#herstoryforheda

[herstoryforheda]

Binge and Cuddle Time

Walking into the stark office she made her way directly behind the desk and leaned on it, "So we on tonight?" The red headed assassin asked. The soldier smirked at the question, "Is there a reason we shouldn't be?" She was looking over recent mission files that she needed to make sure got to the right higher ups.

"No, just making sure nothing came up." Black widow was usually very sure of herself when it came to combat and taking down the bad guy but in cases like this, well she was at a loss. Losing herself to her training at such a young age left her very uncertain in many ways.

The brunette looked up from her seat and smiled at the hero, "We are still on. I just need to finish a few things here and we can go."

Black Widow gave a smile that lit the room, "Good because I think I know what I want to start binge watching."

Sitting back in her chair Maria gave a small laugh, "And do I get to know what this show is in advance?"

"Nope," Natasha was happy to surprise the woman because then it would be less likely Maria would try to change her mind.

Maria sighed, "Fine. I will be done in ten. Meet me at my car." 

"Done," Natasha said as she turned to walk back out of the room.

As they reached Maria's home they both felt like they had reached home. The last few months had been fun getting to know each other. It had its ups and downs but the two clicked in ways they didn't know they could before. As they got into the apartment the two split up. Natasha started to make snack foods and maria went to change. Natasha took the extra ten minutes of waiting to change into more comfortable clothing. 

When they had popcorn, chips and dip the two sat down. Turning on the TV and loading Netflix the red head sat back as the theme song started to play. Maria laughed then looked at the assassin, "Really?"

"Yup," was the short reply as she popped some food into her mouth and smiled.

"You better hope I like this," was Maria's weak threat. 

"Come on, everyone in the world loves this show!" Natasha tried to stand up for her choice.

"Your just watching it because it has lesbians in it." Maria said as she scooted closer.

"So not true! All the reviews say its funny. I mean its considered a dramadie. We need to catch up to the rest of the world." Natasha couldn't believe that she was having to miss some of her show just because Maria was being stubborn. "Sure, sure, sure." Maria moved closer again and opened her arms, "Just get over here so we can get this over with." 

Natasha smiled wide as she took her spot in Maria's arms, "Thank you." 

Silently they watched as Piper realized Alex was in the same prison as she was in. Maria held tight to the other woman wanting to give her someone who could hold her when she needed it. After so many ups and downs they have come to depend on one another. They may have started on rough ground with all of the things going on but now they wouldn't change anything.

Looking down at Natasha, "You know I don't mind this so much. As long as your smiling that's all that matters." Natasha smiled up at Maria. Quickly moving she kissed the brunette and just let the moments take them where it went.

[saintdollyparton]

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[commander-wanheda]

Thank You!

I want to send out a biiiiig thank you to @lesbiansandpuns and @fleimkeepa for their stories based on my promp! I loved both of them! 

Also, I encourage everyone to join in and support the Trevor project, either by donating directly or by donating to encourage the writers from @herstoryforheda to use their creativity to write a story based on your idea/prompt! Even if you can only spare 1$, this is all it takes to help make a difference for young lgbt+ people in need!

[herstoryforheda]

Clexa Proposal

Prompt: Canon clexa proposal. [AN: I added my own spin: Clarke jumped in front of the bullet and was rushed back to Arkadia's medical bay. Lexa follows through the dead of night to ask the Chancellor the most important question the Heda has ever asked.]

Can be found below and also on Ao3 here.

Song: Cassandra Dies — DW.

The room was vibrating, it hummed with a little noise that was unfamiliar to the commander's ears, shivers ran through her spine and she wondered whether it was a skaikru trick or the ghosts of brethren lost here. The bright light hurt her eyes and so she winced and kept them closed, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip and licked the taste of iron and salt and stretched the gnawing muscles in her neck.

"That," Lexa wiped the blood from her lip, "Is punishable by death." she eyed Abby who shook and heaved in front of her like a wild animal, the responsible fist trembling with the rest of her.

"Let's not do anything rash." Kane stepped between them entirely too late, "Heda, we are grateful you came to consult with us first." he handed her a handkerchief to stem her split lip.

"Consult with us?" Abby's eyes narrowed and her voice was shrill. "How would you feel if it was your daughter being used as a bargaining chip? She is lying in a hospital bed lucky to be alive. If anything had happened..."  Abby clutched her chest at the thought and it didn't need saying out loud.

"Clarke is—"

"Don't." Abby raised her finger at the young commander and she was powerless, victim to a mother;s wrath. "I bet you've never had to ask permission for anything in your whole life. The answer is no. I'm not selling my daughter to a warlord... even if it is the price of peace." she sneered and crossed her arms.

"I remind you that this is a skaikru tradition." Lexa stepped forward, "Once she is strong, I am free to formally ask Clarke with or without your permission." there was a little raise of her brow and it was intended as a challenge.

"I just got my daughter back." Abby's voice betrayed herself and she pointed her finger right at Lexa. "I was in space and—and she came to the ground and ever since then she was too busy saving people to even notice I'm around and I have just gotten her back from all of that." her chest heaved with the weight of it all and Abby couldn't contain it, palpable as it was, it choked the room and left it devoid of everything but her burden. "So no, Lexa. You don't get to ride in here on horseback with your army and make my daughter fall in love with the idea of you. The strong, beautiful warlord who will whisk her away from this life and keep her people safe. It's a lie and you know it."

"You are wrong, Chancellor Griffin." Lexa glared and chewed and huffed and suffered it all magnificently. "I will give my last breath to keep her people safe, because when we are wed, her people will become my people."

"So this is political? Just a formality to quell a potential uprising against us becoming the thirteenth clan?" Kane nodded and tried to make these things easier to swallow, though it was a losing battle.

Lexa sneered and nodded her head, like an actress, a thespian at the most crucial part of the play, she made pretense of her indifference to such false accusation and colluded in Kane's efforts. Clarke was the sea and the sun and the moon and the wind, and she… she was just basking in the glow of it all, and so she would eternally without need or want to explain her truest motives to anyone, not even Clarke.

"Clarke is uniquely positioned to be of high enough station to wed. She is a brave warrior, respected and knowledgeable on the customs and politics of both our people, she will be an excellent advisor to offer me counsel and there is much to gain from such a union… she would be protected for the rest of her life." Lexa forced the rehearsed speech she'd prepared the entire ride here out of her chest. "Clarke and I, we could make a mark on the world."

"Do you not see how that makes what you're asking even worse?" Abby clenched and balled her hands, her teeth grinding into a crescendo of frustration. "She took a bullet from one of your closest advisors and nearly got herself killed, and you come here to talk to us about politics! You should be begging our forgiveness, not asking for favours. You don't deserve her love, Commander."

