#clexa mood board

[reallygroovyninja]

Cafe Between Worlds

This was inspired by a prompt by writing-prompt-s on tumblr.

You run a café on the edge of life and death. Souls who have been departed from their bodies temporarily, such as in comas or near-death experiences, can relax in your quaint cafe for as long as they need before they can either return to their bodies or begin their journey to the afterlife.

[thessclexa]

Vikings AU update!

may we meet again in valhalla

chapter 3/4: read here

[macolethings]

Witch’s Chimney - Chapter 10

Lexa returns…

(Collaboration with @mozz14)

Read here on AO3

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

it's finals season which means i'm writing sooo much fanfic. i'm working on three (consistently but poking around all of them) rn, the twin au which i've posted about before, the pike au which is so depressing no one wants to hear about it, and the azgeda!clarke au which i posted about once and got no notes which means everyone wants more info. i just wrote this scene for it and i think it's probably the funniest thing i've ever written. spoilers for a fic that will likely never be written lol. clarke was raised by the ice nation so speaks fluent azgedasleng which is in italics.

“She’s in there,” One of the guards pointed to the door both groups were standing around. 

Clarke nodded and for a moment let herself hope, she clenched her hand around the doorknob and imagined that it was Lexa in there, waiting for her. 

Costia smiled as they made eye contact. She sat casually at one end of a long table, boots kicked up. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Clarke asked, plopped down at the other end of the table. Abby shut the door, and leaned against, eyes narrowed at Costia.

“I am just so delighted to see this,” Costia said. “It’s better than I could’ve dreamed. I mean, you? Wanfisa, healer of death, azgedakru supremacist, Lexa’s biggest weakness, now here? Traitor to Lexa and Azgeda? Wearing the clothes of the mountain? It’s almost too good to be true. You even brought your real mom to meet me too, that’s so cute.” 

“My real mother is dead,” Clarke said quietly and Costia’s face went blank. 

“I did hear that. And I’m sorry. She didn’t deserve that.”

Clarke nodded. “What is it you want, Costia?” 

“Mostly this, revenge,” Costia shrugged. “But unfortunately, I’m not here just for pleasure.”

Clarke crossed her arms. 

“Skaikru is fucking terrible at this. Strategies, negotiations, plans. If we lose this war Lexa’s gonna get deposed and we might not have a big enough force like this again to take on the mountain. They need to shape up.”

Clarke nodded. “So, you need me to…” 

“Come back to the war table,” Costia said and stood. Clarke raised her eyebrows as Costia made her way over. “I might hate your guts but you’re smarter than your mother by a longshot. Or any of her people. We need you to win this war.” 

“Lexa won’t be happy with that.” 

“Unfortunately,” Costia said, “she will.” Clarke’s breath caught and she stood. “Consider this a chance to prove your loyalty to the coalition. Maybe even to azgeda.” 

Abby cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Clarke doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.” 

“The sky people have killed hundreds of innocent trikru, and Clarke is the daughter of their leader. She has a lot to prove,” Costia said. 

“She doesn’t need your people,” Abby said. 

Costia raised an eyebrow at Clarke. “I have been taking your place not just at the war table, you know. In a lot of respects.”

Clarke scoffed. “Impressive. Desperate whore goes after a heart broken woman. It’s never happened before, they’re gonna be talking about you at bonfires for generations.” 

Costia slapped her, hard, across the cheek. “You kiss your skaikru mother with that mouth azas? Lexa didn’t sound all that heartbroken when my fingers were curled inside her.”

“Away from my daughter, now,” Abby got between them. Clarke rolled her eyes and ignored the stinging on her cheek. 

“You’re a skilled hunter Costia, I can’t deny it. Maybe one day you’ll even manage to find some dignity.” Clarke said. 

“Better a failed hunter than a failed healer,” Costia said. “I’ve never hurt her the way you have.”

