#Clextober19

[femininenachos]

Clextober 2019 - Day 8: Vampires/Werewolves

Yours for the (s)taking

In the passing of two millennia Lexa bore witness to mortals in all their frailties and tyrannies and glories, their capacity for greatness and predisposition to selfishness and greed.

Their great beauty, too.

And in this moment, there are none lovelier than the woman in salmon pink scrubs currently blocking the exit to the refrigerated storage room and threatening to summon hospital security if Lexa doesn’t relinquish those two bags of O Negative.

Coming soon...

[sabrinushka]

Clextober 2019 - Day 11: Flannel

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (1/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

The visions had started the last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. It all depended on what had been seen - what had been interpreted. Some had brief flashes while others were put in a trance for over a minute. A minute was the longest heard of, though it was difficult to establish who was telling the truth and who was out for attention.

Regardless, the duration of the vision itself was now known to be of no consequence. A woman who had been told she was infertile had had a four-second vision of herself pregnant, while an old man who had been in the trance for fifty-five seconds had relayed that he'd only seen his wife and him sitting peacefully on the porch of their home. Magnitude was relative. What the visions had done, in a world stagnating in such hopelessness, was offer glimpses of sunshine.

But the visions did not come all at once. Amid the flurry of testimonies, out of all the social media posts, the frenzied calls and the hurried articles, there were still voices that bemoaned being left out. There was no precise age, no time, no pattern to the visions. The only established commonality seemed to be a tingling down one's spine, like a sudden shiver after a strong gust of wind. The feeling of knowing a vision was coming was difficult to explain. Suddenly the world and its noises faded, replaced with vivid images - and for some not even visuals, but rather intense sensations. A well-known story already was that of a blind man in Kenya who had felt himself dipping his hands in a pot of paint. The sensation had been so powerful that he had been driven to recreate it, subsequently gifting the world with breathtaking abstract murals.

Those still on the outskirts of the phenomenon had reason to be disappointed, but the general consensus was that they were lucky to experience it. Nostalgia often gripped those who had had their glimpses - heard in their wishful sighs when they conversed with the people who had yet to see anything at all. Celebrations erupted when one emerged from their visions - strangers smiling at them knowingly, patting them on the back, asking what they had seen and listening with rapt attention. The excitement surrounding it had yet to fade, and with good reason. It was something to unite the world, something in common that existed beyond time and space, beyond science and faith and knowledge. Something no one understood and yet accepted as such - a great unknown to fully embrace.

There were of course the skeptics and the cynics - those that warned that knowing a certain outcome in the future immediately changed it, thus rendering the visions meaningless. But the main response, supported by some cases already, was that it wasn't necessarily the future that was seen, but rather an obtainable possibility among a thousand other ones. Rather remarkably, doomsayers found few platforms interested in their diatribes. The world had had enough of fear.

* * *

In the sleepy city of Costial, mostly known for its rain and the state's oldest chocolate factory, the citizens had seen many changes in the past year. Some said the fabric of their culture had been inevitably altered for the better, while others shrugged their shoulders and went back to their lives. A few vision reader shops had popped up just like they had in most countries; a lucrative business for those in search of deeper understanding. Where some visions were clear in their intent, others raised many questions. It was the vocation of these readers to answer them, though many people questioned how a year could suddenly form these so-called experts.  

It was in one of these shops that Clarke Griffin found herself one morning, nervously drumming her fingers over her thigh while she waited in a small room. She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing there, only that her vision had come very unexpectedly two nights ago and that she hadn’t slept since. With sleep deprivation came questionable choices, such as this one.

Clarke hadn’t really worried when news of the visions broke and she had yet to get hers. A year ago she had just opened her café, a process that had kept her far too busy to think about anything that wasn't money, food, and customer satisfaction. Oh she paid close attention to the news, as it was impossible not to, and she spoke about it with anyone who brought it up over their coffee and pastries, but she didn't worry. Clarke wasn't a worrier. Until two days ago, that was.

Her vision wasn't really… the sort of thing one shared. Well, she'd read about similar ones, but frankly hers was more on the explicit side of things. She'd just curled up on her couch after devouring a grilled sandwich when her spine had suddenly tingled. The next thing she knew, pleasure spread through her body and she found herself in her own bed with a woman's body atop hers, tousled dark hair covering her face while Clarke kissed her with abandon. She'd seen and felt her own fingers pressing into a tattooed arm while her lover pressed deep inside her and sighed her name. It hadn't just been the heat of the encounter that had left a mark on Clarke, but the distinct sense of intimacy that had been overwhelmingly powerful. 

In the past year, sex had been more about stress relief than any type of connection. There had been a few dates, but Clarke had found herself restless. She didn't have the patience to court someone, not when all her energy went into the café she had finally opened after years of dreams and plans. It hadn’t been fair to her dates or the bags beneath her eyes, so falling into a pattern of one-night stands had seemed to work well enough. Clarke still liked sex entirely too much to give it up, sleep be damned (though her recent dry spell argued the contrary). Regardless, despite its graphic nature, her vision hadn’t been about sex. It had felt different; like something she couldn't put her finger on no matter how many times she thought about it.

Hence: the vision reader. But the wait was longer than Clarke had expected and the clock on the wall didn't help her nerves. Clarke didn't even know where she would start anyway. Should it be something small - maybe the meaning of the tattoo? Should it be the way she still felt the woman's phantom touch on her skin? Still heard her intentions while she kissed a path down her body? Not to mention the inexplicable feeling that she knew her lover, which was precisely why she knew there was just… no way… this vision could be remotely close to reality.

