girl-with-a-quill

[girl-with-a-quill]

what if….in polis….they had novelizations of the commander’s adventures……and what if they were very popular….what if. 

my thanks for the 200+ fanfictions i’ve read is this crappy  headcanon for a show i don’t even watch but what can you do 

BONUS:

what if some of them (read: all) were smutty romance novels actually

[girl-with-a-quill]

Chapters: 2/6 Fandom: The 100 (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100) Additional Tags: Clexa, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining, Yearning, Forbidden Love, soft, Cottagecore, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Eventual Smut, period drama, Period romance, Clexaweek21, Day 3, reunited Summary:

Their love begins as it ends: beneath a tree that bears their names, amidst birds that sing their heartache, and dusted in golden leaves whose fleeting touch is as soft and lingering as their last kiss.

Or: a vague period drama where they have loved one another since childhood, and there’s only one thing that stands in the way of their happiness: everything.

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Stop whatever you are doing, get comfortable for a few hours of blissful reading and feast your eyes, heart and soul with this absolutely gorgeous #clexa fanfic from @deviltakesthewaltz

One of the best fics I have read in this fandom and it’s only 2 chapters in. Achingly beautiful story, prose, angst and heart-dizzying levels of clexa love. I feel like I didn’t fully breathe and spent the entire time literally swooning while reading each chapter. A work of art. Truly.

Do yourselves a favor and go read it!!

#Her Echoes Within Me #HEWM #clexa fic #SWOONING SO HARD #clexaweek21

[girl-with-a-quill]

Another excerpt from my clexa period drama her echoes within me

++

She’s overcome, suddenly, by how happy she feels. This is the most she’s smiled since— well, since two years ago. Since Lexa left. This is the most she’s spoken, the most she’s laughed, the most she’s felt, end stop. 

Overwhelmed, she takes a deep breath and falls backwards; her legs bend at the knee and hang off the bed, but the rest of her falls flat on the mattress, arms up above her head, eyes closed. She empties her lungs with a long, quiet sigh, and when she finally opens her eyes, her heart jumps as she finds Lexa leaning over her, utter affection writ into every line of her face, softening her crooked smile and her jade eyes that Clarke can’t help but look between, in awe of that most beautiful shade of green and grey she’s been craving with everything she has for two years now.

The light-hearted affection fades as the air between them thickens. Clarke’s breath catches as she recalls this is not the first time Lexa has hovered over her in a bed. It has her throat running dry, her heart stuttering, her lips parting; Lexa’s gaze dips down to watch, darkening as Clarke’s tongue darts out to wet them. An insistent warmth crawls over Clarke’s entire body, draping over her like a blanket, and she is suddenly astutely aware that this is the most alone she and Lexa have ever been for the majority of their lives, save for their time outdoors at their tree. Every time they’ve been in a house…near a bed…family was always around somewhere, or at the very least the threat of them hung in the air. Here, now…there’s no one to interrupt. 

Interrupt what?

Clarke has no idea what she’s doing. 

She has no idea, but she lies there half beneath Lexa, warm and aching, and she wants to find out.

Lexa slowly leans down, propping herself up with an elbow, carefully lying on her side and leaning over Clarke. “You’re beautiful,” she says softly, eyes wide and luminous in the candlelight. “I didn’t forget that, but seeing you again…”

“I know what you mean,” Clarke murmurs. She should fight this urge to reach up and touch Lexa, but she hasn’t the strength nor the desire. She lifts one trembling hand and tucks a loose curl of Lexa’s hair behind one delicate ear before she frowns, tilting her head, studying Lexa more intently. Lexa has only the time to look puzzled before her face clears with comprehension as Clarke reaches up, begins slowly pulling out pins until Lexa’s hair falls loose and wavy, tumbling over her shoulders, the curly tips tickling Clarke’s cheeks. Clarke drops her arm to hang off the mattress and allows the pins to drop to the floor; they watch each other in the dimness, unflinching as the pins hit the floor one by one, until the last ring fades into the silence. “That’s better. Now you look more like you.”

Lexa presses her full lips together, not quite able to suppress her smile, though surprises chases it away anyway a moment later when Clarke’s hand drifts up, her thumb following the seam before catching on her plump bottom lip. Don’t hide it, she wants to say, but it’s difficult to speak at all beneath Lexa’s intense gaze. 

“There are so many things I wish to say to you,” Lexa whispers, gaze growing somber as she looks between Clarke’s eyes. “But now they are things I shouldn’t.”

