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thedeadflag · 6 years

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas (WIP)

This is another one I’d put some work into in the past but haven’t finished. Figured I’d post it here to continue the festive feels

"...and I'm just saying, it's not good to be alone for the holidays."

Clarke rolled her eyes, wondering how many times she had to remind her mother of her plans. "I told you last week, and the week before, I'll be home for Christmas."

"And I remember the last three years, Clarke. Pulling your place setting from the table the day of, learning after the fact that you'd gone in to work an on-call shift after telling me you'd be home. At least this year you didn't keep repeating it like a mantra, but it's okay...I just...I'm a mom. I worry about you." The guilt pressed heavy against her ribs, ballooning in her chest as she remembered all the years of blowing her mom off for the holidays.

It wasn't fair, not really. She knew she wasn't doing the right thing, but Christmas had always been her, her mom, and her dad. Ever since her father passed away, the holidays had been a trying experience; when it was just her and her mom, it was hard, and it felt like they were lugging their dad's damn casket around every day of it, but they always made it work.

And then Marcus Kane came along.

First, it was him being invited to Christmas. She tried a year of that before she realized it was too much. The next year, he was invited again, so she found an excuse to stay away. The Christmas after that was a mere three weeks after her mother had moved into a new house with him after selling her childhood home, so she found yet another excuse.

Last year, she'd actually meant to give it all another shot, but the hospital had begged her to do an on-call in pediatrics after a third of the doctors on staff in that wing had inexplicably come down with the flu, hence her last minute change of plans.

Can't say she hadn't been a little relieved to have an excuse, though.

However, her mom deserved better than avoidance and excuses during the holidays, and as much as Kane would never be her dad, her mother deserved all the happiness in the world. Given the two of them had gotten married this past summer, it was only right of her to visit for the holidays

Of course, it didn't mean she couldn't halfway dread the whole thing. Marcus wasn't a bad guy, but without her childhood home, without her dad, without any real connection to anything outside of her mother, there was bound to be plenty of awkwardness.

"Like I've said a million times, I'm fine. I'm doing alright. There's not a major outbreak of disease or anything like last year, and the chief practically shoved me out of the building herself, so I'll be home. Stop worrying." Clarke insisted, checking her watch. "I'll be packed and out the door in forty-five to make the drive back up north. I'll get there late tonight."

"Clarke, there's going to be a bad storm rolling through tonight, it'd be safer to drive up tomorrow. I know it doesn't snow down there, so you're still using all season tires." Her mother was a hell of a control freak with top-end worrywart tendencies, which made for an insufferable mixture at times like these.

As if her trusty old Civic would fail her after all these years.

"Come on, mom, a little snow never killed anyone. As much as you used to worry, I did ace my driver's test on my first try, and I've never gotten in an accident. I'll be fine...I'll see you tonight, okay? Love you." Clarke ended the call before her mother could lob a flurry of other ridiculous concerns her way. How the woman could go from assuming she wouldn't make it down for Christmas to wanting her to take her time getting down there, Clarke would never know.

She was just entering her bedroom to do some last minute packing when a new text message rolled in, predictably from her mother.

Mom One last thing, you can always bring that girl you've been seeing, we would love to meet her. Love you, drive safe!

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed by a two-ton gorilla at the reminder of her most recent failed relationship. Luna had been great when they were together, but the woman was in the Navy and constantly out at sea. After nearly six months of long distance, they'd mutually called it quits in early September, but it still stung. Or, well, it was more like a deep, seeping ache that gripped at her heart and lungs, but 'stung' was a less depressing way to describe it, so she went with that.

Besides, it wasn't necessarily Luna in specific. Truth be told, she'd always been a people person in the sense that she really was never at her best without a nice flock of loved ones nearby. Having moved to a new city far from all her old friends, and now reluctantly single on top of that, loneliness was a pretty common antagonist in her life these days. Phone and video calls could help, but they could never replace having her people close by.

Okay, maybe she missed hugs, and maybe that was not an insignificant part of why she was making the trek back home for the holidays. It was normal to want affection, and to miss it when you go a few months without it.