Clarke closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Two days ago she had been perfectly fine with her hectic schedule and the heavy weight on her shoulders, but now she was curious - so deeply curious about this feeling of being utterly consumed that it was leading her to complete distraction. And Clarke couldn't afford distractions; especially now that Finn's Coffee & Bagels had just made a move for her territory with his second shop in the city. It wasn't outright war yet but it would soon be, and Clarke wasn't going to be on the losing side.

With that thought in mind, and the grating sound of the ticking clock finally getting to her, Clarke grabbed her purse and left the shop.  

"To hell with it," she muttered before heading out.

* * *

The Baker's Café was Clarke's pride and joy; a labor of love and sweat and so many paper cuts she'd lost count of them. Monday mornings weren’t so difficult anymore, not when she only left the comfort of her bed for the comfort of her second home. She opened the café with her usual yawn, signed off on the early deliveries, and later chatted in the small kitchen with Wells, her best friend, co-owner and in her opinion the finest baker in the city. This week they were making apple tart and banana bread with walnuts, a favorite for many of their customers. Gaia joined them fifteen minutes before opening, where she helped Clarke with the tables as they caught up on the latest weekend news. Apparently Gaia had learned through the grapevine that Finn's Coffee & Bagels was courting a grocery store to sell his bagels for a share of the profits, but it was still in the early stages of negotiations.

Still, it didn't sit well with Clarke. Finn Collins was a smug daddy's boy and Clarke knew for a fact that his bagels came packaged and frozen to his shop. Unfortunately his father was the beloved mayor of their city, which was the equivalent of a ringing endorsement for most residents who only needed a quick, passable fix before work. Finn's business was thriving thanks to its name alone, but as far as Clarke was concerned the apple had fallen very far from the tree. She was certain Graham Collins knew very little about his son's actual business practices, but there was nothing to be done there. Now Clarke and Wells could only hope their menu and atmosphere kept their loyal customers from straying a few blocks down Elmond Street.

While Gaia opened the café, Clarke put on their background music, double-checked the coffee machines and added the first batch of their freshly baked goods in the display case - a basket of croissants, blueberry muffins, and cinnamon rolls next to the banana bread and apple tart. Just like the café itself, their display was on the smaller side - comfy, Wells said - but they had a rustic charm going for them that seemed to work well enough.

An hour after opening, Clarke had rung up a customer when she heard the door open and close. Her stomach did an awful swoop - caught between surprise and jitters when she saw that it was Lexa Woods who had just walked in. Surprise because Lexa didn't usually come in on Mondays, and jitters because it was Lexa who Clarke had shut out of her mind ever since her damn vision.

Lexa was a journalist at the Costial Gazette, but if she was a woman of words in writing, it was hardly the case in person. She was as buttoned up as the flannel shirts she wore come rain or shine, often beneath a sweater or blazer. She took her coffee black but grimaced at each sip, and come to think of it Clarke had never seen her smile. Lexa seemed scarcely interested in what went on in the shop around her, typing away on her laptop like a train on tracks, fast and with a known destination in mind. Sometimes she got up to stretch her legs or order another slice of the cake of the week, but when she regained her seat her fingers were back to their manic typing, as if she had merely put a pin in her line of thought.

Last week, Lexa had been no different than any other customer. She made it clear she was here to work, and beyond the usual hello and order, Lexa didn't exactly put out a signal that she wanted to converse. So Clarke stuck to her own smile and politeness and thought nothing of it. On some rare occasions she noticed that Lexa and Gaia spoke briefly, but Gaia was Indra Keene's daughter - Lexa's landlord - and so they were slightly more acquainted. According to Gaia, who gossiped with Wells far too much about their customers, Lexa was Indra's favorite tenant. She lived in the only studio on the fourth floor with a small balcony crammed with plants, never made a fuss and had somehow managed to get on Indra's good side after only six months, a feat that Gaia seemed to find particularly impressive. Apparently it took a lot to impress her mother, let alone become her friend. It was a complete mystery to her how Lexa, who always seemed so serious, had managed it.

Now Clarke found herself drawn into the mystery as well, the result of a vision she could swear Lexa had been a part of. Yes, it had been her features she'd recognized - light eyes looking up at her from between her legs, full lips whispering a dirty promise against her thigh, and slender hands reaching for hers. It wasn't as clear to Clarke now, but it had been when the vision had ended and she'd jolted up from her couch. She'd been so certain it was Lexa  - but was it? The more Clarke thought about it, the less it made sense. 

Watching her approach the counter now, sporting her usual tight bun and a green flannel shirt, Clarke just couldn't reconcile this woman with the one from her vision. Lexa was beautiful, there was no doubt, but… It was just that Clarke had never considered the possibility of Lexa being remotely interested. She was perhaps the exact definition of aloof - and was she even attracted to women? Sometimes when she looked at Clarke it felt like she did it with the same interest as someone staring at a blank piece of paper. So how could it be that this woman would one day make her toes curl and her voice crack between pleas for more?

"Good morning."

Mildly startled, Clarke pushed every single thought at the back of her mind before she greeted Lexa in turn. Lexa glanced at the menu written in chalk and pulled out her wallet.

"I'll just have your regular brew and a slice of the apple, please."

"Coming right up," Clarke replied.

While she made the coffee and grabbed a plate for the slice of pie, Clarke tried to think of anything she might say. Lexa was looking at her phone now, but Clarke was determined to at least make some small talk. She had to get to the bottom of this before it drove her nuts. 

"Busy week?" She casually asked.

Lexa looked up from her phone and blinked at her, perhaps just as surprised as Clarke by the spark of conversation.

"Not really," she replied.

It didn't leave much room for a follow-up, and so Clarke offered a smile before sliding the pie and cup of coffee on the counter. Lexa didn't look at Clarke again, but she left a generous tip in the jar as she usually did and then sat at the table by the weeping fig tree Wells was so proud of. Clarke took the next customer's order and cast Lexa out of her mind, ignoring her sudden disappointment. Apparently she wasn't even worth a second glance.