Clarke thought about returning the slap, but Abby grabbed Costia’s arm. “You’re out of here. Now.” Clarke stayed behind as Costia was escorted to the border and Abby soon returned, arms crossed. “You going to tell me what that was?”

[bottom-lexa]

Tarnished but so grand

Clexa au

Chapter 49

It's Halloween!! Which means its time for costumes and candy and scary movies, but it also means Clarke is leaving for her Europe trip the next morning. Lexa has a little care package/goodbye gift for Clarke, and Clarke's friends are throwing her a Halloween/going away party. Lexa and Michael also have plans for the night, but it seems like the baby is already telling mommy they're not in a partying mood. That's okay though, because we get to see Lexa spending more time bonding it and talking to it, and well, despite all the bad, there's good too.

read here

fic playlist || all songs for fic || fic timeline || pinterest board

[derelictvessel]

I don't make posts often, but I have a Clexa fic I have been working on for two years, and it's doing quite well. I want to create one of those... Images made up of other pictures, I think it's called a mood board.

I was wondering if anyone out there could assist me in creating ons for the fic, and potentially the sequel as well. I want to be able to circulate updates on Tumblr.

The fic is a time travel fix-it fic that is currently 16/22 chapters in, and is part 1/4

I do have some ideas, but if anyone has any experince making those neat little fic posts with links to the chapter and everything, and would be willing to work with me, I'd appreciate it alot!

Second Chance Part I: Genesis

Shoot me a message I guess

[kpforpresident]

Between you and @thecrimsonknight, who approached who about writing your clexaweek fic?

@thecrimsonknight approached me about a collab and I LEPT at the chance because they make insane mood-boards and I was chomping at the bit to have them make one for Plant Shop Au Clexa :)

If you haven’t seen their mood-board (or their other work) it’s freaking amazing ✨

[clarketomylexa]

halley’s comet and other extenuating circumstances ch. 3

“It’s snowing?” 

Lexa nods. 

As if she needs to know for sure, Clarke pushes herself up on an elbow, unwashed hair slipping from behind her ear as she pulls back a wispy curtain to expose a backyard full of snow. 

read on ao3

She gets the text at six a.m. 

Her phone buzzes by her head and she reaches back, frowning unhappily as she uncurls herself from the warmth of flannel sheets and her long-sleeved pyjama top to answer it, cold worming its way under the dips and creases of the fabric. 

It takes a moment to find, and another to figure out why it’s tucked upside down into the storage trolley Clarke keeps on the wrong side of her bed for her acrylics, clock and a little vase of fake, dollar store flowers instead of her own nightstand but when she remembers why she smiles. 

Winter is awesome. 

It’s even better than Fall if Lexa had to rank the seasons — and not just because football season is over. While September gave her her girlfriend and Clarke on the sidelines in her uniform, Winter so far has had Jake working long hours and Abby pulling second third at the hospital and a mutual agreement between both of their parents that being home alone together is better than Clarke being home alone by herself. 

It’s meant cash pinned to the fridge, along with a note in Jake’s handwriting to order something other than sticky rice and egg rolls from Haun Garden for dinner and sitting in Lexa’s bedroom beneath glow in the dark stars, all faded and plastic and peeling from the ceiling, swapping answers for AP calculus over cold Pop-Tarts and Coca Cola cans. 

(Even better, it’s meant Clarke in Lexa’s Pikachu pyjama pants and pictures for prosperity — one half of a cheap, silver heart necklace from a kiosk at the mall draped around her neck over her t-shirt). 

And yeah, maybe Lexa’s Spanish conjugations have veered toward sloppy ever since Clarke started whispering quiet querida’s and mi corazón’s to Lexa under her breath during class — she thinks she might have single-handedly kick-started Señor Moreno’s nervous breakdown the first time she answered a question with sorry, I don’t know — but the kisses traded later, in the alcove outside the arts classroom in B block more than make up for it. 

“Clarke,” she whispers, digging her way through the intricate layers of comforters and quilts on the bed until she finds the lump. 

