#Bottom-lexa

[butmakeitgayblog]

I hope you know I would die for Sal.

He would never want that.

If you're ded, how could you give pats? How could you enjoy the wonder of his company? No. That's no good 😔

Only live and give pats. Also bring treats. Just don't tell mom 👀

[lexa-griffins]

Hey so the tags on that post about Lexa’s book of pressed flowers? First off: how dare you and secondly: who said you could make me cry?

🤭😇🤭😇🤭😇🤭😇

There is something about how Lexa always wanted to recall those small memories via flowers. It was never a secret how much Lexa adores flowers and they defined a lot of her life and her memories.

And for Clarke is like a photo album looking at them. She is heart broken of course, she just lost her wife. But they are old, and she knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. And looking at those flowers, recognizing Lexa's handwriting below each flower, the dates, the simple quick descriptions about what each flower means in the moment she receive them.

They wanted a good life. A happy one, filled with love and children. A life lived in this little farm where they planned they future when they were smaller children. A quiet existence when the world expected greatness from them and they did not want to chase glory.

They had it. Not without its ups and downs, but they did it. And Lexa's book, one filled with small gestures of others' love and appreciation towards her, almost like a gratitude journal, tells Clarke she made Lexa happy. They lived, they loved and they were loved.

Clarke knows she won't last long on this earth without her soulmate. She doesn't think her heart can handle long now that Lexa is gone. But she'll live her last days looking around this farm of theirs, caressing the face of their children, theirs too now wrinkled like her own, kissing the cheeks of their grandchildren, all of them adults now with a childlike smile when they see her. She'll tell stories about Lexa and their love and their children growing up to their small great grandchildren who will only have vague memories of them by the time they can fully recall their younger years. She'll keep the book by her bedside, tracing her frail fingers over the flowers and recalling it all until one day she can't do so anymore.

And then, one day, Clarke won't wake up again. But her eyes will open somewhere, and she'll see Lexa again, the same beautiful woman she married, the one she envisioned when tracing the flower petals, the baby that never made it in her arms as they wait to welcome her. Lexa will kiss her and whisper how she did not expect her love here so soon. Clarke will cry and tell her she couldn't stay away from her. One year was already more time apart than they spent in nearly 70 years together. Around them, all the dried flowers in Lexa's book, brown with time, will be in full bloom, each telling a small piece of their story together.

[heda-in-the-clouds]

8% is being way to kind. I’d say a solid 30% at least is more deserving of the pain that will be inflicted.

Wait a minute. Why is the angst and pain tax rising for me? You haven't even seen anything yet. I merely suggested an idea to @butmakeitgayblog that fit the narrative for AWTR Lexa. I prefer the 8% from @karmensandiegowashere

[leaningluthor]

I saw you tags on the TTPD variants post and sameeee. I was so excited I got the first one and I usually like just getting the og/main variant. But oh the black dog looks so cool. I caved in and preordered it too 😔

it’s just so cool!! i might do the same and cancel my original order idk

[userlaylivia]

I’m sorry to say this but season 7 was definitely canon. The show’s writers wrote it, it aired, that’s kinda what canon is.

Oh also did you see the results for you most popular poll?? It for a whopping 458 votes and almost 23 of them were for bellarke!!

well it isn't canon to me because in no world would clarke kill bellamy, people have to be smoking crack to believe that she couldn't do it in S4! And also fyi bellarke we're supposed to be endgame but jroth did a 180 at the last moment and did that shit storm instead!! also if you hate what I have to say so much don't go.on my blog! I'm bellarke until the day I die!! I did like clexa too but they don't compare at all to bellarke!

and um so???? it wasn't most popular ships lol it was which of my otps do you prefer and idgaf how many votes they had they still won lol and a lot of bellarke shippers were disappointed in S7 so left the fandom! it doesn't mean their not still the most popular! idek why you care honestly it's my blog I can do what I want!!

[thelastwarriornun]

I posted 5,292 times in 2022

That's 4,506 more posts than 2021!