"You think I don't know that!" Lexa shook though she did her best to stand taller, "If you think," Lexa chuffed on her own disbelief for a moment and held it right there, looking at the ceiling and off to the vents for a tiny bit of respite. "If you think she could ever be so ordinary, so human, so beneath her duty to love someone like me then you haven't the slightest idea of who she is!" she paused and felt the truth of it simmer her skin and set her insides alight. "I love her and that much is true, but loving Wanheda, it's like admiring a sunset or loving the stars themselves, you don't expect nor do you ask them to love you back." her teeth gnashed and she did well to stop her eyes betraying the whimpering wild thing inside of her chest that shook at the mere thought of loving Clarke in the truest, purest form of the word.

"I don't have much to give... but I can give her my title, I can protect her for the rest of her life and take care of her people and I want nothing in return. I want to marry her so that she may experience all the joy the world can give her, not so I can be the joy at the centre of her world."

"It's you who needs protecting… not me." a voice wheezed.

Clarke was there and ethereal and furiously alive and she did it all with a perfected poise that left Lexa breathless. Though she limped and ached, the sky clung to her with all its might, her skin was scrubbed clean and her hair was combed out and skaikru wires burrowed beneath the skin of her arm pumping drugs to where she needed them the most.

"Clarke, get back in bed!" Abby span on her feet and shooed her back like a mother over its duckling.

"Just—relax, Mom." Clarke shrugged her off and held her ground.

"Your mother is right, you should rest." Lexa deflated, pawing the back of her neck and barely looking in her direction. "I demand it."

"Since when did you argue with the sunset?"

"Clarke..." Lexa pouted and shot her a warning glance.

"Or the stars themselves?" Clarke stifled a grin.

" Shof op ." she whispered, tame and quiet.

"It's been a stressful day for everyone. Commander, I will have a room prepared for you. Please stay as our guest and we can all talk tomorrow when tensions aren't running as… high." Kane insisted.

"I will stand guard at Clarke's door." Lexa chuffed before faltering under Abby's acute stare. "...If I may?" she quickly corrected herself.

"You may." Abby cautiously nodded before taking Kane's arm to give them some privacy. "She has to rest." she leaned in close to Lexa and though there was a grit and a reluctance to her, this was a start, a common ground they both shared.

"You rode all the way here? It must have taken you at least two days." Clarke wheezed and clung to the pretense that she was above the gnaw of the pain that ate at the gunshot wound in her gut. Lexa knew better. She took precisely three steps to close the distance between them and with that she wrapped her arm around her waist and bore her weight and took her back to bed.

"I rode all the way here." Lexa swallowed and somehow kept the fibres of herself that threatened to fray woven together like a tapestry that existed solely to tell their story. "I… you were worse for wear, I had to know you were okay, Wanheda."

"I'm okay, I'm right here." Clarke stopped in the corridor just before her door and grabbed Lexa's sinewed forearm. Her thumb ran in little concerned circles and it unravelled the tapestry.

"I was terrified." Lexa wept and Clarke could do nothing but take her in her arms. "I—I'm sorry, Clarke." she bit it back and tried to pull away.

"Don't you dare." Clarke whispered quietly, refusing to loosen her grip. "You're allowed to be weak in front of me, you don't have to be the commander when it's just us."

"I held you in my arms and I didn't think you were going to—" she took a deep breath and bit her lip. "I care for you so deeply."

"Don't ask me to marry you." Clarke chewed and lied, gently letting go of Lexa's arm. "I love you, Lexa. I love you and if anything ever happened to you, it would kill me... I can't lose another, I'm sorry." she whispered it like a secret.

"Have you ever felt so certain about something you would rest your life on it?" Lexa swallowed and stared with those giant green eyes that could cast back the river swell. "I held you in my arms, all bloodied, and I knew I would have traded my life for yours in an instant." she shook her head and bit her lip, "I'm not asking you to marry me for any convoluted political reason more than simply because I am girl who loves a girl and life is about more than just surviving."

"Don't ask me." Clarke stood tall and lifted her chin, trembling.

"I'm asking." Lexa stepped closer and took her hand. "Be mine, Clarke. Be mine not just to bring peace to your people or assure their place, do it because love is enough and your life is about more than just surviving too."

Clarke fell into her, knees weak and mouth hungry, their lips clashed and it was gentle and necessary. Her hands found the commander's cheeks and held them just so, with long soft ringlets caught in her fingers. "I don't just go around taking bullets for anyone." she gently scolded her and rolled her eyes.

"Don't ever do that again." Lexa shook and she was furious and in love, holding Clarke so gently like she was a beloved ragdoll that had been sewn back together.

"I'll marry you..." she wrapped herself tighter around the commander and whispered in her ear, "but you don't get to tell me not to go around jumping in front of bullets for the woman I love."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Lexa grinned bashfully into her shoulder and dipped her nose against the paper tunic, somehow it smelt of Clarke, of wild berries and summer and it was close enough to taste. Clarke didn't see, but she stood there and grinned right into her, maybe for little more reason than because she loved her impossible sky girl and whilst the world relied on things of stronger resolve, in that moment, fleeting as it may be, love was enough and it reigned supreme.

[herstoryforheda]

bring me the night

prompt: could you do a Clexa one where they're internet friends, or something similar idk, and meet each other for the first time? (filled by @cosima-phdhaus, who would like to say that you should all stop sending such good prompts because i want to turn them all into multi-chaps) song: bring me the night - sam tsui and kina grannis (if you want to increase your feels) 

Clarke's fingers clattered across her keyboard, several tabs open in the background of iMessage. Yes, I'm working on my paper. I know more than I ever thought was possible about the treatment of systemic lupus erythematosus. The response was almost instantaneous.

I literally just saw you reblog a "tag urself" meme.

Clarke's head sunk to her chest as she laughed, hiding a blush that Lexa couldn't see from 3,000 miles away. She guiltily pulled up her paper, noting in the corner of the screen that she was three pages away from her assignment minimum. She minimized the document again to respond.

It isn't my fault that you're more interesting than my research paper.

She'd run across Lexa's blog three years earlier, when a post she'd made about the "bury your gays" trope went viral. While her intersectional feminist posts were a far cry from Clarke's mash of aesthetic photos and shit posting, a few messages asking for resources after Octavia came out as non-binary were all it took for a fast friendship to flourish. Links to websites turned to in depth discussions about bi-erasure, and now it was difficult to imagine the days before Lexa's snapchat notifications were the first thing she saw in the mornings.

Such a sweet talker Clarke. It was trivial compliments, even off handed comments that probably meant nothing, that meant the world to Clarke. She had an entire album on her phone dedicated to screenshots of her conversations with Lexa - little facts she always wanted to remember or moments she was sure she would never forget. There were her snapchat selfies, when she felt most beautiful, and just as many photos Clarke had snapped herself when Lexa wasn’t looking on Skype.