Despite the truth behind Lexa’s words, Clarke can’t help but feel a dark, spine-racking thrill, the ache in her heart shifting ever lower, tugging deep and intently in her lower stomach and down even farther, throbbing between her legs. This yearning for Lexa has existed for so long, in so many different ways, and she’s not at all surprised to feel it so powerfully here now; she longs for Lexa, so badly she shakes with it, and she unconsciously presses her legs together, thighs squeezing as though it can alleviate this insatiable yearning. “What sort of things?”

Her breathing quickens when Lexa’s does, when she watches as Lexa wets her lips again and looks down at her like she’s contemplating them all at once.

“Things like…how I wish I brought a book with me, so that I would read it to you.” Clarke’s heart aches as she softens, melts beneath Lexa, her hand shifting to cup her face. “Or how I would give anything to share just one more bowl of sugared blackberries with you. To pretend to nap just a bit longer if only to give you more time to work on your sketch of me.” Clarke bites her lip to curb her sad smile. “I long to see you beneath the sun in the orchard. To grow lost in the woods with you again. To hold you beneath our tree, to study the way the light glints in your hair, to—” She cuts herself off, but Clarke can guess the direction of her thoughts by the direction of her gaze dipping down to her mouth again. 

“To what?” she urges, because she wants to hear her say it. She needs to hear her say it.

Lexa stares for a beat longer before she blinks, frowns. She pushes herself up and rolls off the bed; Clarke follows suit, sitting on the edge and watching the way Lexa stands there, running a hand through her hair in agitation.

“It matters not,” Lexa finally says, voice muffled in the hand she drags over her face. 

Clarke reaches out, grasps her wrist to stop her from pacing. “It always matters.”

“It doesn’t. Soon you’ll be married and then someone else will be kissing you…”

“I don’t want anyone to touch me but you.” Clarke clutches her desperately, beseechingly, willing her to see. “You know that, don’t you?” When Lexa just looks at her, eyes filled with sorrow, Clarke stands up, steps closer to Lexa as though eye contact can convince her of the truth. “Lexa, I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want him at all. I want you.”

Lexa’s breath hitches, but she still looks lost as she looks helplessly back at Clarke. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you are marrying him.”

Guilt suffuses the very air Clarke draws into her lungs, but it’s not strong enough to overpower the longing within her, the need for Lexa.

“Darling, I wish I could change the world for you,” Clarke whispers, voice breaking. She cups Lexa’s face in her hands again, wishing more than anything she could wipe her sorrow away. She steers Lexa down so she can press a kiss to her forehead, and when she straightens the tilt of Lexa’s head, she has only a moment to see the faint pink dusting over her cheeks before she closes her eyes, brings their forehead to rest together. She restlessly moves hardly a second later, pressing another kiss to Lexa’s cheek, just at the corner of her mouth. She can feel Lexa’s intake of breath as much as she can hear it; their mouths are so close together, she can very nearly taste her shuddery exhale.

When she opens her eyes, her stomach bottoms out again, because those green eyes are hazy, dark, and all Clarke wants to do is kiss her absolutely senseless.

“I want you. You’re all I want, all I’ve ever wanted.”

[girl-with-a-quill]

A Bit of Clarity - Update

In honor of Clexmas20, Day 5: The Naughty List. We all know who’s on it.

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (13/?) / (AO3) 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. 

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

Keep reading

[girl-with-a-quill]

Your Literary Dinner Party Experience:

Wuthering Heights: The food is as unappealing as the host’s personality. You find yourself fleeing the estate and taking refuge in the surrounding moorlands before the second course is served.

Great Expectations: The host wears a mildewed wedding dress as she cuts what looks to be a thirty-year-old piece of vanilla cake. You sit quietly and try to fake a smile.

Northanger Abbey: You think your host is the type of person who might have murdered his wife and hid her body in a dusty old dresser. As you take a bite of the pot roast it doesn’t even occur to you that he might just be a dick.

Jane Eyre: The fare is far better than the stale bread and bitter tea provided at your boarding school, but that’s little comfort when the host’s wife keeps setting the table linens on fire.

Dracula: You know that you are sipping on a fine Cabernet, but what is he drinking?

Pride and Prejudice: Over dessert, one of your guests confesses that he has fallen in love with you in spite of your family’s terrible table manners. You stab your pudding with your spoon and tell him he’s the last man you could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

[girl-with-a-quill]

Blood Moon AU 

OR

The one where Clexa are soulmates tied by a thread that appears once every 100 years during a red moon. 

