#And Lexa's hair just looks so FLUFFY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bellamysgriffin · 2 years ago

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Requesting one simple fluffy love confession for Bellarke please?

i have no excuse for this taking as long as it did or being as long as it is but here it is! tbh the fluffiest love confession i wrote for them is probably in my fic take this sinking boat and point it home, so this in turn, turned into more of a rumination on what love means to them. the love confession itself is post 6.10 <3

reminder: i am currently accepting blarke fic requests! i mainly write canon, but am open to AUs, i also mostly write angst with a happy ending. other than that, feel free to request whatever you desire <3

read on ao3

If you ask Bellamy when he first began to love Clarke, he wouldn’t know how to begin to answer the question. But if you ask him when he knew he loved her, well, that would be easy. It started so long ago. Six years, give or take a century, a lifetime, or perhaps, just one, long moment.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

It starts like this: a flash of blonde slips into his periphery, and before he has time to react, arms are around his neck and hair is in his mouth and his brain is saying how? and thank god and I thought you were dead and I was going crazy without you and the words I love you float up among it all and he’s so stunned by the truth of those words that he doesn’t even think about saying them out loud.

He does think about it later, though. Bellamy has never been in love, he realizes, as he watches her sleep, the fire flickering over her face. He’s not quite sure what to do about it. He could tell her. He could do that, it’s an option. But Clarke doesn’t love him. She loves Spacewalker, even if she won’t admit it. And does she really need to know? He doesn’t want anything from her. He doesn’t need anything to change. It’s just there now, this love, closing around his heart like a fist, and that’s all.

So, in this way, Bellamy becomes well-trained in the art of holding his tongue.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

He thinks about saying it before he leaves for the mountain. But she looks at her hands like she can still see Finn’s blood on them and the Commander’s at her side like a shadow and in the end he just tells her to be safe.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

When the fire from the explosion almost swallows him whole, his only thought is whether or not his charred and burning body could crawl to the radio in time to hear her voice one last time, to tell her –

And then he survives, and the thought evaporates, floating away above his head like smoke.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

If there was ever a moment Bellamy might have told Clarke the truth, it was after the mountain had fallen. He had thought she didn’t love him, but now he’s not so sure.

And then she says she’s leaving and the words wither and die inside of him like leaves in the winter. He could say, “I love you, don’t go,” but the words would be a weapon to use against her. It would be the same as holding a gun to her head and ordering her through the gates.

And he can’t do that. And he won’t do that. He won’t let his love be cruel, because it’s better than that, it’s worth more than that. After all they’ve been through, it has to be.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

I’ll tell her when she comes back, he decides two nights later. Only she never does come back.

And then there’s Gina and Lexa and ALIE and just when they think they’ve saved the day, everything’s over and how can he tell her now?

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

So it changes. I’ll tell her if the world doesn’t end. Then, I’ll tell her if we make it to the ring.

But the world does end. And she doesn’t make it to the ring.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

The words I love you weigh on his tongue like stones in the pocket of a body in the water. There is no one left to hear his confession, but he makes it anyway. A month after her death (a concept he still can’t wrap his head around, Clarke and dead, Clarke and gone, Clarke and never coming back), he stands by the window and says, “I love you,” in a whisper. He looks at the Earth as it burns and says, “Clarke.” Again, “Clarke. I love you. I have always, always –”

And then he stops. Because he has to.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Clarke doesn’t think about telling Bellamy she loves him until the world has ended. No, she dreams about it instead.

I love you, she says, and he’s bleeding out in her arms.

I love you, she says, and there’s a knife in her hand and in his gut.

Sometimes it’s I love you, she says, and he holds her as she’s dying and Clarke likes those dreams better.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

She knows she loves Bellamy when she sends him to the mountain. Clarke has never been a superstitious person. But her decision not to tell him is like a protective charm, a forcefield, a blanket of safety she wraps around his shoulders like a child being put to bed.

Or rather, to tell him would be to place a curse upon his head because

I love you – and her father’s body floats in space forever because

I love you – and Finn’s body slumped against a pole, her saliva still wetting his lips

I love you – and who knows what will happen to Bellamy now? If she doesn’t say it, if he never knows, then maybe it’s not really goodbye.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

She falls in love again with the very woman who took her first love, with the very woman who sent death and destruction Clarke’s way before she ever knew horror, before she ever knew blood. She falls in love with a woman so fierce and powerful and magnetic, so broken and solemn, with caverns inside of her stretching deeper than Clarke could ever hope of seeing.

Her love for Bellamy does not fade. It’s lodged under her heart like a rock. It is a safe place for it to be.

She does not tell Lexa she loves her. Not until the end, anyway, when she knows that she will never see her again.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

And then the world is ending, and every time her heart wants to tell him, she is chastened by a brain that reminds her of Lexa Dad Finn Wells Lexa Dad Finn Wells Lexa Dad Finn Wells – over and over, a never-ending loop. People she loved. People she lost.

And no, she won’t tell him. She won’t tell him because every time they part ways, she wonders if the world might end before she sees him again, and by not telling him, somewhere she is convinced that she is ensuring them just a little bit more time, the guarantee of one more moment, one more touch, one more look even if it’s only a look.

It’s not until the death wave is roaring above their heads that she tries to tell him but of course, he doesn’t want to hear it. Because he knows what it means.

“I just want to say…”

(I love you.)

(I’m in love with you.)

(I have always been in love with you.)

But the ring hovers over their heads like a dream, and if she doesn’t say it, then maybe she can get there.

“Hurry.”

She doesn’t say it.

And she doesn’t get there either.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

“Bellamy,” Clarke says into the radio, a month after the death wave, when the lack of food and water are getting to her and her brain is swimming through a warm fog, “if you can hear me…” She trails off. “Bellamy. I love you.”

She’s not afraid to say it anymore. Because it’s not goodbye if he’s already gone.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy had promised himself that if they survived the end of the world, he would tell her how he felt. And they did survive, both of them. By some miracle, she endured the fire and came out the other side, as beautiful as the day he left her to burn.

But Bellamy breaks his promise.

Because there is Echo. And she is real. She is not Clarke, but she is not nothing. She is family, in the truest sense of the world. If the Bellamy who stood by the window and whispered the truth to a version of Clarke that could never hear him was here now, holding her on the bed of a prison ship, six years after the end of the world, he would be whispering the words into her ears, over and over, for as long as she would let him. But that Bellamy is not here.

He loves Clarke, or he loves the memory of Clarke, or he loves what Clarke used to be, or he’s learning to love what this Clarke is, or however you want to say it. He feels the fist around his heart, weakened, but still gripping tightly.

But make no mistake. What he has with Echo is different and quieter and softer and weaker. But it is absolutely love.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

In the end, of course, it’s no match for Clarke. It never was. It could survive a love affair with a dead girl, but here? Now? On Earth? His love for Clarke grips tighter and tighter around his heart, leaving no room for anyone else, until finally, Bellamy is convinced (as he kneels, hands bound, on the floor of the fighting pits) that his heart has been ground to nothing but dust.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

And then he sees her again. And Madi tells him about the radio. And there it is, ever-so-slightly, as if waking up from a long and dormant sleep, the sound of his heart as it beats.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Does Clarke think about telling Bellamy? Of course she does. And then he kisses Echo in the sunshine and he kisses Echo in the firelight and he kisses Echo in front of her and when she’s not looking she knows that he’s holding her and he buries his face into her hair as if he never wants to emerge and Clarke thinks that maybe everything would have been fine if she never had to see what she wanted being given so freely to someone else.

Does Clarke think about telling Bellamy she loves him? Why tell him something he so clearly doesn’t want to hear?

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

In the end, she forfeits all rights to those words. To those words, and to everything else. In war, we all have to choose a side. It’s the first time since they set foot on the ground that she hasn’t chosen his.

(It doesn’t matter that she changed her mind. Not to Raven, not to Murphy, not to Echo, and not to anyone else.)

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

The ground was a fresh start. Maybe this can be too, Clarke thinks. And the way Bellamy smiles at her, the way he laughs, even jokes. “A little pathetic, maybe,” he says, “but not crazy.” It feels like having him back. She finally feels it. What she dreamed of all those six years. She finally feels like he’s home.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy knows those six years are never coming back. But he looks at Clarke smiling in the Sanctum sunshine. Bruises in the shape of his fingers still ring around her neck. His left knee aches from the knife she stabbed it with.

And yet, none of that seems to matter. And that’s how Bellamy knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be ready to tell her.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Clarke hasn’t been so happy in longer than she can remember. So she’s not surprised when the rug is pulled out from under her again. The blue dress that she hoped Bellamy would like her in brushes against her ankles but she can’t even feel it. Instead, Russell Lightbourne’s face looms in front of her. The last thing she thinks before it all goes dark, as selfish and cruel as it is, is that she hopes that when Bellamy finds out, he’s devastated. She hopes that, in spite of all she’s done, in spite of her betrayals, he still loves her enough to mourn her.

And then she thinks of nothing, nothing, nothing…

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Of course, he’s not just devastated. He’s furious. His blood is made of fire, and his eyes have gone dark. When the rope is around Russell’s throat, it feels easy, too easy, like the years and the promises of doing better and making peace have fallen away and turned to ashes. He is again the boy who walked into a mountain filled with death and decay simply because Clarke asked him to. He is again the boy who dressed up like a grounder and walked among enemies who would gladly have had his head on a suicide mission to keep her safe.

He would do anything for her. Anything. He only lets go because he thinks that she would want him to.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

He thought that moment was the worst it could get, the moment where he looked into her eyes and saw someone else looking back. But it’s not. Because when her heart stops beating and her breath lies frozen in her chest, it’s worse than Praimfaya, and it’s worse than Josephine, because it is in front of him, it is fact, and there is no room for hope or confusion, or maybe-she-isn’ts, or maybe-I’m-wrongs, there is only the gaping, yawning mouth of grief growing wider and wider inside of him.

He kept waiting, all these years, for the right time to tell her, but maybe it’s not about him. He saves her in the end, because of course he does, he has to. But she could have died without knowing he loved her, and a person deserves to know that someone loved them. A person deserves to know that they were loved.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

(Of course, she does know. She’s known for a long time. Just as he knows too.)

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Josephine is gone, nothing but an empty chip and a pile of dead code. But the battle is not over, and Clarke is about to head back into the heart of it. And despite everything in him crying out against him, Bellamy knows he has to let her go. They stand outside Gabriel’s tent. He will stay here, and she will go to Sanctum. They will both do their part. Bellamy swallows, and it gets caught in his throat. “I already brought you back to life once this week. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it again.” If he was trying to sound casual with this half-hearted joke, he failed abysmally, but Clarke doesn’t care.

“You stay safe, too.”

Gabriel is standing thirty feet away, and she turns to go to him, but Bellamy grabs her hand. “Wait, Clarke…” He doesn’t know how to say it except to say it. “I love you.” It’s strange that it should be so easy after all these years. But it was not telling her that was the hard part. Telling her now may be the easiest thing Bellamy has ever done.

And Clarke wants to say it back. She opens her mouth with the words on her lips, but then she hears, “If something happens to me.” She hears, “I was just gonna say.” She hears, “If I don’t see you again.” And she can’t bear saying goodbye.

So, instead, she says, “After this is over, we’ll get out of Sanctum and build that compound.”

She’s worried about breaking his heart, but Bellamy knows her, he knows her better than anyone ever has, and he knows what she’s saying. “We’ll build houses,” he whispers.

She nods. “One for us. You, me, and Madi.”

He smiles, then. One that strikes Clarke straight to her heart. “We’ll have chickens in the backyard,” he says, though he knows it’s impractical and improbable and in all likelihood impossible. But when he says it, he believes it.

“A garden that would make Monty proud,” she whispers, thinking of the berries she tasted after Praimfaya, wishing he could taste them too.

“We’ll have windows made of real glass and everything,” he says, and though he has no idea how glass is made, he can see them there, shielded from the elements outside. Safe. Happy.

“And we’ll be together,” Clarke says, meaning it in every sense of the word.

“Together.” An echo, but it’s not just an echo of her voice just now. It’s an echo of her voice then, of all the times she’s said it and all the times he’s said it back. It’s a promise. One that this time he intends to keep.

Clarke looks over her shoulder at Gabriel. He’s letting them have their moment, but she can see in his face that it’s time. “I have to go,” she says.

Bellamy closes his eyes. He believes in that dream, but he knows it’s fragile too. Just the day before she was dead in his arms. It could happen again. That’s the thing. Bellamy and Clarke know that it could always happen again. “I know,” he whispers. “Just…”

Clarke takes his hand. “I know.” As she drops it, she fully intends on leaving. On never looking back. But Clarke knows what it’s like to live a life full of regrets. She will always live with them, always. They will always haunt her dreams. But this one doesn’t have to. Before she gets the chance to change her mind, she grabs Bellamy’s shirt in both her fists and pulls him to her, kissing him deeply, fervently. His lips taste of salt and his beard is rough against her cheek. For a moment, he is surprised and then his arms are wrapped around her, and he’s kissing her back, and Clarke knows that even when she pulls away, this moment will last forever. That she will always be here, somewhere in her heart, kissing Bellamy under the Sanctum moon, with a promise of the future still fresh on her lips.

She pulls away and turns before either of them have the time to say anything. He watches her go until she disappears into the forest, with hope tending more towards faith, that he’ll see her again.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

(Clarke waits until the battle is over to tell Bellamy she loves him too.)

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarkeedit #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellarke #dana's fics

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loveislarryislove · 3 years ago

Text

2021 Fic Fest Reflection

Thank you to @noellehenrymain for tagging me! I looked through a few different posts for this tag, so I’m picking and choosing my structure based on what I want to talk about haha.

Pretty much all of my fics were for fests or events of some sort (which is why one of my goals for this year is to write something self-motivated), though a couple were somewhat freeform within that.

Number of fests: 4

Number of fics: 12

Favourite Fic: I’m really really happy with how this is the life that we choose (this is the life that we bleed) turned out; I hit so many of the emotions and themes I wanted to and I feel like I really did them justice in the way I hoped. I also love how many of the tropes I picked I was able to use multiple times, like having both Madi’s mother and Lexa do “hair brushing or braiding” for Madi, and having “one character gives the other a gift” apply to the physical gift of Lexa’s pin, but also the more intangible gift of keeping her safe and away from Polis and the Conclave, as well as the knowledge and training itself, and then the gift of flowers when they first met... layers. I’m so fucking proud of that story.

Fests you would love to do again this year (if they come back!): All of them!!! Seriously, every single one of these events was a blast, it’s impossible for me to pick a favourite. I think most of them are fairly likely to reoccur/continue, and I can’t wait!

Fic Fest you wish existed: I got this idea from a) browsing through the prompts for @1dhistoricalficfest and seeing all the sailor and pirate ones and b) those two guys who were lost at see for three weeks and were like “that was a nice break” but: 1D At Sea! Historical or modern, sailing trips or getting stuck on desert islands, little boats or huge ships, there’s so many possibilities!

List of fics

I don’t have the time (and you don’t have the attention span) for me to reflect on every single fic, so for the long-term events that yielded multiple fics, I’ll just give general notes and maybe shout out one or two specific fics.

Fandoms: * for One Direction, + for The 100, ~ for Critical Role

Wordplay (@wordplayfics)

Fractions and Flowers* (1334 words) written for the prompt “Reduce”

like the light coming through the windows* (1567 words) written for the prompt “Rise”

i know i've grown (but i can't wait to go home)* (7230 words) written for the prompt “Divide”

something brand new you've never seen* (7009 words) written for the prompt “Sketch”

This is my second time doing Wordplay, and it’s always a blast. I love the amount of variety that these prompts yield -- from the super literal to the incredibly tangential, from quick and fluffy to the long and carefully plotted to the deeply smutty, there’s literally everything you could imagine. The time limit is a challenge (and two of these were written a little late, submitted some time on the day of instead of the night before) but it’s a really interesting brain-feeling of how that makes me pick an idea and just run with it go go go. And I’m really happy with these stories :) like the light coming through the windows was a timestamp for an old fic, using a scene idea I’d wanted to include but never found a place for, and something brand new you've never seen was such a fun concept to explore! Also a character faked their death to run off with their mistress and it was an extremely minor plot point, not at all important to the overall story, which I find hilarious!

