#Clexaweek2020 Day 3

[aphrodites-law]

Clexa Week, Day 3.

Clarke wakes up eight years in the future, where her college best friend happens to be her girlfriend.

The mattress was surprisingly comfortable beneath her, but it was nothing compared to the plushness of her pillow and the warmth of her blanket. Clarke refused to open her eyes, simply because such morning bliss was rare these days. Eventually she'd worry about her chemistry final, but for now she wouldn’t pop this bubble. 

"I know you're up," she heard, the voice sweet and amused. Clarke could recognize her best friend's tone anywhere. So it was Lexa who'd helped her get to bed after the party - that made sense.

"M'not," Clarke answered gruffly, pulling the blanket closer to her face. By some miracle, she didn't have a pounding headache and her mouth didn't taste like beer and chips. She felt the weight of Lexa's arm under her chest, but she could also feel Lexa's nose brush against her cheek while she pressed feathery-light kisses against her neck. Huh. That was definitely more physical than Lexa usually was with her.

"Are you sure?" Lexa asked as she pressed her body closer to hers, her hand inching lower until-

Clarke jolted around, looking up at Lexa who gave her a cheeky smile.

"Now you're up," Lexa said. 

Clarke's immediate thought was that she looked… different. Her hair wasn't the braided and dyed mane Clarke had last seen her sporting, but instead it was back to her natural brown and looser curls. She didn't have a lick of makeup on, not even a speckle of black that would point to her love affair with thick eyeliner. She looked refreshed and glowing, like she'd slept twelve hours and was ready to kick down doors with her resume in hand. Like they weren’t all hurtling toward an unknown in three months and scared to death about what it all meant. Lexa looked way more mature than the girl she'd played beer pong with just last night.

Startling good looks aside, something else caught Clarke's attention.

"Holy shit, your arm," she squawked in surprise. Lexa had a large tattoo wrapped around her bicep - very visible bicep - but there was no redness around it or any indication that it was new ink.

"What? It's fine, I swear," Lexa said, brushing her hand over the scratch marks Clarke then noticed below her elbow. Clearly, Lexa was referencing another conversation.

Clarke sat up and ignored the feeling in the pit of her stomach when Lexa's hand fell to her thigh. She looked around and recognized none of the furniture, let alone whose room they were in.

"Where are we?" she asked, now wide-awake. She couldn't remember a single thing after passing out on Lincoln's basement couch. She knew she'd had a lot to drink, and mixing her alcohol had been a horrible idea despite feeling absolutely justified in the moment, but feeling this confused the next morning was unprecedented.  

"I know. It's weird for me too," Lexa answered.

There were four moving boxes in a corner and a dresser in the other. One of the two doors was ajar, with what seemed like a cat bed surrounded by small toys just next to it. The room clearly wasn’t very lived in, with cream-colored walls still bright and bare. When Clarke leaned her head to the right, she spotted two other boxes labeled Shoes and Bags by the foot of the bed.

Something was very, very off.

Before she could even open her mouth, Lexa kissed her cheek.

"I'm gonna make waffles," she said before getting off the bed and leaving the room with a stretch of her arms above her head.

It was only after Clarke zeroed in on the ripple of Lexa's back muscles beneath her back tattoo that she was able to form words again:

"Lexa, you're…" she trailed off long after her best friend had left. "Naked. Holy shit."

Clarke threw the covers off her legs and looked everywhere for her phone, which she found charging by what she assumed was Lexa's on the windowsill. Or maybe the black one was hers and the silver one Lexa's. Fuck. She picked up the first and froze. The lock screen was a picture of Lexa and her kissing on a beach, both tan and in bikinis. Feeling her heart thunder in her chest, Clarke picked up the other phone. This one's lock screen was just a picture of her, but Clarke had no memory of ever standing beneath a waterfall, nevermind having hair that short.

"What the fuck!" 

She ran to the other door by the dresser, finding the bathroom and her reflection in the large mirror above the sink. Her hair wasn't much longer than the choppy bob in the picture, but it was her own face that Clarke barely recognized. She'd lost her baby fat and overall her features looked different. More mature - just like Lexa. Older, even. But that was impossible... right?

Clarke tried to unlock the phone in a panic, but her passcode didn't work and neither did Lexa's usual one. She zeroed in on the date: Sunday, March 13. Weird. She was certain yesterday had been March 15. Did she really drink that much? Clarke took a deep breath and ran a hand through her short hair, not disliking the sensation. She thought about the way Lexa had woken her up and frowned. It was nothing like her. They were physical with each other, sure, but not… naked physical. 

She heard a loud meow and Lexa laughing.

"I think we need to handle Nia with oven mittens now," Lexa announced from another room.  

Nia? Clarke shook her head, dismissing that nugget of information for now. She looked back at the picture of herself on the lock screen, reasoning that it just had to be really good Photoshop. Lexa might’ve enlisted Raven's help to do it and then maybe they'd chopped off her hair while she slept… though that was an idea Clarke didn't really believe Lexa, who was so passionate about consent in any situation, would agree to. And it still didn't explain the-

"Wrinkles," Clarke muttered as she stared at herself in the mirror again. She rubbed her forehead and the corner of her eyes, but none of the lines seemed to come off. Clarke wasn't vain but she wasn't demure either - she liked her body and liked showing it off. And this body still looked like hers, but it felt… different. The kind of different that couldn't happen overnight.

"Babe?"

Clarke turned around and gripped the counter, watching Lexa walk in. At least she'd put on shorts and a t-shirt.

"Do you think you can get the devil's kitten to eat her wet food?"

Feeling on the verge of a panic attack, Clarke nodded as if she understood what Lexa was even saying. She couldn't take her eyes off of her best friend, trying to spot any micro expression that would give Lexa away. A twitch of her lips, a glint in her eye or even a dimple - anything at all. Eventually, Clarke knew she had to go for broke:

"Lexa," she started, taking a breath. "You're fucking with me, right?"

Lexa smiled in confusion. "Regarding?"

Clarke motioned around them: "All of this."

Lexa glanced at the sink and then back at Clarke. "Did I leave the toothpaste open?"

"Lexa, come on, cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

Clarke grabbed her hair. "This! Okay, fine: I slept for ages and now I'm a hag! Haha! Hilarious!"

Lexa blinked. "What?"

"Raven's in the living room with her fucking camera, isn't she?"

Lexa's confusion vanished. "Oh, babe..."

Clarke held her breath when Lexa reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Why was she nervous standing in front of her best friend? They talked like this all the time! They applied each other's makeup and did each other's hair too often to count. Sometimes they even woke up in each other’s arms with both their heads on the same pillow. Being close was their thing. Feeling comfortable around each other's bodies was like second nature.

So why did it feel different now?

"I promised no surprise party," Lexa said in a soft tone. "No one's going to jump up from behind the couch and pop a balloon. Raven is still in Hawaii, thousands of miles away. We're just going to stay in all weekend, order greasy food, and focus on unboxing our stuff. 30 is going to hit you so gently you won't even feel it. We ca-"

"30. I'm 30?" Clarke asked in horror.

Lexa kissed her exposed shoulder. "Well, not yet…"

Clarke barely breathed as Lexa continued peppering kisses on her neck. She felt so lost, trying to grasp what the hell was happening. At the same time, her body felt… strangely calm. She couldn't help but lean into Lexa, head tilting to the side to give her more room.

"Lexa…" she trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. "I think… something's wrong. I'm not supposed to be 30, I… God, is that why I'm so sore?"

Lexa nuzzled her neck, off in her own world. "I'm pretty sure that's from the sex," she mumbled, busy sucking on a tender spot Clarke wasn't even aware she had.  

"The sex," Clarke repeated after stifling a moan. "Right. The sex we had. Together?"

“You're being weird."

"I'm not," Clarke croaked.

Lexa cupped her ass while she took her earlobe in her mouth. "I'm kind of into it."

"Lexa!" Clarke sputtered, blushing furiously.

Lexa laughed as she finally drew back. Her nose was scrunched up and Clarke had never seen her so…

There had been Costia, of course, the reason why Clarke knew what romantic bliss looked like on Lexa’s face, but she'd never… she'd never been the one directly facing that expression. Never been the reason for the softness in Lexa's eyes or her lazy, lovesick grin. It almost physically hurt to realize it then.

"Lexa-"

“C’mere.”

Lexa cupped Clarke's cheeks and kissed her, the whole thing so smooth that Clarke closed her eyes on reflex and fell into it, as if her body knew exactly it needed this. Lexa smelled like nothing else, familiar and yet new. This was her best friend; the girl she'd take a bullet for. Now her best friend was slipping her tongue in her mouth and Clarke couldn't think of a single reason to stop her. Her heart went mad in her chest, pounding away. She'd never felt a kiss like this, where her mind went blank and all she could do was fall into it knowing Lexa would catch her. It felt like nothing else she knew. Like it was ruining her for any other kiss that didn't taste exactly like this.

"Hmm…" Lexa pulled back with a slight frown, slowly licking her bottom lip. She opened her eyes and took a step back, as if something wasn't quite right.

Clarke panicked, wondering if the kiss had been different than what Lexa was used to. "What is it?"

Lexa stared at her for a beat longer before her face relaxed into a smile. "Happy first day in our new home, babe."

- 

Part 2

[clexaweekofficial]

https://tesseractingrey.tumblr.com/post/644435350497968128/whats-the-problem-i-dont-know-well-maybe-im :)

[clarketomylexa]

any given tuesday

a day late for clexa week day 3 ‘cause uni is kicking my butt...

They're a perfect cliche: the time traveller and the immortal. 

Kissing Clarke feels like the ending to a Nicholas Sparks novel and with the pressure of her lips, the entire word slips away.

read on ao3

The coffee shop sits empty between the lunch and breakfast rush.

The hours that Sunday sees filled with eggs benedict and post-yoga chatter is silent on weekday mornings—a ten forty twilight zone in which writers, procrastinators and a single, hassled English Lit major thrive—and Lexa watches from across the street in the rain, fingers wound around the stem of a green umbrella.

It looks undeniably normal from here; the pin-striped awning, the gold letters on the window, the green bulb of the 14th Street station glowing outside it the February gloom. Having given up on customers, the hostess stands behind the counter, sipping an unwanted coffee from a paper cup while the barista is on break.