118 posts created (2%)

5,174 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lexa-griffins

@lunarllovely

@bottom-lexa

@elliesgaymachete

@actuallyapathy

I tagged 4,114 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#warrior nun - 669 posts

#ava silva - 442 posts

#otp: in the next - 406 posts

#sister beatrice - 402 posts

#lexa kom trikru - 294 posts

#clarke griffin - 272 posts

#otp: i'll always be with you - 238 posts

#writing things - 231 posts

#words - 180 posts

#the 100 - 179 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and it also makes sense given lilith uses that excuse often but doesn't actually do that great of a job expressing why her family influence

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The more I watch 1x08 the more I realize how important the entire episode is in Ava's transition and the arc season 2 takes. To start prior to this episode I think to a degree Ava feels some kind of connection with Beatrice (especially given the halo exploding scene. Yes no one else was directly at risk by this point but we also never see Ava react that way unless Beatrice is in the line of fire even in s2). Anyways through the course of the training it's obvious that there's a degree of familiarity and comfort that's shared between them that's different than either girl's relationship with the others. Other than Mary Ava hasn't actually spent all that much time with the group. Cut to the "What you are is beautiful" scene. We see Ava for the first time genuinely apologetic (despite not really doing anything wrong) and we see her respond to Beatrice's confession with care and consideration and almost in a way a confession of her own.

I've rewritten this like ten times because there's so much about this episode that I find important but cut to the end and the scene that really hammers in the arc we see in season 2. We see Ava wake up having just had a nightmare where Shannon basically told her all warrior nuns die quickly and the mission has basically killed the family she found much like Ava and it's enough for Ava to say fuck the mission I only care about keeping the halo from having to pass to one of you (cue the whole who's next after me you scene). This is the first time that we see Ava not only accept the mission but actively driving towards a specific outcome as she transitions from "survival at any cost" to "I refuse to watch you die". The fact that we see in the same scene where Ava promises to be the last warrior nun Beatrice begging Ava to let her help her absolutely panicked at Ava's sudden breakdown just fits the narrative so well. I think Ava had already decided at this point it was always going to be her if Beatrice's life was on the line and it's fucking me up.

43 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#4

what do you think beatrice and ava's love languages are? (both how they prefer to receive and express love)

Okay so I go back and forth quite a bit on this because I think that the answer is a blend of physical touch and words of affirmation for them both. I think for Beatrice in terms of preferred love language to receive physical touch is important, so much of the show revolves around Beatrice reassuring herself through contact with Ava (Obviously also for Ava's benefit but I think a lot of it is for herself). Obviously this also ties into how she expresses love but I think that words of affirmation comes into play more with her expression of love. Think of the times she makes a point to tell Ava that she trusts her, that she's there, or specifically the scene where she talks Ava through the wall.

Ava on the other hand is similar. I think in terms of how she expresses it physical touch is more prominent, and I think some of that has to do with the fact that Ava utilizes a lot of sarcasm and humor in how she communicates and that isn't always necessarily beneficial to expressing her affection to Beatrice. In terms of receiving I think with Ava the balance is more even in wanting to receive love through physical touch and words of affirmation. Ava has spent a lot of time being told that she's useless or that she's a burden plus one of the first people to take an interest in her was abusing her trust for his own gain and I think while we didn't get to see if Beatrice spent a lot of the 2 months rebuilding Ava's sense of self-worth and confidence. That said as someone who spent a lot of time not being able to feel anything I think physical touch is obviously important to her as well.

Ultimately I think one of the reasons they work so well is they both share the same forms of preferred love languages and I think because of how in sync they are they know which the other needs in that moment.

44 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

#3

It's the way in episode 1 Beatrice stands alone apart from everyone while Camila plays the piano. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself until Mary and Lilith sandwich her wrapping their arms around her. Because Shannon's gone and we know that Shannon's the first one who made Beatrice feel welcome. Even in the OCS Beatrice is isolated contained and it makes sense why she's so prone to anger in season 2 because her team her family has fractured apart in front of her eyes. Beatrice has watched her friends either die or turn. All she has is Ava, Camila, Yasmine, and Mother Superion and it's not enough but it's also everything and that above all else is the only reason she can't run away with Ava as much as she clearly wanted to.

51 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

#2

The fact that we literally hear Ava express that she knows there's nothing after death and yet her intended last words to Beatrice are "In the next" like why would you absolutely wreck my heart like that

58 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

So are we going to discuss the collective trauma that prevented us from accepting the glowing sword meant ava was back until Simon confirmed

104 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[your-dad-the-fag]

Raven (bored and and wants to cause chaos): who tops in your relationship?

Lexa (a little liar): me, I’m the commander in and out of bed

Clarke (calling her out on her bs): that’s not what happened last night babe

[legendarygladiatorbeliever]

🌈❤️Lexa Stahl❤️🌈

[owl127]

I would love to see alpha Lexa a bit self conscious about being on her hands and knees for Clarke. Also she could be embarrassed about asking Clarke if she can wrap her legs around Clarke's waist if they're in missionary. Basically Lexa learning how to bottom for Clarke 👀

That really inspired me, anon. Thanks!