Troped (@troped-fanfic-challenge)

Nothing to Hold+ (4312 words) written for Troped: Madness - Qualifying Round

You Choose Your Race (And Then You Run)+ (2801 words) written for Troped: Madness - Round One

there's so much that I can't touch+ (3913 words) written non-competitively for the prompts of Troped: Madness - Round Two

this is the life that we choose (this is the life that we bleed)+ (7123 words) written for Troped: Conclave

You Only Hold Me In Winter (so how can you know me at all)~ (6818 words) written for Troped: Visual - Round One

Money Can't Buy Me Love+ (3073 words) written for Troped: Choice - Halloween

I’ve absolutely loved being a part of Troped for the past three years or so, and I really dived in hard this past year. I feel like the community aspect has really grown, which has been super fun to be a part of (the prompt guessing games for Madness were a BLAST hahaha so many (wrong)(but amazing) ideas!!!), and there have been so many new events and concepts (visual! conclave! multifandom!) that keep things feeling fresh and funky at all times, while still sticking to the Giant List Of Tropes that guides us. Also I love having that list of tropes as a reference if I’m ever looking for ideas, or trying to remember the name for something to tag it. I already talked about my Conclave fic, but I’d also like to shout out there's so much that I can't touch -- I wasn’t in the second round of Madness, but I loved this concept so much, the ideas of love and duty and power and wisdom and inevitability and just *clenches fist* so proud of this baby.

1D Country Fest (@1dcountryfest)

Could We Be Such Fools* (27206 words)

Ever since the first time I heard Cam’s “Diane” described as the reply to Dolly Parton’s “Jolene,” I’ve thought that Diane and Jolene should date, and wanted to write a fic of it. But I never got around to it, because (again) I’m bad at self-motivating. I was so excited for this fest, because I love country music, and because it gave me a much-needed kick in the pants to actually write the damn thing. And I’m absolutely in love with the moodboard that @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed made for it!!! I haven’t read as many of the fics as I meant to yet, life has just been busy, but I swear I’m going to!!!

Also, just saying, I already have an idea ready for if we get another round this year.

Critmas Exchange (@critmasexchange)

a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved~ (8803 words)

The prompts that my giftee gave were super aligned with some of the concepts and prompts that I gave, so this was in some ways just another gift to me XD I had a little trouble forming a full plot rather than just a vignette or a scene or a conversation, but I’m really happy with how it turned out!

This was really fun! I’m not sure who’s done this but I’ll tag @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed, @haztobegood, and @larrysballetslippers!

#fics #my fics #mine #writing

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mopeytropey · 4 years ago

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a beer bud series: chapter 11

author’s note: times are tough. stay safe. read some fluffy fic. take care of each other.

Timeline: this is set just before Lincoln and Octavia's wedding, probably in the realm of chapters 11 and 12 of apu, after Clarke has given Lexa a key and asked her to move in (because they are both too gay to function)

Beer: La Ferme Urbaine FARMHOUSE ALE

Influenced by the Belgian saison style, La Ferme Urbaine features a complex blend of German hops, pilsner and pale malts, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. The beer pours a hazy straw color and delivers a spicy, dry finish.

ABV 7.8%

Posted to AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“This is going to require some intense renovations.” Lexa stands with her hands in her front pockets, neck craned towards a dilapidated two-story house on a small corner lot. Its Victorian architecture is nearly eclipsed by peeling paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch, but the way Lincoln’s face beams, it’s as if the house shows no signs of disrepair. “You sure you’re up to task?”

“Hell, yeah.” Lincoln’s confidence is as strong as the late afternoon sun, glaring in a burning orange glow as it reflects off the windows of the historic city buildings surrounding them.

He then launches into an animated diatribe of improvements and restoration projects, pacing the perimeter of the property as he gestures to certain aspects of the house with broad hands. He and Octavia have likely discussed these visions of their future home endlessly as they await inspection reports and closing signatures to make everything final. Their initial offer had been accepted almost immediately, and Lexa has to believe it is thanks to, in part (if not entirely), the authenticity of her good friend’s charming demeanor.

“It’ll be a massive undertaking, but with the right help—”

“You planning to swing a sledge with me during the demo stage?” Lincoln grins.

“God, no.” Lexa nearly shudders. “Though I imagine Clarke might enjoy the destructive release of aggression after some of her more challenging bar shifts.”

Lincoln chuckles and returns to stand by Lexa’s side as they continue to gaze up at the house. “Yeah, Octavia too.”

“I’m so excited for you.” Lexa smiles up at him, nudging their shoulders together as Lincoln meets her eye with a grin of his own. “About everything.”

His upcoming nuptials (which have explicitly been banned from being referred to as a wedding) are less than two months away, and Lincoln hopes to have the keys to their new house in hand before the ceremony. He and Octavia seem happier than ever—real life exemplars of a healthy, supportive relationship between two friends in love. Lexa feels a kindred satisfaction at having found something similar with Clarke. Perhaps no one would have predicted these outcomes, but she and Lincoln have done rather well for a couple of kids who spent years feeling unwanted and unloved.

“What can I say: I’m living my best life.”

“Truly,” Lexa laughs, leaning into the nook of Lincoln’s armpit as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Even for early April, the weather has warmed, and the sun hangs in the sky for longer intervals. There’s no longer a bite in the air, even in the cooler, evening temperature. The breezes coming in off of the harbor have a fresh scent, like rejuvenation in the air that will soon breed blossoms on all the trees and fresh shoots of grass beneath their feet.

Lexa is perfectly comfortable in her jeans and a soft, grey henley layered with a pastel flannel that she has permanently borrowed from Clarke’s side of the closet. A closet that they now share in an official capacity. Lexa’s mouth slopes into a stupid grin at the thought of their now shared space. Her stomach swoops because of the new gold key in her pocket that she can feel between her fingers.

“I could say the same for you,” Lincoln tells her, somehow reading her thoughts. “You get all your stuff moved in yet?”

Her breath stutters at the mention of it, at the vision of scattered boxes and her random belongings that have slowly infiltrated Clarke’s space. “My lease isn’t up until the end of the month, so I’ve been moving things gradually.”

“Not ready to fully commit, huh?” Lincoln jabs with a teasing grin.

“I feel exceptionally confident about it, thank you very much.”

“What? Just like that?” Lincoln laughs. “Where is the torturous, internal Lexa struggle? Where are the mountains of anxiety about making the wrong call or moving too fast? Is this what four months as Clarke’s girlfriend has done to you?”

Lexa shrugs as if her chest hasn’t just snapped like a rubber band at being called Clarke’s girlfriend, a title that still sparks jittery excitement. Particularly when she is still grasping the house key that Clarke has recently given her. “Apparently.”

“Well, it’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

They’ve stopped at the house Lincoln intends to buy with Octavia on their way to food and beer at Dockside, having fallen into the habit of visiting the girls during their longest shift of the week. With the mention of Clarke and the newest development in their relationship, Lexa feels a sudden wave of impatience to continue their walk to the bar where she knows Clarke and Octavia will be waiting to greet them.

Lincoln releases a long, contented sigh. “Should we head down to see the girls?”

Lexa exhales in turn and attempts to answer in a measured and completely unhurried manner: “Sure.”

:::

It’s just shy of six when Lincoln pulls open the front door of Dockside, allowing Lexa to walk through into the familiar establishment. Her eyes perform a practiced scan of the room, but Clarke isn’t immediately visible as she and Lincoln head straight for the half-empty bar counter.

Octavia is chatting with other customers as Lexa and Lincoln approach, but she winks at Lincoln, her mouth curving just so, mid-conversation, which has him beaming as he slides into a bar stool.

“That’s my future wife,” he stage whispers, and Lexa can’t help but smile at how ridiculous being in love with Octavia has made him.

They’d been more than halfway to the bar when Lexa had received an S.O.S from Clarke about caffeine and sudden fatigue and exaggerated pronouncements of loyalty, commitment, and sexual favors if Lexa would bring her coffee. Of course, it strictly goes against her better judgement to enable Clarke’s reliance on caffeine in unhealthy measurements.

Then again, Lexa has lost almost all ability to ever actually tell her no because being in love with Clarke has made her better judgements ridiculously feeble.

As such, she stands beside Lincoln with a small half-caf drip in a paper cup from Clarke’s favorite roaster, a generous concession without fully giving in to her girlfriend’s unredeemable habit.

“Clarke’s in the back if you want to bring that to her,” Octavia says as she approaches.

“Oh. Okay.” Lexa starts for the black swinging door of storage before Octavia calls out again.

“Sorry—not the stockroom. The other back.” She’s jutting her thumb over her shoulder when Lexa turns around, indicating the narrow corridor behind the bar counter that leads to Clarke’s office and the back entrance.

“Oh. Right. Thanks,” Lexa smiles. “I’ll be right back,” she says to Lincoln.

“I’m starting a timer on my phone,” he calls after her. “Just because I’m curious to see how long it takes you to deliver a cup of coffee.”

She just manages to stop herself from flipping him off before pushing through the door, leaving him with a meaningless scowl.

:::

Clarke looks up from whatever she’s been working on as Lexa steps into the open doorway with a smile she intends to curb by biting her lower lip.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god, I can't believe you actually brought me coffee. I love you.” Clarke says it offhand, a bit theatrically even, but Lexa’s stomach flip-flops all the same.

She enters the office with a slow stride and gently places the paper cup onto Clarke’s desk. “That’s half decaf, by the way.”

Clarke’s face falls as she eyes the beverage with sudden disdain. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we have to break up.”

“Ouch. It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Get over here.” Clarke has already snared her wrist with a widening smile, pulling at Lexa’s arm so that she is forced to lean across the desk and meet Clarke’s waiting grin. “Hi,” she almost whispers after their lips part.

“Is this how you typically break up with people? Because it’s actually pretty enjoyable,” Lexa murmurs into the space between their lips.

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs before they are kissing again, Lexa’s palms flat against the desktop while Clarke’s fingers thread into her hair.

It’s still a soft greeting and nothing obscene—two people happy to be in the same space again after a short time apart—but Lexa feels the quickening of her pulse all the same.

“Thank you for my fake coffee.”

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Never before has she felt so unapologetically mocked by a single person yet utterly enamored in spite of it. Lexa pinches her lips together and looks away from Clarke’s teasing smile.

“I have to get back out there,” she announces, finally pulling back to stand at her full height. “Lincoln thinks he’s being clever by setting a timer for my return.”

Clarke stands with a laugh. “I’ll come with you. I need a break from these orders anyway.” She holds her fake coffee with one hand and finds Lexa’s fingers with the other. She kisses Lexa’s shoulder cap and regards her fondly. “I’m never getting this shirt back, am I?”

“Especially not now that we’ve broken up.”

The genuine hurt that immediately darkens Clarke’s eyes coupled with her protruding lower lip stops Lexa from moving towards the office doorway.

She stills her movements entirely as Clarke says, “I don’t want to joke about breaking up anymore.”

“It was your joke to begin with,” Lexa softly reminds her, nevertheless smoothing the pad of her thumb over Clarke’s lower lip.

“I know,” Clarke says, frowning still. “It was a stupid joke, and I don’t like to think about it.”

A soft press of her lips to Clarke’s forehead has her leaning into the touch, releasing Lexa’s fingers to curl an arm around Lexa’s waist.

“If you think you would be able to get rid of me that easily, Clarke, we might need to revisit some previous conversations about my intentions in being with you.”

“I seem to recall some very persuasive measures that we engaged in alongside those conversations,” Clarke says, her smile pressing into Lexa’s neck where she has tucked her head beneath Lexa’s chin.

Lexa hums through a smile of her own. If she didn’t know Clarke so well, it would be easy to mistake her perpetual, single-minded focus on sex as a complete lack of sentimentality.

But, Lexa isn’t fooled.

Clarke thrives on crass innuendo and well-meaning objectification (both of herself and Lexa), but she can also be openly sensitive and affectionate. Vulnerable in her need to be near Lexa—to feel safe and connected—as often as possible.

Lexa can’t say for sure if they will always be so desperate for each other’s company, if small fractions of time spent apart will continue to breed an urgency for reuniting. She has been in enough relationships to know that attachments usually fade and the needs of each person most often change over time.

Still, something tells her that when it comes to this relationship, Clarke will break the mold of every truth Lexa has previously known.

“The point is: I’m not going anywhere,” Lexa tells her, and Clarke looks up at her with a renewed smile. “Although, you’re still not getting this shirt back.”

Clarke kisses the underside of her jaw and tightens the hold she has around her waist. “You can keep all of my shirts as long as I get to keep you.”

“Deal,” Lexa answers, finally leading them out of the office.

Lincoln will roast her for having taken an exorbitant amount of time to deliver Clarke’s coffee, but having Clarke hugged against her side, Lexa finds she doesn’t exactly care.

:::

In an hour’s time Lexa has been fed no less than six times—small plates of food from the kitchen’s rotating menu like an assembly line in front of her and Lincoln—and an empty beer glass is no sooner bussed than another full one appears. As it turns out, dating a bar manager and sustaining a lifelong friendship with her business partner’s fiancé is a pretty good gig for libations and keeping well fed. By 8:00, she’s not necessarily sober, but the continuous parade of appetizers that Octavia and Clarke slide in front of Lexa and Lincoln keep her from tipping over the edge into properly drunk.

“This one is my favorite.”

“You’ve said that about the last three.”

Lincoln crunches into his charred nopales and street corn tostada as if to be sure. “Nope. This is the one.”

Lexa smiles around a second bite of her Korean short ribs and savors the balanced marinade—a perfect blend of smoky sweetness and tangy spice.

She is washing it down with a saison from Rhode Island as Octavia swings out of the kitchen and approaches their end of the bar.

“How good is that corn?”

“The whole thing is amazing,” Lincoln tells her.

Octavia swipes an avocado off his plate without hesitation. “What about the Kalbi?”

It sounds conversational, the way that Octavia, as a friend, is asking Lexa about her meal. But, in spending the past year of her life in proximal relation to her, Lexa has determined that, in some capacity, Octavia is actually always working.

“These are easily some of the best short ribs I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah,” Octavia grins. “I’m obsessed with them. Jane has been on staff for less than two months, and she’s already killing it back there.”

“Be sure to extend my compliments to the chef. Beer is incredible, too,” Lexa adds.

“What did Clarke bring you this time? The Foolproof?”

“Their farmhouse, yeah.” Lexa’s attention is drawn to the kitchen doorway again as Clarke exits carrying plates of food. She doesn’t glance in their direction as she drops the plates farther down the bar, but her smile is warm and bright, and Lexa can’t look away.

There’s a generous crowd strung along the bar counter, plus a few of the nearby tables that keep rotating with guests who stay for a drink or two before heading off into the night. Clarke is engaging with the three men who have just received their plates of food, and Lexa’s ears attune to the friendly pitch of her voice while Octavia and Lincoln momentarily hold their own conversation.

Lexa sips her saison and enjoys the way Clarke handles herself in conversation—confident, approachable, friendly, but with a distant professionalism. It’s not until she registers the distinct tone of patriarchal arrogance coming from a few of Clarke’s guests that Lexa realizes Octavia and Lincoln have also clued into the nearby exchange.

From what Lexa can gather, over the din of other surrounding patrons, the men are attempting to challenge the accuracy of Clarke’s knowledge on one of Dockside’s pours. Clearly first-time patrons, to these men, Clarke is easily mistaken as the beautiful bartender in a nice dress with a friendly demeanor who pours their pints and delivers their food. They would never suspect that she is also the unassuming curator of every beer offered within the establishment and a well-read expert in the field of craft brewing.

If she didn’t find misogynistic biases against women in male-dominated fields to be nauseatingly unforgivable, Lexa would almost feel bad for what these guys have coming to them.

“This should be good,” Lincoln mutters with a deviant smile, and Lexa flicks her gaze to find Octavia looking half-amused, half-poised for lethal intervention.