It could be any given Tuesday if it weren’t for the time traveller sitting in the corner most booth.

She appears to Lexa in fragments as she crosses the street, the reflection of the walk signal lurid and white in the puddles beneath her feet. Each facet of her—the chipped blue nail polish, the slope of her smile, the shine of a gold hoop earring nestled beneath light hair—finds Lexa in isolation, like a broken Picasso or a dream.

If it weren’t for the waitress stooped down to clear an empty plate from the table in front of her, Lexa would be tempted to believe she is just that.

A dream.  

It’s been seventy years since Lexa last saw her and she looks exactly the same.

Everything from the way she sits to the way she holds her mug to her lips reminds Lexa of the night they met—of silk and lace and cigarette smoke. The memories are so vivid they set her teeth on edge.  

The café is bigger than she thought it would be when she steps inside—bigger than she’d imagined it to be all of the years she’s stood outside on the pavement, waiting for the right time to go in. The pin-striped booths wrap themselves away around the corner of the counter one side of the restaurant and the wallpaper is light and airy. Lexa drapes the thick wool of her coat over one arm and lifts her hair from the collar of her turtleneck, scanning the restaurant for the figure she saw from outside.  

“Would you like a table?”

When she looks back the waitress is watching her politely.

“No thank you. I’m meeting someone.”

It’s strange to hear herself say the words out loud. She can’t count how many times she’s played out this exact scenario in her head—how many times she’d imagined what she would say or how it would go when she could finally step inside. Now that she’s really here, it doesn’t seem real.

The waitress disappears and Lexa ventures further into the restaurant, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck.

She can see her there by the window: elbow resting on the table, a coffee shop pamphlet spread out on its surface, fingers pressed to her temple as she reads. She doesn’t look up when Lexa approaches.

“Clarke.”

Lexa sees the exact moment Clarke registers her: the twitch of the fingers on her left hand where they rest on her fork, the flutter of lashes as she lifts her eyes from her reading and the reddening of her cheeks. When she looks up, the smile on her face is familiar and open. She looks almost relieved.

“You came,” she says, gesturing for Lexa to sit down as casually as if she’d invited Lexa out on a coffee date the night before and it occurs to Lexa quite suddenly that, for her at least, she did.

The thought ignites fears in her belly she hadn’t even considered until now.

She’s been in love with Clarke Griffin since the moment she met her—this blond paradox of a girl with her strange clothes and foreign words. A single night together was all she needed to know that she would tear down the decades to find her again but it’s been so long since then—she’s been so many things to so many people—it’s impossible she’s the same person as the one Clarke left.

Looking at Clarke now, she sees the same girl as she had that night—the same girl who left her alone in an empty bed the morning after with a name, date and address and the words ‘come find me’ on a slip of white paper. She sees a modern sweater over the silky dress she’d worn and her own kisses drying on Clarke’s stained lips and it makes her keenly aware of just how much time has passed.

Is it possible she’s spent the better half of a century clawing her way back to a girl who might not love her back?

The thought seems too awful to bear.

The waitress returns before Lexa can find an answer, placing a stack of pancakes and a milk jug of syrup on the table and Clarke thanks her happily, rearranging the food that’s already there to accommodate it.

There’s a feast laid out in front of her — eggs, bacon, toast and home fries. When one of the plates doesn’t fit, she shifts a stack of empty ones to the nearby table.

“Sorry,” she gestures to the spread with her fork once she’s finished—eggs, bacon, toast and home fries—and covers her mouth as she chews. “It helps with the nausea.” From travelling, Lexa thinks. She remembers Clarke telling her. “You must get that too?”

Lexa shakes her head. She doesn’t—not nausea at least. There’ll be pain sometimes, deep, ingrained pain in her calves and the backs of her knees as the years sweep past like the outgoing tide—growing pains, Anya calls them, and maybe she’s right—but she can’t blame Clarke for assuming wrong. Time travelling and immortality do seem to inhabit two ends of the same spectrum of existence.

The smile on Clarke’s face falters at Lexa’s answer but doesn’t disappear completely. Instead, it morphs into something deeper. A cavern opens behind her eyes, full of understanding and it dismantles Lexa entirely.

“How long has it been?”

Clarke doesn’t have to explain for Lexa to know what she’s asking. She must know—she must have done the math—but hearing it out loud is what makes it real so Lexa swallows and looks around the empty café before answering.  

“Seventy-four years.”

Clarke looks like she might cry.

“I’m sorry I left so quickly,” she says.

Lexa shakes her head.

“I’m sorry it took so long to find you.”

It’s an insensitive joke—the smile Clarke returns to her is one part fondness and two parts disbelief—but it’s been so long now that Lexa feels she’s earned the right to make fun of such things if only to stop her heart from caving under the pressure.    

It had taken two months for her to conclude Clarke Griffin as she appeared to Lexa that night wouldn’t exist for quite some time and another nine before she found any Griffin’s whatsoever within the Continental United States to base her search off of when the time came.

Once she did, it was a waiting game.

Clarke appeared to her everywhere then: in newspapers and history books, framed black and white photographs on mantels and restaurant walls. It seemed that, despite all of her charms, she hadn’t quite picked up on the subtleties of her trade as much as she probably ought to have.

Either that or nobody knew to look.

Lexa did though. By 1954, sightings of her had become so frequent Lexa had a collection dedicated to them: magazine clippings stuck with paste to the pages of leather Moleskine and mentions of her name circled in smudged, ballpoint ink in an effort to pinpoint where she would appear next.

One particularly odd hardback found tucked behind a shelf in a shop claiming to sell ‘Old, Used & Rare Books’ told the story of a blond-haired, blue-eyed bastard niece of a Tudor King who appeared at court for a week before promptly disappearing, leaving the mystery of her identity in her wake. Another — a glossy book of 19th-century photography with a blue fabric cover — printed a portrait taken of her in 1867, colourised in pink, red and baby blue.

It was a comfort if nothing else—collecting that is.  

A lifetime sat between her and the date Clarke had given her that night—an infinite combination of people and places to pass through—and the fear of not making it to the one that mattered was an ever-present companion, the thought of meeting her in the middle the only thing that could soothe it.

The more she collected, the more solid her plan became, sealing itself like hard clay into her subconscious. She didn’t have to wait. She didn’t have to play this game. She could subvert the universe—intercept her before their time—and it would be OK.  

Looking at Clarke now, Lexa knows how wrong she’d been.

Aside from the obvious flaws—them being that one: Clarke didn’t have a pattern, and two: any time she encountered Clarke other than the one prescribed was almost certain to end in disaster according to every novel, film and television show that she’s come into contact with since—the knowledge that there was never any path for them other than this one is glaringly obvious in the light of their reunion in the way it never was back then.  

It was fate that led her here—fate, destiny or some wide-eyed combination of the two—just like it was fate that led Clarke to her all those years ago; a self-fulfilling prophecy of which the only outcome could be this moment, so singular and unique in its existence, it could only have been crafted just for them.  

Clarke knows this, too.

It’s why she’s looking at Lexa like that; an expression so specific and intense Lexa feels it slung through her own body. It’s sad, she thinks—achingly, soulfully sad—but soft too, in a way Lexa hasn’t felt since the night they met since Clarke’s fingers smoothed through her curls and her lips breathed champagne bubbles over her rouged cheeks.    

It makes Lexa—hanging here in front of Clarke by a decades-old promise—scared.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Clarke asks, nudging the bowl of home fries in Lexa’s direction. She smiles shyly but there’s a tightness around her mouth, a plea in the furrow of her brows that screams for Lexa to say something—anything.  

Lexa doesn’t know how.

How do you explain to someone that they’re all you’ve ever wanted? How do you tell them that you’re afraid you won’t be the same to them?

“If it’s no trouble,” she answers eventually and watches the way Clarke’s tense shoulders unravel.

//

Noon sees the lunch crowd filter in—gallery owners and bookstore clerks chased over the twelve o’clock streets by the rising sun—but no one notices the reunion taking place in the corner of the café, the two of them cinched together over the tabletop, as if by some invisible, decades-old string.

It’s weathered this string. It has borne the brunt of so much heartache—so many years of waiting—but it’s still pulled just as tight between her own heart and Clarke’s as it was seventy-four years ago and it gives Lexa hope that they will be OK.

“No!” Clarke groans, cheeks red as she pours over the photograph in her hands. It was already an artefact when Lexa found it at an estate sale in Long Island back in 1994 but now the thick, white border and it’s spidery blue caption— Rebecca’s Birthday, October 1976 —is yellowed and the corners are creased from being handled. “Tell me I didn’t look like that!”

“I think the bell-bottoms are fetching,” Lexa smiles innocently, playing with the damp string of her teabag.

She loves watching the way Clarke talks; loves hearing the cadence of her voice and seeing the way her lips quirk. It’s the little things that disappear when all you have to remember someone by are captured likenesses and the relief that Lexa feels at being able to piece Clarke back together into a whole person again is so strong it’s almost physical.

“No one looks good in bell-bottoms,” Clarke shakes her head in disgust and Lexa laughs.

“Tell that to the person who lived through them.”

As soon as the words are free of her lips, Lexa wishes she hadn’t said them. Wishes they’d stayed trapped inside of her alongside every other dark, unpleasant thought she’s ever had but, try as she might, she can’t claw them back. All she can do is watch Clarke’s shoulders tighten, her face still.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispers, brow tightened under the weight of her guilt.

She wonders how much longer they’re going to have to do this dance; if they’re going to spend their entire lives tiptoeing and avoiding the obvious.

Clarke shakes her head, dismissing her apology gently.

“It’s so old.”

Her voice is serious now as she smooths her thumb over the photograph, tracing the lines worn into the cardstock as delicately as if they were veins beneath skin.

It must be strange, Lexa thinks, to see oneself captured in such a way. The Clarke in the photograph—an anonymous blond figure in the background of the picture—looks the same age as the Clarke sitting before her now. To her, this can’t have been more than a few months ago. To the world, it’s been over four decades.