Read on Ao3.

(Previous)

0000

Lexa’s thighs trembled as she lowered herself to the floor, her left knee popping as it hit the soft carpet of Clarke’s room.

A cool thumb touched the side of her lips and she opened them, but Clarke didn’t push it in, holding her chin instead.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clarke said in the darkness of her room, the soft early night rain splashing against the closed window.

Lexa shook her head. “But I want to.”

A thin ring of blue was the only light in Clarke’s dark eyes. “You don’t have to do this only because I do it for you.”

Lexa felt the skin between her eyes tighten at her frown. “I don’t do things only because you do them too.”

Clarke smiled, cupping Lexa’s cheek in surrender. She spread her legs on the bed, leaning backwards. Her erection bobbed between them, thick and angry red. “I’m not challenging you. But I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Lexa swallowed her pride, closing her eyes. Clarke’s hands were always so warm, with a soft, caring touch to her face. But Lexa was scared. She didn’t want to disappoint, and Clarke was so good at oral, and now she was afraid she would pale in comparison.

“Can—” Lexa cleared her throat, steeling herself and opening her eyes to find desire in Clarke’s face. “Can you tell me what to do?”

“Oh, darling.” Clarke sat up straighter on the bed, her knees engulfing Lexa’s shoulders. “I’ll do anything you want.”

0000

The hand on Lexa’s waist burned as it tightened its grip. Lexa breathed slowly, her entire body shaking as she buried her face in Clarke’s pillow.

She wanted this; she had asked Clarke for this, and she thought she was ready. But as Clarke finally slipped in with a broken whimper, Lexa was nothing but overwhelmed. Everything tightened like it had never been before. Her blunt nails hurt against the sheets, her skin itched, and the air was suddenly thin.

“Stop, stop,” Lexa mumbled under her breath, wiggling against the heated body behind her. She didn’t wait for Clarke, turning and ignoring the searching hands as she escaped to her en suite bathroom. The door locked with a low click. Her legs trembled as she sat on the closed toilet lid, and muscles she didn’t know she had were complaining and begging to be sore. Hard and leaking, her erection mocked her.

“Lexa?” Clarke asked with a shake of her voice. The following knocks on the door were fast, almost desperate. “Talk to me. Are you okay?” The doorknob rattled once.

Shame rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she bit down on a sob.

“Do you want me to go?” 

Lexa hated how small Clarke sounded. Either way, she didn’t reply.

It was close to an hour later when she opened the door, hoping to find her empty bedroom. Instead, sitting on the floor with her back against the bedside, Clarke looked up at her with red, puffy eyes. It made Lexa feel better and worse.

Clarke stood up and took a step closer, but stopped, pulling her arms back. The hesitation hurt, and then it hurt more because Lexa knew it was her fault.

“Can we just cuddle?” Lexa asked, avoiding pleading blue eyes.

Clarke nodded so fast her curls bounced, and Lexa hid under her girlfriend’s chin.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered to a little freckle on Clarke’s neck. “I thought I was ready, but…”

“Did I hurt you?” 

Lexa looked up to see tears on Clarke’s cheek. It downed on her what Clarke must be thinking, and she felt like crying, but it came out as an irritated snarl, and Clarke flinched.

“No, babe, no, I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I was overwhelmed.”

“I thought I had hurt you.”

“Fuck, Clarke, I’m sorry.” She melted into Clarke’s trembling arms. “I’m embarrassed.”

“We don’t have to do it if—”

“I’m embarrassed that I can’t take it the way you can.”

Clarke hugged her tighter, her warm hands rooming over Lexa’s back. Her touch was soothing, and Lexa took a deep breath, finally relaxing.

“We can start slow, babe,” Clarke said and kissed Lexa’s cheek. “We have all the time in the world.”

Lexa guided them to the bed and turned to let Clarke be the big spoon. She gasped when Clarke pulled her close.

“Clarke? Are you still hard?”

Clarke cleared her throat. “I kind of panicked when I thought I had hurt you, but I guess that half a second inside you will get me going for a while,” Clarke confessed from the protection of Lexa’s nape.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Lexa felt Clarke swallowing. “You’re sensitive. Let me use my mouth on you.”

The moan Clarke breathed on her skin was enough of a reply.

0000

It started as an argument.