In short, Clarke absolutely eviscerates the men’s inflated egos by seamlessly rattling off a short history on the brewery in question, explaining their evolution of kettle sours and dry-hopped IPAs with thrilling precision, all while maintaining her hospitable smile. The cohort of sexist men are left silenced and stunned as Clarke moves on to tend to the rest of the bar, leaving their gaping jaws in her wake.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Octavia grumbles with an eye roll just before another table of guests catches her attention and she is pulled away.

“I love it when she does that,” Lexa says, smiling in Lincoln’s direction.

“It is really gratifying to watch someone’s fragile masculinity skillfully shattered,” he agrees with a satisfied smile. “I’ll never understand it, that intrinsic need to be an expert on everything, but it’s entertaining as hell to see O and Clarke flex on these random assholes who waltz in here and mistakenly try to out-beer them.”

Lexa's smile widens as she and Lincoln clink their beer glasses together. “It really is.”

:::

“One strand of lights.”

“No.”

“A single banner. A classy one.”

“No.”

“Candles. Come on, O, no one can say no to candles.”

“Watch me.” Octavia, who up until this point had been withholding eye contact, gives Clarke a pointed glare. “No.”

Lexa smiles at Clarke’s frustrated groan while sipping her glass of water. Three-and-a-half pints of beer and countless plates of food have left her feeling fully satisfied if not also ready for bed. Clarke won’t close the bar for another few hours, and though Lexa acknowledges this is the reality of their chosen professions, she also wishes to steal Clarke away and take her home for a cuddle.

“Think about Lincoln,” Clarke continues, beating her dead wedding horse, much to Octavia’s dismay. “You’re depriving him of this fanfare, this pizazz, this well-deserved—”

“Don’t drag him into this,” Octavia interjects.

Clarke’s jaw drops. “He’s literally one half of the reason we’re celebrating! And honestly, with how difficult you’re being about this whole thing, it might be more like 70/30.”

Octavia rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, busying herself with clearing empty glasses from a table whose guests have just vacated. “When you two leave, will you take her with you?”

Her voice carries across the now mostly empty bar, and Clarke scowls at Octavia from where Lexa and Lincoln sit at the far end of the counter. They often lay claim to this section of the bar during their Wednesday night visits, and it always feels like a sacred, little huddle.

“That’s a tempting offer,” Lexa answers as Octavia breezes past them to deposit the empty glasses into her bus tub behind the bar.

Her comment successfully erases the look on Clarke’s face as their eyes meet, and she watches Clarke’s frown melt into a dopey smile.

“I’m not leaving you to close by yourself. Stop being so dramatic,” Clarke admonishes, though she is still smiling as her eyes leave Lexa to look over her shoulder at Octavia.

“I’m not by myself,” Octavia grunts, hoisting her black bin of glassware and dirty plates off a low shelf. “Jane and Murph are in the back. Take the orders home and finish them there. You know the last two hours of the night are the slowest midweek. I’ll be fine.”

“Stop trying to get rid of me just because you’re throwing a fit about candles,” Clarke shouts after her even though Octavia has already pushed through into the kitchen.

Their small end of the bar counter temporarily swells with music blaring from the line cooks and back-of-house staff, a stark contrast to the lo-fi hip hop Clarke has playing on a lower volume in the main room.

“I should get home either way,” Lexa admits with a short stretch of her arms, pulling taut the muscles of her back. “You fed me too well, and now I’m sleepy.”

“You’re a grandma every night of the week—in bed before ten or cranky as hell the next day.”

Lexa furrows her brow at Clarke’s unnecessarily accurate depiction of her sleep routines, but Lincoln laughs openly while nudging her shoulder.

“This one’s never been able to burn the midnight oil. Needs that beauty rest to maintain her cheerful disposition.”

“I’m officially breaking up with both of you.”

“Hey.”

Clarke’s pout is back, the color of her eyes saturated in renewed hurt at Lexa’s bad joke. Three-and-a-half beers have also made her forgetful, apparently.

“Sorry, sorry.” She reaches for Clarke’s wrists across the glossed wood of the bar and is gently rubbing her thumbs across Clarke’s pulse points when Octavia reemerges. “Just Lincoln then.”

Lincoln offers a good-natured shrug. “That’s fair.”

“See?” Octavia eyes the affectionate gesture between Clarke and Lexa with a practiced look of exasperation. “You could be doing this loved up shit in the privacy of your own home.”

“Says the one who is about to profess her undying love and commitment publicly in front of all our closest friends,” Clarke argues.

“I feel like if you keep reminding her, she’s more likely to back out,” Lincoln muses, and Lexa wonders if he is only half kidding.

Octavia pins him with a look. “Never.”

It’s a charged moment just for them, despite the fact that Clarke and Lexa are caught in its crosshairs, Lincoln grinning as he catches Octavia’s crooked smirk.

“I really should go,” Lexa reiterates quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Her day will start early the following morning with a delivery just south of Boston, and traffic will be nauseating through Sumner Tunnel. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Seriously, get her out of here,” Octavia interjects. “She overworks and stays late out of guilt and loyalty, and it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Keep insisting, and I’m gonna say yes,” Clarke shoots back, almost threatening if not for her smile.

“Good. Then you can stop badgering me about fucking tea lights.” Octavia flicks the side of Clarke’s head and smacks her ass as she passes by to clear more tables, and somehow Clarke is charmed by the violent affection.

“I’ll stay and keep her company,” Lincoln offers. “You guys should take off. Enjoy the early night.” He then leans in closely to them both, his head bent in conspiracy. “And, I really do like those paper lanterns that you guys string up on the deck sometimes.”

The way Clarke’s entire countenance glows, eyes sparkling in victorious mischief, has Lexa’s smile growing in kind.

“I. Love you. You wonderful, wonderful human.” Clarke places her hands affectionately on either side of Lincoln’s face and looks as if she might actually plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “I will not let you down or betray your confidence.” Her tone is gravely solemn as if they are alluding to something far more serious than wedding decor.

“Give me a second to gather my things from the office?” she then says to Lexa, her voice shifting to that delicate timbre that turns Lexa’s beating heart to a useless puddle.

She tells her, “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll be quick.” Clarke reaches for her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze, and disappears into the back hallway.

“Did I mention we did very well, ending up with these two?”

Lexa looks over to catch Lincoln’s giant grin and feels her own lips stretching into a smile. “I’m proud of us.”

Lincoln very nearly giggles. “Me too.”

A beat or two of amicable silence passes between them, in which time Octavia has returned behind the bar to tend to her few, straggling guests.

“What are the chances Clarke already has a shitload of decorations she’s been stockpiling for this party?” Lincoln contemplates aloud.

Lexa’s response comes without hesitation.

“Oh yeah, without question.”

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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geralehane · 4 years ago

Photo

who are you wearing?

a concept: an old lady in an old shop selling old costumes for halloween. nothing out of ordinary. except this shop most certainly wasn’t there yesterday, and the lady keeps giggling to herself, and the costumes have a minor peculiarity to them. hint: they transform their wearers into a more real version of that costume. of course they do.

and of course, clarke and lexa have no idea.

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“I will never understand your obsession with Halloween,” is the first thing Lexa announces when Clarke walks inside their favorite coffee shop near their campus. “But what baffles me even more is the fact that despite your ridiculous obsession with it, you still don’t have a costume.”

“You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

Lexa’s green eyes widen with indignation. “That’s the whole reason you called me here,” she points out, and Clarke groans, plopping onto a chair next to her. This is a disaster.

“This is a disaster! I will never find a costume. Halloween is today. What do I do?”

“Again,” Lexa says. “We’ve been over this. I meet you here, we get coffee, we go costume-hunting. Clarke,” she searches blue eyes, her gaze concerned. “Is everything okay?”

Clarke sighs and blows blonde hair from her eyes, propping her cheek up with her hand. “Yeah,” she sighs distractedly. “More or less. This semester is kicking my ass. And I’m pretty sure I failed my psych midterm.”

“Well.” Lexa bends her head down a little so she can catch Clarke’s eyes. When she does, she gives her a small smile and gently pushes hot chocolate towards her, gaze softening when Clarke grumpily takes it and peeks under the cup lid. Her smile only grows when Clarke lights up at having found two marshmallows she was hoping for. “That explains you not having a costume this year.”

“Here you go with bringing that up again.”

“Come on, Clarke.” She looks up at the smile in Lexa’s voice. Green eyes watch her, adoring and warm, and she feels some of her bad mood evaporate. It’s hard to stay upset when you have someone look at you like that.

Too bad that someone only goes as far as simply looking. Clarke sighs again, this time for a whole other reason that, unbeknownst to Lexa, has nothing to do with Halloween and everything to do with her.

She was really looking forward to tonight. Ever since Lexa’s kissed her at the beginning of their sophomore year, she’s been mulling some things over. Things like her recent break-up with Finn and her level of readiness for new relationships.

(And also things like Lexa looking really hot in tank tops.)

Anyway, her thinking resulted in some interesting conclusions and revelations that at first she wasn’t really ready to share with Lexa. But over the course of these two months, she’s been slowly opening herself up to the possibility of accepting Lexa’s offer that the other girl wordlessly left at the table, Clarke’s for the taking. She only hopes it doesn’t have an expiration date.

She also really, really hopes it’s still there to begin with. Or else she’ll look all kinds of stupid kissing Lexa tonight.

Doesn’t matter, though. She’ll look stupid anyway. Because she doesn’t have a costume.

Clarke groans and lets her head fall on her folded arms on the table. She half-sits, half-lays there, unmoving, not phased in the slightest when Lexa starts to carefully poke at her.

“Clarke,” Lexa says again, fond exasperation coloring her voice. “We’ll find you a costume. It won’t be a very good costume, but it’ll be something.”

“Thanks,” Clarke deadpans into her arm. “You ever think about becoming a motivational speaker? Could be a decent source of income if the whole lawyer thing doesn’t work out.”

“Look,” Lexa’s hand on her arm makes her lift her eyes. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t have a costume either.”

“Not really. Now I just feel sorry for both of us.”

Lexa snorts. The sound is so uncharacteristically undignified, and it makes Clarke’s chest flood with warmth. A weird thing to have fuzzy tingles over, sure. But - Lexa’s only ever like this with her. No one else. To Clarke, that’s something to cherish. “Okay. Didn’t think it would come to this, but you leave me no choice.” She pauses, no doubt for a dramatic effect. “I will let you choose my costume this year.”

“Really?!” Clarke jumps up, eyes wide. “Are you serious? Wait, I forgot who I was talking to for a second. Of course you're serious.”

“You’re a riot today,” Lexa notes dryly. “I’m gonna be a robot, aren’t I?”

Clarke scoffs. “Please,” she says. “Give me a little more credit than that.”

“Why.” Lexa stares at Clarke through the mirror, and the incredulity of her gaze makes Clarke seriously question her intellectual ability.

“You didn’t have to put it on, you know.”

“I wanted to demonstrate what a bad idea this is.”

Clarke shrugs. “Mission failed,” she lets Lexa know. “I think you look adorable.”

Lexa huffs, folding her arms defensively. “It’s a raccoon onesie,” she points out.

“I know,” Clarke replies in kind, barely resisting from sticking her tongue out at her. “I chose it.”

“Clarke,” Lexa sighs, uncrossing her arms and tugging on a fluffy ear on her hood. “I can’t go in a raccoon onesie.”

Clarke thinks of torturing her just a little bit more, but then reconsiders. Lexa’s already doing a lot for her. Besides, she really does look incredibly cute in this. And, well, in general, but she keeps that thought to herself. For now. “Fine,” she concedes, letting her arms hang lifelessly at her sides. “I give up. I told you we won’t find any good costumes. I’ll just be what I always am at parties. Drunk Clarke.” At Lexa’s disapproving glance, she rolls her eyes. “What? It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Right.” Lexa walks back into the changing room, long fluffy tail trailing after her on the floor. Clarke resists against the urge to step on it and makes a mental note to come back for it later. She sits on a small bench and sighs, waiting for Lexa to change so they can get out of there. This is their fourth store, and so far, nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, per se; a lot of crap, that’s for sure.

Lexa emerges several minutes later, holding the onesie at an arm’s length and glaring at everything and nothing in particular. “We could always wear crappy costumes ironically,” she says. “Pretend we’re being subversive.”

“I don’t want to subvert Halloween,” Clarke protests, rising to her feet. Lexa offers her an elbow, and she takes it, tentatively curling her hand around her bicep. At least something good came out of this whole mess, she thinks. A day with Lexa, followed by a night of partying with Lexa.

She’s not sure she even cares about a stupid costume anymore. But Lexa’s being so attentive - even more so than usual - and she can’t help but milk it for what it’s worth. Hey, she never claimed to be a good person.

“Just ironically, then,” Lexa corrects herself, throwing the onesie over the nearest rack as she confidently leads the way out of the store and into the street. “Or go with some annoying couple’s costume or something.” She’s trying really hard to sound casual, Clarke can tell.

She can tell because Lexa’s failing miserably. And she’s pretty sure she’s about to fail as spectacularly.

“Oh,” she says, cursing inwardly when her voice comes out more high-pitched than usual. “I mean. Oh. I didn’t even think of that.”

Lexa’s face falls slightly, and Clarke just wants to punch herself. She hurries to do damage control. “Because I didn’t want to force you into something you didn’t want to do! Because - I mean - I didn’t want to, uh, to assume anything. Because of… stuff. Us stuff, I mean.” by the time she’s finished with her babble fest, her face feels hot. Lexa keeps silent through all of it, slowing down so that they are standing still when Clarke’s done making a complete fool of herself.

When it’s clear she’s finished talking, Lexa speaks up. “I suggested this precisely because of… us stuff.”

Clarke blinks. “Oh.” And, seriously, can she say something other than that?

Lexa’s studying her carefully, her expression unreadable save for her eyes, vibrant and soft. “Are you - is that okay?” she asks.

“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke breathes out, smiling. All tension is suddenly gone from her body, replaced with relief and excitement, buzzing through her veins. “It’s more than okay,” she murmurs, sliding her hand down to Lexa’s and taking it in her own. Lexa’s fingers automatically lace with her own, and she feels a sweet pang in her chest at that. “I… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about… stuff.”

“Us stuff?” Lexa clarifies, smiling her small smile that Clarke really, really wants to kiss off her face. She swallows, willing herself to stay put. At least buy her dinner first, Griffin, she tells herself sternly. After what you’ve put her through, this is the least you can do.

(There... may have been some casual hook-ups between breaking up with Finn and realizing Grand Things about her relationship with Lexa that she doesn’t want to think about. If the sharp lock of Lexa’s jaw at a mere mention of them is any indication, she probably doesn’t want to think about them, either.)

So she takes a deep breath and smiles again, shyly. “Yes. Definitely us stuff.”

She wants to say something else, she knows she does. She has a speech prepared and everything - but Lexa’s eyes fall down to her lips, hooded and soft, and suddenly her mind is blank. And, really, don’t actions speak louder than words anyway?

She’s already leaning in and closing her eyes, but she’s met with nothing when she hears Lexa’s voice again, a little scratchier and deeper than usual. “I think I found just the place.”

Clarke’s eyes fly open. Well, that was fast. She’s not the type of girl to shy away from putting out on a first date, but - they haven’t even had that date yet.

(Would that really be a bad thing? They’ve known each other for a long time. A year is a long time, right?)

“The place?” she asks, confused.

Lexa’s looking somewhere over her shoulder as she nods, in the direction of her gaze. “I think that’s exactly what you want,” she says. “It closes in twenty minutes, though. We should hurry.”

Clarke turns around, following Lexa’s stare. What she finds has her nearly squealing. And she doesn’t squeal. Ever. “Lexa,” she breathes excitedly. “This is perfect.”

Further down the street, there is a small shop. It’s antique-looking; a little rugged and a little run-down. Its small store windows display a myriad of halloween-themed things, from skulls to witch hats and what Clarke assumes are possible spell ingredients. Above the old, wooden door, there is a neon sign that couldn’t possibly look more out of place.