Her mother had been beside herself with worry when she'd been out there in Polis without any friends or loved ones nearby. Luna brought with her a sense of security and hope for her mother that Clarke didn't have the heart to extinguish, not on Christmas. Besides, if her mother had remembered Luna's name, she would have said it, so Clarke at least had the benefit of not having to be specific when she got home.

Clarke decided against grabbing an extra set of cold weather clothes, figuring it'd be a waste when she'd only be outside for the walk between her car and her mom and Kane's home. It was always better to pack efficiently, after all. Besides, she planned on being indoors ninety-nine percent of the time; she really did look forward to seeing her mom, and to seeing whatever friends braved the western New York snow and returned back to Arcadia.

She had a good feeling about her little festive vacation. A really good feeling. Sure, maybe it was because she'd wished upon a star that she'd have a good holiday, it having been the first time she'd seen a shooting star since she was an awkward teenager, but still.

Christmas was going to be great.

Everything was going to be alright.

---

Everything was not alright.

At all.

Clarke knew that much as she came to, groggy and disoriented, but conscious enough to feel the deep, throbbing, full body ache, particularly around her face and neck. She could also feel the frigid sting of snow on her body, and it was impossible not to notice that more was flowing in by the second. Finally, the blood dripping down her face was probably caused at least in part by the sharp things on her face, probably bits of glass.

She took a moment to try and remember how she got here, but it was all too foggy. She remembered hitting the blizzard, the roaring winds sending her poor little Civic all over the road. Maybe a guard rail was involved? She wasn't entirely sure, but there had to be a reason her car was a few meters from the road, potentially having rolled over and over through the snow and ice given all the mess in her vehicle.

Clarke squinted her eyes open and tried to focus on where her car's phone dock was, but it wasn't hard to tell that her phone was gone. Glancing at her right and the large pile of snow and glass in her front passenger seat, Clarke was pretty sure it was down there in that snowy deathtrap.

So much for her shooting star-graced luck.

She wasn't so concussed that she was unaware of the dangers. She was already freezing, and as her vision started to clear a bit, it was obvious she'd been out for a little while given the extra foot and a half of snow. With her door wedged shut from the structural damage, she didn't have many options. She'd never been the most educated about cars, but she knew what winters up here could do to a person if they were careless.

If she stayed out there much longer, she was bound to freeze to death, that much Clarke knew, and maybe that urgency had adrenaline coursing through her body, pushing her past the pain as she angled herself in her seat and struck out at her driver's side window, throwing all her weight into the strikes and breaking the fractured pane for good.

It took some maneuvering, and maybe a torn rotator cuff, but Clarke managed to unbuckle her seatbelt and get her winter coat off, using it to clear the window of glass and snow, giving her something safe to crawl onto as she emerged from the wreckage of her car.

"Fuck..." She let out, the snow and ice pelting her relentlessly, the instinct to cover up bringing her to pull her winter coat free.

The loud tearing noise told her that her luck had only gotten worse. She didn't need to look behind her to realize she'd just gutted the only real shelter she had from the storm. Clarke shook her head; it didn't matter, it'd be better than nothing.

Clarke shambled her way to the roadside, the untouched snow telling her she hadn't had any company out on the road since her crash. She peered down each end, her mostly obscured tracks telling her which direction was which, at least, though with her head so foggy, it was hard to focus on where she was. Nothing ever looked familiar in the snow. At least, not when there was so much of it.

"Come on, think...think..." She urged herself, willing her mind to go through the moments leading up to the crash. Turning off the highway, passing the old rickety farm stand shanty the Jorgensons used in the summertime. Making the left after the propane fill-up station.

A memory of a bridge came to her, startling her with the knowledge of where she was, or at least a general idea. She hadn't passed the dilapidated church yet, so the bridge had to be the one over the old creek where her father used to take her fishing, which meant she was smack dab in the middle of nowhere for a few miles.

Or, well, maybe not nowhere, as another memory surfaced. One of a gangly girl reading a book by the water's edge.

"Anya..."

It was a long shot, to be sure. Hell, the town had given the girl enough grief over her years to run her out of town if Anya was smart, but at a time when she needed hope, Clarke decided to hope, steering herself due northeast, trudging through the snow towards the thicker trees.