Between the two alphas, arguments sometimes escalated to yelling, and then snarling, and finally, a hot, apologetic and anger-infused make out.

But Lexa wouldn’t let this one go easily, even if Clarke’s tongue worked marvels inside her mouth.

They had been to another of Anya’s obnoxious parties, chilling on the front porch with Clarke’s friends. A girl that later Lexa discovered was in the class Clarke TA’d, approached them with a smile Lexa immediately disliked.

The girl was insistent, Lexa had to give her that.

She flirted with Clarke in front of her, and while Clarke politely declined any suggested offers, Lexa intervened when the girl touched Clarke’s thigh without consent.

“Whoa, why do you even care?” the girl had asked with cheap alcohol in her breath, a sly smile as she looked Lexa up and down. “You’re an alpha.”

“I’m her girlfriend,” Lexa spit between gritted teeth, anger warming up her belly. Or those two shots of tequila, either or.

The girl stared Lexa down and laughed, high and sickly sweet. “But you’re an alpha. You can’t give her what I can.”

Before Lexa could react, Clarke, always the ambassador, stepped between them and said something that made the girl walk away with a mumbled “whatever.”

The fight unfolded after that, leading to the arguing in the car, the yelling outside Clarke’s apartment, and now the sweaty hand inside Lexa’s underwear.

Their clothes fell in batches, pools of polyester and cotton leaving a trail to Clarke’s bed. Clarke breathed hard as her back hit the mattress, her legs spreading to cradle Lexa between them. But Lexa shook her head, one hand firm on Clarke’s chest.

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

Clarke’s frustrated whine would be comic if it wasn’t for the desperate glint in her eyes. “Babe, I told you that I had never talked to that girl—” Lexa’s hand on Clarke’s throat cut her off. Not enough to choke, but more than necessary to shut her up. Clarke swallowed hard, and Lexa watched her pupil dilate.

“You’re going to fuck me, and you’re going to do it like you fucking mean it.”

Clarke swallowed again, nodding, and her dick throbbed against Lexa’s abs, earnest and leaking.

“Good.” Lexa let go of Clarke’s throat and allowed the other alpha to switch their positions. She hoped she sounded more assertive than she felt, but after many slow, patient times, Lexa was ready to feel Clarke letting go with her.

It was an understatement that neither would last the moment Clarke entered her, the arguing and the anger forgotten as Lexa clung to Clarke’s back. Her thighs trembled open, and Clarke kissed her chin and helped her lock them around her waist. She didn’t move at first, hovering over Lexa as they shared wet, deep pulls of air until Lexa nodded, Clarke’s long curls sticking to her forehead.

There was no warning as Clarke set a rhythm of shallow and fast thrusts, her headboard hitting the wall at a relentless pace. Lexa whined and held on, enjoying the way Clarke’s soft belly teased the head of her cock at each thrust. She pulled on blonde downy hair at Clarke’s neck, and Clarke growled, pulling Lexa’s hips higher and deepening her reach. Her broken, pitiful whine would embarrass Lexa if it didn’t feel so good.

“You ok?” Clarke panted between the sharp pumping of her hips and Lexa nodded, scratching the blonde’s back.

“Don’t stop.”

“Anything for you,” Clarke promised and pulled back enough for a messy, tech-clashing kiss, and found her spot on Lexa’s neck to keep fucking her silly into the bed.

Lexa didn’t know how long she could take that, with her legs already burning in protest, but she wouldn’t have to; she felt her climax climbing its way from her center, and instead of pursuing it, she let it come to her, surrendering any amount of control and letting Clarke do the hard work.

And God, she did it right.

Lexa dug her nails into supple flesh as a warning, gasping a single “Clarke” into the panting girl’s ear before throwing her head back and coming silently at first, her mouth open in a mute scream as she made a mess between them. The scream finally came along with the blackening of her vision, a moan loud enough to echo in the small bedroom.

Clarke moaned with her, her thrusts vigorously increasing in pace as Lexa trashed under her, and there was no more constant rhythm or pace, just a messy grinding and clash of wet flesh as Clarke came with a whispered confession of “better than any omega.” Lexa moaned all over again at that, adding to the growing mess between them.

“I love you,” Clarke said after controlling her breathing, brushing Lexa’s hair from her face. “I love you, Lexa. I love everything about you.”

Lexa kissed her forehead, and they both moaned as she fluttered around Clarke. “I love you too.”

Clarke nuzzled Lexa’s ear. “Do you know what I told that girl before she left?”