Okay, okay. I’m going to work on my paper now, for real. I turned on that tumblr blocking app you sent me so that I can’t reblog anymore memes. -_- Good night Lexa. Good night Clarke. Sweet dreams.

“Flight 307, from Los Angeles to Boston is now boarding.” Clarke quickly shut her laptop, tucking it safely into her carry on bag before tossing the backpack over her shoulder. Her paper wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

She was exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached from being cramped in the same seat for five and a half hours. Each tendon screamed in protest as she trudged her way up the stairs toward an apartment she’d only been given a virtual tour of. Her stomach grumbled, and it only reminded her of the fact that she’d spent the past several months subsisting on not much more than noodles to save her money for the ticket that brought her here. Here being a dimly lit hallway with four doors, only one of which mattered. 

I’m so tired. The bright light of her screen made her eyes squint even further, but she stared at the text conversation, waiting impatiently for Lexa’s reply. She knew it was coming. As heavily as Clarke slept, Lexa had admitted that she was the exact opposite. The vibration from a notification could wake her up from a deep sleep, and that was precisely what Clarke was hoping for. When three circles popped up on her screen, she let out a sigh of relief. Then go to sleep Clarke. Your paper will be waiting in the morning. She knocked. Three more circles. Clarke? She lifted her hand to knock a second time, but the door flung open before her knuckles could hit the wood. Lexa stood before her, in an oversized t-shirt and yoga shorts, barefoot and beautiful. “Clarke?” Her name sounded even softer when it wasn’t distorted by wifi connections that left something to be desired. Her eyes, hazy with lingering sleep, were searching Clarke’s face with fervor, and her expression was one of awe. “This isn’t a really elaborate dream, is it? You’re here, right? In Boston? In my apartment?” She wasn’t sure what meeting Lexa was supposed to feel like. She had always worried that it might be awkward, or uncomfortable, or that they wouldn’t find enough things to talk about. She had been sure that there would be a lot of laughter, to cover the silences. She had never imagined that it would feel warm, like sinking into a hot bath after a long shift at her clinic internship. She wouldn’t have dared think that it would be soft, like climbing underneath a pile of blankets to thaw out from the cold. She didn’t expect it to feel like she’d come home after years to a world that was familiar, yet somehow unknown.

“I’m here. In Boston. In your apartment.” Clarke didn’t expect Lexa to move forward, shifting the bag off of Clarke’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist. She wouldn’t have dared to imagine Lexa’s lips pressing against her mouth insistently, as if 3,000 miles had been enough distance and she couldn’t bear another inch. She had never imagined that she could fall in love with someone she’d never met, and yet there she was - standing in a relative stranger’s apartment with jet lag and a heart that had never felt so full. “So, how long are you staying?”

[herstoryforheda]

is that a broom between your legs or are you just happy to see me?

Written by @almostafantasia for @soulsthatknow who asked for a Harry Potter Clexa AU. Apologies for the dumb title, I was definitely a little bit drunk when I came up with that. Hope the story is everything you were looking for!

Summary: In which Lexa takes a bludger to the head during the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match and the series of events that follow force her to confront the crush she’s had since her first year on her Quidditch rival Clarke Griffin.

Read it on AO3 here.

Donate to the Trevor Project here.

It all starts when the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match in Lexa’s sixth year descends from the usual house rivalry into a full-on brawl in the space of about thirty seconds.

Okay, so Lexa realises that might be a little bit of a lie, as it probably actually starts on September the first, five years and two months before what is to become an infamous game of Quidditch.

It starts when Lexa, eleven years old and sitting alone in a carriage on a steam engine bound to take her far away from her home to a school dedicated to teaching a discipline she hadn’t even realised existed until a few weeks prior, is interrupted in her solitude by the arrival of three other girls.

“…and I swear that if my mum hadn’t promised to buy him a new broom in Diagon Alley the next day, he probably would have hexed me to Azkaban and back in retaliation.”

Lexa catches the end of a story that one of the girls, a round faced brunette with a full set of bangs, is telling the other two as the compartment door slides open.

“Your brother is such an idiot,” one of the others interjects.

“He brings it upon himself,” agrees the first girl with a nod. “If he wasn’t so easy to wind up then…”

She stops in her tracks when she spots Lexa huddled in the corner of the carriage, causing one of the others to collide right into her back.

“Watch where you’re going, Octavia!” bickers the other girl, a blonde, before she too notices Lexa’s presence. “Oh sorry, I thought this compartment was empty.”

Lexa opens her mouth to say something but the sheer intimidation factor of the three girls, standing in formation with their arms folded across their chests like the album cover for one of the girl bands that Lexa used to be obsessed with a couple of years ago, causes a lump to form in her throat.

“It’s okay,” she manages to choke out.

“Can we sit here or are you waiting for friends?”

Lexa doesn’t have the heart to tell them that she doesn’t actually have any friends here yet, and merely gestures that it’s okay for them to sit down.

“Anyway,” continues the first girl, Octavia, as the three of them settle down into the seats beside the window. “I’m half hoping that I get put into Gryffindor with Bellamy just so that I can sneak into his dormitory when he’s at Quidditch practice and hide frogspawn in his pillow.”

The three girls snigger amongst themselves, until the blonde raises a finger and points at the compartment door, which slides open for the second time in as many minutes.

“Speak of the devil…”

“So this is where you’re all hiding out?”

The newcomer is a tall guy, probably several years Lexa’s senior, a mop of dark unruly hair on his head, his voice deep and a smirk etched upon his face.

“Go away Bellamy,” scowls Octavia. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“It’s my duty as prefect to check up on the firsties,” shrugs the boy – Bellamy. “That includes you.”

The girl who has remained silent thus far, the girl with darker skin and hair swept back into a ponytail, keeps a deadpan expression as she asks, “Wait, Bellamy, are you a prefect?”

It’s obviously some kind of in-joke between the three girls and Bellamy because they all giggle together and he rests one of his hands on his hip as he rolls his eyes at them.

“I really hope that none of you get sorted into Gryffindor so that some other poor prefect gets stuck with keeping you in line,” says Bellamy.

“I would rather get kissed by a Dementor than be in Gryffindor,” quips the blonde, and though Lexa has no idea what she just said, it seems to do the job of disgruntling Bellamy.

“Gryffindor doesn’t want you anyway,” Bellamy retorts slightly childishly. He turns to Lexa, then says, “I haven’t seen you before. First year?”

Lexa nods and Bellamy continues.

“What house to you think you’ll be sorted into?”

“I … I only found out this school exists a few weeks ago,” confesses Lexa.

Bellamy’s eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but he manages to collect himself quickly.

“Oh, you’re Muggleborn?”