“I’ve had it for a long time,” Lexa replies as Clarke slides it back over the table, avoiding the stack of dirty plates yet to be taken away. Their fingers catch across yellowed cardstock and the feeling—raw and electric—lingers on Lexa’s skin well after Clarke has retracted her hand to search for something in her bag

She watches Clarke search for a moment, frowning into its depths before pulling out a photograph of her own—this one glossy and new, the edges crisp and the ink fresh.

Lexa’s breath trips.

It’s her.

It’s her the night they met; the pale lace of her own dress, among a sea of dark evening jackets and silky, low-slung gowns, the curls of her own cropped hair, caught in mid-flight as she turned to face the direction of the camera.

It’s the moment she first laid eyes on Clarke all those years ago, rendered her forever as vivid as it had had been then, and it’s so sudden, Lexa thinks she might cry.

Heat—thick and aching builds up behind her eyes. Her lips tremble.

She hasn’t seen a picture of herself in years.  

“This was…”  

“Last night,” Clarke shrugs helplessly, reaching forward over dirty dishes and cold tea to brush a thick lock of hair off of Lexa’s forehead. “You grew out your hair.

Lexa laughs at that; she’s done so many things since then, how perfectly Clarke of her to point out a change of such little consequence. How perceptive of her to smooth over Lexa’s fears with so few words. “I like it.”

//

“You live here?”

Clarke stares in wonderment at the crown moulding and elaborate bannisters of the hallway nestled at the top of a walk-up West of the park.

Lexa knows what she’s thinking: rent here can’t be cheap. And it isn’t, or it wouldn’t be, if not for Anya.

Anya who’s doorstep Lexa appeared on twenty-eight years ago with nothing more than a suitcase and the name of her dead uncle to convince her to help her.

Anya who’s taught Lexa more about life in those twenty-eight years alone than Lexa’s learnt herself in all of the years she’s been alive.

“A friend put me onto it,” she explains, fishing the key out of her pocket and holding the door open for Clarke to step inside.

The apartment hasn’t changed much since Lexa moved in in the mid-nineties: it’s small but tidy with a long, skinny kitchen and her bed tucked into the U of the bay window. Her furniture is classic and clean, all estate-sale or Goodwill finds, antique armchairs and old, revarnished tables. If she’s learned anything over the years, it’s that leaning into trends leaves her with nothing but horribly outdating possessions—she still shivers when she thinks about the lava lamp and awful brown-and-mustard lounge set she’d acquired somewhere around 1975—so she sticks to simplicity instead. Bold colours are kept to a minimum.  

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke marvels, running her fingers over the stems of the books lining the living room walls; rows of them stacked neatly on their shelves like little soldiers conscripted into Lexa’s one-woman war against boredom.

She picks one up—a first edition of H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine with its beige cover and embossed title—and smiles at Lexa from the corner of her eye, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“You’ve been thinking about me.”  

It’s a statement, not a question.

It’s true regardless.

“Always.”

Clarke flashes her a cheeky smile, lip caught between her teeth as she slots the book back into place. It settles against the wood with a dull thud. Lexa watches the progression of Clarke’s fingers down the shelf.

They stop at the spine of a worn, black journal, pulling it from its perch before Lexa can stop her and Lexa feels her heart evacuate her chest.

Its cover is blank save shiny fingerprints worn into the thick leather from years of handling, and a single strip of white paper taped to it with peeling scotch tape. It only takes Clarke a second to recognise her own writing. The note she left seventy-four years ago, last night.

“You kept it?”

Lexa nods.

“Yes.”

She watches Clarke leaf through the pages, watches her take in the photographs and the articles, the timelines drawn in shaky ink. The notes scribbled in the margins of newspaper clippings and speculations about mysterious blue-eyed blonds.

There are journal entries in there too, Lexa knows. Dated from 1946 until now. Tiny paragraphs of life between all of the waiting.

When Clarke looks up at her there are tears in her eyes. Her voice is so thick, she almost can’t speak.

“You waited for me. All this time.”

Lexa swallows. Did Clarke think she’d do anything else?

A shaky breath pulls her out of her thoughts. There are tears on the tip of Clarke’s nose.

“I didn’t expect you to do this…”

She shakes her head, looking upward, blinking tears off her lashes.

“I never thought I’d be someone worth waiting for.”

“You’re the only person that’s ever mattered,” Lexa replies, so quickly it shocks her.

It’s a truth she feels down to her bones. One etched into her existence. The knowledge that they’ll always find each other. That they’re all that matters.

She wobbled sometimes. It’s been so many years there’s no surprise she doubted it but that doesn’t make it any less true.

Suddenly, Clarke is everywhere at once.

Her fingers are in Lexa’s hair, her lips are on Lexa’s jaw, her entire being is a flurry of movement so intense it sets Lexa alight like kindling to a flame. Lexa kisses back with just as much intensity—a desperate kind of decades-old need, nurtured and tended to with gentle hands—her heart beating frantically in her chest.

There’s a distant thunk; the journal falls to the rug beneath their feet.

Lexa’s fingers map their way along Clarke’s cheeks, down her neck, along her shoulders, under her jaw, remembering lost textures and the way it feels to be kissed. After so long without it—so long fantasizing and wishing, hoping and praying—it’s a sensation so strong it makes her dizzy.

She can hardly think.

She can hardly breathe.  

Clarke tastes like rich, dark coffee and syrup and, beneath that, champagne. She breathes hot breathes along Lexa’s cheek and her fingers rake desperately over Lexa’s stomach beneath her clothes, nails clawing at the layers of thick wool until her coat spills off her shoulder and stumbles backward until she feels her mattress give beneath her buckling knees.

She sits.

For a moment, Clarke hangs there above her as if suspended by some greater force. Lexa can smell the sweetness of her perfume and traces of herself trapped in the folds of her clothes. Can see the tiny baby hairs at her hairline and the pretty flush on her cheeks.

She’s crying, Lexa thinks. Her eyes are wide and shiny, a watercolour shade of blue because Lexa is crying too: hot, wet tears she can feel dripping down the valley of her face and when she reaches shaking fingers up to wipe them away, Clarke catches them, her own fingers curling under the shelf of her jaw, her own thumb brushing them away.

Lexa blinks against the feeling and swallows the sob caught halfway between her heart and her mouth.

Oh, God.

This is real.

She’s here.

It’s enough to spur her onward as she leans forward, eyes still closed as she slips a hand around the back of Clarke’s neck and pulls her down to the mattress.

//

When Lexa wakes, it’s dark.

Properly dark now, not the four o’clock half-light that still shocks her to this day despite having lived through twenty-eight Winters in this city.

The curtains are open above her, slinging puddles of watery moonlight over the floor, the rug, the corner of a bookcase. An oblong patch of light illuminates the edge of the mattress and only then does Lexa realise she’s alone in bed, the sheets draped haphazardly over her bare body. It makes her heart trip.

Had it all been a dream?

It’s a thought that has the power to shatter her completely.

It’s a thought that has the power to shatter her entirely. She’s dreamt of such things before but never quite as vivid as this, never with so much detail and feeling but still, she supposes, stranger things have happened. Cold seeps in through every crack in her heart. She wants to cry.

She runs a hand over her face, over her hair and down the back of her neck until she hits a bruise, a pleasant ache in the dip of her collarbone that simmers beneath her skin like champagne bubbles and it’s enough to drive her fears away.

She hadn’t dreamt it.

A moment later the toilet flushes, a chink of yellow light skittering across the hardwood and Clarke pads back to bed, curling herself around Lexa’s prone body like she’s fit there all of her life. A hand fastens itself around Lexa’s bare waist.

I’m here, it says and the tension coiled through her ebbs away like the tide.

I love you, it says and Lexa sleeps without dreams.

//

The second time she wakes is a far more pleasant affair.

The cold of the night has retreated to the furthest corners of her mind and the curtains and closes against the morning sun, bathing them in warm orange and pales yellows.

When Lexa looks up, Clarke is there. The weight of her, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed with Lexa’s oxford short draped snugly around her shoulders, is firm and grounding.

After so many years of waking up alone, the shock of Clarke being there leaves her momentarily dumbfounded. For all of her waiting and wishing, all of her planning their reunion in her mind's eye, she has exactly no idea how they’ll navigate this from here on out.

In the past, it’s a thought which would have scared her half to death but she feels at peace with it now. Surely the hard part is over? Nothing that happens now can scare her any more than the thought of never seeing Clarke again had for so many years.

“You know I would call you a stalker but this is actually kind of flattering,” Clarke murmurs, sensing her movements.

Lexa sits up, sheets pooling around her waist and drapes herself over Clarke’s back. When Clarke sinks her head comfortably into the crook of her neck, she smiles. Clarke has the journal open in her lap. She runs her hands over the veins of ink and brittle paper.

“You’re the one who upped and left me for seventy-four years,” Lexa argues. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Take up knitting,” Clarke suggests, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw and Lexa grins.

“Oh, I did.”

“You did not!”

“I’ll have you know I was quite the handi-crafts woman.”

Clarke sighs contentedly against her.

“I’ll have to hold you to that.”

[kloxbian]

Like a Devil in Disguise

Synopsis:

Scattered on every wall of her cell was a sketch of someone’s face from the Ark. Her mother. Jaha. Kane. Pike. Bellamy. Anyone she’d known on the ground. She wrote the same message beneath all of their faces. The same one was written on the ground.

She wrote it in Trigedasleng, but she wrote a translation beneath the one on the floor.

Yu laik ste daun kom nau. You’re already dead.

It was a death warrant. One they signed the moment they touched the ground.

-

Clarke gets sent back in time for inexplicable reasons and all she wants is to be reunited with her Heda. No matter what it takes.

WARNINGS:

One: This story is very dark. It includes ruthless murder, animal death, people death, and people enjoying murder. If this bothers you, I would recommend you don’t read. 

Two: This contains themes of possessiveness. Though it is consensual, the consent is not referenced until toward the end. If someone thinking about another person like they own them is sensitive, don’t read.

Three: The end contains sexual references. There are no graphic scenes, but it references sex. 

Additional Notes: This story was inspired by two other works. The first is ‘Returning to Hell’ by ElseworldKara and littleraider99, one that I’ve referenced many times because it’s so fucking good. If you like this, definitely go read it. The second is 'I am Wanheda’ by TwilightQueenMZ. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and it centers around a concept very similar to this. Again, if you like this, go and read that.