An involuntary snarl crossed Lexa’s lips at the thought of the nosy girl from the party. Clarke kissed it away with a chuckle. “I told her she could never fuck me the way you do.”

The growl that left Lexa’s lips was now playful, and she flipped them over, moaning as Clarke slipped out. “What about I remind you of that?” Lexa said breathlessly, leaning down to bite Clarke’s lip.

“Please do.”

[bottom-lexa]

Ok so Josie x Isabel Clexa au (minus the lying about the fight club because I want Fun). Thoughts?

[puthyflapps]

You wen off to war (the wilds fandom) and bottom lexa's took over this site

Off to war is correct cuz that fandom can be literal hell but listennnn,,,,I can’t help that they make my pussy vibrate at a high frequency 🥺

Find solace in the fact that much like all the stuff I’ve written about clexa that’s perpetually stuck in my drafts, there’s also a bunch of shoni stuff in there too. Y’all are kinda twinsies like that 🤭

[butmakeitgayblog]

😔 I have an AWTR question. What do Clarke and Lexa do when Lexa is having a bad day? The days when she’s feeling weak and tired and achy, not really able to do much, how do they spend those days and how does Clarke tend to comfort her?

(Bonus: how does Clarke feel when Lexa is having a worse than normal day? What’s going through her mind?)

In the beginning, it's subtle things that clue Clarke in that Lexa's having a bad day. Because God knows Lexa never makes it particularly easy. Never wants to inconvenience anyone ornmake anyone worry.

"What's the point? We already know why—"

"That is the point, Lexa," is a very common exchange in the early days when Clarke notices Lexa's moving just a little slower than normal. Rubbing her temples and eyes more. Grabbing the shop's counter to steady herself on off balance feet more. Lexa hates it and gets snippy because she tries so hard to be fine, but Clarke can see it anyway.

Those are the days when Clarke tries to be more attentive, always keeping one eye on the customer and the other on Lexa. Those are the days when she makes Lexa take more breaks, fixes her soup and dry toast she can nibble at that won't upset her stomach and is always refilling her drinks to keep them fresh. She launches herself into doing the clean up and the stocking, practically throwing herself at the ladder to reach things on high shelves before Lexa can even move to do it herself. She just makes it a given, a flow of responsibility between them. Lexa stays on her comfy little seat behind the counter and holds down the fort in that area, while Clarke takes up charge of everything else. They're a team. They got this.

But as things progress, it's less easy to cover up bad days with these little lighthearted patches. It becomes less about making Lexa feel alright in not performing at her best, and more about getting her to accept that doing nothing at all is perfectly ok as well.

Those are the days when Lexa can't really seem to make herself do more then sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the floor. Those are the days when she has to admit in a tiny voice that the room is kind of spinning too much for her to even feel safe on her own feet, much less making it to the bathroom, to the door, down the stairs.

So, once again, Clarke does all the heavy lifting for her. Quite literally, as in, actually scooping her up and carrying her down the stairs. Because Lexa hates being cooped up in her bedroom for long periods. Says it feels "too much like a prison. Like I'm already not a part of the world anymore, when I'm still right here."

And just hearing that kinda breaks something already very fragile in Clarke's heart, so she decided from the beginning that there'd be none of that.

Instead she just carries her downstairs or asks Gus to grab her if he's home (she knows he'd never admit it, but he still likes to feel useful despite knowing Clarke's already there). They can sit curled together in the livingroom watching movies or game shows because Lexa says that what she used to do with her mom on sick days. Sometimes, if Lexa's feeling up to it, they'll go sit on the front porch swing and take turns reading to each other for hours. Well. More Clarke reading to her than the other way around. Because on those days Lexa tends to drift off a lot, taking cat naps right there on Clarke's shoulder as she keeps reading to her in her sleep, one arm around her shoulders while the other holds the book propped open in her lap. And when the day is finally done, she just carries her girl back up to bed.

Clarke tries very very hard not to focus on herself on those days. It's almost easier that way, kind of like going on sort of autopilot. Because when she lets herself think too much about it, everything becomes too real, and this is about Lexa not herself. She can't let herself be selfish. Not on those days. So she buries and leaves it for a better day, should one ever come...

[lexa-griffins]

Okay so I have an outfit idea for jock!clarke (I was wearing it very much unintentionally and it gave me massive jock Clarke vibes). Sweatpants and matching sports bra. It would highlight both of her. Umm. Assets. We all know how incredible sweatpants are to show what’s down there and the sports bra just pushing her tiddies together??? 😮‍💨😮‍💨 Lexa.exe has stopped working.

