is this a good time?’ he asked, wondering where she was and who was listening.” I mean, I feel like her answering the phone with a whisper is a fairly good indication that it’s not a good time but what do I know? Morgana tells Merlin that Uther is pissed and that he has to rewrite the whole King’s Speech now to address Arthur’s coming out. Morgana says shit has really hit the fan and she’s worried that Arthur is going to be forced to step out of the line of succession which would make her the heir to the throne. Merlin tells Morgana to tell Arthur he loves him and then they hang up.

Gaius calls Merlin and asks him about that love spell from forever ago. Merlin tells Gaius that he was the one who kissed Arthur and broke the spell. Gaius is worried about Uther’s feelings about Merlin once he finds out that Merlin is the one whom Arthur came out for. Then Gaius is, as usual, a useless critical asshole, yelling at Merlin for shit that isn’t his fault. “’Really – do you stay up late at night trying to work out the most stressful thing you can throw at me?’ ‘No!’ Merlin said. And then he felt a wash of guilt, because Gaius was an old man. ‘No, sir. Sorry, sir.’ ‘When I asked you to try to keep out of trouble over Christmas, this really wasn't what I meant, you know.’ ‘But this isn't my fault!’ ‘And yet here you are in the middle of it again, Merlin.’” Then he makes it even worse by asking Merlin if he has any siblings. Gaius is the worst.

Christmas Morning, Merlin and Hunith are watching the news and Kay gets the most infuriating redemption arc ever. He assaults a journalist who is trying to offer him money for information on Arthur. “I'll stick your bloody camera where the sun don't shine, you scum! Offering me bloody money for dirt on Arthur! You're not worth the mud under his shoes, you leeches, even if he is a bloody poof! He's our bloody poof!”

Like… am I supposed to forget all the shit he’s pulled? Because I don’t. Merlin thinks about how he is rooting for Kay and he and his mother decided it’s great how loyal he is to Arthur. What. The. Fuck. Nope. Fuck right off with that.

Chapter 35

Uther gives his King’s Speech and it’s all very boring and blah blah blah. Here’s the only part we care about, “Let me make this absolutely clear: Arthur is, and will remain, the heir to the throne. Whether the Church of England finds the prospect of him eventually becoming Head of the Church of England to be tenable or not is of course a matter for the Archbishop of Canterbury and his colleagues to discuss, and it is possible that when he succeeds me as king he will not succeed me as Head of the Church.’ Uther's voice dropped lower, and his expression grew sterner. ‘But succeed me he most certainly will.’” Good job, Uther.

The King’s Speech ends and Merlin’s mother is super annoying, “’Ooh, no,’ said Hunith, shaking her head in disapproval. ‘I don't know about importing random Germans to be king! No, no, you'll have to sort something out with a surrogate mother, or adopt a Romanian orphan or something.’”

This isn’t the first time she’s said anything like this either. Merlin and Arthur have been together for like two months and they are 18. Stop it. Merlin agrees with me.

Morgana and Merlin text each other and it’s weird because they get super specific when in the previous chapter she says she shouldn’t talk to him on the phone because paparazzi have spies on the phones. Whatever. Morgana says Arthur left Merlin a message, “I quote: ‘Second star to the right, and straight on till morning. Another stupid adventure. Come and be king of the world?’ Does that make any sense to you?”

Merlin creates a magic door on his bedroom and has a chat with the dragon. They banter. Merlin just tells him he wants the dragon to take him somewhere in a few days. Well that was stupid. Now Merlin is stuck with the dragon. Why didn’t he just create the door the day he wanted to go somewhere?

Merlin and Arthur meet at that building they snuck into and spent the night at that one time. They have a big conversation and make out and it’s nice but it’s right in front of Arthur’s bodyguard so it’s super awkward. Then Arthur invites Merlin to go with him to meet Uther. The end.

So that’s all folks. The famed Student Prince fic! Now I know sometimes in reviews I come off sounding a little hateful but I do actually like this fic for the most part. The parts I hate just kind of overshadow the parts I like. I dislike Gwen and Lance in this fic because their will they won’t they set up is so infuriating but not in a well written angsty way. It’s ridiculous and no real person acts the way they do in this fic. I also HATE Kay. There was absolutely no reason to have him written the way he was and then continuously beat us over the head with it in EVERY. SINGLE. SCENE. Then that redemption arc? Get the fuck out of here with that. I found Arthur to be genuinely unlikable. He’s an asshole to Merlin during the whole Raisin Weekend thing and he’s an asshole when it comes to his weird undying loyalty to Kay. Fucking. Stop. That’s about all want to say about the fic. I feel like anything would just repeating myself. I did like the general Arthur/Merlin angst, minus when Arthur is being an asshole towards Merlin. I also like Raisin Sunday and Half of Monday.

Until next time!

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin fic #review #Student Prince #that's all folks #worst redemption arc ever #it solves nothing #kay still needs to be hit by a bus #arthur doesn't respect merlin #merlin is a murderer though

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