A while later, while Clarke took advantage of the lull for a break at the end of the counter, she opened her notebook and allowed her mind to drift a bit. It had been an eventful weekend and she hadn’t really stopped to think about the actual experience of the vision. The content was still confusing, but she was finally a part of the world's most impactful phenomenon and that was something. She understood it now. And yet she couldn't think of a way to share it with either Wells or Gaia, let alone celebrate it. Theirs had been so innocent. For Wells, it had been a powerful embrace with his estranged father, one that he had yet to experience but certainly had hopes for. For Gaia, it had been a conversation with an esteemed author thanking her for a novel she would one day write. It had been hope. So truthfully Clarke was a bit miffed that she’d witnessed herself having the best sex of her life and couldn’t share it with anyone, not even her supposed partner. There had to be some sort of missing piece there - maybe a punchline. 

"Those are good."

Her heart jumped in her throat at Lexa's voice. Clarke dropped her pencil on the sheet of paper she had been mindlessly doodling on, embarrassed that she'd been caught. They were just drawings to occupy her mind - sketches from everyday trivial things like the café's various plants or the mugs hanging above the sink. She smiled nervously and reached for Lexa's empty plate.

"All done?" She asked.

Lexa nodded and then watched as Clarke put the plate in the sink. "Do you know the kids' stories in the Gazette?"

Clarke turned around with a mild frown. Lexa had never once asked her anything since she'd first walked in six months ago. She was so caught up in the fact that she barely remembered the question itself - something about the paper?

"The what?"

"Pages 24, 25. They're short stories, mostly about animals. We had an intern illustrating them, but he got a full-time opportunity at an advertising firm. It doesn't pay much, but it gets your work out there."

Clarke blinked, at first in surprise - Lexa, talking, conversing - and then in confusion. "I'm not an artist," she said. "They're just doodles."

"I see." Lexa bit her lip before pulling out a printed copy of the Gazette from her briefcase and leaving it on the counter. "It's just two pages, no color. Feel free to leaf through it."

Curiosity got the best of Clarke, who reached for the magazine. "It's monthly, right?” She asked. 

"Hm-mm. Well, the print is. The website breaks news daily."

Clarke looked up and waited, wondering if Lexa was going to add anything. "Right. I think I've got the app somewhere on my phone."

"That's good." Lexa glanced between Clarke and the Gazette before checking her watch. "I should get going."

"Okay. Thank you for the free copy."

For a moment Clarke thought she might finally know what a smile looked like on her, but Lexa only offered a slow nod before she left the café. Clarke stared at the door a minute, wondering if she had just made up the entire interaction in her head. 

She closed the notebook and shook her head, deciding in that very instant to answer her own earlier question: no, there was absolutely no way that it was Lexa Woods who would ever embrace her that tightly.

[part two]

[dontcha-wanheda]

undefined

Day 4: Scream

Collaboration project I did with @eris223. Enjoy! 

[thecrimsonknight]

Clextober Day 8: Vampires/ Werewolves

[hushthots]

Clextober Day 8: Vampires/Werewolves

“I know what you are.”

“Say it. Out loud.” 

pose - @effiethejay

[cantgetoutofmyheda]

Can you write modern au clexa at a Halloween party. So our costumes match and my friend keeps telling me to come take a photo but oh shit you're hot

To say Clarke was pissed would be an understatement. Fall was her favorite season for so many reasons—being able to layer with cute sweaters, pumpkin spiced lattes, apple picking, and Halloween. She was pissed because for the first time, Raven actually beat her at beer pong. It was a weekly ritual in their apartment—everyone came over on Saturday nights and they’d play, watch movies, and just hang out.

Knowing that they were scoring an invite to Octavia’s new boyfriend’s Halloween party, Raven decided to up the ante and forced Clarke into a bet: winner got to choose the loser’s costume. The blonde, however, felt confident. She already had her costume all planned out: Stevie Nicks; she had gone to every vintage store in the city to find every piece she needed to complete her look. Raven’s never beat her, not once in the five years they had known each other, so she had nothing to worry about.

Or so she thought.

---

“You know what,” Clarke groaned as she buttoned her top button, “I don’t think I’m going to come anymore.”

“A bet’s a bet, Griff,” Raven laughed, “And if memory serves me correct, your costume will be fully complete once you have the accent.”

“I’m not doing the accent, Rae,” the blonde whined, “I’m not coming.”

“You’re definitely coming, we told O we’d go for moral support. Plus, if Lincoln’s friends are as hot as he is, maybe we’ll both score tonight,” Raven shrugged, finishing the final touches for her own costume.

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Well of course you’re going to meet someone, you’re dressed like a slutty Lara Croft.”

“It’s not slutty, Griff,” the brunette began to defend herself, “This is literally what she wore.”

“I look like I’m about to wrestle an alligator,” Clarke huffed, “no one’s even going to know who I am.” 

Raven turned to smirk at her friend, “That’s what the accent’s for, babe. And the name tag.”

“Name tag?” Clarke turned around to face Raven but was met with the girl slapping a sticker across the front of her khaki jumpsuit: Bindi Irwin.

---

“I didn’t realize Clarke could do an Australian accent,” Octavia observed, as the blonde went over to get herself another drink.

“Me neither,” Raven laughed, “Honestly, I thought it would be embarrassing for her, but homegirl’s making it work in her favor.”

“Honestly,” Lincoln chimed into the conversation, “if I hadn’t met her before this, I would have thought she was actually from there.”

“I wonder if Griff would take me up on another game of beer pong, I have another bet in mind,” Raven said, eyes on the game set up across the room.