Anya's family lived a good dozen miles out of town, off a beaten path in the middle of a thick growth of pines, or at least they had until the divorce. Then it was just Anya and her mother, something Clarke had in common with the girl in a sense, but due to various circumstances, some beyond her control and some not, she never quite got to connect with her back in high school outside of a brief few moments at prom.

It was a little hard to be friends with the school outcast when she was the president of the student association and all of her friends were popular and accomplished and lived in town. It was hard when a lot of them just weren't open minded about Anya no matter how much Clarke tried to push the issue, which she probably could have done a better job on in hindsight.

As awkward as she'd been, Anya had maybe been even more so, but the girl's smile...at least the rare time Clarke was graced with it...could probably light up the night sky. Anya had always been a bit reserved, controlled, but that didn't stop the girl from constantly wearing her heart on her sleeve. Just the thought of that smile, especially the one she'd last been graced with all those years ago under their school's tacky set of mirrorballs, had Clarke feeling a little warmer in her snow-soaked boots as she staggered her way through the thigh-deep snow and through the trees, spotting a narrow road a few meters ahead.

Her breath was rattling out of her lungs by the time she spotted the dark cottage at the end of the road, the barest hint of light flickering in the front window. Her legs were lead-coated icicles, feet stabbing their way roughly through the snow in sharp, harsh steps, nothing but pain in her limbs as she shivered her way towards the possible sanctuary.

It was getting harder to focus and even harder to breathe as she trudged forward, slipping in and out of consciousness with each blink, finding herself ever closer to the door and death, not enough air in her lungs or strength in her tongue to speak, her head colliding against the door before her hands as she stumbled into it, the more sheltered porch offering less resistance for her newly clumsy frame.

"Anya..." She tried to wheeze, but all that escaped her was a harsh grating noise. It took every ounce of energy to raise her hand to hit the door, and with the wind and snow whipped around her ears, with how frigid her body was, she couldn't really expend the focus to hear much of anything, not that she probably could have in better health.

One last knock had her slumping hard against the door, depleted and desperate, knowing she was so close. She just needed a little help. Just a little. She couldn't have her mother lose the rest of the Griffin family. Not in the early hours of Christmas Eve.

Just as she was clinging to the last of her hope, the door swung open, and nothing in the world could stop her descent back down to Earth.

---

It was a weird thing, to wake up shivering uncontrollably for the first time. After apparently not dying of hypothermia, it was hard not to feel a little grateful despite the groggy aching frigid mess of sensations wracking her body, but while she'd been cold before, she'd never felt it so heavily and deeply, as if there were hidden caverns inside her ribs just full to the brim with ice. And then there was the splitting headache. It was all a little terrifying.

It was only when she managed to peek her eyes open and see a large lump laying on her chest that she realized the weight wasn't from the entirely alien chill saturating her body.

She'd only just let out the tiniest of grunts in confusion at the large lump under a larger mound of blankets when Clarke felt a hand gently grasp her chin, pulling her face and focus to her left, and suddenly she had a problem on her hands, wondering if maybe she had died after all.

What other rationale was there for an angel to be kneeling at her side, staring down at her with soft concern, eyes shining with reflections of a lit fireplace behind Clarke?

None, that's what.

Except in a blink, albeit a slow blink, the angel's features twisted in anger. "You idiot." The angel grumbled, a new fire burning in her eyes. "Clarke Griffin, you absolute idiot! What were you thinking?!"

Everything hurt, everything was freezing, her body wouldn't stop shaking, and the angel was yelling at her. "Car crash. Needed help." She managed to get out, trying to be economical with her words given how it felt like each word was using ice-climbing spikes to ascend up her throat and out into the air.

She'd hoped the angel would understand, but she only seemed angrier, the beautiful blonde getting to her feet, one hand knit tightly in her own hair in exasperation. "You were driving?! In the worst blizzard our town's seen in sixty-eight years?!"

Clarke wanted to speak, but just had no gas in her tank. Thankfully, the lump on her chest responded for her, an annoyed huff sounding out from under the blankets.

"Oh, you be quiet, Tris. You don't even know her." The angel grumped, arms folding across her chest.

Her focus was sharp enough now to recognize the strange half-baked vocalizations of a dog in response to the angel, which in hindsight sort of made sense. What with the heavy weight on her chest and all; some dogs would do that to keep people warm in cold weather.