It’s a blond lump, tucked cozily into a grey-green Polis High School Cheerleading sweatshirt, pyjama pants and the Christmas socks Lexa slipped into her stocking the day before Christmas Eve, and it squirms unhappily when it’s poked, glaring at Lexa past the edge of her pillowcase with slitted, sleepy eyes. 

“What?” 

Lexa hands over her phone in reply and Clarke takes it with cold fingers, blinking at the screen as she reads the text from Lexa’s Mom. 

Roads are closed. Daddy called the school board and you don’t have school today. Be home for dinner, please. Love you.

“It’s snowing?” 

Lexa nods. 

As if she needs to know for sure, Clarke pushes herself up on an elbow, unwashed hair slipping from behind her ear as she pulls back a wispy curtain to expose a backyard full of snow. It’s harsh and white in the light from the porch. A thick layer of it sits on the patio furniture and the grass is buried from fence to fence, boxed in on either side by big, sloping mountains, the ice yellow and green and starburst red in the reflection of the Christmas lights still hung up on the trellis. 

It’s January now, Christmas is over, but the Griffin’s have a habit of leaving their decorations up well past Epiphany much to the annoyance of Mrs Gardiner across the cul-de-sac who has her lights up and down on a practically military timetable. Jake has been promising to do it for the past two weeks, ever since he went back to work after the holidays but he says it with enough of a twinkle in his eye that Lexa knows they’ll still be up come Valentine’s Day and beyond. 

(Lexa is OK with that; when she thinks about sitting cross-legged with Clarke on the porch on February Fourteenth, watching the lights catch in the spun-silk of her hair, she wonders if spite is enough for Jake to leave them up all year round). 

“Shit!” Lexa hisses when cold air unexpectedly invades the pocket of heat she’d eked out against Clarke’s mattress. She traps her arms against her chest, pulling the cuff of her sleeve down with her thumb as she watches her girlfriend move around the room in a single chin of light from the open curtain. 

A pair of UGG boots are flung out of the bottom of the closet and she frowns. “What are you doing?” 

“Going outside,” Clarke tells her from the foot of her bed where she pulls the sheepskin boots over her socked feet. 

She looks so pretty in the six a.m. light — so loved and worn in wearing Lexa’s pyjamas and her cheerleading sweatshirt — that Lexa can’t even summon the strength to tell her no when her own sneakers are fished from the depths of the overnight bag she stowed under Clarke’s desk the afternoon before. 

Instead, she takes them dumbly, looping the laces around cold fingers and wondering if there’s anything in the world she wouldn’t do for Clarke Griffin. 

//

It appears not, she thinks as she follows Clarke downstairs half an hour later, clinging to her sweater sleeve in the pitch dark of the stairwell. 

During the day the alcove is lit up — the walls practically a shrine to a gap-toothed Clarke in her powder blue little league jersey grinning proudly from the front of every frame — but now, Lexa struggles to see as she follows her girlfriend through the dark. 

Clarke disables the alarm with Lexa’s fingers firmly ensconced in hers, unlatching the patio door, grinning madly as she pulls Lexa with her out into the biting cold, so perfect and complete, it steals the breath straight from Lexa’s lungs. 

Cold air worms its way under her t-shirt, raising goosebumps up her arms and she pokes her thumbs into her cuffs to combat it, her shoulders hunched against the chill. She watches Clarke next to her as she shuffles her soggy UGG boots to the edge of the deck and reaches an upturned palm out as far as it will go, watching the flakes settle into the crevices of her skin. 

“It hasn’t snowed like this since February,” Lexa says, crossing her arms over her chest to preserve the warmth. The snowflakes in front of them are coming down in thick, wide clusters, unlike the sleet that came before Christmas and turned the football field to slush. They cling like velcro to Clarke’s hair and clothes. 

“Since Atom fell in the parking lot and ate ice trying to invite Octavia to the Sadie Hawkins dance,” Clarke remembers, laughing. 