:::

It must be a mistake.

Professor Lexa Hartwood has studied the history of Threads as far back as it can be dated, which is estimated to be around one thousand years ago. Therefore, humanity has only experienced ten Threads in its years of existence. Lexa wrote her thesis on the evolution of Threads and teaches Blood Moon anthropology. The phenomenon has been known to end wars when people drop everything to follow their Threads; to start wars when family rivals and traditions clash; and yet, nowhere has there ever been evidence of a Thread that travels up into the sky.

Looking at her hand and the faint shimmer of red, Lexa wonders if it’s her personal obsession with Blood Moons to cause her own to be directed upwards. Now that would be a first. Although, certain theories suggest Threads are conjugated by the human mind and in essence, a mental projection without any tangible properties. Given her current circumstance, that theory might prove true. Though, Lexa feels extremely lucky to have this chance. While the general understanding is fifteen percent of the population will experience Threads, based on Lexa’s own research, the number is slightly less at thirteen percent.

Her eyes behold the Thread’s properties, it dances with certain majestic light and twinkles like a distant star. At this point, it might as well be a star. Lexa adjusts the focus on her telescope, trying to follow her Thread but it’s cut off by a cloud. Shifting her scope, Lexa angles it toward the moon, which is still hours away from showing any signs of redness. The curiosity within her grows exponentially, Lexa is further baffled by her Thread in absence of the Red Moon. There are only a handful of instances when people experience a Thread before the Red Moon.

///

The Blood Moon happens every one hundred years and while mankind is no stranger to the red sphere in the sky and its effects, this will be the first time in history when the capability exists to study it. One hundred years ago, there were no rockets, satellites, or space stations. And this is the exact reason why Commander Clarke Griffin of Sky Command finds herself in orbit on the Arkaris 9.

“Do you have those calibrations, Reyes?”

“Yep, right here Griff.”

“Thanks.” Clarke takes the notepad and makes the adjustments. While she waits for the system to upload the manual input, her eyes rove out the small, triangular window and she looks down at the blue planet. It’s a stunning view. Opposite, Clarke looks at the moon; the full moon is less than twenty-four hours away.

“So… we’re a day away and you promised to tell me,” Raven says.

Clarke shrugs, “Historically, only an estimated fifteen percent of the population experience The Thread.”

“That’s not an answer Griff. It was—and still is—a yes or no question.”

“I… don’t know,” Clarke replies.

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s a thread visible only to and ties you to your soulmate.”

“It’s not only that, it also turns our oceans and crops red.”

“So, you’re telling me if you experience The Thread, you don’t know whether you’ll pursue it or not?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Clarke says quickly. “And it doesn’t always happen that way. The Thread has been known to reunite long lost siblings and in rare cases, orphans to parents—”

“Which we both know doesn’t apply to you, so your thread must lead to a soulmate,” Raven interrupts.

“I just don’t like…” Clarke pauses, struggling to find the right words.  

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like the implication that I don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice, Clarke.”

“It just… takes away the mystery in life. The predisposition eliminates the thrill.”

“So—no? You’re giving up on your soulmate because you’re afraid to miss out on “the thrill”?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said exactly that.”

“Ugh, I knew this was going to be your reaction.”

“How could you say no to your soulmate?” Raven looks down at her hands wishfully. “God, I hope I get a Thread.”

“Aren’t you… dating Finn?”

Raven waves her hand dismissively in the air. “He’s not soulmate material,” she says and returns to looking at her hand. “What do you think it’ll look like?”

“A red thread,” Clarke replies flatly.

“Ha. Ha.” Raven gives Clarke a deadpan look. “Some say they even begin seeing a faint shimmer hours before the moon turns fully red and that those early connections are also the strongest.”

“Oh, what do you know,” Clarke directs a stare at Raven, who primarily serves as the Arkaris 9’s pilot. Clarke is the lead scientist and doubles as the crew’s emergency medic. “It’s also all myths,” Clarke continues, “lore in our history books. This is the first time we have a real chance to study the science behind the phenomenon. Think about everything we could learn.” She spins herself 180 degrees in the zero-gravity environment to a different monitor, one that links down to the Arkadia’s science station and she sends a routine data update. “Humanity won’t have a chance for another century.”

“Yes, and we’ll be dead, and you won’t ever know who your soulmate was.”

“You’re also implying that I’ll get a Thread in the first place. To be honest, I’m not expecting one.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Call it a hunch.”