"Unbelievable. Un-friggin'-believable." The angel muttered, pacing by her makeshift bed. As Clarke looked around herself, she noticed she was pretty intensely covered up with blankets, and there was definitely a large heating pad or three underneath her as well as the dog resting on her body.

And maybe as those details sunk in, and she loosely managed to wrap her arms around the pup atop her, her brain finally clicked that she'd made it to Anya's.

Thank heavens she hadn't embarrassed herself by putting to words what she thought Anya was. Even if the woman did look inexplicably angelic. With her eyes more open now, not straining so much to see anymore, it was clear as day that Anya was clearly hitting her stride in her late twenties, and Clarke's heart lunged at her ribcage at the tiniest notion of maybe getting a chance to connect with her in some way this time around.

Heaven help her.

"Sorry. Promised mom I'd be home for Christmas." She let out, a rattling cough bursting out of her after the struggled to get that last word out, hoping she wasn't too debilitated by her trek through the blizzard for there to have been any permanent harm.

Anya deflated at that, all the anger swiftly seeping away as the woman let out a lengthy exhale, slumping back down to her knees at Clarke's side. "Still an idiot."

Clarke tried to shrug, but she was pretty sure she just winced from the pain that moving her body caused. It was when Anya grabbed the nearby first aid kit and started replacing the bandage on her forehead that Clarke stilled in thought.

Her face had been a little cut up from the crash, but she didn't remember a gash across her forehead. "My head?"

Anya's cheeks took on a pink glow as the woman put her intense focus on the duty at hand. "I didn't expect you to fall when I opened the door." Anya spoke quietly, taking a moment to gnaw at her lower lip a bit. "You might have hit your head on my side-table on your way down after bouncing off me."

"I whaaaat?" It didn't seem realistic. Anya had been their high school softball team's catcher. She was literally tasked with catching blazingly fast balls. A sluggish human popsicle should have been nothing. "You didn't catch me?"

"That's....that's not the point! The point is, you're recovering. You're alive, and you're an idiot." Anya insisted, stumbling over her words a little as the blush on her cheeks deepened. "You still should have waited until tomorrow. Your mother didn't need you arriving at two in the morning on Christmas Eve. You could have waited the six or so hours for the storm to blow through and taper off."

Maybe Anya had a point, but Clarke was the wounded party, it was her right to complain. "I can't believe you let me fall. Always thought you had magic hands." She mumbled, only realizing what she'd said a second or two after she'd aired that thought out. In true Clarke Griffin fashion, a diversion was due. "You know, I'm a doctor now."

"I heard. Maybe you're the one with magic hands now." Anya noted all low and teasing before taking in a sharp gasp. "Oh my god, why am I like this?"

Anya's follow-up was barely audible and quickly spoken as the woman walked off towards the kitchen. However, the words were more than understandable to a doctor with a history of many patients who liked mumbling and speaking softly.

Truth be told, she'd gone to Anya for aid, but the girl had always been compelling. She'd always been beautiful. Lying there on the floor, wrapped up in evidence of Anya's efforts to protect her and heal her despite the woman thinking she was an 'idiot', it wasn't too difficult to let herself be a bit flattered.

Hell, maybe more than that. She'd always been a bit of a risk taker.

"Mmmn, nope, I think I want to give those hands another shot." Anya just scoffed at her remark, a scoff that fell away to a hard laugh, but Clarke fought like hell to hold her sharp focus on Anya as long as she could despite the quickly encroaching exhaustion taking over her. And as soon as Anya met her gaze, and held it second by second, Clarke watched that stark befuddled denial transform to something else, something approaching astonishment. "Always did like your sculptures in art class."

"That was ages ago, Clarke." Still, Anya's voice was softer now, taking small slow steps as she ambled her way back over. "Don't pretend you noticed me back then. You're hurt, and I helped you, but that doesn't mean you're obliged to sweet talk me."

Of course Anya would see a conspiracy. Honestly, after all the bullshit the woman put up with in high school, Clarke didn't blame her. "Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but I saw you back then. You were always so distant, though...even the times I tried to reach out and see about you, you always managed to keep away. Every time but at prom, at least."