Octavia smacked her on the back of her head, “She’s already pissed about this bet, you idiot. Don’t make her more mad than she already is, I don’t want her leaving here.”

Lincoln laughed at his girlfriend, “Yeah, and the party’s just getting started. Don’t want her storming out just yet.”

---

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” Lexa murmured as they approached Lincoln’s front door.

Her older sister rolled her eyes, “It’s a Halloween party, Lex. You needed a costume. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You want me to thank you for giving me your pajamas?” Lexa cocked a brow.

“Don’t be a little shit,” Anya nudged her, “You don’t have to stay long, Linc just wanted us to meet his girl, then you can take the damn thing off and go out to whatever thing it was you had tonight.”

“It wasn’t a thing,” Lexa rolled her eyes, “the bartender from the other week is working again and she was hot. You ruined it by getting too drunk because I had to take you home. I’m just working on my second shot.”

“Okay,” Anya said, finally opening the door, “so stay for an hour and then you can go and try to get laid.”

---

“Holy shit, who is that?” Raven asked, mouth agape as she stared at a female Indiana Jones talking to Lincoln and Octavia.

Clarke looked where Raven’s eyes were already drawn to, “I dunno, mate, but she looks like Indiana Jones.”

“Clarke,” Raven smiled, turning her attention to her friend and putting her hand on her shoulder, “I am so glad you’re finally embracing the awesomeness of your costume.”

The blonde took a sip of her drink, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“Would it be rude if I interrupted their conversation right now?” Raven asked, looking back in the direction of the other group, “I feel like I can get a proper intro this way.”

“Shoot your shot, Lara,” Clarke laughed.

Raven grabbed her arm, “Okay, well you’re coming with me.”

They made their way to the trio and Lincoln introduced them all. As soon as Anya took notice of Clarke’s nametag, she couldn’t help but laugh, “This is amazing. This is fucking amazing.”

Clarke arched a brow, “Oh?”

“Have you seen my sister around here?” Anya asked, trying to calm herself down.

“Ahn,” Lincoln started, “they just met you. How would they know who Lexa is?”

“Figured they would have recognized her, considering she’s matching Bindi over here,” Anya gestured towards the blonde.

Raven directed her attention to Anya, “Please tell me she’s dressed as Steve Irwin.”

“Nope,” the girl shook her head, “but you’ll know her when you see her. I’m going to go get a drink, anyone need anything?”

Raven looked at Clarke and mouthed, “This is it,” before telling Anya she’d accompany her.

As the two made their way to the bar cart, Anya was the one that broke the silence, “Lara Croft, huh?”

Raven looked the girl up and down, “Indiana Jones, huh?”

“A very bad joke could be made about our costumes right now,” Anya smirked as she poured herself a drink.

“Or a very good pick up line,” Raven offered.

“Try me.”

Raven was never one to back down from a challenge, “I know you raided the lost ark, but I’d raid your tomb any day.”

Without saying a word, Anya stepped out of the way so the other girl could make her drink of choice.

“So?” Raven asked, mixing her cocktail.

Anya raised a brow, “So what?”

“Did it work?” Raven asked, sipping her whiskey and soda.

“Hmm,” Anya brought her finger to her chin, “Yeah, I think it did. Find me for a dance later,” she winked then walked away.

Raven rushed to find Clarke—in her haste, she ran into what seemed to be a big green blanket, “Shit, sorry.”

The figure turned to face Raven, but their face was hidden in the depths of the overly large onesie, “No worries, though it’s kind of hard to miss me.”

“You must be Anya’s sister,” Raven pointed out, “the crocodile.”

“That I am,” the voice said, “on both accounts, I guess.”

“You should meet my friend,” Raven laughed, “your costumes go together weirdly well.”

“I’m heading out soon, but maybe I’ll catch them around,” the voice offered before walking away.

---

“Clarke,” Raven grabbed the blonde who was in the middle of a conversation with what seemed to be someone dressed up as Han Solo, “come with me.”

Clarke excused herself before turning her attention to Raven, “What the fuck, Rae?”

“I ran into Anya’s sister—Anya totally wants me, by the way, but that’s besides the point,” she let out in one breath, “You need to see her costume, I need a picture of you guys together.”

“What’s she dressed as?” Clarke asked, still unamused by the interruption.

“You’ll know when you see her,” Raven laughed, “I have an idea for a bet.”

“No. No way, Rae,” Clarke stepped back, “I’m not doing that with you again, look at where it got me.”

Raven grabbed her by the arms, “If she’s as hot as Anya, you’d totally thank me for this little get up of yours.”

“If?” Clarke questioned, “I thought you said you met her?”

“Well,” Raven shrugged, “I did, but I couldn’t see her face because of her-”

“Oh my God,” Clarke interrupted her, “is that a crocodile? Is that Anya’s sister?”

“Griff,” Raven pulled her attention back, “I will give you $50 if you jump on top of her and pretend to wrangle her.”

Clarke’s felt like her eyes were about to launch out of their sockets, “That’s assault, you psycho. I don’t even know her, I’m not doing that.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Anya’s voice entered, “but my sister basically made a comment about wanting to be under a hot girl tonight. You can make her dreams come true.”

“I’m not doing this,” Clarke shook her head.

Raven reached into her pocket and pulled out cash, “C’mon, Griff. Pretty please. It’ll be the best Halloween memory we’ll ever have.”

“Yeah, until she realizes a strange is jumping her and punches me in the face,” Clarke quipped back.

Anya laughed, “She wouldn’t. I know her better than anyone, she’ll get a good laugh out of it once she sees your costume.”

The blonde looked between the two, before gulping down her drink, followed by Raven’s. She grabbed the cash her friend was dangling, “I’m probably going to regret this.”