Lexa frowns. “Aren’t the girls supposed to ask the guys to those?” She remembers that particular dance in vivid, excruciating detail. How Clarke asked Finn Collins to go with her and how she — forced to go by Anya, the only Junior on the decorating committee — stood in the corner by the restroom all night, watching the little throng of Freshmen slow dance a few feet away, pulling uncomfortably at the stretchy hem of her Forever 21 dress. 

It had pretty much been the worst night ever. The crepe paper constellations tacked to the ceiling hadn’t even been astrologically correct. 

“They’re supposed to,” Clarke shrugs, blinking up at the sky. Wet snowflakes string themselves like beads through her hair and Lexa itches to reach out and touch them. “No one does though. They just wait for the guys to buy their tickets and like about how they asked them.” 

That seems stupid to Lexa — like a whole lot of mental gymnastics just to make sure people think you don’t care. Then again who is she to judge? 

“I’d ask you,” she whispers, digging her chin into her shoulder as she looks over at Clarke. 

“I’d ask you too,” Clarke grins. 

(It sounds a little like something else). 

//

When she wakes up again three hours later, it’s light. 

There’s a space heater pointing at them from the open doorway — she can see the extension cord snaking away down the corridor — and Clarke is flush-cheeked next to her when she looks over, propped up on her elbows as she scrolls through her phone. 

“Hi,” she looks down at her, smiling in the same way as she has done every morning since they started sleeping in each other’s beds. 

Her hair is still a little damp around the crown — a shade darker than the rest of her head like damp, wet sand — and Lexa reaches up to tuck a kinky, blond lock away from her eyes, feeling Clarke preen under her touch. “What’s the time?” 

“Nine,” Clarke replies. “You’re phone’s been buzzing.”  

“It’s just Anya,” Lexa guesses, reaching over to unplug her phone from her charger. Sure enough, it is, Half a dozen Snapchat’s she forgot to reply to tonight — mostly because they were all teasing her about how whipped she is for spending her lunch hour yesterday huddled on the bleachers watching her girlfriend run make-up lacrosse drills — plus a new phone sits on her lock screen. She thumbs the notifications away and presses her camera against the comforter to send a reply. “She’s picking me up at four.” 

“Awesome,” Clarke throws her phone down on the mattress. She tosses her hair out of her face as she slides a bare leg over Lexa’s hip and Lexa has to remind herself to breathe. 

She thinks remembers Clarke tossing her pyjama pants away in the hours after they went back to bed. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal then, but now she can feel Clarke’s knee pressed against the bare skin of her waist, everything inside of her feels like it’s on fire. 

Honestly, she’d been pretty upset to note that the whole constantly horny side effect of being a sixteen-year-old girl hadn’t gone away when she got a girlfriend to relieve the tension with. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. Like, a lot worse. She wonders if her and Anya’s newfound closeness extends to talking about…this.  

“What do you want to do?” 

//

What Clarke wants are pancakes. 

Lexa sits on the granite countertop with a plastic bottle of her batter in her hands while she bangs pots and pans around in the butler’s pantry and wonders if this is what all the songs mean when they talk about love.  

It’s puke worthy to even think about, let alone say out loud; so unbearably cliche for someone so reliant on logic and reason but it feels good not to be striving for something anymore. It’s all still there in the background — track meets, debate, a million AP classes she isn’t even sure she enjoys — but they don’t feel as imperative as they did before. She doesn’t feel like she will fade into oblivion if, one day, she doesn’t want to be valedictorian anymore. 

Besides, Clarke makes it feel like it’s OK to think in cliches. Mostly, it’s just the ‘l’ word that’s been knocking around her head recently that has her nervous; she’s no expert, but she’s pretty sure they’re too young and it’s too soon to be feeling something so big and important.

She plants the bottle of pancake batter on the counter when she realises she’s about to peel the label off, picking sticky residue off of her restless fingers. 