‘Costumes for every soul’, it flashes ominously and invitingly, luring Clarke in.

“It… actually is,” Lexa mulles. “Very… Halloween-y. It’s like it’s straight out of a Tim Burton movie.”

Clarke’s already walking towards it, her hand firmly holding onto Lexa’s, and Lexa has no choice but to follow.

The inside is even better than the outside, in Clarke’s honest - and totally right - opinion. It’s dusty, old wood creaking and red brick walls uneven. It’s also more spacious than she originally gave it credit for. Lexa’s hand squeezes hers, and she squeezes back, looking around in complete awe.

She’d, like, actually live here.

“This is so cool,” she hears Lexa exhale next to her.

“I thought you didn’t like Halloween.”

“I can appreciate the aesthetics,” Lexa fires back, but, before they can settle into their comfortable banter, loud coughing behind them makes them jump and sharply turn around to face the counter.

They are greeted by the sight of an old lady in a pointy hat, looking at them with a suspicious squint. “Not stealing, are you?” she utters, and her eyes narrow even further.

Clarke shakes her head while Lexa breathes through her nose, indignant. “No, we’re not stealing anything,” she reassures the old lady who doesn’t look like she believes her. “We’re here to find a costume. For both us.”

The lady looks between them. Glances down at their joined hands, and Clarke bristles when her scowl deepens. “A couple’s costume?” she grunts, clearly displeased.

Clarke lifts her chin. “Yes,” she says defiantly, tightening her hand around Lexa’s. “A couple’s costume.”

She prepares herself for the inevitable backlash they are about to face, no doubt. She certainly doesn’t expect a wide smile to appear on the lady’s face, brightening her expression up.

She almost flinches when the woman clasps her hands together, looking positively giddy. “Well, dear,” she exclaims, “why didn’t you say so? No need to be shy in this shop, my sweet girl.” With an agility rarely possessed by people her age, the old lady walks out from behind the counter and hugs them by their shoulders, turning them around and leading them somewhere in the middle of the shop. Her dark-green robe trails after them on the ground. “I’ve just the thing for you, oh,” she leans in conspiratorially, grinning. “You’ll have a lot of fun tonight, my dear girl - a lot of fun!”

In hindsight, that should’ve been their cue to run away and never come back.

Of course, they stay put. “Okay,” Clarke says dubiously, blinking. “But we really just need a decent costume. Two.”

“Well, who d’you wanna be, darlin’?” she only now notices that the woman’s accent is drifting between extremes: Boston, british, southern drawl. Huh, she thinks to herself. She must have been an actress. Or wanted to be one.

“We, are,” Clarke glances at Lexa who’s watching the whole exchange with a small frown. “We’re not sure.”

“Well, that just will not do!” the woman gasps. “A serious matter, darlin’ - now would you like me to find something for ya or do you want to snoop around for a while?”

“We’ll look around,” Lexa finally speaks up, neutrally. “We won’t be long. Thank you.”

“But of course,” the woman’s smile widens even more, if that’s possible. “I shall leave you two to it. Grumpy little thang, that one - you take care of her, sweetheart,” she tells Clarke before turning sharply on her heels and disappearing between racks full of costumes.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here,” Lexa tries to move, but Clarke’s grip on her han becomes iron.

“Lexa,” she chuckles quietly. “Are you scared of that sweet old lady?”

“She’s not sweet, Clarke, she’s unsettling,” Lexa says in a serious tone.

Clarke only laughs harder. “I’m supposed to be the paranoid one, with the amount of horror movies I watch,” she teases Lexa. “Yet, here we are.”

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” Lexa tries weakly. But Clarke’s mind is already made up.

“Come on,” she tugs on her hand. The realization that they’ve been holding hands this entire time spreads pleasant hum through her body, and she eagerly welcomes it, running her thumb across the back of Lexa’s hand soothingly. “We promised we wouldn’t take long. Let’s find something cool.”

“So,” Lexa cocks her head to the side, looking Clarke up and down. “A quiet meltdown, an entire day, and five stores later, and you pick the cheesiest costume of all?”

Clarke finishes putting fake blood all over her mouth. “Wow,” she muses out loud. “You are a grumpy little thang.”

Lexa doesn’t even blink. “I am,” she says. “You already knew that.”

“Eh,” Clarke shrugs, readjusting the skirts of her dress. “I’m grumpier.”

Lexa can’t exactly argue, so she sighs and tugs on her black frock coat, critically surveying herself in Clarke’s mirror. “I don’t think I have enough blood on my shirt,” she comments. “I just look like a southern gentleman from the nineteenth century. Not a vampire.” She glances at Clarke again. “Are we really going as vampires?”

“Yup,” Clarke pops the ‘p’ when she answers. She’s almost finished with her make-up - it’s the darkest she’s ever wore it, and she can’t say she hates it. Dial it down a notch, and it could be a great look for dates at a bar.

Or private lapdances. They’ll figure it out. “Victorian vampires. You can’t go wrong with the classics.” Admittedly, she’s a little surprised with her own choice. But there was something about these costumes that hung in the back, looking brand new and perfectly tailored. The old lady practically squealed when she saw them wearing those, too.

The fact that she offered them fifty percent off only made her choice easier.

“There is classic, and there is cheesy,” Lexa notes thoughtfully, still looking at herself in the mirror. Oh, how Clarke gets her, She has trouble taking her eyes off Lexa, too. The frock coat accentuates her slim waist and regal posture. High pants show off her endlessly long legs, and a purposefully disheveled necktie around an open collar gives a lovely view of her slender neck.

Clarke comes up to her and fiddles with her tie some more before dipping her fingers in fake blood and dragging them down that beautiful neck, slowly, watching rich crimson color drip on the pristine white of Lexa’s shirt. And Lexa watches her.

“You do look great, you know,” she murmurs to her, lifting her hand to play with blonde locks. “Curls suit you.”

“They disarm people,” Clarke smirks, and if it’s just a touch wicked, Lexa doesn’t say anything. She’s really feeling this costume, okay? “I’m not really above using that to my advantage,” she says, dropping her voice an octave lower. She’s wearing flats, since she’s pretty sure she’ll constantly trip over her long dress in heels, and that gives Lexa a bigger height advantage than usual. Her shoes also have a small heel, which only serves to make her look taller than Clarke.

She thinks she’s okay with it.

“Spoken like a true Victorian vampire,” Lexa chuckles, her warm, minty breath hitting Clarke’s lips. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not really that cheesy.” She turns to look at them in the mirror, missing a slightly frustrated look that flashes through blue eyes.

‘Why won’t she just kiss me?’

(‘Is she waiting for a perfect moment, like I was?’)

“Yeah, well,” she voices instead, grabbing a wet wipe and cleaning the blood off her fingers. “With all the Batmans and Robins, we’ll definitely stand out.”

“You’re right,” Lexa gently takes her hand and places it on the inside of her bent elbow, and she smiles, leaning closer. “Now, I don’t know about you, dear,” Lexa drawls - or tries to - in her best British accent, “but I am positively hungry. Shall we show them how it’s done?”

“Yes, we shall,” Clarke chuckles, letting Lexa lead her out the door. “Tasteful mayhem, here we come.”

“And ruckus,” Lexa says. “Don’t forget ruckus.”

“I don’t think that’s the right word.”

“Whatever. I’m Victorian.”

“Boo!” Someone with a white sheet draped over them jumps from behind the door and screams out as soon as Clarke and Lexa walk in. Clarke screams back while Lexa drags a hand down her face.

“Raven, what the fuck?!”

Raven - and that’s exactly who it is, considering it’s her house they walked into - tugs the sheet off, grinning at them. “I totally got you, Woods,” she boasts, leaning on her good leg and lifting the cane to wave it in Lexa’s general direction. “Okay, this? Hot. You seeing anyone?”

“Only her sire and eternal lover,” Clarke says, and there is only a hint of joking in her tone. She gestures at herself, twirling so Raven can get a good look. “What do you say?”

Raven’s silent for a fraction of a second. “Hot,” she repeats, this time giving them both a once-over. “Alright, I just need to grab my jacket, and then we can go.” She turns, heading into the kitchen. “Blood kink’s definitely back on the list,” she mutters under her breath.

“What was that, Raven?”

“Nothing!”

Clarke shrugs. “See,” she says to Lexa who’s still shaking her head at Raven’s back. “Told you this is an awesome idea.”

“I’m already sold,” Lexa replies, smiling. “She’s right, you know.”

Clarke hums under her breath. “Right about what?” She’s really enjoying watching the tips of Lexa’s ears grow red.

“You are hot.”

The sound of gagging coming from their left makes them step away from each other - Clarke hasn’t even noticed when they got this close. “Get a room, eternal lover.”

“Get a costume,” Clarke shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please don’t tell me you’re going as your bedsheet.”

“Alright,” Raven shrugs, rolling the white sheet up and putting it under her arm. “I won’t.” At Clarke’s pointed stare, she scoffs. “Obviously not, Clarke. I’m a ghost! See?” She shakes the sheet in front of Clarke’s nose, laughing when she recoils, scowling.

“I can’t believe we stressed over our costumes so much and you’re going to put a sheet on.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not my bedsheet. I bought it in this weird ass little shop downtown. Two bucks, baby!” Raven exclaims. “Whoa, easy there,” she says next, noticing Lexa flex her jaw muscles in irritation. “She’s all yours. Don’t mean no harm.”

“That’s a double negative.”

“Wow.” Raven gapes at her. “I’m wearing a sheet and I’m still cooler than both of you combined. Tonight’s gonna be so awesome!”

Tonight, in fact, does not turn out to be awesome at all. They don’t even make it to the party when something strange happens. And by strange, Clarke means some weird shit is going down.

At first, they feel dizzy. All three of them. Raven staggers first, almost losing her sheet. That’s what prompts her to tug it on. Clarke will never understand how her mind operates sometimes.

Lexa falters next, and Clarke follows immediately after, stopping and rubbing her forehead.

“Whoa,” Raven mumbles from under the sheet. “Headrush.”

“Yeah,” Lexa says. She goes to say something else, but words die in her throat when she stares over Raven’s shoulder who’s come to stand in front of them. “What the fuck?”

Clarke’s not sure what shakes her more - hearing Lexa swear or seeing what she sees next. Right here, in front of her very eyes, is the ugliest mob she’s ever seen. At first, she thinks it’s just a bunch of dudes wearing masks.

Until one of the dudes pins a screaming guy against a tree and bites his arm with his very real, very sharp, very inhuman teeth.

There were children here, on the street, trick-or-treating. Just now. Just a second ago. Where did they go?

Clarke hears a scream. It takes her awhile to realize it’s coming from her.

What the fuck, indeed.

“Come on,” she hears a familiar voice in her ear before she feels strong arms around her. “Let’s get back inside!”

Clarke can’t tear her eyes away from the scene before her. There’s so much blood. Actual blood. Someone runs up to help the poor guy; two men who wrestle the attacker and drag the victim away. So much blood. So much…

Blood…

Blood.

They barely make it back to Raven’s before they all collapse, breath caught from dull pain spreading brought their bodies starting at the center of their stomachs. Clarke briefly wonders if they are about to be sick from what they've witnessed, and then her mind goes blank.

When she rises back up, her finger lazily wiping at her mouth, everything is sharp and vivid and this sticky substance on her lips tastes heavenly.

Blood.

Lexa's eyes find hers, dark and bloodshot.

“Clarke.” Oh, how she missed that sound. Lexa's tongue curling around the edges of her name, ending with a soft click. She’s been deprived of it for a little over a century, and out of all tortures she had to endure in her lifetime, this has proved to be the worst one.

“My love,” she breathes, grasping the back of her neck, trailing her finger up her neck and gathering thick, fresh blood - she always was a messy eater, Clarke thinks with a blissful grin. “I found you.”

Behind them, Raven sits up, clutching her head and groaning. “What the…” she lifts her eyes that widen when they are greeted by the sight of her friends passionately making out right in her hallway.

But that shock is nothing compared to her glancing down and seeing what suspiciously looks like her own body lying lifelessly on the ground while she sits right in the middle of it. Like, right in the middle of it. As if she’s incorporeal, like an actual ghosts.

“What the fuck?!” seems like an appropriate phrase right about now.

She’s still staring at her own body, terrified, when she notices the house has grown silent, save for the sounds of mayhem outside. When she raises her eyes for a second time, she finds Clarke and Lexa studying her with rapt interest, identical smoldering gazes burning through her as Lexa presses her forehead to Clarke’s cheek, biting her lip at Clarke slowly dragging her nails across her jawline.

This is creepy and weirdly sexual. Normally, Raven would be all for that, but right now, with her seemingly dead body on the floor and two of her friends eyeing her like she’s meat on a stick, she’d much rather opt out of all of this.

“Come, darling,” Clarke says in what is actually a really good British accent. “Dinner is served.”

Since Raven is a fucking ghost now and Victorian vampires are apparently above drinking from the corpse, dinner party stops before it has a chance to begin. And there is no doubt in Raven’s mind that Clarke and Lexa are actual honest-to-god blood-drinking sun-hating cross-fearing weirdly-into-making-out-against-walls vampires.

The last part throws her off the most, because when they come back to their normal selves - and Raven can’t bear the thought of that not happening - knowing both of them, they are going to blame themselves and take forever to reconcile due to impressive emotional constipation on both ends. She’s surprised they even made it this far in the first place. Well. ‘Going to a Halloween party together’ this far. Not ‘about to have shameful and undoubtedly kinky sex on her couch’ this far. That was not a good far.

“Stop this!” she shouts, trying to haul Lexa off Clarke and helplessly watching as her arms pass right through her. “Lexa, you will regret this tomorrow, I’m telling you.”

Lexa growls. “I do not do regrets, little girl.”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen yourself last Christmas.” Raven huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Too bad you don’t remember any of it.”

That’s the icing on top of this pile of shit that’s trying to pass as cake. Neither Clarke nor Lexa remember who they actually are. They’ve gone full-on MIstresses of the night or whatever.

And they are about to make the biggest mistake of their lives.

“Lexa, do not... Where’s your hand? Lexa, where’s your damn hand?! Oh my god - don’t bite her! Clarke, don’t you bite her back!”

Where are the Blakes when you need them?

Right on cue, her living room window shatters because a body comes hurling right through it, rolling over on the floor and springing to feet faster than lightning. “Civilians!” the overly excited body shouts in a deep voice, clutching an assault rifle in a confident grip. “We gotta get them to safety!”

“They were safe before you went all Universal Soldier on them, you moron,” a grumpy voice replies before the owner climbs in as well, mindful of the glass. “Raven’s going to kill you.”

“Who’s Raven?”

“She’s standing right in front of you - man, this is some dope shit you’re on,” Octavia informs her brother. The Blakes stare at Raven, one mildly apologetic and another with a blank look on his face.

“Great. Bellamy doesn’t remember anything, either, does he,” Raven says. Octavia shakes her head and walks up to her to give her a quick hug. Of course, she fails miserably. Her blue eyes widen with shock.

“Wha - how?! What the fuck’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Raven mumbles, taking a step back because seeing Octavia’s hand inside her chest is more than a little disturbing. “Let me guess. Bellamy is a soldier for Halloween.”

“Yeah, only he took it to a whole new level,” the last part is sneered at the boy as Octavia scowls. “He broke your goddamn window. Did you see that?”

“Was kinda hard not to. Okay, I have this insane theory that doesn’t make sense, only it’s the only thing that does. So here goes. I’m pretty sure we became our costumes. Like, half an hour ago. Bell’s a soldier,” she nods at Octavia’s brother who stands, unmoving, in a dark-green tank-top and military pants. “I, the idiot I am, went as a ghost,” she waves a hand over herself. “And our resident power couple went as vampires.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, her eyes widen. “Oh shit. You’re - you guys are alive. Which means they can eat you.”

“Observant,” Clarke comments from the couch, her dress hiked up and half-unzipped, showing off stockings and pale shoulders. Damn, Lexa’s smooth. “I think I like this poor soul, may she never rest in peace.”

“That level of evil is completely unnecessary,” Raven mumbles.

Octavia whistles. “Her accent is actually really impressive.”