Before she knew it, she was right behind the crocodile. She quietly crept closer, to be at a more favorable distance to make her $50 entrance. From her vantage point, the girl wasn’t holding anything that she would spill, and there wasn’t anyone directly in front of her that would get trampled on in case they fell. Clarke took a deep breath—it was now or never.

---

Lexa stood there checking her phone, she had almost been there for forty-five minutes, and wondered if that was an acceptable amount of time before she dashed out. As she began to walk forward, she heard a rather loud Australian voice call out from behind her.

“G’day, little croc!”

Before she knew it, she was face down on the ground with the weight of a body sitting on top of her. “Oof,” and a loud groan was all she could muster out.

The voice spoke up again, “Didn’t know I’d get me a live one today, mate.”

The weight finally lifted off of her and a set of arms pulled her back to her feet. She took the hood of the onesie off her head to get a better look at the situation, but saw that it was her sister that pulled her up, “What the fuck was that, Ahn?”

Anya couldn’t control her laughter, as she pointed behind where Lexa was standing. She took the cue to turn around and was met with Clarke’s bashful grin.

“They made me do it,” was all the blonde could get out. Raven was right, and Clarke made a mental note to thank her friend for forcing her into the outfit because this girl was the most attractive crocodile she had ever seen, “I’m Clarke, but you can call me ‘Bindi.’”

“Ah,” Lexa said, examining the girl, “I see how this makes sense, now. I’m Lexa, by the way, but I guess you can call me ‘crocodile.’”

Raven looked between the two who seemed to be staring at each other, “Just to be clear, no one made her do anything. I bet her $50 and she took it fair and square.”

“$50, huh?” Lexa asked, eyes still locked on the blonde’s.

Clarke smirked, “Want to split the winnings for your troubles?”

“Or we can get out of here and you can buy me a drink?”

“Deal,” Clarke put out her hand.

Lexa took her hand to shake it, “One question, though. Is the accent real?”

Clarke shrugged, “It can be if you want it to be.”

[clexmas23]

Clextober is NEAR!!

Hey everyone! October is around the corner and we all know how much I love fall, Halloween, and Clexa. That means Clextober19 is coming up! 13 days of Clexa will begin on the 18th, so get ready! 

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

How To Participate: Fanart, fanvids, fanfics, moodboards, photo manipulations, fic recs, anything that screams Clexa while also screaming Fall/October/Halloween - let’s see it!

13 Days of Clexa: This will be 13 days of Halloween themed posts. Reblog Share Repeat! Send out ideas/prompts to your favorite writers and artists! Don’t forget to tag!  #Clextober19   #13DaysofClexa

As part of Clextober we will be doing 13 Days of Clexa starting on October 19th, 2019. Below is a list of the theme ideas we will be doing for the 13 Days of Clexa and I will post more detailed ideas very soon!  

Get those gears turning!

October 19 - Day 13: A Pinch of Magic October 20 - Day 12: Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice  October 21 - Day 11: Flannel  October 22 - Day 10: Ghouls' Night Out October 23 - Day 9: Scary Stories October 24 - Day 8: Vampires/Werewolves October 25 - Day 7: BYOB: Bring your own Boo’s October 26 - Day 6: Fall Festivities October 27 - Day 5: Haunted Houses October 28 - Day 4: SCREAM October 29 - Day 3: Monster Mash  October 30 - Day 2: Trick or Treat October 31 - Happy Halloween: FREE DAY

[onemilliongoldstars]

a little piece of magic

For as long as she can remember, Clarke has used her magic to keep others away, but when her pretty neighbour comes knocking looking for a rare potion ingredient she can’t help herself.

Read on ao3

-

Clarke has always had exceptional wards. Ever since she was a teenager, and would use them to keep her mother from her room while she blasted witch pop from her speakers and skulked about in long black skirts – such a cliché – she has been able to easily keep people at a distance.

(Her therapist would say this is indicative of a deeper issue, but that’s by the by.)

When she moved into her new apartment she set up her standard wards by the door, along the windows, and across the corridor, and when her neighbours cross through their shared hallway at all times of the night she can usually ignore the slight tremors of sensation she feels. So when a knock comes to her door without any warning, she almost falls from her armchair, where’s she curled reading an old book of her father’s. Albus, her tetchy familiar, jumps from her lap and throws her an infuriated glance at being disturbed from his nap, his tabby fur bristling.

The knocking comes again, more impatiently, and Clarke stares at the door in amazement. She feels for her wards, but there is no disturbance, and a shiver runs through her as she realises that the person behind the door must have magic. The third bout of knocking is enough to rouse her from her chair and send Albus skittering across the floor into the bedroom.

Clarke braces herself and uncurls her fingers to reveal the blue magic of mage fire in the palm of her hand. She was never the best at defensive magic, but if the person on the other side of the door means her harm this will at least give her a fighting chance.

“Hello?” Comes a voice from behind the door, as she ducks under the herbs drying above the doorway. “I really need your help!”

It’s enough to give her pause, and her mouth drops open when she peers through her peephole to see her neighbour stood outside – her very pretty neighbour, who always seems to be bringing girls home who Clarke has to resist the urge to curse with boils - wringing her hands together anxiously.

She opens the door just a crack and demands, “You have magic?” Her neighbour startles at the sight of her,

“Oh! Hi, yes, yes I do.” Her eyes flicker nervously to the mage fire, “Um, I come in peace.”

“Oh, sorry,” Clarke closes her hand around the fire, extinguishing it with a puff of purple smoke. She opens the door, but doesn’t step back to welcome her neighbour inside. No matter how pretty the girl is, even now with her dark hair falling from her braid and a manic expression in her eyes, she knows not to welcome strangers over her threshold without good reason. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” The girl cringes, “I really need some scorpion venom, have you got any?”