“Did you know the average snowflake falls at a rate of three point one miles per hour?” 

It isn’t snowing anymore. The sky is bright blue and cloudless but every now and again, flat, white chunks will fall from the slope of the Griffin’s roof, leaving powdery piles on the ground beneath the kitchen window. 

“Only you would turn a snow day into a physics lecture,” Clarke complains, grinning at her as she emerges from the pantry with the skillet. She plants it on the cooktop and turns on the gas, pouring a dollop of batter into the pan. 

“Why should you miss out on learning just because of some anomalous weather?” Lexa teases innocently. 

“Oh,” Clarke trills, “someone’s been doing their SAT prep.” She leans across the counter until Lexa can feel her breath against her ear and whispers in a half-cocked porn-star moan: “I love it when you use big words.” 

“Ostentatious,” Lexa murmurs back, taking the bait. “Evanescent. Spurious. Anachronistic.” 

Clarke giggles sweetly, her cheeks pink and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “Keep going,” she requests and Lexa tries desperately to remember the words written on the neon green queue cards tacked to the wall above her bed. 

(In other news, she’s pretty sure she’s found a new revision tactic and files that away for later). 

“Empirical. Ignominious. Unilateral…Clarke!”  

“I didn’t see that one on the list but I’ll go with it.” 

“No!” Lexa squeals, pointing at the stovetop in alarm. “Clarke!” 

“Shit!” Clarke blanches at the smoking pan, lunging for the handle. 

“Don’t touch it!” 

“Fuck!” 

Taking the kitchen towel from the rail on the oven, Lexa winds it carefully around the handle of the smouldering pan, carrying it carefully to the island where she dumps it in the sink. It sizzles angrily against the water leftover in the breakfast dishes beneath it, billowing smoke in thick, blake waves and Clarke stares at her charred pancake despondently. 

“So…Gus’s?”  

//

They go to the diner, wrapping up in UGG boots and hoodies, tucking their wallets into their pockets and their ears under their beanies as they trudge through the snow. The smell of smoke is still trapped between in Clarke’s hair and every time she bumps up against Lexa as they walk — cinched far too close together on the otherwise empty sidewalk — she bursts into fits full of giggles, shoulders bouncing under her hoodie. 

It had taken three minutes for Abby to call once the smoke alarm went off — screaming loud enough for Lexa to flea to the porch while Clarke stood on the kitchen stool to fan the smoke away from the sensor — and fifteen more for Clarke to convince her the house was still standing. 

(“Mom, would I be talking to you from the landline if it wasn’t?”)

She made Clarke promise to stick to takeout and grilled cheese made in the sandwich press and maybe sign up for Home Ecc next semester but eventually, she hung up, telling Clarke she’d see her tonight and Clarke had scraped the remnants of the pancake into the trash before turning to Lexa with a look like a scolded child. 

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today,” Gus grunts when they enter the diner, looking up from where he stands behind the counter with a mug of thick, black coffee. 

For all the time she’s spent with him, Lexa can’t tell if it means he’s happy to see them or not. What she thinks is exasperation one day could just as easily turn out to be fondness. 

He refuses to let Lexa take on a shift when she offers now that she doesn’t have school, sitting them in their booth by the window with two sticky menus and two mugs of coffee instead and mumbling something about teenagers being half-naked in the snow when Clarke stretches enough that her bare stomach shows under the hem of her cropped hoodie. 

Clarke waits until he retreats to the kitchen with two orders of pancakes scribbled down needlessly on his notepad before she leans over the table conspiratorially, smoke still lingering on the collar of her hoodie. 

“I think he’s starting to like me.” 

//

Gus cuts them off after their third cup of coffee. 

Lexa pushes her mug towards him when he does the rounds with the coffee pot, offering it to the three other customers who have braved the roads that the ploughs are still in the process of clearing but he shakes his head when he stops in front of them, clearing their breakfast plates instead. Lexa’s jaw drops, indignant. 