😳 its a really casual outfit, the sweatpants hanging on her hips and clearly accentuating her crotch, the v lines and her stomach, the sports bra she enjoys hanging around in because it keeps the girls secure without being too restrictive and still pushes her boobs together so nicely.... the half done bun with her hair just a little messy, strong arms fully on display......

Lexa looks like a horny fool staring at her, glass of water half way through her mouth. Jesus fuck if her gf isn't the hottest girl alive, she better not take one single step outsife of thst door because all of that is for Lexa and Lexa only 😳😳😳

[tortillamastersblog]

𖣂 Not My Commander - Prologue | Lexa kom Trikru 𖣂

Pairing: Lexa kom Trukru x reader

Warnings: Blood, violence, injuries, cursing and some steamy scenes

Summary: Sending a hundred underaged prisoners down to Earth to find out if it’s inhabitable again is undoubtedly immoral, so The Council decides to send you down first, rather than float you for your crimes.

If you survive for more than a couple of hours, they can —in good conscience— send down the 100. If you don’t, well, then good riddance.

Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

How the hell did I get here? I think, as I’m being dragged through the woods half-conscious.

A moment ago I was still in my pod, hurtling through space and now I’m here with a giant gash on my temple from when my head slammed against the control panel upon impact on the ground.

I thought I could take a moment and gather my thoughts once the pod had turned off, but no. The door had been yanked open a couple hours later and I was pulled out by the people who are now dragging me to who knows where.

They’re covered in thick furs and menacing-looking war paint and apart from the short-lived surprise I felt at seeing humans somehow inhabiting Earth, I’m shaking like a leaf now, not knowing what they’re going to do to me.

For all I know they could eat me? I mean, have you seen them?

I scoff internally, watching the forest floor pass by beneath me.

I knew as soon as I was arrested on the Ark that I’d die for my crime of finding out something I shouldn’t have, but I never imagined it would happen like this.

Now that I think about it, this isn’t “mercy”, as Jaha put it. Not at all. . . It’s cruel and I honestly would have rather been floated than be grilled and eaten like a shish kebab.

I don’t know how much time has passed when we finally stop near a stream, but I’m tired beyond belief and my legs are covered in scratches and bruises from being dragged around all day. The sun is about to set, bathing the forest in orange light and if it weren’t for my current situation I would have marveled at the sight.

The Grounders, as I’ve decided to call them, tie up my hands and feet and shove me against the bottom of a tree before setting up a fire and some sleep furs.

I watch longingly as they begin passing around some bread and dry meat, but they don’t even think of sharing with me as they settle down, talking in a foreign language around the fire.

My lips are chapped and my mouth is dry and even though I know they won’t share their food, I’m hoping they’ll share some of their water.

“Excuse me?” I speak up, my voice cracking. “Hello!”

They don’t acknowledge me. They don’t even spare me a glance.

Assholes.

I let myself fall sideways and wiggle toward the stream as best as I can with my hands and feet bound.

My clothes get all dirty and a couple of branches scratch up my face, but I keep pushing until I finally reach the water.

I take a big gulp, shivering at how cold it is before taking another sip, and another, and another.

I drink until I almost feel sick, not having had anything all day. Then, out of nowhere I’m yanked backward.

I look over my shoulder at the Grounder who’s got ahold of my sweatshirt and glare at him. “Hey! What’s your problem? It’s not like I was going to escape! How could I. . .” I whisper that last part dejectedly, but the grounder only grunts and throws me back against the tree.

It makes my back sting and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent a curse from slipping off my tongue as the grounder gets another rope, wrapping it around my middle and around the tree to keep me kn place.

“What do you even want from me?” I ask, tugging against on restraints.

No reply.

“Where are you taking me?”

Again, nothing.

The Grounder makes sure all my bindings are secure before rejoining the others around the fire.

As frustrating as it is not to get any answers, I’m starting to think that they might not understand what I’m saying. After all, they haven’t spoken anything other than their own language and whenever I ask them something, they just ignore me.

I lean my head back against the tree and close my eyes, trying my best to ignore my aching body.

It’s been a very long day and I feel myself falling asleep to the sound of the Grounders’ chatter and the crackling of the fire.

What is this place? I look around with wide eyes taking in my surroundings.

We’re in a bustling city which has a huge tower right in the middle of it.