"Well, being the lone trans girl in a school seemingly full of cis straight people can do that. I had to be careful. Being seen around you would mean having a lot more eyes on me, more scrutiny. Wasn't worth the risk. Not...not until that night, at least." Anya explained, making perfect sense given their former context, the woman stopping a foot and a half away. "And now, you're half delusional from the cold, and you don't know what you're saying."

Given the way the haze of exhaustion was sweeping over her, she wasn't entirely sure Anya didn't have a point. "I know I'm cold...and I know I hallucinated that you were an angel..." Clarke mumbled, too far gone towards the edge to really care what was slipping out of her mouth.

Anya was kneeling by her again in what seemed like a second, face all fuzzy around the edges and unfocused, but she could see her smile. God damn could she see that smile from anywhere.

"I'm not that easy, Clarke." She heard the woman turn up the heating blankets a few clicks, and then there were soft lips pressed at her forehead, extinguishing the last shred of effort to stay conscious, confident Anya would keep watching over her.

Maybe she hadn't hallucinated after all.

---

Anya watched Clarke fade away again, the fresh sting of the woman's words bringing tears to her eyes, feeling them as if they were branded across her body. Here Clarke was, wounded and freezing, and it was her fault. It was all her fault.

"If I hadn't wished on that stupid star..." Anya muttered, fingernails digging into her palms as she stared down at her guest for the night.

Her mother was wiser than Anya had ever known; she'd spent her whole life routinely surrounded by superstitions she'd written off as nonsense, but her mother's words rang clear in her head now. That she should have been careful what she wished for, ones granted never came without a counterbalance.

Of course, she understood Newton's third law: for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. She'd just never processed silly superstition through that lens, and now Clarke was paying the price of her naiveté and desperation.

"All I wanted was for the woman I loved to come back to me." Anya sighed, slumping down at Clarke's side, brushing the hair out of the doctor's face. "I never expected you. Not now."

In truth, she'd succumbed to a moment of selfishness, wanting her most recent girlfriend back, who had left her before moving halfway across the world to take care of her father. It'd been four months, and the holiday season has always been particularly lonely ever since her mother passed, so maybe she'd had a moment of weakness.

Clarke Griffin was a surprise, though. Hindsight allowed her the clarity to know she'd felt more than just some infatuation for the student association president back in high school; that much was pretty firmly established at their senior prom when Clarke swooped in to her rescue and salvaged her night with a single dance.

It was nothing she'd ever forget, but that love had always firmly been rooted in the past. Ever since then, she'd never been able to think of Clarke and not see her as her beautiful eighteen year old self, in that midnight blue dress, spinning her across the floor and dancing away with her heart.

And sure, sometimes she'd idly wondered where Clarke was over the years, how she was doing, if Clarke ever thought of her. Usually, she chastised herself for it, knowing they'd only shared a single dance at the end of prom; the last dance, certainly, but still just one before they all went their separate ways.

Now, here Clarke was, all grown up and a doctor, challenging that perfect memory, that untainted love she'd felt for her. All the other women she'd been with across the years had ended differently, often in tears or pain or disillusionment, but the image in her mind of Clarke had been the one pure bit of love she had left, and now fate saw it fit to take that from her as well.

Her mother had been right to be superstitious. Wishing for a woman she loved to come back to her, only for circumstance to ruin that love through the lens of reality, was quite a fitting bit of karma for her, apparently.

Still, she wasn't just about to resign herself to fate.

Anya didn't have much, but she did have a cozy fireplace, some good comfort food, and some music. There were worse ways to cast herself in a nicer light, like rambling at length about the endless hijinks her students got up to in her classes. A dozen kids competitively eating spaghetti-o's and vomiting in near unison afterward wasn't exactly the sort of story to endear Clarke to the idea of reconnecting with her.

Of course, she didn't expect they'd spend Christmas Eve slow dancing to 'You're The Inspiration' like they had back at prom, that brilliant three minutes and forty-seven seconds being a bit difficult to match all these years later, but she'd settle for Clarke promising to keep in touch after she got the wounded woman home for Christmas.

"What do you think, Tris? I already wished on a star...do you think I have a Christmas miracle in store?" She asked softly, earning a huff from her pupper who was clearly not optimistic about her odds. "Yeah, figured as much. I have to try, though."