A couple of trig phrases I didn’t put the translations to in story: (ai) fleim - (my) flame Kongeda - coalition Faya kom ai tombom - fire of my heart Lukot - Friend Slogen goufa - lazy child

-

Clarke opened her eyes to dim UV lights.

 Her body was sore all over, whether it be from the fight she’d just been in or from lying on a metal floor, she didn’t know. The last thing she could remember was Bellamy, crying over her after shooting her through the heart.

 Crying over the death of his enemy.

 Weak.

 It was a shame she had fallen to someone so cowardly.

 None of it mattered now, anyway. Not when she was locked up in solitary confinement again.

 How exactly was she here? She had no idea. She had a funny feeling Wanheda played a role in it, and perhaps some of her fellow spirits, but she couldn’t be certain. Wanheda never spoke. All she sent were vague feelings.

 Clarke picked up the charcoal that was lying on the floor next to her, looking at the walls. She’d been sent back close to when the hundred were sent down. Good. She wouldn’t have to wait long.

 She tossed the charcoal aside. Drawing was for peace. Wanheda is the opposite of peace. 

 Her body was severely lacking. The muscle she’d built up had all disappeared, and her skin was pale and unblemished. All signs of her previous life were gone. It would take a while to build back up to where she’d been, but she would have to make do.

 Days passed in a flurry. She spent as much time every day as she could trying to increase her strength. She’d need it on the ground, and the feeling of flimsy, breakable limbs was discomforting.

 When the final day rolled around, she had gotten nowhere. 

 She spent that last day writing out her messages to the council.

 Scattered on every wall of her cell was a sketch of someone’s face from the Ark. Her mother. Jaha. Kane. Pike. Bellamy. Anyone she’d known on the ground. She wrote the same message beneath all of their faces. The same one was written on the ground. 

 She wrote it in Trigedasleng, but she wrote a translation beneath the one on the floor.

 Yu laik ste daun kom nau.

 You’re already dead.

 It was a death warrant. One they signed the moment they touched the ground.

 One they signed for being so damn arrogant in believing the entire world belonged to them, disregarding the twelve tribes of the Kongeda.

 It had been a fatal mistake on their part.

 It would likely be so again.

 The guards burst through the door and demanded to face the wall with her hands up. Clarke complied. Wanheda spat furiously inside her at the undeserved compliance, but she knew it was necessary. They both had something they wanted on the ground, and they would get it.

 A bit of pride was worth sacrificing to see their flame again. Their faya kom ai tombom. Their flame lived again, and nothing on heaven or earth could stop them from getting to her.

 She was marched out of the cell, though she could see the guards looking warily at her message. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the other delinquents. Her mother was waiting by the entrance to the ship. Waiting for her. Waiting to say her goodbyes.

 Ha. Like that would happen.

 Clarke slipped to the other side of the line, hiding from her mother’s view until she walked in past her without her so much as noticing. The observation skills of these people were horrid.

 She took her seat. Wells sat down beside her a minute later. He tried to talk to her. She ignored him.

 Actually, on second thought, he wasn’t deserving of her hatred. He’d never done anything to harm her or her flaim. Well, he’d never actually known her flaim, but he was kind. He would never hurt anyone. Especially not Clarke’s mate.

 “Wells.” He stopped talking about whatever it was he’d been going on about. “I know you didn’t kill my father.”

 He blinked. “You do?”

 “Sh-yes.” Damn. It had been too long since she’d spoken English. She would have to be careful not to slip back into the familiar tongue of Trig. “Thank you, Wells. For trying to protect me. You’re a good friend.”

 Wells smiled nervously. Something about Clarke put him off; something about her felt almost… inhuman. Wrong. This wasn’t the same girl he’d known before. The cold glint in her eyes made that obvious. Still, she was his friend, and he wouldn’t let this waver him. “Of course, Clarke. You’re my best friend. I would never hurt you.”

 Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. No one on the Ark could, not without their guns. Guns were not honorable weapons. Even if Wanheda is death, Wanheda is honorable. She despises guns and all that use them.

 The ship jerked, engines humming to life all around them. The doors began to close, and she could hear her mother shouting. For her daughter. For Clarke. Clarke scoffed. For someone so desperate to protect their family, Abby sure did like to send them to certain death.

 The dropship detached from the Ark and began it’s plummet.

 Clarke hadn’t been awake for this last time. Her stomach leaped to her throat as they fell, fire bursting from the thrusters, completely at the mercy of metal machinery. This wasn’t a foe she could fight. She knew that they would be alright, that they would land safely, but it didn’t erase the fear.

 Just like last time, Finn unclipped his harness. Unlike last time, Clarke didn’t care whether or not he died.

 He floated over to her, mocking her, calling her the aggravating name of ‘princess.’ She ignored him. If the behavior persisted on the ground, she might not be able to restrain herself from killing him. Or better yet, restrain Wanheda. He’d suffer far worse at Wanheda’s hands than at Clarke’s.

 The parachutes opened. The entire ship jolted up, sending Finn and the two other boys spiraling through the air. One crashed into the wall, scrambling for something to hold onto, while the other went headfirst into a support beam and blew his own brains out. Finn managed better, grabbing onto the seats and holding himself there.

 They crashed to the ground. The second boy died on impact. Everyone else was alive. Exactly the same as last time. Except this time, Clarke didn’t bother warning them of the dangers of opening the ship. There were none. Even if they were, it was Bellamy. She wasn’t going to help him. Especially not after he murdered her.

 The doors opened. Octavia took the first step outside. Clarke watched from the rungs of the ladder. She’d liked Octavia well enough. She was ruthless when she had to be, strong, fought like a warrior. Would likely have been Indra’s successor. She was reckless, though, and cared too much about her enemies. A good warrior she was, a good leader she was not.

 They’d landed early in the day. The sun had just reached over the peak of the mountains, illuminating the snow-dusted top of Mount Weather. Their supposed target. Not this time. Not for her.

 An expedition still went out for it, though. Just not under her command.

 “You heard my father,” Wells argued. “We have to make it to Mount Weather! We can’t survive out here without it!”

 “Your father also sent us to our deaths,” Clarke deadpanned. “Plus, it’s been almost two centuries. Who knows whether it’s still secure. It might have fallen apart. The food might have rotted. Animals might have gotten in and eaten it all.”

 “It doesn’t have just food! It would be shelter. A place to make a home.”

 Clarke disagreed. Finn did not.

 “Come on, princess, isn’t it worth a shot?” He said, coming up next to her. “As much as I hate to say it, Jaha junior is right. We can’t survive out here.”

 “Then go ahead. Head to the mountain. I won’t be coming with you.”

 They did just that. It was the same people as last time. Wells took Clarke’s place at the head.

 Clarke stayed behind. She sat on one of the rocket thrusters and stared at the trees. Thinking. Plotting. Strategizing about how best to approach the issue of the Trikru. Or, more accurately, how to make both the Trikru and the delinquents cooperate with her.

 She could try and make peace with them. Or force them to.

 Then again, the expedition was already gone. Jasper would likely get stabbed through the stomach again. Simple peace wouldn’t be an option.

 Forced peace? Maybe. They wouldn’t dare disobey Wanheda. She’d just have to convince Heda to follow her plans. Which would mean they would have to offer something.

 Perhaps a few of the more obnoxious kids. A couple deaths ought to satisfy them for a time.

 “Well, don’t you look cheerful.” Clarke’s lip curled. Of course, Bellamy would have to antagonize her. “What, mad that your precious council tossed you out?”

 The look she gave him made him pause. He took a step away from her. She grinned. “Scared of a little girl, guardsman?”

 He scoffed, but the apprehension behind his eyes gave him away. She was glad she could still strike fear into the hearts of men.

 “Now, Bellamy, let me make something clear,” she said, standing up. “I know what you want. You want to protect your precious sister. But that’s not all. You want respect. Power. And you will not be getting it from these people.” She walked to him, watching as he shifted nervously, still standing his ground. “Your age and your gun do not make you superior. If you start causing problems, then we will have a problem. Do you understand?” There were only inches between their faces and she felt disgust rise inside her when his eyes flicked down to her lips. She shoved him on the chest. “Do you understand!?”

 His eyes widened and he nodded. Clarke’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Words, Blake.”

 “You can’t control me, Griffin,” he said, taking a step toward her. She snapped, feeling Wanheda rear her head inside her. “You may think you’re in charge, but you’re not.”

 She laughed. “Not yet. But trust me, you won’t want to get in my way. It will only end badly for you.”

 She unnerved him. It was obvious. But he was stubborn, and not in a good way. “We’ll see about that, princess.”

 That damned nickname. 

 She walked away before he pissed off the spirit of death even more.

 -

 Not much changed.

 The expedition came back a couple of hours later yelling about how someone had speared Jasper through the chest. The entire camp freaked. Clarke only laughed at them. Wells came up to her to relay the full story with Finn, Octavia, and Monty behind him. Her apathy put them on edge. They left her alone.

 She didn’t do much to help the others. During the day, she would leave camp alone. She didn’t have a knife or anything, but she had Wanheda, and that would have to do. She worked on regaining her strength. She caught her own food with her bare hands, using Wanheda’s powers to give it a quick death. She started her own fires outside and cooked her own food. A couple of times Bellamy had asked some of the kids to try and follow her. She’d easily lost them in the brush. She knew these woods better than any of them.

 Her strength was improving, and it surpassed all those in camp. Partially because none of them had ever trained their body, and also because they were starving. Nobody caught anything larger than a rabbit, and the five or ten that were caught each day didn’t feed everyone. They were starting to leave the area as well. The delinquents were loud.

 Nothing new happened past that. Clarke rarely joined with the other prisoners, but she knew she needed them to trust her at least a little bit. So she healed Jasper when he was brought back. She led Finn and Wells away from the acid fog when it came around. She went and retrieved Raven. She organized the construction of the walls, helping to attach the boards of wood. She kept Charlotte from killing Wells and had her punished accordingly, keeping her from dying. It was going well.

 Lincoln once again got them an audience with Anya. Clarke felt her excitement spike. This was what she’d been waiting for. The time she would reveal her identity and demand to see her flaim. Her Heda. 