The tower looks like a remnant of the old world, falling apart but still intact, while the buildings around it seem to be fairly new. They’re small and look primitive being made out of wood and metal scraps, but they’re sturdy nonetheless and function as a multitude of things. I’m pretty sure we’ve already passed a forgery, a food stand, a butcher shop and a couple of stalls that sell clothes.

Impressive. . .

After a restless night of sleep, the Grounder that tied me to the tree cut me loose at dawn and pulled me to my feet. Then, they wordlessly dragged me through the woods again until we got here.

We’re pushing through the crowd of people gathered in the streets who eye us curiously, and if the direction we’re going in is anything to go by, I’m guessing we’re headed for the tower.

Why? I don’t know, but it seems like they don’t want to kill me just yet. Otherwise they would have done it the moment they found me.

Unlike yesterday, the sky today is covered by low, dark clouds. The wind has also picked up, carrying a metallic smell with it which I’m thinking might be the smell I’ve read about in books that’s associated with rain.

I’ve always wanted to know what rain is like, what it looks and sounds like, and what it feels like on the skin, but now I’ll probably be dead before any of that happens.

What if they throw me off the tower in some sort of ritualistic sacrifice?

My heart drops at the thought, but I’m too hungry and weak to dig my heels into the ground to stop our advancing.

I haven’t had anything to eat since being hauled out of my cell on the Ark, and the only thing I’ve had to drink was the water I managed to sip from the stream last night before being so rudely interrupted.

We enter the tower, the Grounders holding me nodding at the guards stationed next to the doors, and my eyes widen at the sight of the seemingly working elevator we get on.

We descended, the elevator creaking as it moves slowly before the doors open once again, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Metal cell doors line each side and before I can protest I’m shoved into one of the cells.

The dirt-covered ground is cold and unrelenting as my knees collide with it and I wince in pain, curling up in one of the corners as the door gets slammed shut.

Great, from one cell to the next.

The Grounders leave, chatting animatedly and I drop my eyes to the metal bracelet on my wrist.

It transmits my vital signs to the Ark and because I’ve been down here for more than a day now I’m sure it has already proven that the Earth is survivable which means the 100 will be prepared to be sent down here as well.

I don’t know how long it will take for them to get here though. A day maybe? Or a week? A month? Several months?

I just don’t know, all I know is that I’m on my own and no one is coming to help me.

There’s no window in the cell, the only light streaming in through the spaces between the metal bars of the door is from the flickering torch in the hallway.

I sigh, shivering slightly, and close my eyes. My legs are pulled up to my chest and I protectively wrap my arms around them, pulling them even closer to my body.

No one is coming to help. . . I’m going to die here.

I must have fallen asleep because I wake up an unknown amount of time later with a start when I’m roughly pulled to my feet by the same Grounder who dragged me through the forest.

“Get up,” he growls and the fact that he speaks English after all stuns me so much that he has to shove me to get us moving.

“Where are we going?” I ask weakly. I’m lightheaded from not eating in so long and my tongue feels like sandpaper.

The Grounder grunts and wraps his hand around my upper arm, his grip so harsh I’m sure it will leave a bruise.

“Hey! I asked you some—“

I cringe when the back of his monstrous hand harshly collides with my cheek, sending a sting through the entire right side of my face.

“The Commander is ready to see you now,” he snarls. He pulls me into the elevator with him and I raise my hand to my throbbing cheek, closing my eyes to will the tears that are threatening to spill away.

Who the hell is The Commander?! And why does he want to see me? Why didn’t they just kill me when they found me. . .

________________________________________________

This is just the beginning of the story, people!!

[cascowriteswords]

bite me

Clarke should have seen this coming. The signs have been there all along. 

“There is such thing as too much garlic, Clarke.”

“The sun is hurting my eyes.” 

“My skin is sensitive, Clarke, I can only wear gold or medical grade titanium.”

“This is the skin of a killer, Clarke.”

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

But still, the signs were all there, all these years. It was only her own naivety that prevented her from predicting this earlier on. 

“So, vampire, hm?” she hums as Lexa jogs down the stairs, velvety black collar popped up around the slender column of her neck, coattails flowing behind her. “I didn’t peg you for team Edward.”

“I’m not,” Lexa answers smoothly, pecking Clarke’s cheek as she takes the mug of coffee held out toward her, leaving a black outline of her lips in their wake. “Party City was fresh out of werewolf costumes. But I’m not team Jacob, I’m team Seth - the only good character.”

“I see,” Clarke says coyly. “Remember when I said you should pick out a costume a few weeks ago? Instead of the night before Halloween?” 