She watched her dog's tail wag under the thick covers, something Tris wouldn't do if she wasn't sure Clarke was out of the woods, something that gave Anya all the relief in the world.

"I probably have time to get in a bit more holiday baking before I need to hit the hay. Maybe that could help soften the blow of losing her car and me not catching her at the door...even if just a little..." She mused openly, rolling her eyes at her dog's warbled half-barks of disapproval. Tris always did hate when she stayed up long past her bedtime.

Still, cherry cordials and peppermint Oreo truffles, to add onto what she'd already made, might be worth her pup's frustration.

"I promise I won't take long, Tris. You just keep her warm for me until I'm done in the kitchen, okay?"

She allowed herself a laugh at her pup's disgruntled huff before making her way into the kitchen, knowing she needed to be quick, but that come the morning, they'd have something sweet to take away some of the sting.

She just hoped her measures to get Clarke warmed up kept working their magic. Hard as it was to let Clarke out of her sight, she trusted Tris felt the woman was well enough to only have one of them watching over her.

At least until she returned to keep her company for the rest of the night and re-up her bandages.

---

The light against her eyelids was what welcomed her back to consciousness; well, that and a full-body ache. Better than she expected it to be, after the crash and all, but as thankful as she was for the lack of major injury, it all still hurt.

Still, the sun's warm rays against her face after yesterday's blizzard had something more resembling a smile forming on her face than a grimace as she opened her eyes.

Pain in her neck flared up a little as she recoiled, Anya's face much closer than she expected. Hell, she thought Anya was asleep in the bedroom somewhere else in the house, but the woman was curled up just outside her mound of blankets, laid out across the rug, head resting on an insultingly tiny throw pillow.

Preposterous wasn't a strong enough word for how ridiculous it all was, but it was kind of really sweet that Anya was watching over her so closely.

It took a few seconds of sober thought to recognize that she wasn't shivering anymore. That, hell, she wasn't even cold anymore.

It was the second time in her life that Anya had managed to light a fire in her heart. All those years ago, it'd been a shy smile and Anya resting her forehead against hers on the dance floor; it had been the closest she'd ever been to Anya until then, the closest to kissing her, and she'd been able to feel the girls heartbeat as clear as day.

Now, though, there were a few extra inches between them, but Clarke couldn't help but hope that maybe it was a sign that they'd be closer from now on out. That maybe Anya could be open to that.

As strong as her urge was to kiss Anya, even if just on the forehead, she knew she'd need consent for that, so Clarke slowly slipped out from under the covers and got to her feet, deciding that maybe avoiding temptation would be best.

On instinct, her hand lifted to her head to check her bandages, a frown pulling at her mouth as she realized her bandages were fresh. Meaning, Anya had stayed up all night re-dressing them and watching over her. As in, hours and hours of first-rate care when leaving her bandages for a while and letting her warm up over time would have done the trick, more or less.

If she hadn’t made the effort to stand up already, she would have crossed that distance to at least nuzzle her nose against Anya’s in appreciation for what the woman did for her. In all reality, Anya hardly knew her anymore, and yet she’d treated her with the greatest hospitality she could have ever wished for.

Any doubt of Anya being a total sweetheart was entirely obliterated. Maybe she needed a bit of air.

The cottage was chillier than the veritable furnace of blankets, but not so much that it had Clarke shivering as she took step after deliberate step into the kitchen, Tris following her in with hardly concealed excitement.

“Easy, girl. I’m just getting some distance so I can think about something other than your mama’s lips.” Clarke noted to the happy Samoyed pup. “Still, it is officially morning. I bet you haven’t been fed yet.”

Clarke looked around the room, taking her time to scour the kitchen for the dog food, having noticed the bowl off by the small dining table. Eventually she found a large bag hidden in a pantry cabinet and poured out a cup of it for the eager, cute little goober.

Besides, she owed Tris a bit for warming her up. Feeding her was the least she could do after Anya had a long night.

“Okay, cutie, eat up.” She petted the hungry pupper, taking a moment to consider her own rumbling tummy and what options she had to sate her hunger. Not that she was literally starving, but it’d been a long while since she’d eaten, and the crash had taken a lot out of her. Some food would do her good.