“Scorpion venom?” Clarke stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. “Well yeah, I have a few vials, but-”

“Please, please could I borrow some?” Her neighbour cuts through her, eyes impeaching. “It’s an emergency.”

“Yeah, fine, I guess.” Clarke backs away over the threshold. “Come in, let me find it for you.”

“Thank you,” Her neighbours steps hesitantly inside, and stands politely in the hallway as Clarke crosses the room to dig through her cupboards. Albus appears from the bedroom to give her neighbour a suspicious glance and trots across the living room to curl up on his favourite chair, as if worried she’ll steal it.

“Don’t mind him,” Clarke says over her shoulder, “He was a warlock in a past life, so he thinks he knows best about everything.”

Albus gives a haughty sniff and her neighbour smiles.

“Your place is amazing,” She offers, and Clarke follows her gaze through the apartment.

The high, domed ceilings and roomy living room, with an open fire, fit impossibly into the studio apartment. Plants grow from every corner and when she peers into the ceiling above, the evening sky is just beginning to be filled with streaks of pink.

“Oh thanks,” She offers a shy smile, gathering a few bottles of venom into her arms. “My friend Raven is amazing at spatial enchantments, she helped me.”

“Do you know a lot about potions?” Her neighbour casts a glance at the rows of ingredients in her kitchen, and the cauldrons lining the china cabinet.

“I dabble,” She answers, modestly, “Will this be enough?”  

“More than enough, thank you.” The girl accepts the vials gratefully, but hesitates,

“Actually, would you be able to help me? I could really use the help of an expert.”

“Oh, I’m no expert,” Clarke hastens to correct her.

“You’re much better than I am though,” Her neighbour pleads. “Just five minutes or so?”

She is helpless to the pleading in the girl’s pretty eyes, and gives in far more quickly than she would like to admit. “Fine.”

With one final glance at Albus, she summons her keys into her hands and follows her neighbour across the hallway and into her apartment.

“I’m Lexa, by the way,” Her neighbour says over her shoulder, casting a pretty smile aside like it’s nothing.

“H-hi, I’m Clarke,” She goes weak at the knees at the sight of that smile.

With an elegant flick of the wrist, Lexa lets her into her apartment. Far from the cluttered, eclectic taste of her own apartment, Lexa has turned her place from a small, shabby studio to a spacious, neat, warm apartment, filled with white accents and colour coded bookshelves. Wide windows, reminiscent of apartments uptown, let the golden evening sunshine in and candles are flickering neatly near the window seat in the living room. The only thing out of place is the weasel lounging on the back of her couch, glaring at them both as they enter the room.

“Sorry about her,” Lexa shuts the door behind them, hurrying to the kitchen with her vials in hand. “She’s really mad at me.”

“Is she your familiar?” Clarke has never seen a weasel for a familiar before, but then Finn had a toad named Yoda, so who is she to judge?

At her words the weasel hisses her protest and Lexa cringes delicately.

“No,” She nods to the snowy owl on the bookcase in the corner of her living room, and says. “That’s Astrid, she’s my familiar.” The bird pokes her head out from beneath her wing to fix Clarke with one yellow eye, before turning away again. “This,” Lexa glances back at the weasel, “is Anya, and she is why I need your help.”

Clarke can’t help the curious smile that crosses her lips. “You know her?”

“She’s my friend,” Lexa explains, as she begins to gather ingredients on the spotless work surface. “She bought a bad spell from some back alley dealer, thought it would turn her into a bird.” Lexa rolls her eyes when the weasel squeaks her indignation. “She needs me to change her back in time for a date she has tonight.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh, gazing down at the furious little creature in Lexa’s apartment. “This sounds exactly like something my friends would do.” Her eyes narrow as she watches Lexa pull out a clunky iron cauldron and settle it over her hob. “Are you really using that?” She cringes as Lexa starts to prepare her ingredients. “You definitely shouldn’t be chopping the berry root that finely.”

Lexa grimaces a little, stepping back to let Clarke peer over her shoulder. “Like I said, I’m no expert at potions.”

Clarke sighs, and turns away to hide her grin as she offers. “I suppose I could make it for you.”

Lexa’s eyes brighten with relief. “Really? That would be amazing Clarke, thank you.” She glances back at the weasel and prompts, “Anya, thank Clarke.” The weasel just flicks her tail impatiently, and Lexa sighs and gives Clarke an apologetic smile, “Sorry, she’s always mean, even when she’s human.”

The words draw laughter from between her lips, “It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to be a weasel either.” She looks back to the cauldron and rolls up her sleeves. “Let’s get started, can you be trusted with stirring?”

“I think so,” Lexa allows, returning her grin, and retrieves a ladle from one of her neatly stocked drawers.

As she begins to slice the berry root, Clarke asks, curiously. “So why didn’t you have any scorpion venom of your own?”

“Oh,” Lexa wrinkles her nose, “I got into a fight with my usual supplier.” When Clarke glances at her, intrigued, she continues a little reluctantly. “I saw him at the Hallowed Inn with Anya the other week, slipping something into some girl’s drink. I called him out on it and things got a little heated.”

Clarke pauses, her knife stilling, and she feels fury curl in the pit of her stomach. “That makes me sick, love potions should be illegal. Not everyone knows the charms to reveal it.”

“I know,” Lexa agrees quietly, and for a moment they are both silent as Clarke tips a healthy amount of slug juice into the cauldron. “At least you had some to hand,” The smile she offers is distinctly charming, and Clarke fumbles not to slice her fingers off.

“Always good to have some spare,” She finally offers, a little lamely, and then rushes to continue, flushing up to her ears. “How did you even know I had magic? I’m so careful.” The expression Lexa fixes her with is distinctly sceptical, and she bristles. “What?”