Lexa nods, because Muggle is pretty much the only word that she knows the meaning of out of this strange new world.

“That’s cool,” continues Bellamy. “Well there are four houses and these days they generally get on pretty well for the most part – except for on the Quidditch pitch, of course – so it doesn’t really matter too much where you end up being sorted.”

“Though if you end up in a different house to me, I might have to hate you a little bit,” interjects the blonde. Her blue eyes meet Lexa’s with an intensity such as that it feels as though she is staring right into Lexa’s soul. It is only momentary though, because she quickly turns to her friends and adds, “That goes for you two as well.”

Lexa decides in that moment, for some inexplicable reason, that she wants more than anything else to be placed in the same house as this blonde girl.

She doesn’t, obviously, because fate never seems to work in that way, and Clarke Griffin, as Lexa learns her name to be during the sorting ceremony, gets sent to the Slytherin house table whilst the hat – yes, a talking hat – shouts out a booming “Ravenclaw!” for herself.

(Lexa wonders if there will ever be a time when things like talking hats and floating candles and walking through brick walls will ever seem normal to her, and though she doubts it, she tries to savour the feeling of incredulity, just in case.)

Anyway, fast forward five years and two months to the day of the fateful Quidditch match. Five years in which Lexa has gone from a shy and clueless eleven year old to a still quite shy yet rather proficient young witch. Magic is almost normal to Lexa now, but sometimes when she returns to Hogwarts after the holidays she’ll still get caught offguard by a moving staircase or she’ll forget that a door handle might shriek when she goes to turn it.

She’s good at magic though, which is definitely surprising, because she doesn’t really know how it’s possible for her to consistently get the second highest marks in her year (behind fellow Ravenclaw Raven Reyes, who somehow manages to pull incredible marks out of nowhere despite her penchant for “accidentally” blowing stuff up in the middle of class) when most of her classmates have been fully immersed in magic since birth.

But it is perhaps most important to note that the other big thing that has changed most since her first day at Hogwarts, is that whilst eleven year old Lexa just wanted to be sorted into the same house as Clarke Griffin, sixteen year old Lexa has a massive fucking crush on her.

Lexa hates to admit it, but her crush on Clarke Griffin is probably the main cause of the ruckus in the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin Quidditch match, because if she didn’t get momentarily distracted by the way that the sun shines off Clarke’s golden hair in a way that makes her look like an ethereal goddess, Lexa would most likely have noticed John Murphy hit a bludger in her direction more than half a second before it collides with the side of the head.

And then there is nothing until Lexa wakes up an indeterminable amount of time later, surrounded by the bright walls of the castle’s hospital wing and the clinical smell of cleanliness and medicinal potions.

“Ah, Miss Woods,” says the school matron, who hurries over to Lexa’s bed as soon as she notices that the girl is now awake, a goblet filled with some kind of purple potion held in her hands. “You took quite a beating. Here, drink this.”

Lexa sits up in her bed, wincing at the way that every part of her body seems to be aching in some way, and accepts the potion, before she drinks it quickly enough that the bitter aftertaste barely registers.

“What happened to me?” she croaks, returning the now empty goblet.

“A bludger to the head,” answers the matron. “It knocked you out and off your broom. Possible concussion, a broken wrist, and several fractured ribs. I mended the bones while you were asleep but I’d like to keep you in overnight just to be safe. You’ll need to keep taking a tonic for the pain and swelling for a few days though.”

Lexa nods, and then finally takes the opportunity to fully take in her surroundings. The hospital wing is far fuller than she’s ever seen it before. In fact, after a quick glance around, Lexa is pretty certain that she can see almost every player from both Quidditch teams, some in the beds that line each wall, some still clad in their bright blue or green robes as they loiter around theire injured teammates.

There’s a retching sound from the bed next to Lexa’s and she looks across to see the familiar profile of her captain, still dressed in her Quidditch underclothes, vomiting into a bucket on her lap.

“Anya?”

The seventh year lifts her head from the bucket in her lap and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand as she looks back across at Lexa. She looks awful, Lexa can’t deny that fact at all, her face pale and her eyes set back and surrounded by huge dark bags.

“Lexa, you’re awake.” Anya seems surprised to see Lexa conscious and sitting upright, though her voice is just a croak and barely conveys any emotion at all. “You look better than I feel. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t remember anything,” Lexa admits. “I think all the pain has been numbed right now. What happened to you?”

As if on cue, Anya leans over the bucket again and Lexa winces at the sound of the vomit hitting the bottom of the vessel. She waits patiently for Anya to finish retching, shooting the older girl a sympathetic look when she finally lifts her head again with tears streaming involuntarily from the corners of her eyes.

“Vomiting hex,” explains Anya. “There’s no cure. Just need to get it out of my system.”

Gesturing around to the busy hospital wing, Lexa asks, “What happened?”

“What didn’t happen?” scoffs Anya. “Well Murphy hit a bludger at you when you weren’t looking, which was out of line because you weren’t even doing anything. Then you fell off your broom, I had a go at him, and it all went from there. Raven used one of her infamous explosive hexes and took out three of the Slytherin team.”

Anya points over to the beds across the room from them where Clarke Griffin and two of the other members of the Slytherin team are being treated for burns by the matron.

“Wow,” Lexa says breathlessly. “And all because Murphy knocked me off my broom.”

“He’s such a Hippogriff turd,” spits Anya, glaring at Murphy out of the corner of her eye, and Lexa is pleased to note that he is sporting quite an impressive black eye, which Lexa is almost certain will have been given to him by Anya. “He could at least have had the decency to wait until you were looking.”

Lexa blushes slightly, remembering her last thoughts before she tumbled from her broomstick, and her eyes wander over to Clarke again, her blonde hair tinged with soot and a dark red gash across one of her cheeks.

Turning her attention back to Anya, Lexa dares to ask, “What was the final score?”

“Oh, the match has been postponed,” shrugs Anya nonchalantly. “It reached the point where the referee had awarded each team something like five penalties each but of course we had nobody to take them because all three of our Chasers were off the pitch and half the Gryffindor team was rushed here for minor burn treatment. The rematch is in two weeks’ time.”

Lexa’s mouth gapes open slightly as she realises just how much carnage a single bludger to her own head has managed to cause.

“But Quidditch never gets postponed!”

“Second time in Hogwarts history,” Anya nods, then adds bitterly. “Oh, and we’ve had Hogsmeade privileges taken away from us for the rest of this year.”

“What?” gasps Lexa.

“I know,” Anya rolls her eyes. “But it was either that or a Quidditch ban and neither I nor the Slytherin captain fancied having to train an entirely new team in two weeks so we agreed to the Hogsmeade ban.”

Lexa nods in agreement, and then gets distracted by the bed directly opposite her own, where Clarke is now standing up, in a heated argument with the matron about her injuries.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Mum!”