Raven doesn’t have time to think of a snappy reply, because Lexa chooses that moment to rise to her feet, eyes glinting with hunger and blood smeared over her neck and shirt. It’s not fake anymore. “Come, love,” she murmurs to Clarke, courteously extending her hand and helping her up. “Let’s feast. You will need all the strength for what I have planned for you tonight.”

“She’s talking about sex, right,” Octavia whispers to Raven.

“You don’t wanna know where Lexa’s hand was before you barged in. Also, I think you need to run. And fast.”

Lexa lets out a low, rumbling growl, her and Clarke slipping into their vampire faces. It’s downright terrifying - the way their foreheads grow bumps and their eyes burn a bright yellow, sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Octavia seems to think so, too, because she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek. Raven makes a mental note to tease her about it tomorrow.

GIven that they make it out of here alive.

“Out of the way, lady,” Bellamy roars, rushing forward and standing between them and the vampires, his rifle ready. “The no-shooting order is still in place?” he asks, his eyes trained on Clarke and Lexa who are slowly advancing on them, looking amused.

“Don’t shoot!” Raven panics. “You may not remember it, but they are your friends. Well. Kind of.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bellamy states. Right before Lexa takes him by his neck and throws him into a wall.

“Holy shit!” his sister yelps. “She just threw him into a wall!”

“I know, I was there,” Raven yells back before focusing her eyes on Lexa’s face. Lexa’s terrifying, deformed face. “Lexa,” she tries. “Please, please listen to me. We’re your friends. You lost your memory, but you have to know it somewhere. Me, O, Clarke, even Bellamy, we’re all friends, and if you kill one of them, you will never forgive yourself. Ever.”

Lexa scoffs. “I have no idea who any of you are,” she says. “But I do know what I am.” she throws a quick glance over her shoulder where Clarke is watching her, eyes hooded and smirk lazy. “I am starving.”

“Lexa, please, no!” Raven screams when the vampire lunges at Octavia who ducks and falls to the floor. She watches, helplessly, as she rolls over and tries to fight Lexa off, clutching something in her hand. “Wait, O, you can’t kill her, either!”

“Look!” Octavia cries, thrusting something at Lexa’s face who recoils, caught off-guard. “Look! We’re not lying, just look!”

In her grip, knuckles white from pressure, is a photograph Finn took of all of them last summer. They are at the beach, smiling into the camera - everyone except Lexa who’s looking at Clarke with a soft smile, an arm draped over her shoulder. It must have been knocked off the phone stand when Lexa pushed Clarke to the couch.

“I don’t understand,” Lexa blinks, all earlier aggression gone as she stares at the photo, confused. Clarke joins her, looking over her shoulder and frowning prettily at what she sees. “This is me. And you. With-” she looks up at Raven, flabbergasted. “With them.”

“Slayer!” someone yells outside, and everyone looks out the window where a mismatched mob walks through the street, smashing car windows and mailboxes on their way, lead by a blonde man in a black duster. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Clarke’s eyes narrow. “Is that William-”

Bellamy swiftly knocking both of them out with a butt of his rifle to the temple is completely out of blue and therefore absolutely in line with the night’s theme. Raven’s not even that surprised. “I don’t hit women,” he says. “But desperate times-”

“Yeah, whatever, Rambo,” she sighs. “Let’s get them tied up and hope duct tape holds up against vampire strength.”

“I really am sorry,” Lexa repeats, rubbing her temple. “I don’t actually want to kill your sister. Or throw you into walls.”

“Well,” Clarke speaks up. “Actually.” When everyone’s eyes fall on her, she shrugs. “What? Not all the time. Only when they bring that fine Blake assholery to the table.”

“That sounded wrong on so many levels,” Raven notes, bringing another bag of frozen peas and offering it to Lexa who takes it gratefully, pressing it to her head.

“I’m sorry too,” Bell says, gesturing at Lexa’s hand that holds the peas. “That was so bizarre. LIke being in a dream, while aware of being in a dream.”

“A nightmare, more like it,” Clarke corrects him. “Not that it’s very uncommon here.”

“Is it too late to switch schools?” Lexa asks.

“Afraid so.”

They woke up tied to a pole in Raven’s basement, with Raven and the Blake siblings watching them in tense silence. Clarke was ready to snarl and snap their necks when the same wave of dizzy nausea hit them, and everyone but Octavia doubled over, groaning in pain. When Clarke came to it a second time, Raven was fiercely hugging O and squeezing a dazed Bellamy’s hand who had a small toy rifle in his other one.

Lexa was even more dazed, blinking at her owlishly with hands tied behind her back. “There’s no way that actually happened.”

Except it did.

Now, they are sitting in Raven’s living room after helping her clean up. Bell got a tiny cut on his finger when picking up glass, and Clarke’s never been more relieved to feel sick when a tiny droplet of blood slid down his palm before he wiped it away.

Fucking Sunnydale.

“Well,” Bell clears his throat, standing up. Octavia joins him. “We better get going. The frat is most likely in ruins right now.” He grabs the last cookie from the plate on his way out. “See you guys later.”

“We should probably go back to the dorms, too,” Lexa says. “I really want to change out of this costume.”

“Agreed,” Clarke shudders. “Hey," she says, realizing something. "How come Octavia stayed herself?"

"Oh, that's because she's the only one out of all of us who got her costume at a different shop," Raven replies.

Clarke nods. "Well, Halloween might very well be ruined forever.”

“Yeah, right,” Raven snorts. “Say it to my face a year from now.”

They exchange hugs with her when they leave, and Clarke doesn’t quite catch the words Raven whispers to Lexa, but, judging by Lexa’s faint blush, it’s not something she wants to hear, anyway.

They walk down the street in tense silence, and Clarke’s never thought she’d say this, but Lexa’s presence is heavy and uncomfortable. Halfway through the walk, she has enough.

“Lexa-”

“Clarke-” Apparently, Lexa has the same idea. They look at each other, frozen, before laughing quietly, in unison.

“You go,” Lexa says when they calm down, and Clarke nods.

“Okay.” she takes a deep breath. “Okay.” and then she kisses her.

Lexa’s lips are soft and warm and don’t taste like blood at all. Clarke lets it ground her, lets out a soft sigh and leans even closer, looping her arms around her neck and smiling when she feels Lexa’s hands on the small of her back, tentative and gentle.

It’s bizarre. Kissing Lexa after kissing Lexa. Thinking of Lexa, a girl she met a year ago, and thinking of Lexa, her creation, her love, the one she’s lost over a century ago. Yearning for her - starving for her while being fully aware that the past she has in her head simply does not exist.

But at the same time, it’s the most intense feeling she’s ever experienced, and it might be terrible, but she kind of doesn’t want it to end just yet.

Will these memories ever fade? Will they clash with the life they used to have, or will they entwine each other until it’s all they know?

“Clarke.” Lexa’s lips are red and kiss-bruised. and her shuddering breath sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine, pleasant and sharp. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lexa,” she says, but Lexa shakes her head, silencing her.

“No, I’m… This is confusing,” she starts quietly. “But - I’m sorry, my love,” gentle fingers under her chin, a thumb smoothing over her jaw. Clarke leans into it, heart bleeding all over. “For waiting so long to find you.”

“So you still remember, too,” Clarke exhales. Lexa watches tears slide down her cheek, slowly and silently, from blue eyes that sparkle with pain and relief.

Great. Not only were she and Lexa forced into a weird modern soulmate tale, her narrative might slip into an annoying flowery kind every now and then.

“Perhaps we’ll forget soon. Perhaps not.” Green eyes are earnest and soft. “Either way, I don’t think I care.”

And that - that’s all Clarke really needs to hear. A confirmation that Lexa’s not about to run off to deal with these overwhelming feelings on her own. A confirmation that Lexa will stay there.

“But you still have to buy me dinner first before putting your hands in… places,” she notes, enjoying Lexa’s blush.

Weird modern soulmate tale doesn’t sound so bad, anyway.

Not bad at all.

Somewhere in the quiet of the night, the wind picks up a faint sound of giggling, carrying it above two girls softly kissing under moonlight.

#clexa #femslash #wlw fic #halloween #spooktober femslash

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kokkoro · 5 years ago

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Can I send a fluffy prompt combo? 16 & 1 😊

Lexa assumed if she were to look up the word ‘grudge’ in the dictionary she’d find the very beautiful face of her girlfriend staring back at her. Just last week Raven and Wells had bailed on her and Clarke spent the afternoon a bundle of grouchiness, and it was what Lexa would call endearing to say the least. A permanent wrinkle between her brow, lips in a pouty frown--lips Lexa was encouraged to kiss if only to relieve them from all the extra work. Frowning took more muscles after all, or at least that’s what Clarke was adamant in reminding her of when she was nose deep in paperwork and contemplating the pros and cons of ending her career.

Seeing those lips and not being able to kiss them? That’s new territory.

“I said I was sorry.” Three times in the last thirty minutes alone, but Lexa keeps that fact to herself. By now her voice has taken on a coating of tender exasperation as she watches Clarke from the kitchen, unsure how to breach no man’s land or if she should even try.

Clarke doesn’t look at her, though there is a subtle pursing of her lips as she vigorously erases a stubborn line. It’s enough to know she’s listening.

“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?”

Clarke glances left before quickly turning back. It’s as much of a glare as Clarke can muster, and Lexa takes those first few tentative steps forward into the living room.

“I honestly didn’t know you were saving it.”

There’s a scoff, albeit a quiet one, but the sound isn’t coated in the physical manifestation of betrayal anymore and Lexa takes it as a sign, carefully making her way closer. There’s no acknowledgement as Clarke continues her progress, one line after the other and it’s an easy thing to sneak up behind the couch. Well, maybe sneak isn’t the right word. Clarke knows, Lexa is sure of that, it’s the fact she does nothing about it that is the real relief.

Lexa reaches out, taking Clarke’s hair in her hands, and perhaps the Cold War isn’t so cold after all.

“You know,” Lexa says, a tease as she gently works her fingers through the strands, reaching back once the length spills over and grazes the dullness of her nails against Clarke’s scalp. Clarke’s hum is involuntary, shoulders drooping as she leans back against the couch. “We’re meant to be, you and I.”

Clarke chuckles, shaking her head, and it’s followed quickly by a sigh. The sketchbook lowers until it rests in her lap.

“May I kiss you?” Lexa asks.

And there’s a second too long contemplation before Clarke tilts her head back, and it’s the blue of her eyes that Lexa sees first, her blonde hair spilling like silk through her fingers. “You may,” she says.

Lexa can’t help the little twitch of her lips. She cups Clarke’s cheeks and the kiss is warm, and if there’s one thing Lexa is sure of, it’s Clarke's smile against her own.

#hell yeah! send in those prompt combos!#clexa #syngularitysyn #prompt stuff

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ecfandom · 5 years ago

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ok let's see: big city lawyer return to her small town at christmas time to stop some corporate closure and magically fall in love with some woman and her dog

Ah, I love it! This totally got away from me. I’ll do more tomorrow!

***

Okay so Clarke is the youngest partner at Azgeda & Weather, a NYC corporate law firm that handles all the big Fortune 500 companies along the eastern seaboard. Being the youngest partner at the firm means two things: Clarke takes no prisonrs, and the law firm is her life. We’re talking breakfast, lunch and dinner at her desk (a large desk in a large corner office on the top floor, there’s not a lot to complain about honestly), a second wardrobe in the sleek, modern armoir in her office, sheets and pillow tucked under the stylish but massively uncomfortable couch. She has a nice apartment that she’s spending a fortune but there’s no telling why seeing as how she’s never there.

She’s got a good routine. Up at 4:30 every morning, to the gym for a good “sweat out your rage at the world” session, steaming steaming shower so hot it almost hurts, she dawns her impeccable outfit including her signature pencil skirt which costs more than most people’s monthly rent, then it’s off for her morning juice cleanse and back to the office for her 8am briefing. It’s practiced, its perfected, it’s...necessary. If her day is not scheduled down to the minuted, if she’s not busy, thinking, always occupied...that’s disastrous. That means thinking about all the things she doesn’t want to think about...like how lonely she is, how much her heart still aches from the day her entire life crumbled into a million pieces...

So you can imagine how furious she is when her boss pulls her into his office and tells her to pack her bags, she’ll be spending her Christmas holiday overseeing the closing of the factory at the heart of a small town named, Arkadia...HER small town named Arkadia.

“This is a joke, right?” She asks, actually laughing in his face. But he doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink in fact, and her heart sinks. It’s not a joke and she’s expected at the airport at 7am the following morning.

Meanwhile, in that little town across the country, residents are in a full blown panic. The factory in town was just bought out by a big corporation and all operations are shutting down. Of course, this factory employs 95% of the town and these works will have no where to go, no job, and essentially no severance just weeks before Christmas.

The day her aging father comes home and tells his daughter with tears in his eyes that he’s out of the job is the day coffee shop owner, Lexa’s, famous smile falters. Her little shop lies in the heart of the town and sees just about every town member pass through at some point during the week. Lexa’s drinks are dreamy and her shop is warm and cozy. It’s a safe haven and though she’d never acknowledge it, if you asked any neighbor, they’d tell you that the magic has nothing to do with the shop, it’s all Lexa. She’s always got an ear to lend and the fluffy golden retriever that’s always by her side never fails to bring a smile to everyone’s faces. Except this week. This week, the whole town is grieving.

“I don’t understand how they think they can just come in here and unemploy an entire town of people and get away with it.” Anya, Lexa’s barista and long-time friend, looks scary, and puts on a good show of being tough, but she’s a big softy. But this week, Lexa genuine worries about the safety of her mugs as Anya roughly towels them dry, scowling at the black town car that pulls up outside, clearly from out of town. “How do they fucking sleep at night.”

“They don’t sleep,” Lexa says. “These are the kinds of people with no lives, no friends, and no conscious.”

Anya whistles quietly. “They may not have a conscious, but they certainly have something to look at.”

When Lexa looks up she’s definitely taken by surprise. The beautiful woman walking through the door is nothing like she expected. Strikingly blonde is the only thing that grabs her attention before the sweetness of her face. But that sweetness is impressively overshadowed by the coolness in the woman’s pale, blue eyes the second they connect with Lexa’s.

Before Lexa can even open her mouth to tell her they’re about to close, the woman is holding up her hand. “Please, before you tell me all the ways in which I am ruining your life and killing your beloved pet, I just need some fucking coffee,” she huffs, not bothering to look at Lexa as she digs through her purse.

“What a surprise, she’s a raging bitch,” Anya quips, tossing her towel on the counter and walking away when the woman looks up at her and glares. “Sorry, Lex. I’m not serving the wicked witch of the east.”

“Pretty sure it’s wicked witch of the west,” the woman snaps back.

“You’re from the east aren’t you? I rest my case,” Anya says, then looks at Lexa. “You can fire me if you want, but I won’t serve her kind. You’re on your own.”

“My kind?” The woman mouths, outraged.

Lexa’s shakes her head and grins at her friend’s antics. She’s no happier about these outsiders than the rest of the town, but a customer is a customer. “What can I get you?” She asks, barely taking notice when her trusty pup, Max, gets up from his bed and pads away from her.

Clarke is momentarily caught off guard by the gentle tone, expecting more of the nastiness she’d been encountering since she landed in the tiny, regional airport. No one recognizes her or if they do, they don’t care that she used to be one of them. Why should they? It’s been 20 years.

Even more startling than the gentle tone is the woman behind it. She’s tall and sturdy, just as handsome as she is pretty. The picture perfect red flannel she wears stretches perfectly along her broad shoulders and she is perhaps the most attractive woman Clarke has ever seen. Not what she was expecting from the tiny town she hoped to never see again.

She’s never one for a loss of words--she’s an attorney for christ’s sake--but this woman has Clarke tongue tied like never before. It takes three attempts for her to order her coffee, granted, the second time was interrupted by a cold wet nose pushing into her hand. Now, sitting at the table in the nearly empty cafe, Clarke can’t stop watching the woman behind the counter. She’s beautiful, in an androgynous sort of way. Sure, she had long, brown hair and pretty green eyes, but there’s was something masculine about her. Something rugged. Whatever it was, Clarke was mesmerized.