“I’m sorry it’s just,” Lexa half shrugs, “You really aren’t that careful. Last month when you had a house party? I swear a hundred people went through your door and I could hear your indoor fireworks.”

Clarke’s blush darkens again and she laughs sheepishly. “I guess you have a point.”

“But before that,” Lexa continues a little more quietly, and when Clarke steals a glance at her, she is gazing resolutely into the cauldron, pink tinging her cheeks. “You make toadstool soup… sometimes I can smell it through the walls.”

For a second Clarke thinks she may be able to magic herself away in a puff of smoke, so painful is her embarrassment. “Oh I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t…”

“No, don’t be,” Lexa hurries to correct her, looking up to meet her eyes. “I like it, reminds me of home.”

“Oh,” As Clarke gazes at her it is like something tender is blossoming between her ribs, something soft and warm. “I can always bring some over if you’d like. I normally have leftovers.”

“Really?” Lexa’s expression brightens, and Clarke has to resist the urge to reach out and take her hand.

They are disturbed by a raucous clatter from behind, and turn to see that Anya has jumped up onto the counter and pushed a metal tin filled with teabags to the ground. Lexa glares at her, “We’re going as fast as we can!” Her expression softens when she turns back to Clarke. “I’m really sorry about her.”

“My friends are worse,” Clarke assures her with a laugh, and scrapes the berry roots from the chopping board into the cauldron. “Stir that three times clockwise, three times anticlockwise, got it?”

“Got it,” Lexa nods, watching from the corner of her eye as Clarke begins finely chopping mandrake leaves. “So how did you get so good at potions?”

“I just think it’s like cooking,” Clarke shrugs, “You get a feel for what’s right.”

“You’re being modest,” Lexa smiles, “Is your line of work in potions?”

“Occasionally I sell them on the side,” Clarke smiles, “But I’m studying to be a Healer.”

“Wow,” Lexa’s eyes shine bright with admiration. “That’s amazing.”

Clarke can feel the blush returning to her cheeks, and has to look back to her slicing to stop herself from turning bright red. “What about you? What do you do?”

Lexa gazes bashfully down into the cauldron, “I’m a teacher, and I’m writing a book on transfiguration.”

“Really? You must be so good at it.”

Lexa shrugs, lifting the ladle aside to let Clarke slide in the mandrake leaf. “I suppose it’s like you and potions, it just feels like it comes naturally.”

“Will you show me?” Clarke can’t help but ask, and the warm evening light that shines in through the kitchen window dances across Lexa’s features as she smiles, shyly, and waves her hand.

The vase of flowers in the window twitches and then the flowers lift from their stems and turn into beautiful, white butterflies fluttering across the room to circle both of them playfully. Clarke lets out a delighted laugh, gazing upwards, and when a butterfly settles on her hand she gasps in amazement. Another bang comes from behind them, and Clarke flinches as Lexa gives her friend a glower so severe Clarke is sure she would turn to dust beneath it.

The butterflies turn to flowers, fluttering down to the floor, and Lexa sighs. “We should finish this,” She says, and Clarke nods her agreement.

“Final touch,” She reaches out and accepts the ladle from Lexa, tipping a few drops of the scorpion venom into the mixture. Murmuring a quiet incantation, she waves her hand over the cauldron and watches the liquid turn as green as summer grass. Lexa fetches a small saucer and they fill it with a spoonful and place it on the counter beside Anya. “If you have some Tupperware,” Clarke comments conversationally. “This can freeze and keep for up to six months.” Her gaze flickers to Anya, who is drinking feverishly. “In case this happens again.”

Lexa smiles and opens her mouth to respond, but with a sudden flash of light and the slight whiff of singed fur, the weasel on the counter transforms into a tall, furious looking blonde woman, who pushes herself off the counter with a curse.

“I am going to kill that bitch if I ever see her again,” She fumes, her voice rasping, and Clarke has to bite back her laughter as the woman shakes herself. “And you,” She turns on Lexa, “I was a weasel for almost eight hours because you couldn’t work up the courage to ask your crush for one final ingredient!”

Clarke’s eyes widen, her gaze landing on Lexa, who gapes at Anya’s words and stammers.

“I-I don’t…. that’s not what happened-”

“Oh please,” Anya huffs and with a click of her fingers her outfit disappears, replacing itself with a smart dress and patent heels which click against the tile of the kitchen floor as she flings open a cupboard door and says. “Look! She already has scorpion venom!”

With that, she turns on her heel and strides from the apartment, slamming the door so hard the hinges shake. A long silence follows her departure, and Clarke turns to fix her gaze on Lexa, who is staring down at her shoes as if they might vanish from her feet at any second.

“So,” She leans against the counter, fighting the urge to grin like a lunatic. “You already had some scorpion venom?”

Lexa grimaces, “I guess so.” She offers an innocent smile, “I must have missed it?”

“You know if you wanted to ask me out you could have just done it like a normal person.” She teases, but ever so gently because Lexa looks so painfully embarrassed she feels sorry for her.

“I couldn’t,” Lexa admits, a little pathetically, “I see you come and go all the time and I try to catch your eye in the corridor, but you never say anything more than hi. I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” Clarke’s heart drops, “I barely knew you! I mean sure, I was a little jealous of the parade of half-dressed girls coming in and out of your apartment-”

“It is not a parade,” Lexa rolls her eyes, and then hesitates, “Wait, you were jealous?”

“I was,” Clarke admits, freely, “You’re gorgeous, I wanted to curse them all with boils or a rash or something equally as gross.”

“Why were you jealous?” Lexa sounds a little awed, and Clarke laughs.