“You’re sixteen. What do you need caffeine for?” 

“I take four AP classes,” Lexa fires bag, offering her mug again. 

Gus slides it back towards her. “Go outside, Lexa.” 

Rolling her eyes, Lexa puts two twenties on the table that she knows Gus is going to put towards her paycheque next month and the two of them slide out of the booth. 

Clarke doesn’t want to go home yet. They left the windows downstairs open on their safety catches as Abby told them to but the kitchen still smells like smoke so she pulls Lexa towards the park instead, using her sleeve to wipe the powdered snow from the swing and lowering herself to the rubber seat. Lexa takes the tone next to her, digging the toes of her soggy boots into the ground to stop herself from moving. 

Despite the temperature and her breath fanning out in front of her like locomotive steam, Lexa doesn’t feel cold. There’s syrup instead of gloss on her lips and she’s starting to lose feeling in her toes — she wiggles them in the tips of her boots to no avail — but when Clarke leans over, cinching their swings together by the cold, metal chains, Lexa doesn’t think she’s ever felt warmer in her life.

She presses her forehead against Clarkes, the rim of her beanie trapped between them, and feels Clarke’s breath bloom hotly against her collarbone. It feels intimate; far too intimate for the swings in the middle of the morning. It seems like something that should happen as they lie in Clarke’s bed at night, Clarke’s five-fingered grip pressed firmly against the flat expanse of her stomach and backs turned against the open bedroom door — Abby’s rule, not theirs. She shivers. 

“Are you cold?” 

When she doesn’t reply, Clarke’s snakes an arm around her torso, frigid fingers slipping between her hoodie and the waistband of her sweatpants and Lexa shrieks, bucking wildly against the cold. Her swing lurches sideways, the chain slipping out of Clarke’s palm, and Lexa careens backward, landing with her top rucked up in a pile of wet snow. 

For a moment, all she can feel is cold. The cold, harsh kind that slings itself through her veins as the snow soaks the ribbed hem of her hoodie and up into the fabric back of her bra. Then, Clarke’s face is blinking at her owlishly from above, two amused and one part guilty — it only takes her a second to laugh. 

“Now I am.” 

Apologetic, Clarke’s fingers slip in a circle around her wrist, muscles straining against Lexa’s weight but Lexa leans back with two hands and pulls Clarke down to the snow with her instead. She lets out a scream, kneeing Lexa inelegantly in the crotch when she hits the ground but Lexa thinks she probably deserved it. 

“So am I,” Clarke looks at her, chest pressed close enough that Lexa can feel the little vibrations from her giggles through the thick fabric of their hoodies. 

Clarke rolls off of her when the mother of a two-year-old in a pom-pom hat on the other side of the playground gives them a tight-lipped look — at the ruckus or at the sight of them cinched on top of each other, Lexa doesn’t know. Curling on her side against the gritty, snowy ground, Clarke shoots her long, farcical faces while Lexa tries to stifle the laughter that rises within her, rolling like waves of champagne bubbles. 

It shouldn’t even be funny — it isn’t funny — but every second she spends with Clarke feels like a reason to laugh and it makes her happy in the most perfect way. 

When she gets herself under control a minute later, fits of giggles tapering off into snatched, little hitches of breath, Clarke is watching her, lips trapped between her teeth, and Lexa knows she feels the same. 

//

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” 

They’re clean and dry now, curled together like two halves of a closed shell against the rumpled sheets of Clarke’s bed. 

She had dragged Lexa upstairs once they got home — shivering and cold in their wet, snowy clothes — and while everything inside of her had rebelled when Clarke reached for her pyjama pants and fleece to climb back under the covers, the temperature was low enough — that deep, stinging cold that slings itself through hardwood and window panes — that, even if they hadn’t left the windows open for most of the morning, the central heating and space heater combo probably couldn’t have done much to combat it. 