“Clarke, you’re my patient…”

“And I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself!” bickers Clarke. She snatches the little tub of salve from her mother – the matron – and starts applying it to her own wound. “See?”

Lexa chuckles lightly at the sight, and though the laugh is soft, it still somehow manages to catch Clarke’s attention. Her hand stills on her cheek, fingertips covered in the sticky paste, she leaves her mother to tend to the other victims of Raven’s hex and comes to stand at the foot of Lexa’s bed.

“How are you doing, Woods?”

Lexa swallows and finds her throat suddenly very dry. She’s known Clarke for five years now – it’s hard to share a dorm with somebody’s best friend without bumping into them every now and again – but it’s not like they’re exactly what you’d call friends. In those five years, Lexa can probably count the number of times they’ve actually spoken to each other personally on the fingers of her two hands. In fact, other than the time they were partners for a Herbology project for two weeks in third year, Lexa thinks that the most communication they’ve had with each other has been the incredibly one-sided (mostly from Clarke, of course) exchange of profanities in the corridors of the castle in the run up to big Quidditch games.

Lexa tries to remind herself that this is just an acquaintance talking to her, just a friend of a friend, a rival on the Quidditch pitch, not the girl that she’s been mildly infatuated with for five years and obsessively crushing on for at least two.

As coolly as she can, she replies, “Well, considering I fell off my broom today, I could be doing a lot worse.”

She surprises herself, even more so when Clarke’s reaction is to laugh slightly as a smile crosses her lips.

“Sorry about Murphy,” Clarke says. “I know it’s not really any consolation, but I’ve always thought that he’s an asshole.”

Lexa nods in appreciation, because although it is definitely not Clarke’s apology to even give, they both know better than to expect John Murphy to show any remorse at all.

“And I’m sorry about Raven’s spell,” Lexa adds in response.

“Oh, don’t apologise for that,” Clarke dismisses her with a wave of the hand that has finished rubbing salve onto her burns. “I’ve known Raven since I was a kid. Do you think this is the first time she’s accidentally blown me up?”

They exchange a laugh between them, and then Clarke lets her hand drop to her side as she takes a couple of steps back towards the rest of her injured teammates.

“I’ll see you around, Woods.”

Lexa thinks of that conversation all week. She replays it over and over again, gets distracted in class wondering whether she should have said something different, or perhaps said more.

She has the same conversation in her head with Clarke so many times that week, each time slightly different to the time before, that when the weekend rolls around, the entire student body thrumming with excitement for a Hogsmeade visit that Lexa is forced to miss out on, she almost can’t remember the original conversation at all.

“I’m going to the library,” Anya says with a sigh, getting to her feet as a group of excited third years take up the vacant seats next to them at the Ravenclaw table, already clad in their heavy cloaks and thick blue scarves. “Maybe this Hogsmeade ban can do some actual good and help me pass my mock exams.”

Lexa swallows her mouthful of eggs and nods.

“I’ll probably join you in a bit,” she agrees. “See you later!”

Anya retreats with a wave, disappearing out of the Great Hall and leaving Lexa to the rest of her breakfast alone. But she barely has time to shovel one more forkful of food into her mouth before she has company again, the newcomer dropping into Anya’s newly vacated seat.

“Woods.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of her name and she startles slightly. Clarke Griffin is the last person she would have expected to find seated opposite her at the Ravenclaw table, dressed casually in a baggy sweater and a green and silver beanie with the Slytherin crest on the front, and she tries not to choke on her food in surprise.

“Griffin,” she acknowledges the other girl.

“Have you seen Raven this morning?” asks Clarke.

Lexa tries not to let herself feel too disappointed, but she can’t really control the nauseating sinking feeling in her stomach when she realises that Clarke isn’t here for her. Of course Clarke isn’t here for her. They’re not even friends.

Nodding, Lexa replies, “She was still in bed when I left the dormitory. It’ll be a while before she’s awake, I think.”

With a roll of her eyes, Clarke nods and says, “Of course. How did I not guess that? Shame, I was hoping to hang out with her today. All my other friends are going to Hogsmeade and I don’t really feel like watching Murphy and Emori suck face in the Slytherin common room all day.”

Lexa makes a noise of disgust and raises her half-eaten slice of toast to her mouth for another bite.

Clarke’s eyes widen in sudden realisation, and then she asks, “Wait, we could hang out today!”

Lexa almost chokes on her breakfast, barely managing to reach for her goblet of pumpkin juice to wash down her food before she can cough and accidentally spew chewed up bits of toast onto the table between herself and Clarke.

“Us?” she asks.

“Why not?” shrugs Clarke, as if it is the simplest idea in the world. “You’re not going to Hogsmeade either. We could, I don’t know, let me think…” Clarke pauses for just a second, her face contorted into a thoughtful frown, before an idea hits her and lights up her whole face. “We could play Quidditch! You know, practice shooting against each other ahead of the rematch next weekend?”

“Quidditch?” Lexa parrots back. She remembers back to her first ever journey to Hogwarts on September the first in her first year, recalling what Bellamy Blake had told her about the inter-house rivalry and how it only really applied to Quidditch matches these days, which turned out to be true. It’s not uncommon to see the houses mingling in the school corridors, or in the library, or even at mealtimes, but the rivalry rears its ugly head every time two houses face each other at sport. Lexa knows that all too well after last weekend. “But we’re on different sides.”

“And?” Clarke shrugs.

Lexa stalls, then remembers the pressing amount of work that she was planning to tackle today.

“I’d love to, but I was going to spend the day in the library.”

Lexa wants to curse herself the moment the words come out of her mouth, because she realises that it sounds like she really doesn’t want to hang out with Clarke at all today, which is the exact opposite of the truth. She wonders briefly why she isn’t jumping at the offer, when she has spent the last five years willing Clarke to pay attention to her, instead of fumbling for any excuse that she can.

“The library?” Clarke quirks an eyebrow at Lexa. “Seriously, Woods? Like I know that Ravenclaws are supposed to be the clever ones, but are you trying to fulfil all the nerdy stereotypes by spending your day off doing work?”

“I…” Lexa stammers, closing her eyes, because she’s only so far away from saying fuck it and agreeing to a day on the Quidditch pitch with Clarke. But her conscience wins over, to her utter dismay. “I really need to get that Potions essay done today, I’m sorry.”

Disappointment flashes across Clarke’s face, and Lexa is once again close to changing her mind, before the disappointment quickly changes to panic.

“Potions essay?” Clarke asks blankly. “What Potions essay?”

“You know, the one on the morality of love potions,” Lexa reminds her. When Clarke still shows no recognition, Lexa continues, “Three pages? Due Tuesday?”

“Oh crap! That Potions essay!”

Clarke slams her forehead into the palm of her hand and lets out a long sigh.