Lexa is buzzing around the kitchen, spreading avocado onto her toast and grabbing pickled onions from the fridge. It’s an ironically vegetarian breakfast for someone with painted-on blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. “Are you saying you think the kids won’t like my costume, Clarke?”

Working as a physical therapist in an outpatient pediatric clinic means going all out for Halloween isn’t optional. Lexa’s kiddos would be so disappointed if their favorite clinician wasn’t dressed up, and getting 3 year olds to focus on PT is hard enough on a normal day. She has all sorts of spooky themed games and obstacle courses planned for the day.

“Of course not, they’ll love it. They love you.”

“I love you,” Lexa quickly says, eyes flicking up to meet Clarke’s in a way that somehow still makes her stomach swoop even 3 years in. 

“I love you,” Clarke answers, grinning affectionately at her sweet golden retriever girlfriend as she eats her toast in full vampire garb as their tiny bistro table. “Are you going to ask what I think about your costume?” 

Lexa quirks a brow inquisitively, peering at Clarke over the top of her mug as she takes a sip of coffee. “What do you think of my costume, love?”

Clarke moves away from the counter she’d been leaning against and prowls forward, as if she’s the one dressed as a lethal predator instead of Lexa, intently focused on her target. When she reaches the table she rests one hand on its edge and the other on the back of Lexa’s chair, caging her in. “I think,” she says, ducking down to press her lips to the hinge of Lexa’s jaw which earns her a lovely, pretty breathy sound from her girlfriend, “You might be the one dressed as a vampire, but I’m going to be eating you tonight.” Lexa swallows thickly and Clarke grins; nips at her neck, feels the pulse fluttering beneath her tongue as it laves over the skin there. 

When she leans back Lexa’s eyes follow her, pupils a bit wider and darker than they were just a moment ago which suits her costume quite nicely. Clarke reaches out and runs a thumb along Lexa’s bottom lip, cleaning up the edge of her black lipstick. “I’m going back to bed for a little while,” she tells Lexa. “Have a great day at work, honey. And happy Halloween.” 

“Clarke,” Lexa whines. “How am I meant to focus at all today now.”

“You’re a highly intelligent and cunning immortal being, you’ll figure something out.”

She skitters up the stairs smugly, already knowing how tightly wound Lexa will be when she returns home in 9 hours.

Already more than a little excited to unwind her.

[unchartedcloud]

Killing Strangers - Chapter 5

John Wick/Modern Assassin AU

TW: Alcohol

Rating: M

Even the Network's most feared assassin sometimes needs help—but she can't seem to escape a certain rival, even when she isn't working.

There’s a pause. A long pause. So long, in fact, that Lexa is about to turn around to face the inevitable disbelief that must be painted on her friends’ faces when she spots golden curls on the horizon. It’s not so unbelievable to see Clarke here. She is, after all, also a member of the Network and as such could certainly have earned an invitation to this event. But seeing her here, with no preamble or pretense, has Lexa’s heart hammering in her chest before she can take a breath. And whatever Lexa’s daydreams might have come up with, the reality is far better: Wanheda looks incredible in a bikini. Anya says something that sounds like "I just gave her that whisky, but who knows" but Lexa's not listening. An oversized linen shirt serves as a coverup for the black balconette bikini that’s pushing Clarke’s breasts into the most enticing shape, and it catches the breeze as she strolls along the sand with someone Lexa doesn’t recognize. Part of her wants to know—is curious if Clarke is here for work and, if not, who she spends time with for pleasure—but she can’t pull her eyes away from the bared expanse of tanned skin across Clarke’s stomach. Black bottoms with gold accents to match the chain draped across her bikini’s band are pulled high over her hips, exposing every silken inch of thigh, and no whisky can compare to the burn now on Lexa’s lips.  A drink sits in Clarke’s hand, condensation glistening along with the faint sheen of sweat—or, perhaps, tanning oil—on Clarke’s skin. As Lexa watches, she lifts a pair of sunglasses onto her forehead, pushing sea-blown curls back and exposing blue eyes that turn to look skeptically, if amusedly, at her companion. Nothing Anya could possibly be saying is more interesting than what Clarke says then, but after the third snap in front of Lexa’s eyes distracts her from reading Clarke’s lips, she sighs and turns to glare at the heiress and the tailor. “Yes?” “What could be more interesting than us?” Anya asks. She leans forward against the railing, calculating eyes taking in the beachgoers. “A new friend, perhaps?”

Read on Ao3.