Instead, it was the way that Clarke had pulled her down to the mattress with a wicked smile when Lexa was only halfway through putting her pants on that had given flushed cheeks and that sweet, syrupy warmth back to her body. Her heart is still recovering. 

“Here.” 

(She means it too — whole-heartedly and with every fibre of her being. She’d give up a ticket to the moon if it meant she could relive this moment ad infinitum). 

Clarke gives her a funny, little look. 

“You’re a sap, you know that?” 

[mockingmolly]

Halted progress in both of my animatics to make another animatic 😌

[clexmas24]

Hey everyone! October is right around the corner and that means Clextober23 is coming up! 7 days of Clexa will begin on the 25th of October this year, so get ready! 

We can have all things Clexa with the spooky vibe of Halloween or Autumn sweater weather feels. Reblog or send this post out to anyone you think will enjoy it!

How To Participate: Fanart, fanvids, fanfics, mood-boards, photo manipulations, fic recs, anything that screams Clexa with a spice of Fall/October/Halloween - let’s see it!

7 Days of Clexa: This will be 7 days of Halloween/Fall-themed posts. Reblog Share Repeat! Send out ideas/prompts to your favorite writers and artists! Don’t forget to tag!  #Clextober23  #7DaysofClexa Oct. 25 - Day 1: Spirit Week! Oct. 26 - Day 2: Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice Oct. 27 - Day 3: Annual Fall Festival Oct. 28 - Day 4: Magical Nights Oct. 29 - Day 5: The Other Side Oct. 30 - Day 6: Vampires vs. Werewolves Oct. 31 - Day 7: Free Day

[dysco-lymonade]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Octavia Blake/Lincoln Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Anya (The 100), Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake, Lincoln (The 100), Luna (The 100), Gaia (The 100), Harper McIntyre Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - 1970s, musician!Clarke, Roadie!Lexa, Mutual Pining, Lexa is hopeless, Heavily song influenced, will add more tags as needed Summary:

Clarke Griffin is an up and coming solo act. Lexa is a hopeless gay mess. The usual suspects, but this time they're up to no good in the underground rock scene of the late 1970's.

[thessclexa]

Made this for @mopeytropey !!! For the love of beer and Clexa. 🍺 ❤️ ♾

Inspired by her latest work, a beer buds series, read here

[reallygroovyninja]

Clexa Pride Week Tuesday: Arranged or Accidental Marriage

Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods dated briefly at the beginning of their acting careers but they broke up when it became obvious the sex was great but the relationship not so much. Fast forward five years and they are both signed to star in a movie together. When the production is abruptly moved from France to the small country of Polis for the wedding scene things take a turn. The production used the elderly priest from the local church and what the actresses thought were autographs for the man was actually a marriage license. When a tabloid poking around for dirt on the former couple finds out this information it creates a huge buzz about the film and the studio asks the actresses to go along with the marriage until the film is released. Can the two actresses handle being married for a year or will they crash and burn taking the film with them?

[taschas-clexafix]

Mood Board for my new Clexa AU

If You're Too Shy (Let Me Know)

Clarke is an Art Major at Trikru University by day and a CAM girl by night to pay for said school. Lexa is, of course, a useless Lesbian who has a desperate crush on a Blonde in one of her classes. Anya is an Ass but also a bit of a matchmaker. This is 110% the Fault of the song ‘If you’re too shy (let me know)’ by ‘The 1975’ lyrics will be posted with it but seriously listen to it! 

Okay so this is getting out of hand and I am so down for it welcome to smut city with some sprinkles of a plot. I have some seriously hot ideas for some Clexa smut here but also some fun angsty fluffy shit as well and of course some fun times with the gang!” With Clexa Endgame really dangling in front of me during the final season of The 100 Clexa is all I want to write so here I go writing two different Clexa fics hoping this one can really help me keep the other one a bit more of a slow burn fluff fest for more than a few chapters! 

Please check it out here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232365

[disneydatass]