“Do you maybe want to come to the library with me this morning and we can work on it together?” Lexa ventures tentatively. “And then after lunch we can go and play Quidditch together.”

Clarke looks up and then, without hesitation and with a smile on her face, says, “Sounds like a plan.”

If Lexa wasn’t in love with Clarke Griffin before, she most likely is now.

Lexa wonders if she should maybe think about sending John Murphy a thank you card. Because she is absolutely cartain that had he not hit a bludger at her head when she wasn’t looking and started the fight that got them all banned from Hogsmeade, Clarke Griffin would not be sitting opposite her in the library right now, chewing on the end of her quill in a way that has Lexa shamefully clenching her thighs together as she tries not to imagine what else her mouth might be good at.

“Have you quoted this guy?” Clarke whispers into the silence of their corner of the library, sliding a heavy leather-bound book across the table and pointing to a paragraph on one of the worn open pages. “Because this is one of the chapters that was recommended in class but I think it’s full of bullshit.”

And then Clarke is off on a hushed rant, complaining about the author’s blatant sexism and disregard for consent when using love potions and if Lexa is completely honest, she stops listening to exactly what Clarke is saying after the first thirty seconds or so, because she is so enraptured with Clarke’s facial expressions and the way that she gesticulates wildly with her hands when she gets angry. And as Clarke talks, Lexa just thinks to herself yes, this is it, this is the girl I want to fall in love with, because not only is Clarke mind-bogglingly beautiful, but she’s also ridiculously intelligent, and articulate, and exactly what Lexa would look for in a girl…

“So what do you think?”

Lexa is drawn out of her daydream to find Clarke looking at her expectantly, and she tries to collect herself enough to form a coherent answer.

“I think you’ve got your essay sorted,” Lexa tells Clarke honestly. “It sounds like you could write way more than three pages.”

Clarke blushes and then, with a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips, says, “I probably could, to be honest.”

“Why weren’t you sorted into Ravenclaw?” Lexa asks, picking up her own quill once more and trying to remember what her train of thought had been before Clarke started talking.

“Because I’m lazy,” Clarke answers shamelessly. She adds with a shrug, “Both of my parents were in Ravenclaw and I probably should have been too, but the Sorting Hat thought otherwise. I think my mum was a bit disappointed when I got put in Slytherin, but it’s definitely where I belong.” She smirks mischievously across at Lexa and says, “I can be a manipulative little shit when I want to be. That’s why I wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

Lexa laughs softly, flipping a page of the book laid out across the table in front of her.

“Shame,” she replies. “You’d have been an asset to us.”

“Why?”

Lexa looks up to find Clarke looking at her in full earnest and scrambles for an answer which is honest, but not the whole truth.

“You’re not bad at Quidditch, I guess,” she shrugs.

Clarke raises her eyebrows as she considers Lexa answer for a moment, then shakes her head as she looks back down to her half-written essay.

“Not bad,” she snorts. “Let me remind you, Woods, that I’ve been on my house team for a year longer than you’ve been on yours.”

“Let me remind you, Griffin,” Lexa quips back, “that you’ve probably been riding a broom for ten years longer than I have.”

Clarke lifts her head slowly, her face deadpan, then says, “Shut up and write your damn essay.”

“So if I’m only not bad at Quidditch, should I shoot against you first to get some more practice?”

Lexa glances over her shoulder as Clarke follows her down the tunnel from the changing rooms to the Quidditch pitch, to find the blonde smirking at her once again, broomstick in one hand and the bright red Quaffle tucked under the other arm.

“I mean, if you really think that a bit of practice can compete with my natural talent…”

Clarke pokes Lexa harshly in the back with the handle of her broomstick and Lexa lets out a little yelp in response as the hard wood digs into her spine.

“You know, Woods, I actually really like you but I also really hate you, do you get what I mean?”

Lexa’s heart does a little flip when Clarke says the words really like, but decides to play along anyway.

“You know, I actually don’t.”

“You’re too smart,” Clarke says, falling into step beside Lexa as the tunnel opens out into the huge stadium, gloomy grey November clouds high up above them.

Lexa looks across at Clarke and points to the crest on the front of her own blue Quidditch robes, saying smugly, “Ravenclaw”

“Smartass,” Clarke corrects herself with a shake of her head. She swings one leg over her broomstick and pushes off to hover a few feet off the ground. “You know, I’m going to really enjoy kicking your butt in the match next weekend.”

Lexa follows suits and soars into the air with a powerful kick off the muddy pitch.

“Why don’t you put that Quaffle where your mouth is, Griffin?”

They train together for over an hour and a half, taking turns at making shots whilst the other guards the hoops until it just descends into a one versus one game of Quidditch, dodging and racing each other from one end of the pitch to the other to throw the ball through the huge golden hoops. By the time they decide to head back inside, Lexa is pink-faced, happy, and possibly more in love with Clarke Griffin than she ever thought were possible.

“You’ve surprised me, you know,” says Clarke, as the pair of them drift back down to solid ground.

“Really?” Lexa’s eyes widen. “How so?”

Clarke shrugs and lands her broom elegantly on the soft turf, Lexa landing beside her shortly afterwards.

“I don’t know. You’re not at all how I imagined you to be. Raven’s always saying how quiet you are and so I just assumed you’d be … I don’t know, that you’d be really boring. But you’re not.”

Lexa flusters slightly at the compliment, then asks, “You and Raven talk about me?”

Clarke looks away quickly, and Lexa realises with a little air of satisfaction that she’s caught Clarke offguard.

“Well, I mean we talk about all our roommates. Mine and hers. We don’t just talk about you.”

“Sure thing, Griffin,” Lexa teases with a laugh, and she is pleased to see that Clarke’s cheeks are redder than they were a second ago, too red to be just the result of an hour and a half out in the cold.

“Shut up.”

“Woods!”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the stern voice calling out her name, snapping her out of her afternoon of bliss, and her insides lurch uncomfortable as she notices Anya standing in the entrance to the tunnel that leads back towards the changing room. She’s an intimidating figure, taller than both Lexa and Clarke, her broomstick propped up by her left hand and her right hand on her hip, not to mention the way that she scowls at Lexa to make her feel only inches tall.

“What the hell are you doing?” growls Anya, when Lexa gets closer to her. “Training with her?” Anya tilts the tip of her broomstick handle to point accusatorily at Clarke. “She’s the enemy.”

“She’s been teaching me all your tactics,” Clarke answers before Lexa can open her mouth to speak, “so that I know how to beat you next weekend.”

“I didn’t ask you, Griffin,” Anya snaps icily.

Clarke holds a gloved hand up defensively and takes a few steps to walk around Anya and into the tunnel.

“I’ll leave you both to it,” says Clarke. She looks at Lexa one final time and says, “I’ll see you later, Lexa.”