/

Midnight

It’s early and Clarke stirs awake to the sound of her alarm for the night shift, though night and day don’t exactly matter in space. She’s tucked tightly in her sleeping alcove and it reminds her of camping trips with her father when he would zip her into her sleeping bag and kiss her good night. They’d stay awake past midnight and study the stars together. Jake was obsessed with space exploration and he was part of the first generation of spacewalkers. Unfortunately, he perished during his third mission on the Arkaris 4. There was an explosion, and the entire crew was lost; a leak in the oxygen line was suspected.

That was nearly 20 years ago, and technology has made leaps and bounds since. When Clarke opens her eyes, she’s greeted by a faint, red glow that fills the alcove. At first, she thinks it’s a light on the emergency alarm panel, but when she looks, nothing on the panel is lit. Strange. That’s when she notices the dim lighting is coming from her left hand. Admittedly, it’s far from a simple red thread as if some piece of yarn. Instead, it’s magical. It sparkles like a ray of sunlight in the dust. Clarke takes a few seconds to study it, twisting and turning her palm as the thread glistens.

The full moon is at least six hours away and already, her thread is profoundly visible. Clarke recalls Raven’s words, “Those connections are the strongest,” and Clarke doesn’t know what to make of it. Not only was she not expecting a Thread, but she is seemingly experiencing one of the strongest ones. Her curiosity is beyond piqued and Clarke walks to the nearest window where Earth is visible. As she steps closer, the Thread – her Thread – cuts through space like a laser and charts a path directly to the ground.

[girl-with-a-quill]

In celebration of recent events, here is a snippet of a clexa fic I’ve been working on, featuring 4k of yearning!Clexa.

++

Golden leaves spiral from the sky the first time they kiss. 

It’s been a soft autumn, and their love bloomed with the times. Lexa’s father is away on business; Clarke’s mother is stitching up war wounds at the infirmary across the way. Like most days lately, they found themselves drifting farther and farther from home, which was a relief for Lexa, ever eager to put distance between herself and the cold, empty manor that had served as a roof over her head for all of her life; Clarke, who had shared many a laugh and comforting embrace in the shelter of her small quaint home full of warmth, nevertheless found herself eager to follow Lexa anywhere, but especially the hallowed orchard. 

It doesn’t belong to either of them. They aren’t certain who owns these acres stretching farther than the eye could see, beyond the shimmering horizons, some measurable distance behind their own homes, but they’re always grateful to capitalize on its relative emptiness. Just through the orchard lay a meadow, with naught but a single oak tree to spread its shade, and it’s always there that they find themselves wandering. Clarke has long lost count of how many afternoons they’ve drowned in the comfort of this tree, the usual sharp edges to her outings with Lexa inexplicably softened when the two of them came to rest at its trunk. It’s been marked with their presence for many years now, a small heart containing their initials they carved in together with the small bowie knife Clarke stole from her father. 

Clarke is never sure if it’s the magic and mysticism of the tree itself, singular and towering, or the familiar and gentle tenor of Lexa’s voice as she reads softly to Clarke from the various books she could never be found without. Just as when they were children, Clarke would slip into slumber with her head tucked into Lexa’s shoulder, and when she wakes she would always spend the first several seconds pretending she hadn’t, if only to remain there just a bit longer, dappled sunshine her blanket, head filled with the sweet scent of her friend’s soft curls just beneath her nose and the sound of Lexa’s heartbeat reverberating in her own aching rib cage. Lexa never seemed to realize when she was awake. She would read on, softly, until Clarke stirred and nuzzled deeper into her embrace, until Lexa’s lips brushed across the top of her head, and her body in its entirety burned with something she could never name.

But she suspects she’s beginning to discover it.

She has felt this way for as long as she can remember, and when she tries to think back, pinpoint an exact moment, she finds it’s as difficult as recognizing the precise instance in time that her young self learned how to breathe. 

She feels as though she’s been built with this yearning, this ache that suffuses every inch of her body, but in times such as these, when they’re tucked into this haven isolated from the world, it’s hard to feel the usual shame about it- particularly when moments alone give way to a different sort of fear when her monstrous appetite spreads its jaws wide and threatens to swallow the both of them whole. She’s not strong enough to resist reaching for her, fingers curling loosely into the wool of Lexa’s dress. The fact that it serves as the only thin barrier between her fingertips and Lexa’s skin is one that tends to haunt her at all times, but admittedly most when it’s late at night.