 She led a small group to the bridge, consisting of Wells, Raven, Octavia, and Lincoln. Bellamy and them could be heard tromping along behind them. She’d deal with them later. As long as they didn’t start shooting her, everything would go well. She was certain. So was Wanheda. And Wanheda was rarely ever wrong.

 Three horses walked out of the trees. Before they could dismount, Clarke began approaching them, holding up a hand to stop the others from following. Anya sat back down on her horse, watching Clarke come closer.

 She stopped a few meters in front. Her lips curled up into a smile. “Ha yun, Onya kom Trikru, Oneda kom Heda (Hello, Anya of Trikru, General of the Commander).”

 Anya narrowed her eyes. “I see Lincoln has been teaching you are ways like the traitor he is.”

 Clarke laughed, a cold, heartless sound. “Yu laik skechi. Linkon don tich ai non nowe (You are wrong. Lincoln has taught me nothing).” She looked up into the woods on the opposite side of the bridge. “En tel yu reinja gon sen daun emo shuda op (And tell your archers to lower their weapons).”

 Anya narrowed her eyes. “Emo ste. Ha don yu get klin oso sleng, gada (They stay. How do you know our language, girl)?”

 Clarke smirked. “Nou meija. Chit ste meija em chon ai laik (Not important. What is important is who I am).”

 “En chon laik yu, gada (And who are you, girl)?”

 Clarke raised her chin. She knew they wouldn’t believe her without proof, but she would enjoy seeing the mirth drain from their faces when she showed her powers. “Ai laik Wanheda, Heda kom wamplei (I am Wanheda, commander of death).”

 As predicted, Anya and her guards laughed. “Leyos. Chon laik yu krei (Funny. Who are you really)?”

 Clarke grinned, teeth bared. “Wanheda.”

 “Beda ai reinja frag yu nowe (Should my archers kill you now)?”

 Clarke didn’t answer, walking closer. Anya drew her sword. Clarke ignored her, reaching out to touch the muzzle of one of her warrior’s steeds. The horse snorted, leaning into her touch. Anya snarled and Clarke smirked at her, eyes glowing blue. The horse’s eyes flickered closed and its legs gave out, collapsing onto the concrete. The warrior leaped off just in time to not be crushed. Clarke stepped back from the dead beast. “Wich ai in nowe (Believe me now)?”

 Anya backed her horse away, lowering her sword and waving for her archers to do the same. She eyed Clarke warily and lowered her head. “Sha, Wanheda. Bosh moba ga nou wich yu in (Yes, Wanheda. Apologies for not believing you).”

 Clarke nodded. “Bosh moba teik in op, Oneda. Bak na op Tondisi en tel yu Heda ai seiso na sin em. Miya sis ai op taim em biyo sha (Apologies accepted, General. Go back to TonDC and tell your commander I request to see her. Fetch me when she agrees).”

 Anya bowed her head. “Sha, Wanheda.” She spun her horse around, shouting commands to the archers to retreat. Clarke watched them go with a smug smile on her face.

 Octavia, Wells, and Raven were looking at her in awed confusion, while Lincoln was incredibly pale. He dropped to a knee before her. “Wanheda.”

 Clarke nodded. “Thank you for all that you’ve done, Lincoln. It will not be forgotten.” He rose back to his feet and nodded in thanks.

 “Wait, woah, what’s going on here?” Octavia pushed between them. “Lincoln, why did they keep calling her Wanheda? What does that mean?”

 Lincoln looked to Clarke for permission. With it granted, he recited a short version of the tale. “Wanheda is one of the most powerful spirits in our culture, right beneath the spirit of the commander. She is the avenger, the angel of death, and will occasionally rule alongside the commander.” Lincoln pointed to the dead horse on the bridge. “She has the power to administer death with a single touch.”

 The skeptical faces were washed away as they looked at the horse, which they had seen die instantly at Clarke’s touch. Clarke ignored their fearful gazes and began the trek back to camp. She looked into the bushes. “Oh, and Bellamy? You can come out. I could hear you trailing us since we left camp.”

 She didn’t stay to hear his words, but she could hear him yelling at her back as she walked away. Wanheda’s anger rose. Clarke knew what she wanted done to him and couldn’t agree more. He’d only be a problem.

 She’d take care of him tonight.

 -

 She announced to the delinquents that she’d come to a temporary agreement with the grounders and would be meeting their commander soon. She then left camp before the others could catch up to her.

 She stayed just on the outskirts all day, watching from the trees. Bellamy was arguing with Octavia about her, no doubt, and her suspicions were confirmed. Bellamy would never accept her as Wanheda. Not ever. He would turn the delinquents against her. She couldn’t have that. She stayed awake in her tent until midnight.

 Entering Bellamy’s tent, she ignored her disgust at his disorderliness. She shook his shoulder to wake him up.

 He blinked up at her in confusion. “Clarke?”

 “Shut up. I need to talk to you.” She backed up to the entrance of the tent, watching him indifferently. He rubbed his eyes, slowly waking up and stumbling out of his bedroll to throw on a shirt and pants. He followed her outside.

 “Clarke, what is it? Did something happen?” She ignored him, leading him out the front gate. Though she’d put up a wall, she’d made sure no guards were established. No one would know it was her.

 He had to walk quickly to keep up with her. “Can you answer me? Is this about what you did on the bridge? Your dead horse act? You speaking the enemy’s language?”

 Clarke turned around, making him stop in his tracks. She tilted her head, watching him for a moment. “Yes. It is. You don’t approve.”

 “Approve?” He laughed. “I don’t believe it. No one can kill something with a single touch. It was a good trick, though. And Lincoln probably taught you the language. No way you could know it just like that.”

 “No, I suppose not.” She walked closer to him, the maniacal glint in her eyes making him take a step back. “But I am Wanheda, the commander of death. I am more powerful than you could ever understand.”

 He laughed. “Just because you convinced a couple of savages that you’re some otherworldly being doesn’t mean I’ll be convinced.”

 She raised her hand and set it on his chest. “Then let me convince you.”

 Her eyes glowed ethereal blue and she felt her entire body tingle, her fingertips prickling. She felt him stiffen under her, his eyes widening as he began to choke. “Clarke, I-”

 “Shhhh,” she purred, leaning close to his face. “This is my revenge, lukot. I only regret that I can’t make you scream.” He gasped for breath, eyes rolling back into his head and collapsing onto the dirt. 

 She brushed herself off and turned back to camp, leaving his body on the trodden ground.

 -

 She heard people shouting from outside.

 Clarke stepped out of her tent, watching the delinquents scatter as Anya rode in, two warriors and a riderless horse behind her. Raven whistled from beside her. “Damn, that grounder’s nice!”

 An amused smirk covered her face. Only Raven.

 Clarke pushed through the wary teens, stepping confidently out of the crowd. Anya bowed her head. “Wanheda. Heda gada biyo laik sha yu kom op (Wanheda. The commander has agreed to your offer).”

 “Os. Gapa laik ain (Good. The horse is mine)?”

 “Sha Wanheda.”

 Clarke nodded, easily mounting the large beast. She looked over the stunned, afraid faces of ‘her’ people. Ha. If this scared them, she couldn’t wait for when they saw her by Heda’s side. 

 She stroked the horse’s neck. It was a black mare, half of a head sticking out of its cheek with large caves and lumps where the skeleton was deformed. It was a sturdy mare, aptly fit for one such as herself. She nodded, turning around and riding out of camp to TonDC with Anya and her guards on her heels.

 -

 They suspected.

 Clarke rode in at the head of the party, ahead of one of the Heda’s most trusted generals. The Trikru knew she wasn’t just some girl. She doubted they thought she was the great spirit of death, but they suspected. She spoke Trigedasleng, she surpassed the generals, she rode one of the most respectable horses they owned.

 Clarke rode to the stables, offering the stablehand her mare’s reins and making straight for the commander’s tent. The guards shifted to block the door. She recognized one of them as Gustus, Lexa’s personal guard.

 Clarke stopped in front of them. “Em Heda ogud gaf ai in (Is the commander ready to see me)?”

 The guards narrowed their eyes. Gustus spoke first. “The commander will not be seeing a Skaikru girl.”

 The Trikru were pushing in around them, hoping for a show. Clarke would give them one.

 She snarled. “I am no mere girl. Answer my question, Gustus kom Trikru, or I will force my way through you.”

 The people around them bristled with excitement. They expected her to fall. She knew that. None of them suspected.

 Anya pushed her way through the crowd, marching up to the guards to tell them of their folly, but Clarke raised a hand and stopped her in her tracks. She shook her head and Anya backed down obediently. It caused quite a reaction.

 Gustus looked to Anya. “Chomouda yu spek disha gada op nowe (Why do you bow to this girl)?”

 Anya shook her head. “Dula chit em biyo, Gostos (Do as she says, Gustus).”

 Gustus looked back to Clarke. She grinned, her eyes glowing blue. “Klir ai auda. Las ste lom (Let me through. Last warning).”

 Gustus’s eyes widened. He dropped to a knee. “Wanheda.” The Trikru around them fell silent and knelt, not willing to risk the wrath of death. Gustus stood and held open the fabric of the tent. She slipped through without so much a word.

 The guards in the tent shifted nervously as she walked past them, but she didn’t care about them. Her fleim sat upon her throne, knife twirling between her fingertips, face masked with dark kohl. She looked up and met Clarke’s eyes and she felt a spark deep within her. Wanheda was elated to finally be before Heda, and if Lexa’s minuscule reaction told her anything, she felt the same from the spirit within her.

 Lexa tilted her head to the side, deeming to speak Clarke’s birth tongue. “You are Wanheda, then?”

 Clarke dipped her head in respect. “Yes, Heda. I am. I come seeking an alliance between our two peoples.”

 “Yes, you are Skaikru.” Lexa stroked her knife up the blade. “You know how things such as these work.”

 “Sha, I do. In return for all of our trouble, I would offer some of our people to you. A sacrifice, for all that we have done and will do.”

 Lexa arched an eyebrow. “All you will do? That does not incline me to accept this offer.”

 “No, it would not. But I know much of my people. Those that you are currently dealing with were sent here because they are criminals. Some have changed their mindset. Some have not. I have no doubt that there will be trouble between us. I only ask that you would treat the crimes of us as if we were one of your people. Namely, not wiping us all out for the actions of a few.” 