As Clarke disappears towards the changing rooms, Lexa’s heart barely has time to do a somersault in her chest at the fact that Clarke has used her first name for the first time ever before Anya is bearing down on her again. And she picks up on it too.

“Since when were you two on a first name basis?” scowls Anya.

“We’re not!” Lexa protests. “She’s doing it to wind you up and it’s working.”

Anya lets out an indignant huff.

“I don’t like this, Lex,” says Anya. “Not with only a week to go before we play them again.”

“Raven trains with her and Octavia Blake all the time!” Lexa argues, raising her chin so that the height difference between them is not so pronounced. “How is this any different? We were both bored and had nothing better to do and it seemed like fun.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Lexa,” Anya says with a sigh.

Lexa know that this has gone beyond Quidditch now, because this is Anya that she is talking to. The same Anya who was Lexa’s first kiss when she joined the Ravenclaw team in her fourth year, the same Anya who helped Lexa through her messy breakup with Costia a year ago, the same Anya who is the only person besides Lexa who knows the truth about how completely infatuated Lexa has been with Clarke since day one.

“She’s not going to hurt me,” Lexa assures Anya. “I can look after myself.”

Anya frowns, clearly still unhappy with the situation, but she swallows, nods, and then says, “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow, Woods.”

“Yes, captain.”

When she enters the changing room two minutes later, it is to find that Clarke is already midway through undressing, her green Quidditch robes puddled in a messy heap on the floor and her trousers caught around one ankle as she tries to step out of them. But Lexa ignores all of this and drops her broom onto one of the benches with a clatter as she strides across the room, cupping one of Clarke’s cheeks with her hand and lifting the other girl’s face up towards her own.

“Woods, what are you … oh!”

Lexa presses her lips to Clarke’s, letting her eyes flutter closed in the process, and she feels Clarke startle slightly under her fingertips, before she relaxes and claws her fingertips into the soft material of Lexa’s blue robes.

“Sorry,” Lexa mumbles, pulling away slightly. She tries to ignore the way that her heart hammers against her ribcage far faster than it ever has done before, and the way that Clarke’s lips are parted and her pupils wide and dark.

“What was that about?” Clarke asks breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Lexa answers honestly, her lips still feeling as though they are tingling from the recent contact with Clarke’s. “Anya was saying stuff and I … I don’t kn-”

This time it is Clarke who cuts Lexa off, one of her hands curling into Lexa’s waist and the other tangling into the soft baby hairs at the base of Lexa’s neck to pull her in closer. The initial surprise of the kiss over, Lexa pushes back with her lips, coaxing Clarke’s open and in turn drawing a moan out from the blonde.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” says Lexa, pulling away for long enough to rest her forehead against Clarke’s and mumble the words against kiss-swollen lips.

Clarke smirks.

“Oh, I think I do.”

And then she pushes Lexa back against the wall of the changing room, kissing her with more enthusiasm than Lexa thinks she’s ever been kissed before.

The Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match picks up exactly where it left off before the bludger hit Lexa’s head two weeks earlier, with Slytherin twenty points ahead and each team with four penalties to take as the result of the brawl. The crowd goes crazy as the two teams walk out onto the pitch, a sea of green at one end of the stadium and the familiar blue and bronze scarves and flags billowing in the wind at the other, and as the players line up in two near rows, Anya and Ontari stepping forward to shakes each other’s hand, Lexa looks up at Clarke to find blue eyes already fixated on her with a hardened stare.

“You’re going down, Woods,” Clarke mouths the words across at Lexa, her glare unrelenting and intimidating. Or at least it would be intimidating, if Lexa hadn’t spent the best part of the last week staring into those same blue orbs in between drawn out rounds of burning kisses.

“In your dreams, Griffin,” Lexa mouths back.

Clarke’s face softens slightly, then a slow smirk spreads across her face as she raises a suggestive eyebrow, and Lexa has no time to interpret the gesture fully because the referee chooses that exact moment to blow the whistle and Clarke has pushed off from the ground out of Lexa’s sight in the blink of an eye.

Lexa scores Ravenclaw’s first penalty, feinting left to trick the Keeper and then tossing it through the hoop on the far right. Her teammates bundle her into a midair hug, a messy tangle of limbs and broomsticks handles, but there’s barely any time to celebrate because Slytherin retaliate by scoring their own penalty too.

Clarke lines up for Slytherin’s third shot, right after Anya makes it three in a row for Ravenclaw, and Lexa makes sure to hover just within Clarke’s eyesight, a deliberate distraction. When the Ravenclaw Keeper just manages to deflect the Quaffle off the tips of his fingers, she doesn’t know whether to be happy that her team have the advantage or sympathetic towards Clarke, who swears loudly and flies off.

She manages to persuade Anya to let her take Ravenclaw’s final penalty and she sends it soaring through the right hoop again with ease, just to rub it in.

They win, barely, after a toughly contended match that lasts almost three hours and sees almost as much violence as the game two weeks ago, though luckily only the Slytherin Seeker ends up paying a trip to the infirmary with a broken nose. The team celebrates with a huge group huddle, then two laps of victory around the perimeter of the huge pitch, waving and cheering along with the Ravenclaws in the crowd as they go.

Clarke looks pissed, understandably so, as the match had been a closely fought one throughout and could honestly have gone either way, but when Lexa meets her gaze, she smiles through her disappointment and gives Lexa a nod of congratulations.

The celebration party goes on well into the night, food and dancing and loud music that reverberates off the stone walls of Ravenclaw tower. Lexa misses all but the first half an hour. Her own private celebration takes place in a deserted classroom on the fourth floor, a muffling charm placed on the locked door to hide the gasps and moans of the two girls with hungry lips and wandering hands, rivals in Quidditch, yet anything but when off the pitch.

[herstoryforheda]

SEND US MORE FIC REQUESTS FOLKS! WE'RE RUNNING LOW! And don't forget to donate whatever you can manage to The Trevor Project whenever your request is filled. Mention us in your comments there when you donate or send us a screenshot! (We won't post it publicly.)

[herstoryforheda]

What If Heaven Doesn’t Let Me in?

Requested by anonymous, and filled by @flyingfanaticfics

Also on Ao3

Inspired by Seafret, specifically Oceans and Tell Me It’s Real

Clarke leaves for Arkadia with Indra and Octavia, while Lexa moves in to place on the blockade. Standing with their people, once again on opposite sides of the battle lines, Clarke and Lexa reflect.

Walking along the line of her assembled army, Lexa collects all her emotions, all her thoughts, and steadily passes through them, carefully assessing each one.

Jus drein jus draun was easy in a life stripped of emotion. Throughout her training Lexa was taught that death had meaning. Both hers and the lives she took. It was the only thing that gave anyone’s life any value.