Lexa tends to have that effect on her.

It was, in fact, only two days ago that their reading led to an epiphany. For years Clarke had swallowed down these strange and confusing feelings, had tried her best to ignore the way her skin lit up with each graze of Lexa’s body, how she seemed to glow even at mere proximity to her. Now the incessant swirling of her stomach felt heavier, fuller, in certain loaded moments where the air felt alive and dangerous, the equivalent of the tension in the sky moments before a storm. She had rattled off excuses for why she oft found her gaze drifting to various features that shouldn’t draw it- the soft swell of Lexa’s lips, the sharp angle of her jaw and elegant stretch of her neck; the defined measure of her collarbones and the subtle shadows splayed over her chest from her corset pushing up her breasts, only ever seen in brief stolen moments when they changed near the other— sometimes even the curve of Lexa’s backside, the shapely line of her ankles beneath her pleated skirts.

She reasons with herself when she realizes she’s staring too hard and for too long. When she swallows and quails beneath the pressure of her own swollen, aching heart, squeezing and suffocating beneath the graceful timbre of Lexa’s voice. When she thinks constantly about the clever way Lexa’s mind works, how she’s so unafraid to speak her mind to Clarke, how she boldly shows her anger in private moments when she raves about her frustrations with her father, the town, the workings of the world. When the very, very few times Lexa has allowed herself to expose the sorrow eating up her heart, Clarke has cried with her, has brushed away her tears and kissed the top of her head and whispered that she is here, she is here, she is here, all for her. When she fantasizes endless scenarios that involve her going much farther than simply holding Lexa’s hands and gifting her the gentle affections any woman would give a friend they loved dearly. When she imagines parting her lips and letting the truth fly free, begging Lexa, confessing she knows not what these feelings are and what they mean, except she knows exactly what they are and why she is overwhelmed with them, and perhaps she is a monster and the universe is corralling her toward certain hell, but if this haven exists— the orchard and this hidden meadow where everything but time and the two of them ceases to exist— then perhaps she is content with this version of heaven. If this is paradise, she’s wholly certain whatever lay beyond it pales in comparison.

Still, when it came to matters of intimacy, she would at times feel that heavy dread in her stomach that accompanied the flutters of warmth. Generally she reasoned with herself, in those weaker moments. This must be an anomaly. An abhorrence. A test of her will. Fight it.

But then it happened. 

Two days ago.

And Clarke’s world would never be the same.

Keep reading

[girl-with-a-quill]

October by Mary Oliver

[girl-with-a-quill]

Clarke felt it before she knew what it was. The feeling, knowing, from the first time they shared space and Clarke walked into the commander’s tent. Lexa was futurity. She was hers.

[girl-with-a-quill]

May we meet again.

[girl-with-a-quill]

[girl-with-a-quill]

Catra: Adora doesn't want me, not like I want her

Adora: ...

[girl-with-a-quill]

One of my favourite things about Lexa was when you saw her, she was this serious looking dangerous woman willing to do anything for her people. She had serious “do not fuck with me” vibes and it was impressive af.

And then she starts talking and her voice is fucking soft and emotional and shit. Sure she can yell and be unforgiving and her tone can be harsh. But the way she spoke to Clarke was soft and caring and that was beautiful.

[girl-with-a-quill]

I rarely post or use tumblr, but this Naya Rivera tragedy is making me sick to my stomach, and even more so by the police's lackluster approach to the search (concentrating entirely on water and almost no land search whatsoever).

Heather Morris (who played Brittany on Glee) was on site all day with group of friends wanting to do a land search and they won't let her or even answer. I can just feel the desperation in her tweets and just feel horrible.

If you do one good deed today, please call the Ventura Sheriff's Department and insist they let them and volunteers do a search on foot. They only increased (a bit) their efforts on the second day due to public pressure. We need that again.

I won't add to the speculations and theories about shapes in videos, but it's clear the police never put much stock in a land search and it couldn't hurt to let more people help and have more eyes searching every inch of the shoreline. That they haven't so far is a travesty.

I'm just gutted. She deserves to have all the effort made to be found whatever the outcome. Please call, tweet them, put pressure (respectfully), begging them to let family and friends help on foot, with drones, whatever it takes. 😔

#Naya Rivera #find naya #bring naya home #heather morris #glee #land search

[girl-with-a-quill]

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

[girl-with-a-quill]

When she asks if you want to go home but home’s right here

[girl-with-a-quill]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (8/?) 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. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

Keep reading