 Lexa locked their gazes together and Clarke felt pleasantly hot under her gaze. “Suppose I agree to this. What would I get out of it?”

 “Many things. First and foremost, we can help you take down the Maunon.”

 Lexa sat back. “Really?”

 Clarke’s lips twitched up into a smirk. “We are sister spirits, Heda. Do you accuse me of lying?”

 “No. You speak truth, that much I know. I cannot understand how.”

 “And I will reveal it to you after I have the assurance of my people’s safety.”

 Lexa nodded. “And so you have it.”

 Indra took a step forward. “Heda, teik osir chich fig raun disha op (Commander, let us talk about this).”

 “Nowe, Indra. I have made my decision.” She turned back to Clarke. “We will discuss this after I have my payment.”

 Clarke nodded. “How many, Heda?”

 She tilted her head. “We will start with five.”

 -

 Clarke rode back to camp alone.

 She already had many people in mind for who to give to Lexa. The useless ones. The ones that would get in the way. The selfish ones. The ones whose deaths would be most accepted.

 She rode right through the open gates, the criminals scrambling to get out of her path. She reined her mare in, turning just in front of the dropship to look out at the delinquents. “The commander and I have come to an agreement.”

 Murphy scoffed and stepped toward her, seemingly unafraid of the large, dark, two-headed beast she rode. “And since when were you the one who made decisions around here?”

 “Would you rather I let the commander bring the full force of her armies down on you?” Murphy opened his mouth to reply but she didn’t let him. “I know you think that the grounders are savages. That we’re more advanced than them. We aren’t. The commander’s army numbers close to a hundred thousand. She’d need barely a fraction of it to bring us down.”

 Murphy reluctantly backed down. She nodded. “Good. Now listen. She has agreed to make peace with us as long as we follow her word. She will leave us to govern ourselves for now and has promised to treat us like she would one of her people.” The crowd sighed in relief. “But in return for our troubles, she wants five people turned over to her.”

 The relief disappeared and whispers broke out in the crowd. Someone raised their voice above it. “What would happen to them?”

 Clarke shrugged. “They would die.”

 Outbursts broke out among them. “And you accepted this?” Murphy scowled, once again taking the position as the voice of the people. “You agreed to give them children for them to murder?”

 “Would you rather us all be crushed beneath their feet?”

 “I’d rather fight back!” He shouted. “You said it yourself: she’d need only a fraction of her army to take us. She’ll underestimate us. We’ll kill her army!” Some people began to cheer, others looked on nervously.

 “And what then? When she calls upon even more of her army because you killed the first one?” Clarke urged her mare forward, towering over him. “We cannot fight them. We would not win.”

 She backed up, addressing the crowd. “Most of you have been contributing to help sustain us,” she said. “Hunting, building our walls, fixing our technology, foraging for food. You all have been a part of our survival. But the ones that haven’t, that have decided they’d rather sit back and rest their pretty little feet - I say those are the ones we had over to death.”

 People began to panic.

 They managed it themselves through all the chaos - singling out the ones they thought were more worthy to die than them and pushing them to the front, hoping and praying that they wouldn’t be chosen. She watched as these people were singled out by their friends, labeled as lazy and selfish.

 Clarke raised a hand. “Silence!” Her voice rang out over the clearing, quieting the delinquents. They looked up at her fearfully. The people in front, about nine of them, tried to run back into the crowd but weren’t able to. Clarke was amused at the cowardice of her people. At how they sacrificed the lives of others so they could live another day.

 “You.” They turned to her, afraid, knowing that their friends had abandoned them to die. “There are too many. Choose who will die.”

 They fought. They squabbled and fought and a couple retreated away, slipping back into the crowd. Clarke watched one of them charge up to her instead. “Why should we be the ones to die?”

 Clarke tilted her head. “What are you saying, boy?”

 “Why should we die? Maybe we should sacrifice you!”

 Shouts of agreement rose up. Clarke bared her teeth. “Try and I’ll kill you myself.”

 “You see!” The boy shouted, turning around to the delinquents. “She doesn’t care about us! She justs cares about herself! I saw we kill the Alpha Station scum!”

 They cheered loudly, pushing forward toward her. She was glad that Wells was elsewhere. Instead of retreating, Clarke swung a leg over and dismounted from her horse. She locked her gaze on the boy. “Come here.”

 “No.”

 “No?” She clucked her tongue. “Pity, then. I had been hoping you would be one of the ones to suffer by the Trikru’s hands. Instead, I’ll have to give you a swift death.”

 He snorted. “Oh, so you’re going to kill me? With what, your horse?”

 She said nothing, walking, stalking, closer to him. She could see that her silence unnerved him as he took a step back. She took his chin in her hand, angling it toward her as if she wanted a kiss. “No. I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

 The shock she sent through him had him dead in a second.

 She looked at the six remaining teens that had been pushed out of the crowd. “Well. I’m sure Lexa will be okay with an extra.”

 This time, there was no hope for them rallying support against her. The others were too afraid to disobey.

 -

 Anya returned the next day.

 Clarke had the chosen ones brought out and lined up in front of the general. She handed their custody to Anya, who had their hands tied and lined up behind her horse. Clarke, as the highest power, took point, with Anya behind her and the two guards riding behind the six sacrifices.

 They moved slowly with people on foot and got there in two hours. She could hear the whispers of her name, of Wanheda, spread through the people, and a smug smile settled onto her face. No longer would she be deemed an insignificant child. As Wanheda, she had the power of a nation behind her. She had indisputable power.

 Lexa was waiting outside her tent for Clarke.

 Well, maybe not so indisputable.

 Clarke followed Lexa inside her tent. No one else was inside, no guards, no Indra, just herself and Lexa. On the table was a large map of the territory, marking TonDC, the Mountain, the dropship, and each village scattered through Trikru. Lexa circled to the other side of the table, resting her hands lightly against its edge. “So, Wanheda, shall we begin?”

 “Indeed, Heda,” she said, dipping her head, eyes lighting up at the sight of their mate, their terrifying fleim, standing in front of them, alone. What opportunities it presented!

 “Tell me how you can help take down the mountain.”

 Clarke composed a rough list of every asset they had used last time to take it down. The dam, the reaper tunnels, how a single inside man can guarantee the destruction of the acid fog, how they can blow down the doors. Her mind wandered to what Lexa had done last time, how she had walked away and left her to die. Long forgiven, but still not forgotten.

 Lexa hummed, her fingers tapping the table in consideration. “And you know this how?”

 “Does it matter?” She leaned forward. “Trust me, fleim, I would never deceive you.”

 Lexa looked up sharply at Clarke’s name for her. She narrowed her eyes. “I do trust you, Wanheda. Wamplei. Our spirits have always worked side by side.”

 “And they will again.” She clenched her teeth, eyes scanning her mate’s body. “So, Lexa, have I satisfied my side of the deal?”

 Lexa watched Clarke rake her eyes up and down her body, watched how her eyes glowed soft blue and her fingers sparked, a reminder of their deadly touch. “You have. And I will satisfy mine.”

 “Good.” Clarke leaned back, tilting her head to the side, tongue running over her lips. “I’m glad we’ve been able to begin this… partnership, Heda. I look forward to more of it.”

 Lexa’s eyes darkened to a rich brown, Heda howling gleefully within her at this playful banter. She’d felt an unexplainable tug every time Wanheda was within her sights, Heda urging her desperately to take her, to grab her roughly and claim her as theirs. She had known that the spirit of Heda had a particular affection for its counterpart, but not one so… animalistic. She couldn’t deny that it was swaying her. The girl’s cold beauty didn’t help either.

 Clarke knew the effect that she had on Lexa. Wanheda cackled, enjoying every second with their mate, and Clarke couldn’t deny that they both had desires. She strolled leisurely around the table to stand next to Lexa, leaning in close to her ear. “I know what you want, ai fleim. Don’t deny us both of it.” A hand reached up to squeeze Lexa’s neck lightly before she turned away, leaving the tent.

 -

 They stand side by side in front of the chief’s hut, Indra, Anya, and a few others a few feet away. The six delinquents had been tied up to the posts, torches illuminating them in eerie orange light. A scout had been sent to fetch the other Skaikru, who now crowded near the gate, watching with rapt horror.

 Lexa raised her voice high and clear, speaking in English for the ease of her guests. “People of Tondisi! We are gathered here today to take the first step toward peace with the Skaikru. They have not made it easy on us: they have burnt down our villages, chased away our food, taken prisoner to one of ours. As their leader, Wanheda has agreed to hand over a number of her people to be killed. We will secure peace for our peoples and avenge the deaths of our brothers and sisters!”

 The ruckus they made for their Heda shook the earth. Lexa took her knife, drawing it slowly as she approached the six kids tied to posts. They thrashed and struggled to no avail.

 Before, Lexa had always taken the last cut, had been the one to usher the kill. But now that Clarke was here, it reversed. Heda took the first cut, and Wanheda took their life. A tradition she had never taken part of before, with all that was going on.

 Lexa stood in front of the first one, a red-headed girl of about sixteen. The first cut she carved deep into her cheek. Clarke smiled at that. Lexa had a habit of staking her claim on whatever was hers, and that was often the face. She wasn’t surprised that Lexa marred the faces of the other five as well. 

 First went people who had friends or family that were killed by the flares. Then the hunters, in return for all the trouble they’d gone through with less and less prey to hunt. Then everyone else. The last few cuts went to the higher powers, such as Indra, Anya, and Gustus. 

 Finally, the last cut was made, and Clarke was handed the knife. She watched the skaikru out of the corner of her eye, saw how they pointed and whispered about her. They looked betrayed. Well, she couldn’t help where her loyalty lay. It was not with them. It never had been.

 She gave the first five a swift death, through the heart and back out again. The last one, though, she had issues with. He acted similarly to how Finn had the last time. Flirty, trying to be charming, and overall annoying. She didn’t care much for that. What she did care for was the blatant disrespect he had for everyone but himself.