They part ways with little conversation. After all, Clarke is here to ruin all of their lives, and Lexa has to get home to her newly unemployed father who can’t pay for his medical bills without a job, so there’s that.

They don’t run in to each other again for a day or so, and Lexa can almost forget about her life derailing...until the day she’s in the local bar and she hears an argument break out. Getting up, she moves down the bar to get a better look. A lifetime ago, she was a Marine, and she can’t help but run toward trouble, as her father would always say.

She’s expecting the usual brawl over a drinking contest or a lost bet, but instead, she finds a few out of place suits almost completely surrounded by a ring of angry factory workers. “Call the police,” she tells Frank, the bartender, knowing what’s about to come. She’s concerned, but not too concerned. There’s still time to de-escelate things with some open conversation, so she moves carefully, cautiously, edging her way into the circle. That is until she sees the woman from from the other night, face scared like a dear in headlights but eyes glinting, ready for a fight.

Lexa’s unsure of whether she’s more scared for the woman or annoyed. Whoever she is, she’s not afraid to back down, that’s obvious, and that means trouble. And trouble for her, in this town, could very well end in blood. At the head of the confrontation is Sal, a fourth generation factory worker taking the closure the hardest. He’s been stirring up the town for weeks, just waiting for a battle. Lexa is angry like the rest of them but she’s sure as hell not going to let blood be spilled. She’s almost too slow. One moment, she’s telling Sal to back off, the next, a broken beer bottle is hurtling towards the men in suits. In seconds, the two groups converge on each other, and Lexa has just enough time to grab the woman’s arm and yank her out of the middle. Lexa practically picks her up and carries her out the front door just as the police are rushing in.

Clarke is struggling the entire way, cursing about god knows what under her breath.

“You’re welcome,” Lexa retorts, dropping the woman into a pile of fresh snow. “Next time I’ll try not to save your life.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic. I was fine.”

“You were seconds away from getting the business end of a broken beer bottle shoved into your face. But suit yourself.”

Lexa’s beginning to walk away when Clarke comes to her senses and goes after her, begrudgingly thanking her.

“I’m Lexa.”

“I’m Clarke.” There’s a handshake, and somehow it almost feels like a temporary truce. That and Lexa’s hand is warm and strong and firm.

For the next several days Lexa can’t shake the fact that she’s a traitor. She can’t get Clarke off her mind and while everyone else is cursing she and her colleague’s existence, Lexa is just hoping to run into her again. Just to get another look at those eyes. There’s something buried there, something Clarke has gotten really good at hiding, and Lexa wants in.

The next time she sees Clarke, the woman is rushing down the street, a small group of angry residents shouting at her. Lexa sees her coming from the shop window and steps out to pull Clarke inside, just as the group was beginning to converge on her. Clarke makes some quip, laughing it off, but she’s clearly shaken and Lexa has an inexplicable need to protect her.

She’s in the back making a special drink of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cherries to warm Clarke up, and when she comes back around to the tables, she smiles to see Clarke asleep in a booth, leaning against the wall, Max sitting protectively beside her.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, patting his head. Clarke rouses and Lexa slides into the opposite booth, watching with a little bit of pride and a lot of sexual attraction as Clarke moaned her delight and thanks at the delicious drink. Lexa tries her best not to blush at Clarke’s sounds of pleasure, but she’s really never been good at hiding her feelings.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Clarke asks.

“You’re just making a lot of noises.”

“Noises?”

“The...moans...and...you know what? Nevermind. Just drink your drink.”

Clarke smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she knows flirting with a local is the last thing she should be doing, but Lexa has saved her life now, and she’s handsome and kind and her dog is cute, and Clarke really can’t help it.

They do this again, the next day, just as the shop is closing. Clarke stays after the doors are locked and they talk for hours. Mostly Lexa talks, and Clarke skirts around her own life with half truths and questions about Lexa. They do it again and again, until it’s almost a routine.

“Why are you letting this happen?” Lexa finally asks her one day. “You’re not a bad person. You have to do know what this is doing to our town. You may not understand, being from a big city and all, but we’re family.”

Oh but Clarke does know. She knows because she grew up here. She knows this town better than Lexa does, but she’ll never tell. She can’t revisit those memories. She can’t think about the past. Not without losing the control she has spent her entire life building. She can’t let Lexa into that part of her life, but that doesn’t stop her from falling for the sweet drinks and the even sweeter drink maker. She gives the cowardly answer about her job, her duty, nothing she can do about it, and Lexa just nods because what else is there to say?

If Lexa is annoyed by her answer, she doesn’t show it. They continue to spend time together and the more they are seen with each other, the more the residents start to relax around Clarke. Some of them even like her, chatting her up when they see her in the cafe. Some of them look at her as if she belongs, as if she’s always belonged, as if they’ve known her from some other lifetime.

Things feel good. Suspiciously good but Clarke does her best to just let live. Lexa is walking her back to her car one night when they pass the ice skating rink in the town square.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says when Lexa turns to her with a glint in her eyes.

Lexa wins, and she’s holding Clarke’s hands, skating backwards to help keep Clarke upright. They can’t stop giggling and it feels like grade school when everything was okay and good and nothing hurt.

Clarke trips over her own feet and she tumbles into Lexa, laughing. Lexa is strong and sturdy and when Lexa catches her and pulls her close, Clarke is a goner. Looking up into those green eyes, it takes second for her to lean in, looking for a kiss. She’s not even thinking, she’s just wanting. Wanting Lexa. Wanting her close. Wanting to know if her lips are as soft as they look.

They are. God, they are and it’s perfect. Lexa’s perfect. They’re in the middle of the rink, forcing people to skate around them, but Clarke can’t stop kissing her, and Lexa has no interest in pulling away.

It’s feels natural, it’s feels right and wonderful and so so good when they go home together that night. It’s been so long since Clarke has opened her heart to anyone, and now that she’s opened it for Lexa, Lexa has it completely.

Lexa brings her coffee and a croissant in bed, crawling back under the covers to love up on Clarke again as soon as she’s done with her breakfast. It’s noon before they finally get out of the door. Clarke has a meeting and Lexa has to get to the shop. They’re walking together to Clarke’s car, and Lexa’s leaning in for a kiss when Clarke sees a man glaring at them from across the street.

It throws Clarke back into her past so quickly she jerks away from Lexa, dodging a kiss, and getting in her car and driving away without a word. The radio silence last days and Lexa is as pissed as she is heartbroken. They run into each other at a press conference the corporation who bought out the factory holds to inform the residents about the planned demolition.

Lexa can’t hold back her pain and anger. “I thought you were different from them, but you’re not, are you? You used me. You got me and the town to like you so that what? You’d be left alone long enough to help them destroy us? Is that it? Make me fall for you so I’d let my guard down? Let you get away with this? I feel bad for you, Clarke. I feel bad that you don’t know what it’s like to have a community like this. To have friends and family for neighbors. People you’ve grown up with and lived beside and I pity you.” She’s too angry to realize that she’s admitted to falling for Clarke and she doesn’t give Clarke the chance to say anything before she’s walking away.

Just days away from the demolition, they’re both miserable. They haven’t talked and when Clarke goes to try to see Lexa to tell her she’s going to make things right because she’s fallen for her to, she can’t be found. She thinks she’s being avoided until she overhears a patron talking about Lexa’s father being in the hospital. Clarke doesn’t think, she just goes. It’s not hard to find out that Lexa’s father got pretty sick and racked up some pretty hefty medical bills that Lexa’s now on the hook for thanks to her father’s unemployment making it impossible to pay for his shitty insurance’s deductible.

Clarke does the one thing she can think to do to help but she doesn’t dare go to Lexa. Now’s not the time and she knows she’s the last person Lexa wants to see.

Lexa, of course, is completely at a loss. Her father is still sick and needs to stay at the hospital, but the longer he stays, the bigger the bill gets. She’s distraught and out of options, so imagine her surprise the day she’s informed that her father’s deductible has been paid and his treatments not covered by insurance have been paid for. They can’t tell her who paid it for confidentiality reasons and Lexa doesn’t have time to think too much about it. She has to get her father taken care of and she has to get back to the shop.

Things are starting to feel okay again, except for the fact that she can’t stop thinking about Clarke. The only thing that makes it a little more bearable is the news that the demolition has been paused. Some kind of red tape fiasco. The town makes a collective sigh of relief as the corporate giant loostens it’s grip around their necks. Clarke is nowhere to be found, but Lexa wonders what this means for her. She’s too pissed by Clarke’s disappearance to find out.

Meanwhile, Clarke is back in NYC, sitting in her office while she is screamed at for pointing out the anti-trust issues with this corporation buying up the factory, creating a monopoly.

“If the DOJ blocks this acquisition because YOU brought this contract to them, this will be the end of our relationship with Dante Corp! Do you have any idea the money you have cost us?!”

But Clarke’s not listening. She didn’t care about her job. She didn’t care about the money. She cared for the people of the town. She cared for Lexa’s father. She cared for Lexa and she had to make things right.

A month passes and the entire town is elated when they learn that factory is no longer being bought and demolished and everyone has their jobs back. Someone is still paying off Lexa’s father’s medical bills, beating Lexa to it every time Lexa calls to make her own payment. Her father is back on his feet again and the everything is back to normal. Everything is good. Except it isn’t, because Lexa’s heart is broken and she can’t comprehend how someone as incredible as Clarke could be so selfish.

She’s tired and feeling particularly down the night she walks into the bar after work and sees that radiant blonde hair at the end of the bar. She doesn’t want to believe it, but when Clarke turns and their eyes meet, Lexa’s breath leaves her and she feels everything all at once. Sadness, elation, betrayal..love. Through it all, it’s still love.

“Hey,” she says softly, cautiously sitting down beside her. The bar is quiet tonight, but the other patrons are too absorbed in their own conversations to pay them any attention.

“Hi,” Clarke says, studying the beautiful face that hadn’t left her thoughts for one second since she’d left.

“I suppose you heard about the factory?”

Clarke nods, smiling slightly. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Guess you got unlucky.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, whoever made that contract fall through cost you this client, I imagine.”

When Clarke doesn’t say anything, Lexa frowns. “What am I missing?”

Clarke pulls out a trifold of paper and slides it over to Lexa. Lexa picks it up and squints at it. “What is this?”

“It’s anti-trust suit.”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Magnus Unites, the company that bought Arkadia Beverage Company, which is the company that owns the factory, doesn’t exist and neither does Arkadia Beverage Company.”

Lexa shakes her head, trying to follow along, but not understanding. “That doesn’t make any sense. What does that mean?”

“It’s means that Magnus Unites and Arkadia Beverage Company are shell companies. They’re not real. Magnus Corp is actually just Dante Corp and Arkadia Beverage Company was bought out five years ago by Atlantic Foods.

“Dante Corp? As in the Dante Corp that owns practically every product you see in a grocery store?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, Dante Corp and Atlantic Foods are the two largest food and beverage packaging companies in the United States. Atlantic Foods is worth 83.7 million dollars. If Dante Corp had bought out Atlantic Foods through this shell company, they would own a complete monopoly on the food packaging industry. It’s illegal.”

“Holy shit,” Lexa breathes, looking back at the paper. “So someone found out and what? Told?”

Clarke chuckles. “Yeah. You could say that. This is an anti-trust suit submitted to the Department of Justice. An immediate injunction was ordered and the factory was returned to the previous owners of Arkadia Beverage.”

“Wow. That’s an incredible.”

Clarke watches her, so fond of the studious, careful way Lexa studied something important. When Lexa looks up, she’s almost startled by the emerald green she had missed you very much.

“Why do you have this?”

“You told me I didn’t know what it was like to know a community like this. To live side by side with friends and family.” Clarke pulls out an old, worn picture from her purse and slides it towards Lexa.

Lexa looks down at young Clarke, beaming between two people she could only assume were her parents. Behind them stood a building Lexa knew like the back of her hand.

“That’s my shop,” she murmurs, looking at Clarke confused.

“When I lived here, it was a pizza parlor,” Clarke murmurs.

Lexa nods. “The kitchen still smells like pepperoni.” Clarke laughs and nods, and Lexa nearly jumps up at the sight of tears in Clarke’s eyes. “Clarke?”

“Those are my parents,” Clarke says, looking down at the photo. “We had pizza night every Friday at that parlor. It was something we’d done for as long as I can remember.” Clarke uses her pointer finger to drag the photo closer to her. “They died,” she murmurs, her voice taught with restrained tears. “Drunk driver. The cameras caught him clearly...but the prosecuting attorney was paid off. He didn’t see a single day of jail time. I was twelve.”

“Clarke, god, I’m so sorry.”

Clarke looks up, blinking back tears. “This was my home. These people were my home. And having this community was the only thing that got me through. When I left, the only thing I could think about was going to law school and making sure what happened to me never happened to anyone else. Somewhere along the way I fell into corporate law, and I forgot why I was even doing this. Family and friends are everything.” She shrugs. “I had to make it right. For them.” Then, she looks up at Lexa, her eyes earnest and sorry. “For you.”

Lexa swallows back her own emotions. “Why did you leave back then?”

Clarke laughs bitterly. “After my parent’s died I lived with my neighbors for a while. They had a daughter my age and we were best friends. Eventually, we were more than friends. On my thirteenth birthday, we were at park watching a meteor shower. She told me she wanted to kiss me and I let her. I was over the moon. There had been so much pain since my parents dies, and here was this perfect, little moment, to distract me for a little while. The next thing I know, some man is running towards us, shouting at us, asking us how dare we do such things in public. It’s a small town. Word travels fast. When her parent’s found out, they kicked me out. And I never came back.”

Lexa wants nothing more than to pull her into her arms and hold her, never letting her go, but Clarke is already sliding off the bar stool and putting the paper and photo back into her purse.

“I’m sorry I ran on you, and I’m sorry I left without saying good bye. You didn’t deserve that. And I’m not here for forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that nothing between us was ever fake. I never had ulterior motives or...nefarious plans. I never planned for you. But there you were, and I couldn’t help it. It was just you. It was only every you.”

“Clarke, I--”

But the door to the bar swings open and a rowdy crowd tumbles in from the snow storm. Lexa looks up at the commotion, feels herself get jostled as people push towards the empty bar stools. When she looks around, Clarke is gone. She goes to find her and steps on a piece of paper on the floor.

She picks it up and unfolds it, confused at first at what she’s looking at. It’s a medical bill. With her father’s name on it. No, not a bill. A receipt. A receipt for a recent payment for the last installment of her father’s payment plan on his medical expenses. And under the payer’s information...is Clarke’s name.

“Oh, Clarke,” Lexa murmurs, her eyes brimming. She runs out of the bar, but Clarke is nowhere to be found.

***

Clarke is just settling onto her couch having dawned her paid, flannel pajamas and whipped up a big bowl of drown your sorrows flavored ice cream. The best part of losing her job is that she finally gets to enjoy her fancy apartment with the best view of the city she’s ever seen. She plans to wallow in her big fancy apartment and watch RomComs until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore because she’s sick of being alone with her thoughts.

She’s contemplating adding in a bath to this plan when there’s a knock at her door. She frowns, but is not entirely sure that she didn’t forget that she ordered delivery, so she goes to the door anyways. For all the fancy features of her apartment, there is no peep hole and she is too depressed bother for any self preservation. She opens the door, ready either to accept her forgotten order or yell at the solicitor knocking on her door at 9 o’clock at night.

But it’s not delivery and it’s not a solicitor. It’s Lexa. Lexa with those sweet eyes and gentle smile. Lexa with a piece of paper in one hand and roses in another.

“Oh god,” is all Clarke manages to get out before she’s crying.

She cries harder when she feels Lexa’s arms around her, holding her close. “I’m so sorry,” Clarke says, and neither of them are sure what she’s sorry for. Clarke is just so damn thankful to see her.

Lexa holds her and presses kisses to Clarke’s hair until she calms, then she pulls back and brushes away Clarke’s tears from her cheeks.

“How did you know where I live?” Clarke asks, sniffling and leaning into Lexa’s sure body.