“Because they’d all been on a date with my gorgeous neighbour, who I’ve been secretly crushing on.” Lexa’s eyes widen and as a grin crosses her features she gathers herself enough to say.

“Well maybe we can do something about that, are you free tonight?”

Clarke glances at the cauldron and half shrugs, biting back her huge smile. “I suppose my work here is done, what were you thinking?”

“Pizza and a movie?” Lexa glances at her TV, “I have Netflix and Hulu.”

“What a charmer,” Clarke teases, trying to ignore the excited butterflies in her stomach. “Only if I get to pick the movie.”

Lexa’s smile widens. “Deal.”

[writtenletterstoyou]

#clextober19 #day13

A Pinch of Magic. 

Seal It With A Kiss

It’s no secret that magic still exists in the world although it is nowhere near as common as it may have been at one point in time. In fact, these days it’s quite rare. Those who do still have magic keep it mostly to themselves for their own safety and that includes Lexa and her family.

So what happens when a spell goes wrong and her secret is reveled?

Read the story here!  

[eris223]

Lexa was a witch. A real witch with magic flowing through her veins, yet she never told a soul that fact. Still, townsfolk showed up on her doorstep after dark, begging for a spell or potion, and Lexa was more than happy to lend a neighborly hand. As long as the request didn't fall outside her moral boundaries. Hexes, curses, love potions and spells. That's where Lexa drew the line.

Clarke was a baker who just opened shop in the small Massachusettes town. Everyone warned her about a certain, very beautiful, frequent customer. They would tell her how scary and dangerous Lexa Woods was.

But sometimes magic was a fickle little thing, and when she made up her mind, it was usually pretty futile to fight it.

Read on ao3

[jordswriteswords]

Clextober19: Flannel

"Faster!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, Clarke!" Lexa tried her best to be gentle with her wife, but frustration was mounting as the moaning from beside her grew more pained. Lexa slammed her hand down on the horn of her car, a loud honk trilling out into the jammed highway.

"Fuck me," Lexa sighed, knowing it was pointless to be mad at the traffic for existing.

Clarke let out a pained grunt, followed by a pitiful whine.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Lexa soothed. She wiped Clarke's sweaty brow with her sleeve.

"I don't want your apologies, I just want -- ahhh!" Clarke's scolding was cut off by another sharp pain.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," Lexa said again.

"This is all your fault!" Clarke cried. "You did this to me!"

"I know, I know. If only this fucking traffic would move!" Lexa slammed her hand down on the horn again, somehow hoping that the cars would magically move for them. They needed to get to the hospital now.

Tears leaked out of Clarke's eyes as another wave of pain washed over her. Lexa leaned over and pressed kisses to her temple.

"I don't think I'm going to make it, Lex," Clarke cried.

Lexa gaped at her wife. They had to make it. They had to. Lexa didn't know what to do. "Just breathe. Follow me," she tried to coach.

Clarke tried to follow, but she was cut off by another whirlwind of pain, screaming into the dash of the car. Lexa nearly split her lip, biting it out if sympathy for her wife.

"Help me," Clarke said. "Help me into the back. Please."

Lexa growled at the traffic again, then swung the driver side door open. The cars still hadn't budged. She ran around the SUV to the passenger door and nearly ripped the handle off upon opening. She undid Clarke's seatbelt and took her in her arms and placed her in the backseat. She took one last glance out at what seemed to be never-moving traffic and climbed into the back with her wife.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping Clarke's brow again.

"I love you," Clarke breathed through her exhaustion.

"I love you, too," Lexa said. She took Clarke's hand between hers and pressed kisses to her knuckles.

The blonde leaned her head back against the glass in desperate search of coolness to soothe her sweaty brow.

"It's time, Lex, it's time," she cried.

Lexa's chin wobbled, and she took off her flannel shirt and placed it on the seat between them.

"Okay, baby, on three, I want you to push. One, two, three."

***

The sound of sharp, terrified cries filled the car.

It was music to the couple's ears.

Lexa wrapped her flannel around the little bundle of flesh, using her sleeves to wipe away as much fluid and blood from it's little face.

"It's a girl," she whispered, eyes filled with so much love when she looked at the strongest woman in the world - her wife. "It's a girl," she repeated, amazed by the tiny fingers that grasped onto her thumb.

"It's our little girl," Clarke said, chin wobbling with emotion as she looked at the love of her life holding their baby girl.

Lexa let her tears flow as she passed the bundle of flannel joy to her partner, leaning over her to give her a careful kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Clarke responded. "I love you both."

Clarke held their baby girl to her chest, tracing her fingers over her dark brown curls. "She's got quite the head of hair," she laughed, her own tears leaking from her eyes.

"She's got your eyes," Lexa commented as the baby opened them just enough to gaze up at her mommies before closing them back and snuggling down in the soft red and black material.

"Hi, baby," Lexa said. "happy birthday."

[sabrinushka]

Clextober 2019 - Day 7: BYOB: Bring your own Boo’s

Someone was not happy with the costumes Lexa got for this year’s Halloween party

[100hearteyes]

Clextober19 - Day 3 - Monster Mash

A terrible plague has left the planet’s population divided between zombies and humans.

When an unusual zombie named L sees her walking-dead brethren attacking a living woman, she decides to rescue her. The woman, Clarke, sees that L is different from the other zombies, and the pair embark on an unusual friendship.

As their bond grows, L becomes more and more human and Clarke finds herself entertaining two unthinkable possibilities: one, maybe all hope is not lost for humanity after all; and two, she may be falling in love with a zombie.

It’s a Warm Bodies AU.

[dontcha-wanheda]

Day 11: Flannel  (AKA - Lumberjack Lexa)

[thecrimsonknight]

Clextober Day 10: Ghouls’ Night Out