 Clarke growled deep in her throat. “Perhaps this will teach you some respect, slogen goufa.” She pressed the blade of the knife to his hip, letting it rest there for a moment before she ripped down, tearing through his femoral artery. He screamed and she grinned in satisfaction, feeling the blood splash onto her clothes. He was practically sobbing after all the torture, and Clarke left him to bleed out.

 She looked to her ‘people.’ Skaikru. She’d done this to protect them. Did she care about them? Some of them. There were many who she knew it wasn’t their time. Some that she could care less about whether or not it was their time. But she wouldn’t let the innocent suffer.

 Clarke looked through their ranks, feeling each one shrink under her gaze. “I protected you from death by doing this. If you try and cause war again, I won’t be there to save you next time.” She turned on her heel and walked back, handing Lexa her knife and wiping the blood off her cheek with the back of her hand.

 Lexa raised the bloodied knife high into the air. “Justice has been served!”

 The people cheered loudly, chanting their Heda’s name. Clarke felt a burst of pride for the woman. This amazing human, deadly, ruthless, cunning, was all hers. It made her insides light up with heat and had Wanheda greedily calling for her sister spirit.

 Lexa broke the chants and the Trikru began to disperse, celebrating their vengeance and preparing for the next day, which would be of mourning. Clarke stepped up close beside Lexa, a hand trailing up her arm as she whispered into her ear. “So, ai flaim, what do you say about celebrating our new alliance?”

 Clarke’s hand touched the exposed skin of Lexa’s neck and they both had to hold back gasps as Heda and Wanheda rushed to meet each other, engulfing them both with the urge to feel, to touch, to take.

 Lexa nudged Clarke toward her tent with as much dignity as she could manage at the moment, both of them grinning like fools. Their spirits rejoiced, calling for more, more, more, and who would defy such powerful beings?

 They stumbled into the commander’s tent, Clarke immediately grabbing Lexa by the collar and shoving her back against the cot. Their mouths were on one another’s, hungry and lustful, full of sparks and fire. Teeth clashed, tongues tangled, hands roamed up and down, Clarke yanking hard at the straps of Lexa’s armor. She groaned loudly, rushing to dispose of her coat.

 Everything was a blur of heat, and they were soon falling naked into the cot, bodies pressed as close as they could go. Their insides exploded, skin tingling, eyes glowing, hands restless and minds unsated. 

 They staked their claim on one another. Lexa left raw bruises up and down Clarke’s jawline and Clarke gave her violent scratches that were sure to last days on end. 

 Heda and Wanheda were finally together again, and no force could keep them apart.

Find the sequel fic here

Love you all!

[lon3lynation]

Day 3: Time Travel (307 Fix)

I winged it and got something typed out. Still managed to be longer than a drabble. 

The City of Light was disintegrating.

With help, Clarke has successfully saved everyone that was affected. Still, instead of feeling victorious, she was crumbling to pieces and wishing to disappear along with the mirage of a city.

How much more of herself did she have to owe to her people?

Her invisible wounds were still fresh and weeping throughout her rush to correct the chaos that was threatening everything she and Lexa had worked toward.

Her body was crashing. Her mental state was tormented. Her emotions were erratic,

And more than anything, she wished to see Lexa again and never let go of her.

She desperately wanted and needed to rest.

And so, with eyes closed, she let her body fall back into white nothingness, hoping to find some sort of peace to welcome her instead of the expectant faces of her people.

Something shifts around her. Her body is engulfed in what reminds her of static.

It is an unpleasant feeling. Instantly, her hope for rest is dashed.

Clarke sighs heavily once the buzzing fades away, her eyes still clenched closed to hold onto her brief moment of respite. Gratefully, no one was calling her name or attempting to stir her awake.

She was slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. Someone must have moved her body and laid her on a bed. Her hands reflectively gripped the comforter beneath her. Soft and warm.

Blue eyes peeked out from under from her lids and blinked at the soft glow of sunlight settling around her. She instantly recognizes the decorative divider that stretched along with the windows of the room.

Clarke was lying in Lexa’s bed, enclosed in Lexa’s room. Alone and without Lexa.

She sits up with a silent cry.

She couldn’t be here. It was too soon and too much for her to handle.

It takes her too long to realize that she was also nude in Lexa’s bed.

It takes her even longer to realize that she was, in fact, not alone. “Leaving already?” a hesitant and sleepy familiar voice calls to her.

Clarke startles and twists to look at the owner of the voice because there was no way that it could be…

Lexa.

It was Lexa.

Lexa laid naked partly hidden under the covers, staring at her with yearning and a wistful smile. It was exact;y how she remembered their time together that evening before it was all suddenly taken from them.

“You’re alive!” Clarke shouts, both hopeful and disbelieving at what she was seeing. She clumsily rolls over onto Lexa and grasps her face between her trembling hands. “I thought I lost you,”

“Clarke,” Lexa furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but she couldn’t help the slight amusement that tugged at her lips. “You are astonishingly talented with your hands and mouth, but you haven’t killed me. I am still very much among the living.”

Clarke gasps, a watery chuckle spilling from her gaped mouth. “You’re alive, and you joke. What the hell is going on?” She sits up onto Lexa’s lap and pulls the covers down to bare her.

“Are you okay? What are you searching for?” Lexa shudders under the intense look of Clarke’s eyes. Suddenly she felt vulnerable in more ways than one.

Clarke spreads out her hands onto Lexa’s bare stomach. There was no bullet wound or even scar tissue of one. Instead, there were lovebites and bruises that mark Lexa’s skin. Bruises that she had left on her during their lovemaking several days ago.

“I’m supposed to be leaving, right?” Clarke questions, her mind struggling to process and accept what was happening.

“Yes, to get past the brigade.” Lexa sighs somberly. “I know you need to go, but I am confused as to what has you acting like this?”

Clarke nods, knowing how weird she must be acting, but apparently, Lexa wasn’t aware of what was going to happen to her soon thanks to Titus and that Clarke has managed to go back in time before it occurs. If it was real, then there was so much she needed to prevent and change before she was forced to witness the horror all over again.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you. Something crazy has happened, and I am having a hard time believing that this is actually real. That I have a chance to do things differently and save you.”

Lexa sits up with Clarke still on her lap, her hands reaching to caress Clarke’s face. “I’m here. This is real, Clarke. I still don’t understand, but I promise you that this here is reality.” She leans in and brushes her lips across Clarke’s and presses a firm kiss to them. “Do I feel real to you, Clarke?”

Clarke trembles in her position, her hands moving from Lexa’s stomach to feel the thud of a heartbeat and to tangle into loosened hair. “You’re here. You’re real.” Clarke mutters into the kiss. “Lexa,” reluctantly Clarke pulls back from the kiss. “I have a lot I need to tell you. You’re not going to believe me. I can barely believe it myself right now. I need you to promise me that you’ll listen. There is going to be a lot of events that we need to prepare for. Also, you need to stay out of my room and away from Titus. You should have your guards apprehend him where he is waiting for me in my room. He has a gun.”

“Titus would dare to threaten you with a gun?” Lexa snarls, suddenly looking ready to pouch off the bed.

“Lexa, please, stay! Promise me that you’ll hear me out first and that we can deal with all of it together. I need you to do this for me. Trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, Clarke. I promise you that I will listen to every word you have to say and that we’ll work on a solution together.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Clarke whispers, her arms going around Lexa to pull her in a hug. A small gasp escaped when their breasts came in contact. “There’s so much to tell you, but can we just be here together for a bit longer?”

Lexa squeezes Clarke tightly to her. “If that’s what you wish, then I’ll gladly give us more time to cherish this moment.” She gently lay back, keeping Clarke within her arms. Soon she could feel tears soaking her neck as Clarke finally allowed herself to let go of everything.

Clarke and Lexa were back together, and Clarke wasn’t about to let the same mistakes separate them again.

[taschas-clexafix]

Letters to Lexa

Dearest Lexa, 

You filled so many hearts with love. On this day we honor you and your legacy. You will forever live on through all of us. We will continue to make art and stories that bring all that you are to live on for generations. You brought so many people together you taught us to be strong. You showed us how to love and be proud to love. You shined a light into the hearts of people who felt alone and brought us all together. There are not enough words to describe what you have done for us. One person can and did make all the difference. The world today is better because of you. No other soul will ever shine as brightly in our hearts. We are so blessed to have you in our hearts and promise to forever remember you, honor you, and love you.

    -Forever and Always Love ClexaKru

Heda/Nomon Lexa,

It has been a while since I wrote to you Nomon. Clarke still cries in her sleep and I always hear your name on her lips like a whispered pleading to have you back. She tries to hide it but the pain is so clear on her face. She talks about you all the time and says I am turning out to be just like you! She showed me how to do your war paint and everything she calls me her little Raccoon or Snacha when I wear it, not that I ever need it. Peace has been so nice! You are going to love it! Oh and Clarke cut her hair really short and let me color it pink in spots with the berries! We also tried on my hair but it is hard to see. Nomon you will love it trust me. Mom is so pretty and she has no clue! I wish I had blonde hair but at least I have her eyes! She always talks about how beautiful I am and how I am the spitting image of you, which of course I use to my advantage. My pouty face would destroy yours according to her! Oh and guess what Mom finally let me drive the truck this week and I am of course a pro. I can show you it’s not hard although I wish we could find some horses! Mom says you love horses. She drew me some pictures and I think I would like them too. I can’t wait for the day I finally get to give you all these letters, even the ones when I was little and was just practicing writing. Mom says I have gotten way better, I hope it shows! She doesn’t know I still write these. She thinks it is just my diary, she says it's good for me to write about my life and that she used to when she lived in space. I like writing to you best. I have to go soon. Mom should be back with fish and I promised to make dinner for two weeks to be able to do our hair coloring. I hope she is in a good mood. I think she is missing everyone but you especially. She is starting to give up hope that we will ever meet you again but I stay strong for both of us. I know we'll meet again hopefully soon! This time I just know we will find you. Mom just says jumping through time is harder than it looks kid when I ask why we can’t go everyday. Float! I hear her coming. I will write again soon if we don’t see you first! Ai hod yu in Nomon! 

Love Always Madi

Lex,

I miss you more than I can put into words. 