But how can she seek the blood of others now she finally has something to live for?

Now staying alive has meaning all of its own.

/

Part of Clarke tortures herself. She listens to Abby voice her concerns about Jasper and Raven. She sees the grimace on Harper’s face when Monty tells her about the village, and Monroe.

That part wonders whether she did the right thing. These are her people, and they have suffered.

But then she thinks back to the massacre. To the look in Lexa’s eyes when she called for blood. If she had not have been there, Clarke wonders, would Lexa have chosen mercy?

So many choices: Nia’s vote of no confidence; the fight with Roan; Nia’s death; the attempted killing by one of Lexa’s own people. The election in Arkadia, Kane’s brand, the peacekeeping army. There is no way to know what may have happened if Clarke had not have been by Lexa’s side.

Now there’s no choice. She had to leave Lexa’s side just as she’d finally admitted that she wanted to be there.

Yet as she thinks of Lexa and looks around the assembled faces of the Sky People that could actually save themselves, and realises that not one of them knows. That they could fail or win and that the secret thread that tugs out past the walls to the fires in the trees might stay invisible forever.

Only Octavia and Indra have any idea that anything beyond the play of one power against another has passed between her and Lexa.

/

The thought Lexa will not let in to her head is that this might not work. Clarke has gone forth before, a secret agent in her own camp, and come back unable to sway her own people.

Lexa has a single mark at the juncture of where her shoulder and neck meet, just low enough to be hidden under her clothes. Sometimes she’ll shift slightly and she can feel the hard lines of her armour rub against it. During the snatches she can be alone, she pulls back her shirt just far enough to touch it with her fingertips. She cannot see it, but it is there.

Proof in those moments when that all too short afternoon begins to seem like something from another life.

Just at the edge of her mind, where she refuses to let it in, is the thought that she may never see Clarke again. Or they may meet again but stay always divided by tables of negotiation and the steps of their individual thrones. Staring at each other across a distance small enough to reach out and touch, but forever held back by their people.

Forever reaching for someday.

/

On one side of the dead ground between tree and fence fires flicker in the night. On the other side, gun scopes blink when they catch the edge of the flames.

The apparently short distance looks like an impossible gulf, as wide as the sea. Still, an ocean is nothing to a love that fell from space.

Come the morning, Lexa and Clarke will fight for their people, in the hope that they will someday be free enough to love.

[herstoryforheda]

Can someone maybe try to do a Clexa or Shoot fic to I Already Do by Chely Wright?

I will do this one

-Psian

[herstoryforheda]

been here all along

requested by anonymous, and filled by @cosima-phdhaus clexa au, loosely based on “you belong with me” by taylor swift

Sprawled across her comforter, poring over her AP biology notes, Clarke heard the slam of a car door outside. She pulled the elastic band out of her hair, freeing her ponytail for no reason other than to perhaps detract attention from her glasses. She counted down the next few moments, a strange sort of secondhand muscle memory; friday nights were clockwork. 

one Lexa would quietly shut the front door, despite wanting nothing more than to slam it, her barely contained anger likely working her jaw back and forth. two She would stick her head into the room at the end of the hall, giving her mother one word responses until she could retreat to the solace of her bedroom. three The light in her room would flicker on (she refused to tighten the lightbulbs in her ceiling fan), revealing red walls covered in years of plaques and medals. She would kick off her shoes, untuck the jersey that boasted “Woods” across the back, and fish her phone out of her duffle bag before letting it slip off of her shoulder and onto the carpeted floors.

The vibration of Clarke’s phone mimicked the shiver of anticipation that ran up her spine. It had been the very same chain of events every week for nearly five months now. Phone illuminated, Clarke saw that the text was a single word, one that dominated their text conversations. Roof? It was late. Just past midnight. Spring hadn’t quite settled into the night air, so she tucked a quilt over her forearm and crawled out of her window and onto the sloping roof with practiced ease. Lexa was sitting barely ten feet away, legs pulled closely against her chest and her hands tucked into the sleeves of her letterman.

“Do you want to talk about it?” “Not really, she whispered, the words barely audible on the night’s breeze. Clarke could tell that her fight with Costia had been a bad one; it was if the words were on the tip of her neighbor’s tongue and yet they couldn’t break past the barrier of her teeth. Lexa processed internally more often than not, but when it came to their relationship, Clarke had spent years being a silent sounding board for when Lexa’s thoughts were too loud or complex or downright scary to keep in her own mind. “Either or?” The pensive expression broke, a thousand miniature rays of sunshine encompassed in her smile crashing through her mental clouds. Lexa nodded. “Okay. Forest or beach?” “Forest.” The answer was exactly what she expected, but the immediacy of Lexa’s response prompted a smile on Clarke’s face as well. It was cold, and her blanket was doing little to block the wind, but she fought to contain the shivers in her bones. “Chocolate or vanilla?” Lexa’s own smile grew, and she shook her head as she stared at Clarke. “You already know the answer to that one. You have since the second grade.” It was true. It was a fact that Clarke had memorized as soon as she heard it, like so many other quirks Lexa possessed. She loved pickles, but hated cucumbers. She always put her left shoe on first. She had religiously watched every episode of Laguna Beach and The Hills. “Vanilla for milkshakes, and chocolate for cake.” She bit her lip and stared upward into the night sky, feigning deep thought. “Softball or debate?” “That’s just cruel, Griffin. You know that?” Rolling her eyes, Clarke conceded with a laugh. “Fine. Personality or looks?” Before she could wave a mental white flag, the question was out of her mouth. She didn’t know what she hoped to accomplish by asking it. After a stagnant pause, Lexa looked up from where she had been picking at the skin around her fingernails and met Clarke’s eyes. “Personality.”

“Feeling better, or keep going?” “Both.” Clarke sat quietly, a thousand questions moving relentlessly through her mind, though she seemed incapable of landing on one. “Costia doesn’t get it. I didn’t choose Harvard because it is across the country. I chose it because it would be good for me.”

“She’s still angry about you leaving?” Lexa shrugged one shoulder upward, using it to discreetly wipe at the frustrated tears nearly falling. “If she loved you, she would support you.” Clarke almost immediately regretted her words for the second time in less than five minutes. As Lexa’s sound board, she never gave her opinion without being asked. It wasn’t her place, especially not in this instance - especially not now. “I mean, you support my decision, don’t you?” It was a loaded question, collapsing under the weight of double entendre that she was almost sure Lexa hadn’t noticed. It was as close as she would get to saying it. It was as close as she might ever come to admitting her feelings. But it was also as close as she thought she’d ever get.

“I always have.”

[herstoryforheda]

Natasha/Maria Hill (marvel) literally doing anything. Cheesy pickup lines, fake relationship, etc.

I will see what I can do for you Anon

-Psianamazonia