Lexa holds up the medical bill receipt and Clarke colors, finally caught.

“You should have told me,” Lexa says gently, so incredibly in love with the teary-eyed woman in front of her. “This was too much, Clarke.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It was the least I could do.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

Clarke’s eyes brim again and she shrugs, shyly. “I don’t need any thanks, Lex. I did it because...I love you.”

Lexa grins and puts the receipt aside, taking Clarke’s face into her hands. “You have no idea how much I love you,” she says and captures Clarke’s lips. Lexa could kiss her forever, but Clarke can’t stop smiling and of course that makes Lexa laugh.

They pull away, but keep each other close. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to bring you flowers,” Clarke says, gesturing to the roses Lexa had put down on the table inside the door.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m the one who messed up.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I let you walk away from me three times. Do it once, shame on you. Do it twice, shame on me. Do it three times, and well, I think I went and lost my damn mind for a minute, but it’s back, and it can’t stop thinking about you.”

Clarke smiles and leans in, kissing her again. “How long do we have?”

Lexa pulls a slip of paper out of her back pocket and holds it up. “It’s a one way ticket, love. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

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clexmas24 · 5 years ago

Text

Clextober is just around the corner!

For thirteen days in October, we will celebrate all things Clexa and the best (in my objective opinion) season of the year! So bust out that ineffable Clexa creativity, and let’s see some fanart, fanvids, fanfics, moodboards, photo manipulations, fic recs, etc. You don’t have to do every day, you can pick just one or eleven, whatever floats your boat. Listed below are a few ideas to get you going, but they are by no means strict guidelines. You do you!

Remember to tag #Clextober19, #13DaysofClexa, and #(day/prompt) when posting.

Example: #Clextober19 #13DaysofClexa #Day13 #Day13: A Pinch of Magic #APinchofMagic, and of course, any other tags you’d like to add.

October 19 - Day 13: A Pinch of Magic

Black cats, spells, potions, broomsticks, white witches, dark witches, candles, curses, magic! Are Clarke and Lexa from different covens and are forbidden to love each other? Is Clarke a witch and Lexa a skeptical human? Do Clarke and Lexa’s familiars attack each other one day, and the witches are forced to work together to get their unruly animals back in line?

October 20 - Day 12: Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice

Pumpkin picking, pumpkin spice candles, pumpkin carving, pumpkin pie eating contests, pumpkin spice lattes! Does Lexa loathe pumpkin spice everything (it tastes like how her grandmother’s potpourri smells) but she endures it with a smile every year because Clarke thinks she loves it? Are they neighbors competing in a pumpkin carving contest? Do they brush hands as they reach for the perfect pumpkin in a pile of pumpkins?

October 21 - Day 11: Flannel

Flannel shirts, fluffy flannel blankets, flannel scarves, flannel lingerie? What’s autumn without a cozy flannel? Does Clarke keep stealing Lexa’s favorite flannel shirt, much to Lexa’s annoyance? (spoiler: Lexa totally loves watching Clarke try and button it) Does Clarke’s flannel scarf fly off in a blustering autumn breeze only to be returned to her by a striking stranger with chestnut hair and the greenest eyes she’s ever seen?

October 22 - Day 10: Ghouls' Night Out

Clubbing, Halloween bar crawl, cider tasting! Does grumpy Lexa get dragged to a Halloween bar crawl but really starts to enjoy it when she keeps running into a progressively tipsier (re: flirtier) Clarke? Does Clarke start a micro-cidery with her friends and decide to launch it on Halloween night, which turns out to be the best idea ever when the reporter assigned to cover the grand opening is none other than her former college crush, Lexa Woods?

October 23 - Day 9: Scary Stories

Urban legends, campfire tales, creepy slumber parties, folklore! Does Scaredy Cat Clarke try to put on a brave face when her best friend (aka her crush) insists on telling the creepiest stories she’s ever heard at their annual Halloween sleepover? Does Clarke get all protective when her friends try and pull a prank on Lexa after telling spooky stories around a campfire?

October 24 - Day 8: Vampires/Werewolves

Shapeshifters, bloodsuckers, wolves, teeth, blood, fur, eternal life! Are Clarke and Lexa star-crossed lovers, destined to be together but forced apart by ancient traditions? Is Lexa a human suddenly caught up in a civil war between the reigning vampire queen, Clarke, and the werewolves who are trying to overthrow her?

October 25 - Day 7: BYOB: Bring your own Boo’s

Party shenanigans, costumes, bobbing for apples, getting way into character! Do they click at a costume party but have no idea what the other looks like because, duh, costumes? Are Clarke and Lexa really into DIY and make their costumes every year? Does one drunkenly confess her love for the other because she’s dressed as Wonder Woman and Wonder Woman isn’t afraid of anything?

October 26 - Day 6: Fall Festivities

Apple picking, sweater weather, rainy day snuggles, changing seasons, corn mazes, baking, football games, raking leaves, bonfires, hayrides! Are Clarke and Lexa happily married and decide to take their little one apple picking for the first time? Does Lexa’s neighbor, Clarke, offer to rake her leaves for her, and while Lexa is very particular about her lawn care, she can’t say no because the thought of watching Clarke do manual labor is far too tantalizing?

October 27 - Day 5: Haunted Houses

Ghosts, SFX makeup, haunted houses! Do Clarke and Lexa attend a haunted house with their respective dates only to wind up clinging to each other instead? Is Clarke a makeup artist for a haunted house and has her work cut out for her when she has transform gorgeous Lexa into a hideous zombie? Do Lexa and Clarke buy a rundown house that Clarke insists has charm only to find out that the place is being haunted by the little old lady who used to live there?

October 28 - Day 4: SCREAM

Ghost face, slashers, teens running up the stairs when they should be running out the front door, or, you know, actually screaming if you’re not into the slasher movie thing! Are the Delinquents being hunted down by a masked killer, and loner Lexa, who knows way too much about horror movies, gets swept up in the mess? Does Clarke love hearing Lexa’s cute little scream and tries to do whatever it takes to get her to scream?

October 29 - Day 3: Monster Mash

Working in the lab late one night, an eerie sight, a graveyard smash, The Crypt-Kicker Five! (Hahaha, I make myself laugh) Aliens, beasts, Dr. Frankenstein’s monster, demogorgons, creatures! Does Clarke’s niche band, The Crypt-Kicker Five, suddenly find itself in need of a drummer for their Halloween gig when theirs up and quits, but are saved when Lincoln’s cousin comes for a visit? Is Lexa the captain of the USCSS Nostromo, and Clarke is the new Executive Officer who insists it’s a good idea to land on an alien planet?

October 30 - Day 2: Trick or Treat

Harmless tricks, steamy treats, trick or treating (because you’re never too old to have a good time)! Is Lexa having a rough week at work and really isn’t in the mood for Halloween, but she’s easily swayed when her girlfriend shows up wearing a very skimpy devil costume? Do Clarke and Lexa go trick or treating every year together from the age of four? In coordinating costumes???

October 31 - Happy Halloween! : FREE DAY

FREE DAY!

Pick a favorite or create something completely new. You could share a pic of your costume (Clexa related or not) or even a pet’s costume!

If you need any more suggestions/inspiration, send me an ask. I’ll try my best to give you ideas, or you know, beg my friends and/or followers to come up with clever things for you.

Have fun, and I can’t wait to see what fall-tastic things everyone comes up with!

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reallygroovyninja · 4 months ago

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I love baby Everly so much 🥰

Here's another fluffy prompt for you. Clarke and Lexa hold a big birthday party for Everly when she's a toddler

Sneak peek at this prompt.

Lexa and Clarke sat across from each other at their small kitchen table, cluttered with textbooks and half-finished assignments.

"I just think Everly deserves a big party," Clarke said, her eyes lighting up at the thought. "She only turns one once, Lex."

Lexa leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowing slightly. "I get that, but she's one, Clarke. She won't even remember it. We don't have a lot of money to spend on a big fancy party. We have tuition, rent, and other expenses to think about."

Clarke sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair. "But it's not just for her. It's for us, too. To celebrate making it through the first year as parents. And for our friends and family to share in the joy."

Lexa nodded slowly, understanding Clarke's point. "I know it's important to you, but we can still celebrate without going overboard. How about a small gathering with close friends and family? We can have it at the park. It’ll be less expensive and still meaningful."

Clarke bit her lip, considering Lexa's suggestion. "I just want it to be special, you know? Something she can look back on in pictures and see how much we celebrated her."

Lexa reached across the table, taking Clarke's hand in hers. "It will be special because it’s about her and us. We can decorate, have a cake, and take lots of pictures. We’ll make it special with our love and creativity, not with how much money we spend."

Clarke smiled, squeezing Lexa's hand. "You always know how to make me see things differently. Okay, let’s do it your way. A small, intimate party with the people we love. We’ll make it amazing."

Lexa smiled back, relief washing over her. "Thank you, Clarke. I promise it’ll be a day to remember."

#umm do you think Clarke listens?

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jordswriteswords · 5 years ago

Text

Clextober19: Vampires and Werewolves

“I hate you!” Madi screamed, slamming the door shut in her mother’s face.

Tears formed in Clarke’s eyes as she gaped at the white door. Her daughter had never said those words before, and although knowing that one day her child would utter them, the reality of it still stung like a fresh wound.

Clarke turned around and did what she always did when she needed to think - she painted.

Lexa left her to it, knowing her wife needed some space, but she worried, hovering by the door of her wife’s art studio with a warm cup of tea in her hands an hour later.

“I know you’re there,” Clarke breathed out sadly. “You don’t need to hover.”

“You know she doesn’t mean it.”

“She’s only six,” Clarke said, eyes watering again. “Our six year old hates me.”

Lexa wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, pulling her into her chest for comfort. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“She turned Finn Jr. Into a fish,” Clarke laughed at. “It’s funny, but fish can’t live outside of water, Lexa. She nearly killed the boy. Ms. Niylah had to keep him in a glass until you showed up. Sometimes your magic sucks,” Clarke said with a sad chuckle.

Lexa chuckles as well. “I just wish she’d tell us why she did it.”

***

“You can’t say those things to your mom, Mads,” Lexa leaned against the frame of her daughter’s door, speaking gently to her daughter as she furiously threw things about her room.

“Well, I do!” Madi announced, hands on her hips. “She’s always telling me I can’t do magic and I’m always getting into trouble and you do magic all. the. time. and you don’t get into any trouble at all.”

“Your mother and I don’t want you using magic at school because you’re still learning how to control it. You’re a half-ling, baby, it’s different for you. It’s just going to take a little more practice, and until then, we want you safe.”

“Well, I hate you too, then. I hate both of you!”

“Madi,” Lexa warned, green eyes sharp with frustration. “Enough. Get your jammies on, it’s bedtime.”

Madi crossed her arms and huffed at her mama, puffs of smoke pluming from her nostrils as her face reddened.

Ignoring the tantrum, Lexa said, “I’ll be back in ten minutes to tuck you in.”

***

“That didn’t go as well as planned, she officially hates me, too,” Lexa said, dropping down onto the couch next to Clarke.

“It’s so hard for her,” Clarke let her head rest on her wife’s shoulder, brooding over what to do.

“You’re a great mom, Clarke,” Lexa said. “And a great wife.” She placed a soft kiss to her temple and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Ditto,” Clarke replied. “Let’s tuck her in together. Tell her we love her even though she’s mad at us.”

***

“Madi?” Clarke asked, knocking lightly on the open door. “Honey, can we come in?”

At the lack of response, Clarke and Lexa moved into their daughter’s room. The closet was a mess, and they couldn’t see their daughter anywhere.

“Madi?” Lexa asked. She stepped back out into the hallway and checked the bathroom. “Madi? – Clarke, is she hiding under her bed?”

“No,” Clarke responded, and her voice shaky with fear. “She’s not here, Lexa!”

***

Madi whistled as she walked along the pathway, dragging her suitcase filled with her most prize possessions behind her.

Madi was so angry with her mother’s that she ended up crying. She couldn’t understand her own emotions, and the tears came pouring out out of reflex. She sniffed and poofed herself and her luggage to another part of the city. She didn’t care that it was dark and she was so obviously lost, she was just glad to be out of that house with all those rules.

A low grumble from the nearby bush startled her from her thoughts. They shifted with a creature’s shadow. Madi swallowed thickly, looking around for an adult that could save her. The grumble turned into a growl, and Madi fell backwards in fright, toppling over her luggage.

The growl grew louder as the figure emerged from the bushes - white fangs and massive amounts of fur and yellow eyes. The giant wolf stalked towards the fallen girl, her blue eyes wide as she struggled to move her long brown hair out of her face to see it more clearly.

“Oh, a puppy!” Madi exclaimed.

The wolf paused in it’s step, head cocked to the side at her exuberance.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“You can talk?” Madi asked. “Hi, puppy!” Madi waved. “You’re so fluffy!”

The wolf took a step back, sitting on its hind legs and looking at the girl.

“You can hear me?”

“Yup. What’s your name? I’m Madi.” Madi asked.

“Lincoln.“

“Nice to meet you, Lincoln. That’s a strange name for a dog.”

A loud screech sounded and a bat flew down towards Madi. The wolf barked and growled, and the bat flapped its wings, settling on the wolf’s back instead.

“You have a bat?” Madi asked with excitement.

“She can hear you?” The bat asked Lincoln.

Madi gasped. “You have a talking bat?"

The wolf sat back on his heels again and shook his fur until the bat flew off, landing on the earth beside him.

“Octavia, this is Madi. She can hear us.”

The bat extended its wings and flew into the air, fluttering around Madi’s head. “She’s small. How old are you?”

"I’m six-and-three-months.”

Madi could swear she saw a hint of a smile on the bat;s face. “And what is a six-and-three-month year old doing out here so late? The bat asked. Where are your parents?”

Madi shrugged. “I ran away.”

“Why?”

“My mommies are mean.”

The bat flapped its wings wildly, taking itself to sit on top of Lincoln’s head.

“Really?” He asked, his big snout directed towards the bat.

“I’m comfy,” Octavia replied. She turned to Madi and asked, “Why are your mommies mean, little one?”

“My mommy doesn’t like that I’m a witch and I have powers and I should be able to use them whenever I want, and my mama is a witch and she gets to use hers all the time but she won’t let me and it’s not fair because the only reason I even used my powers is because Finn Jr. said that I’m weird for having two mommies. He said that his daddy was going to take my mommy from my mama because they used to hold hands when they were in school, and I don’t want my mommy to not love my mama anymore, and I don’t want to be weird because I have two mommies!” Madi sniffed and her luggage opened, violently throwing out her stuffed griffon and stuffed raccoon.

“Do you think I’m weird because I’m a wolf?” Lincoln asked. “And for having wolf parents?”

Madi shook her head, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Another toy flew from her suitcase and landed in front of Lincoln. “No, ‘cause everyone has different mommies and daddies, and some of them are witches and some are elves and some are humans like my other mommy so it doesn’t matter what your mommies and daddies are and who they hold hands with.”

“I think you were very brave to try and protect your mommies, Octavia said. “Did you tell them what happened?”

Madi shook her head again. “It would make them sad, and I hate when they’re sad.”

“Don’t you think they’re going to be sad when they realize you’re not home?”

Madi opened her mouth to retort, but snapped it shut as she realized the truth behind Octavia’s words. “Do you think they’ll be mad?”

The bat flew up into the air and landed in Madi’s shoulder. She wrapped one of her wings around Madi’s neck. “I doubt it. I have a strong feeling they’ll just be happy you’re home. And then you can talk about what happened today.”

“I don’t know how to get home,” Madi said, her chin quivering as she became more upset. “I can’t control my magic and I acci - acci - accidenenenally came here.”

“Hop on,” Lincoln said, bowing down so that Madi could crawl on his back. “Just don’t grab the fur too hard.”

Madi did just as asked, and got on his back. “Wait!” She cried. “What about my suitcase?”

Octavia flew off her shoulder and landed on the handle of the bag.”I’ll take it.” She flew forward, hardly making the case budge. Try as she might, the little bat couldn’t get the luggage to move. Lincoln nudged it with his nose to get the wheels started, and the bat flapped feverishly to keep the momentum.