I Hope life's been good to you, Since you've been gone. I'm doin' fine now, I've finally moved on. It's not so bad, I'm not that sad. I'm not surprised just how well I survived. I'm over the worst, and I feel so alive. I can't complain, I'm free again, And it only hurts when I'm breathing. My heart only breaks when it's beating. My dreams only die when I'm dreaming. I can’t even lie to you. I am forever changed because of you. I am so sorry I let you go in this timeline I mean a bullet come on! God Lexa that bullet was meant for me! I may have read some of the letters Madi has been writing to you and now I can’t stop crying. She is definitely your Yongon! She is so stubborn and wise like she is a child but here she is writing to you like she is taking care of me. Oh who am I kidding she is! She saved my life Lexa I was barely surviving! She is so full of light and love. She has these looks she gives me that make my mind instantly flash to you giving me the same exact look! She is so beautiful Lex she has your wild dark hair that she is obsessed with having me braid at the moment, I secretly hope she never grows out of that. Her eyes are just so full of wonder and light. Nothing can be compared to her smile. She has your smile. It melts my heart and time always stops for me to admire it just for a moment. She is brilliant Lex she soaks up everything which sometimes really sucks. I have never been good at holding my tongue as you know and I see she used “float” in her last letter knowing damn well what it means! I told her not to repeat it or any of the other horrible words that always seem to slip from my mouth. I feel like I am not doing a good enough job without you. I want only the best for her but I need you to help me. I am sorry this letter is all over I am a mess! I have never loved anyone like you. You are it Lex my forever love my soulmate. I miss my friends and family but can’t deny not having to worry about them and saving everyone has been so nice. You are the only thing that could make it better. Since we found the time jumping portal Madi asks everyday to try and find you. I don't want to get my hopes up but tomorrow we are trying again this time jumping to find you feels different. The portal has been acting really weird and I just think we are getting close. Maybe you are on the other side trying to find us. I wish I had said I love you then I tell Madi all the time I never plan to make that mistake again. Lexa you are so special so incredibly different than any person I had ever known. I have never been loved the way you love me. I look back and think how respectful and supportive you were and curse myself for not getting over myself fast for not falling into your arms when you first kissed me. I was ready, I was just scared. May we meet again my love. Lexa we may have never officially bonded or got married but you are mine and I am yours forever. Ai hod yu in Houmon.

Love Clarke

Clarke has an Idea and quickly puts all of Madi's letters together with hers she dates then writes a description of the place and time they are in and then flings them into the time portal.

A day after Lexa comes rushing out of the time jumping portal with the most brilliant of smiles on her face as she sees Clarke. They rush to each other and fill each others arms in the tightest embrace. Clarke pulls back only slightly to quickly lock lips with Lexa needing much more but knowing a young pair of blue eyes watches. Lexa's smile is like breathing the most wonderful fresh air. Clarke pulls back and grabs Madi by her hand pulling her to Lexa. Madi hides at Clarke's side for a moment the realness of the situation not hitting her yet. Lexa drops to her knees to match Madi's height "I read your letter Yongon. Madi I am so proud of you thank you for taking care of Clarke for me." Light flooded Madi's features as her smile took over her entire face. Before Lexa had time to admit to Clarke that Madi indeed had the most beautiful smile Madi was leaping into Lexa's arms "Nomon! You found us!" Lexa nodded "of course I did." Lexa stood once again when Madi let go "I love you too Clarke and you too Yongon".

I love writing about Clexa especially Happy Ending Clexa!

If anyone wants more of this I am kind of tempted to put it on Ao3 and start a full-on fix so let me know if anyone is interested!

Feel free to write your own Letter to Lexa it was really fun and therapeutic to do it from different perspectives. She lives on through us.

[unaligned-valkyrie]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Raven Reyes Additional Tags: Clexa Week 2020, Alternate Universe - Time Travel Summary:

Just as she was about to touch paint to canvas a huge crash came from her living room. As she headed toward the door to see what had just happened she was running through so many things in her head mentally, the main thing being whether or not Raven still had the spare key for the apartment.

or

Clexa Week Day 3

[thatonewitchwhovapes]

Lexa’s Guardian Angel

Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Clexa (Clarke Griffin/Commander Lexa) Rating: General Warnings: This is kind of a coda, so yes it deals with Lexa’s death. Summary: Clarke watches over Lexa as she grows up. Her whole life, Lexa knows Clarke only as her guardian angel. Until the day the sky people come to earth, and a much younger version of her guardian angel suddenly stands before her. Story Snippet: “Just in case… I do love all of you,” Clarke said softly.

“I know. Now close your eyes. You’re going to land right outside of Polis. Unplug the time machine from the generator and turn the generator off. Without it, you won’t make it back,” Raven told her.

But they both knew it was highly unlikely Clarke would ever return. And if she did? She’d be much older than they all were. She would live her life watching over Lexa. What a way to live.

Read on AO3

[thessclexa]

A Paralleled Past: read here

Waking up, Lexa isn’t in Polis anymore... or the 22nd century.

[letskrisztatiszta]

Clexa+Song ( The Power Of Love by Huey Lewis & The News ) Clexaweek2020

[cameloop]

Chapters: 3/9 Fandom: The 100 (TV), Downton Abbey Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln - Relationship Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Original Characters, Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake, Lincoln (The 100), Indra (The 100), Gustus (The 100), Anya (The 100), Madi (The 100) Additional Tags: Clexaweek2020, Clexaweek2020 Day 6, Day 6 Historical/Period drama, Historical/Period drama, Clexa Centric, Downton Abbey AU, Angst, Period Typical Attitudes, Rape/Non-con Elements, If you have any questions about this last tag do not hesitate to ask me in the comments, be safe, Attempted Rape, It gets more angsty when we progress into the fic, but it's not all angst, Humour, Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, No need to know anything about Downton Abbey to read it, It's mostly the historical setting, Rated M because of the attempted rape scene

Summary:

Lady Alexandria Woods is the oldest daughter of a Lord, and is as such set to marry the heir to the family's estate and preside over the people of the county as her ancestors before her.

In comes Clarke Griffin, a farmer's daughter, who has been hired to be her lady's maid and whose presence might just change everything...

[clexaweekofficial]

Clexaweek2020

(this amazing gif was created by @perxonal! Link here )

Clexaweek2020 will take place from March 1st to March 7th. Here are links to posts that provide more information on each theme.

Day 1- Sunday, March 1st: Forbidden Love

Day 2- Monday, March 2nd: Survival

Day 3- Tuesday, March 3rd: Time Travel

Day 4- Wednesday, March 4th: Roomates

Day 5- Thursday, March 5th: AU

Day 6- Friday, March 6th: Historical/Period Drama

Day 7- Saturday, March 7th: Free Day

Rules for tagging: makes sure to tag #Clexaweek2020 and the day and prompt first before any other tags to make it easier for me to compile the master list. 

So for example the first day, your tags should be #Clexaweek2020  #Clexaweek2020 Day 1 #Day 1 forbidden love #forbidden love (and then the others for the other days, ofc)

If you post your fic on ao3, you should also add it to the collection Clexaweek2020 as it makes it easier to find and to form the master list.

Submit a link to your post or directly to your work, whatever you would prefer, so that I can share/reblog it. Here is the link for that.

[clexaao3feed]

Let Me Heal

by lonelynation

Clarke defeats The City of Light and wishes for a break. Instead, she wakes up in Lexa's bed and finds out that she time-traveled to the evening before Lexa's death.

Clexaweek2020 Day 3 - Tuesday, March 3rd: Time Travel

Words: 1099, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The 100 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100)

Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, 307, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe

Read Here: https://ift.tt/2VGxw2H via IFTTT

[ao3feed-the100]

The Enemy of My Enemy

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3cC6pfx

by GrizzlyBear1710

The enemy of my enemy is my friend - if that's true then Clarke and Lexa, the Quidditch team captains of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, must be the closest of friends. When the Slytherin team, captained by Roan, start winning all their games extremely quickly, it raises suspicion in Clarke. She seeks out the Ravenclaw captain to join forces in catching Roan using a time-turner which he owns to reverse the games and result in his team winning. However, with every plan comes an obstacle and it seems impossible for them to prove Roan is time travelling, especially when the truth serum is ingested by the wrong person...

Words: 4502, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The 100 (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Bellamy Blake, Raven Reyes, Roan (The 100), Nia | Ice Queen, Gustus (The 100), Thelonious Jaha, Lincoln (The 100)

Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa

Additional Tags: Clexaweek2020, Day 3 - Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Quidditch, Time Turner (Harry Potter)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3cC6pfx

[ship-that-ships]

Amazing. I would read a multi fix of that. I have like I want to see him suffer. That's just me tho. Thanks for sharing.

Like a Devil in Disguise

Synopsis:

Scattered on every wall of her cell was a sketch of someone’s face from the Ark. Her mother. Jaha. Kane. Pike. Bellamy. Anyone she’d known on the ground. She wrote the same message beneath all of their faces. The same one was written on the ground.

She wrote it in Trigedasleng, but she wrote a translation beneath the one on the floor.

Yu laik ste daun kom nau. You’re already dead.

It was a death warrant. One they signed the moment they touched the ground.

-

Clarke gets sent back in time for inexplicable reasons and all she wants is to be reunited with her Heda. No matter what it takes.

WARNINGS:

One: This story is very dark. It includes ruthless murder, animal death, people death, and people enjoying murder. If this bothers you, I would recommend you don’t read. 

Two: This contains themes of possessiveness. Though it is consensual, the consent is not referenced until toward the end. If someone thinking about another person like they own them is sensitive, don’t read.

Three: The end contains sexual references. There are no graphic scenes, but it references sex. 

Additional Notes: This story was inspired by two other works. The first is ‘Returning to Hell’ by ElseworldKara and littleraider99, one that I’ve referenced many times because it’s so fucking good. If you like this, definitely go read it. The second is 'I am Wanheda’ by TwilightQueenMZ. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and it centers around a concept very similar to this. Again, if you like this, go and read that.

A couple of trig phrases I didn’t put the translations to in story: (ai) fleim - (my) flame Kongeda - coalition Faya kom ai tombom - fire of my heart Lukot - Friend Slogen goufa - lazy child

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[thessclexa]

A Paralleled Past: read here

Waking up, Lexa isn’t in Polis anymore. Or the 22nd century...

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Posting an old fic bc it’s one of my favs... 🙏