“Okay, let’s go home to my mommies,” Madi said.

***

“Madi!” Clarke yelled, racing down the steps to meet her. “Madi, Madi!” She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her six year old daughter. “Don’t you ever do that again!” Clarke sobbed into her daughter’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Madi!” Lexa yelled, running out of the house. Raven and Anya were close behind as well. Lexa crashed into her wife and daughter, her arms coming around them both in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry Mama, I didn’t mean to run away, I just got so mad and then I ended up somewhere else.”

Clarke and Lexa pressed kisses to her face and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Are you alright?” Lexa asked. “We were so worried.”

“How did you get home?” Clarke added.

A bark from a few feet away caught their attention, and both Clarke and Lexa turned to see the wolf sitting on his hind legs, his tail wagging behind him, and the tiny bat fluttering around his head.

“Lincoln?” Lexa asked.

The wolf barked again and his tail wag picked up speed.

“O?” Clarke added.

The wolf howled and the bat screeched, and with a puff of smoke, Lexa’s cousin, the tall, dark, and handsome Lincoln Birch, and Clarke’s longtime friend, Octavia, stood before them.

“You’re people?” Madi asked, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re back from Romania?” Lexa asked, standing slowly, Madi still wrapped around her neck and her hip. Clarke had her arm across Madi’s and Lexa’s back.

“Looks like,” Octavia said, stepping towards them and kissing their cheeks. She booped Madi’s nose, making the six year old giggle. “I’m a vampire, and Lincoln is a werewolf. We’re also your aunt and uncle.”

Madi smiled brightly up at Octavia and Lincoln.

“She’s got your hair,” Lincoln nodded to his cousin.

“And your eyes,” Octavia said to her best friend. "But, on our trip back, someone told us she wants to talk to you about what happened today.“

Madi tucked her neck back into her Mama’s neck and mumbled, "Finn waff beduff nadhuff a mass.”

“Can you look at us, baby?” Clarke cooed. “We’re not mad at you, but we can’t understand what you’re saying with your face in mama’s neck.”

“Finn Jr. Said I was weird for having two mommies. And he said that you weren’t gonna love Mama anymore because his daddy was gonna take you back.”

“First of all,” Clarke said, cheeks turning a deep red from her anger. Lexa’s hand stroked her back to calm her. She breathed out a sigh. “Madi, I love you and your mama more than you could ever imagine. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. No matter what Finn Jr. said. It’s you, me, and mama forever, okay?”

Lexa nodded, then added, “And even if he scared or upset you, you shouldn’t be using your magic to hurt people. It’s not nice and you know that. And you need to tell us if someone’s bothering you, okay?”

Madi nodded, thoroughly scolded by her parents, but snuggled into her parents hug, happy that they loved her anyway. “I’m not weird?”

“No, baby, we love you,” Clarke said.

“No, you’re definitely not weird,” Lexa added. “You’re special.”

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clexafanfic #clextober19 #the 100 clexa #13daysofclexa #clarke x lexa #lexadeservedbetter #the 100 lexa #lexa #commander lexa #clarke griffin #madi griffin #heda leksa #vampire #werewolves #magic #magic!au #witch!Lexa

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eris223 · 5 years ago

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@kokkoro tis I, your Secret Santa!

It’s been a pleasure chatting with you these past few weeks. I hope you have a wonderful New Year’s Eve full of relaxation after the craziness of the holidays. I wrote something for you. Just a fun little fic inspired by some of our chats:

Charming Bites & Lady Knights

The parking lot was packed. Lexa’s shoulders slumped, and she pulled into the final available spot, steeling her mind, body, and soul for the inevitable irritation that came with being in a crowd of holiday treat shoppers.

As she slugged through the snow-dusted lot, Lexa reminded herself that this quest came only once a year. Only during the holidays did her mother, who never asked anything of her daughter, request a few charming bites, as she called them. And dammit, Lexa was a noble and true daughter.

So here she stood, calming herself before the local dairy farm and bakery.

The tintinnabulation as she pushed open the heavy door was nearly lost to the constant chatter of bakery employees and frantic customers. Lexa weaved in and out of bustling shoppers, coming to a halt at the end of a ten-person line.

The bakery counter line crawled forward, and every time Lexa dipped her head to the side to gain insight on why the line was moving so slowly, all she saw was a flash of blonde hair attached to a blur of a frenzied yet striking young woman.

“It’s moving slowly, isn’t it, dear?”

Lexa smiled at the old woman who just hopped in line behind her.

“It’s always a mess during the holidays.” Her words were direct and easily interpreted as annoyed, yet the elder’s smile was anything but.

While Lexa was no deipnosophist, she could manage a bit of chit-chat with a kindly old lady who reminded her of her best friend’s doting grandmother. “I think that employee is the only one working the counter. It can’t be easy with this many people,” Lexa motioned towards the counter just as the blonde woman heaved a sigh and greeted the next customer.

“That poor dear,” the old woman clicked her tongue. “We’ll be sure to leave her a nice tip, won’t we?”

Lexa nodded, her cheeks aching with the smile she sported. It wasn’t every day she met someone genuinely kind.

The line still moved at a glacial pace, but with the light and easy conversation with her line partner, the time passed quickly. Soon enough, Lexa stood only two people from the front.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s not ready’? I called it in three days ago!”

A hoarse voice crashed into Lexa’s ears, and she whipped her head towards the front of the line. A burly man leaned forward, hands on the counter, shoulders tense, as he continued to berate the pretty employee.

“I left a message on the machine. I said it needed to be ready today!”

“Sir,” the woman’s voice was calm yet peppered with exhaustion, and it was so much more luscious than Lexa anticipated. “Did someone from the bakery call to confirm or give you an order number?”

“Can’t you just give me one of those?” He motioned towards the stack of cakes on the back counter, and Lexa’s skin bristled.

A bout of pure protective nature coursed through her veins as she watched the young woman set her lips in a firm yet polite line.

“I’m sorry, sir, but those are reserved for other custo-”

“This is ridiculous,” he spat at the employee, and Lexa’s muscles tensed. “I can’t believe how far this place has fallen. Hiring fools instead of employees. I want a cake. There are cakes right there…”

Lexa wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword, her leather gauntlet stretching as she flexed her fingers. She drew the blade slow and with purpose, holding it at the ready.

She tapped the tip of her sword to the rude man’s shoulder. “Thou must apologize to the fair maiden. She art naught but a kind woman caught in a difficult situation.”

He turned with malice laced throughout his gaze. “And who do you think you are? Her knight in shining armor?”

Lexa stood tall, her heavy hauberk shifting and jingling, filling her with pride and confidence. “If she would permit me to be, aye.”

She spared a glance to the maiden in question, and the small nod Lexa received bolstered her further. “Apologize, or I will be duty-bound to defend her honor.”

The man gave Lexa an acute once over, sizing up his competition. With a low growl, he reached behind him, pulling a longsword from the scabbard on his back.

The metal blade scraped loud and dull against his sheath, and Lexa smirked. An expert swordsman could draw silently. This oaf was just a rude buffoon who needed to be taught a lesson in humility.

He swung without warning, his four-foot blade slicing through the air. Lexa, much quicker with her arming sword, ducked beneath the clumsy attempt.

With a flash of steel, Lexa whipped her lighter and swifter sword low, confident her foe would be unable to block such a blow. As her blade clanged hard against his battle-battered greaves, he stumbled backwards.

Lexa leapt into action, assaulting the retreating man with a succession of sudden attacks.

He grunted, his breath drawing in quick bursts with the peripeteia of combat. Emboldened by her enemy’s perpetually slower parries, Lexa ducked under a final graceless swing and landed a devastating blow to the center of his cuirass.

The large man stumbled, and this time, fell to his knees. Chest heaving with exertion, Lexa held the tip of her sword to the soft underside of his throat. “Thou hast lost. Apologize.”

“Dear? It’s your turn.”

Lexa shook her head, ridding her overactive mind of knights and chivalry. She cleared her throat and stepped up to the counter.

“Hi.”

The blonde employee was overwhelmingly gorgeous, with bonhomie dripping from her eyes down to the soft smile adorning her lips. Despite the heat in her cheeks and the fluttering in the pit of her stomach, a halcyon wave crashed around Lexa. After what seemed like an eternity, she muttered back a simple greeting.

“What can I do for you today?” The woman rested her hands gently on the counter in front of her, and Lexa, the suddenly smitten woman she was, completely forgot the reason she was actually there. She thought of nothing but the rude man who insulted this beauteous creature before her.

“I would like to formally apologize on behalf of that man from earlier.” Lexa locked eyes with brilliant blue. “He was out of line, and you were nothing but professional and courteous towards him-” Lexa leaned forward to get a better view of the simple name tag pinned to the woman’s white shirt. “Clarke,” she added with a smile.

“That’s sweet of you to say. Thank you,” Clarke bit back her smile. She dropped her voice low, and with a little twinkle in her eye, nodded behind Lexa. “But if you don’t order something in the next ten seconds, you’re going to be witness to a whole lot more rude customers.”

“Right, sorry,” Lexa mumbled as she tried desperately to contain her blushing cheeks. “Half a dozen cannolis, half a dozen peanut butter cookies, and one cream puff, please.”

“Just one cream puff?” Clarke paused, the pastry box half-popped open in her hand.

“I get one for myself every year. A little treat,” Lexa shrugged as she watched Clarke expertly pluck two fluffy pastry cream-filled treats into the box. “Oh, just one.”

Clarke looked up from the display case with a smile so big and bright she could have lit the night sky. “Try meat.” Her full cheeks ignited into an impressive array of pinks and reds as she manically shook her head. “My treat,” Clarke corrected, and Lexa couldn’t help but smile at the fluster-induced spoonerism.

“For being my knight in shining armor,” Clarke finished with a wink that transferred that impressive blush from her cheeks straight to Lexa’s. Her heart triple-timed, desperate to catch up to her racing brain. It wasn’t every day she met a beautiful woman who perhaps, just maybe, shared her slight obsession with lady knights.

“Can you please stop flirting and get on with your job?”

Lexa whipped around, shooting a death glare to the middle-aged woman standing three customers back. “Some of us have better things to do than watch this-” she waved her hand dismissively towards Lexa and Clarke. “Whatever this is.”

“Yeah, flirt on your own time!” Another snappy customer shouted, starting a low rumble of assertion that quickly grew to a cacophonous roar.

Lexa’s jaw hardened. In the minute she’d been standing there, Clarke had never stopped moving. The entire time they were talking, Clarke had been expertly plucking treats from the display case and packaging them neatly. These chthonian people should just crawl back under the filthy rock they came from.

“A little patience goes a long way,” Lexa narrowed her eyes at the woman who started it all.

She was met with a sneer that stoked the fire of anger deep within her belly. Lexa wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her sword once again. “I wish you all no harm, but if provoked, I will respond with force.”

The corybantic crowd drew their weapons: long swords, daggers, maces, axes, all glistened under the fluorescent lights.

Lexa waited atiptoe for some fool to make the first mistake. But her patience soon wore thin, and unwilling to be caught unprepared, she pulled her own knightly sword from her hip.

A jumble of footsteps echoed behind her, and Lexa gasped as Clarke, donned in a black Gambeson cinched around her waist with a golden belt and sheath, leapt over the bakery counter. Her boot-clad feet landed with a graceful thump, and she drew her own arming sword.

Lexa wanted to exclaim, to ask a million questions, but the crowd around inched forward. The gleam of polished steel glinted in her eyes. The stuttered adrenaline-infused breaths prickled her ears.

Lexa tightened her grip around the leather-clad hilt, her muscles coiled and ready. Clarke’s back pressed against hers as they both took cautious steps, painting an unseen circle on the old hardwood floors, surveying their numerous enemies.

The ephemeral dance ended in a flick of a wrist. The crowd fell in on them, a mess of steel and wood. Clang after clang, Lexa deflected the attacks, all the while keeping an alert ear to the sound of Clarke fighting.

Her fair maiden was no amateur.

The whistle of a well-made blade cut through the air behind her like a song of combat. Clarke’s back bumped against hers as a particularly devious blow caught Lexa’s sword.

A steady hand grasped her free one, and with a knowing squeeze, they twirled on their heels, exchanging foes in a deadly dance that couldn’t have been better choreographed if they tried.

They fought, side by side, deflecting here, helping there, until their foes we’re nothing more but a groaning mess of plate armor and chainmail amongst the floorboards.

Lexa wiped the sweat from her brow, sheathing her sword with a satisfied smirk. “My lady,” Lexa assessed the destruction around them. “You wield a sword to rival me.”

With a satisfied twirl of her blade, Clarke slipped the weapon securely into her sheath. “I expect not a savior, but a partner, my good dame.”

She smirked at Lexa, all satisfied and battle lust-filled. The kilig was unbearable, so Lexa took a bold step forward, wrapped her hand around Clarke’s neck, and leaned in.

“I’ll be right with the next customer,” Clarke smiled politely to the back of the crowd. She caught Lexa’s gaze, her face a little more flushed. “Thirty-seven dollars even.”

Lexa signed the electronic pad and accepted the pastry box from Clarke. With nothing more than a shy smile, she sulked towards the door, mindful to give that middle-aged love-hater an intimidating glare as she passed.

“Dear, this is unacceptable.”

Lexa turned around just in time to be leveled with a heartbreaking disappoint glare that grandmothers executed with perfection. Her line partner heaved a heavy sigh, her plastic shopping bag crinkling against her long coat in the process.

“What do you mean?” Lexa swallowed down the urge to cower.

“This shilly-shally-” she waved frantically at Lexa. “Just ask that young lady out. There isn’t a nobler cause in the world than matters of the heart, dear.”

The woman was right.

Lexa squared her shoulders and marched straight to the front of the line, ignoring several annoyed glares in the process. But when she reached the display case, Clarke was nowhere to be found. A chipper brunette stood in her place, tending to customers with a smile too big to be considered normal.

A few more frantic minutes were spent scouring the shop, and when she finally caved and asked an employee, she was informed that Clarke had been sent home for the day.

Lexa sulked out of the bakery, slipping the pastry box carefully into the passenger seat of her car. Her fingers gripped the keys, when out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of blonde.

Keys forgotten, Lexa hopped out of the car.

Clarke whirled around the parking lot, her unbuttoned coat fluttering in the freezing wind, searching for something. She turned down Lexa’s row. Her frantic movements halted.

Lexa offered a gentle wave, and Clarke began the slow walk towards her. The closer she came, the more manic Lexa’s heart. Clarke, rid of her bakery uniform, strode towards her with a gleam in her eyes. Her jeans, the midnight blue scarf tied haphazardly around her neck, the little gray beanie perched atop her blonde waves, it all added to the gawsy appeal.

“Hi.”

A glorious gallimaufry of emotions washed over Lexa with that one word. Her stomach fluttered, her brain fuzzed, and her fingers tingled with the need to touch. But Lexa stamped it all down and smiled a simple, “Hello.”

Clarke shoved her hands in her pockets, suddenly insecure, the vicissitudes of her emotions written plainly on her face. “My replacement finally showed up,” she mumbled into the frigid air.

“Long day?”

“The longest.” Clarke shifted from foot to foot, and the wind caught the lapels of her winter coat. A flash of a familiar symbol burned into Lexa’s eyes. A logo.

Not just any logo. The logo to the state renaissance faire. A faire Lexa regularly frequented during its season, soaking in the swordplay and artisans, the weaponry and the atmosphere. And here her new love was, standing before her, broadcasting to the world her interest in medieval merriment.

If Lexa wasn’t already a mess from a simple conversation in the bakery, she certainly was a catastrophe now.

“Would you like to get a drink with me?” Clarke’s voice held none of the worries her body showed.

Lexa stepped forward, grasped Clarke’s hand, and pressed a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. With gentle flourish, because what kind of noble knight would she be if she denied a lady such as Clarke a swoon-worthy acceptance, Lexa nodded, “It would be my honor.”

#clexa secret santa 2019 #hi #clexa fanfic #clexa

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