“I’ll pay her back for whatever I eat...” She mumbled to herself as she wandered over to the fridge, pulling it open to peer inside, immediately spotting a tray of candy cane crusted truffles. “Oh my god.”

Clarke picked one up, admiring the craftsmanship for a moment before taking a bite, knees feeling like jelly briefly as she let out a loud moan. “Oh my god!” It’d been a long time since she’d had a treat that tasty. Sure, it wasn’t super fancy, being peppermint chocolate with Oreo inside, but still, very tasty. Enough for her to take a second without much thought.

And maybe a third after a half second of guilt.

She wasn’t about to mow down on all of Anya’s baked goods, at least not one specific bunch. Luckily, Anya had some eggs, bread, jam, and a Tupperware full of sugar cookies. While her body ached like never before, Clarke knew she was capable of making a simple breakfast so long as she took her time and went about half the speed she usually did.

Tris was finished her meal by the time Clarke started up, the pup standing by her side while she worked away, tail wagging happily against her leg. While waiting for the bread to toast, she spotted a portable sound system not dissimilar to the one Anya used to set up in the art room back in high school after classes.

The girl had always seemed a bit thorny and ran with a gothy-emo vibe way back when, so when she’d discovered the music Anya rocked out to, she’d been surprised to say the very least. All these years later, she wasn’t surprised when she powered it up and found a familiar song waiting for her.

“Nice to see some things haven’t changed.” She mused aloud as the chorus hit, smiling at the memory of Anya singing and dancing to the song while working on one of her sculptures. She hadn’t intruded on the moment, she’d barely allowed herself to enjoy it back then before sneaking off down the hall back to her locker, abandoning her impromptu plans to work on one of her paintings in the art room instead of heading to the usual Friday after-school dinner at Grounders that the student association’s council members.

She’d learned that Anya spent Friday evenings in the art room, and that she was a closet cheeseball.

“Fair warning that there’s no mockery of Roch Voisine or Richard Marx under this roof.”

Clarke turned around to see Anya in the doorway, wiping the sleep from her eyes and looking exceedingly cute.

“Never, babe.” She smiled, taking the eggs off the frying pan and plating them. “I’d say there’s a breeze on the water blowing time back to me, given the last time we saw each other, but...”

Anya just blinked owlishly at her, so maybe she’d stepped a bit too far there. While it was absolutely the song she’d heard Anya singing and dancing to in the old art room, it also reminded her of prom night, of finding Anya outside in the rain, face angled up to the sky, rain washing away her tears.

Kissing Rain, so to speak. Not that she’d make that pun and potentially ruin the song for Anya.

“Babe?”

Oh.

Her cheeks burned at the casual slip, but it didn’t escape her attention that Anya didn’t seem upset. If anything, there might have been the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, which was what had Clarke stepping closer. “Can’t help it after everything. Are you hungry? I’m sorry for poaching your food, I’ll pay you ba...”

Anya waved her off, blinking heavily at her. “I’m fine. Ate breakfast two hours ago with Tris.” Clarke shot the Samoyed a disbelieving glance, realizing the pup had tricked her. It was a rookie mistake, and maybe one she deserved given how Tris had helped her, but still. "But don't worry about the food. Take what you like, and then get back to where I left you...you need to rest and stay warm, Clarke."

"Worrywart." Anya cocked an eyebrow at her remark, even if it was entirely on point. "Okay, I'll come back if we set up somewhere more comfortable together. You need the sleep, and I need the warmth, and we both could use a softer surface."

Anya's eyes grew wide, jaw dropping ever so slightly. "Was your section not padded enough? I just wanted to have you as close to the fireplace, and I don't have one in my room, so..."

She waved Anya off, though Anya didn't seem the least bit reassured by her gesture. "It was perfectly fine, it's just that I don't think I need to be close to that much heat anymore, and I think you could use a better sleeping surface than your floor. But if you're not comfortable with using your bed, I'm sure the couch would be good enough."

The laughter that escaped Anya was weak, and a little stilted. "I'm sorry, that sounds like you were....that you want me to share a bed with you." Anya let out, turning her head away, focus shifting across the kitchen, clearly trying to look at anything that wasn't her. "I told you I'm not that easy."

"I never said you were. Like I told you way back when, you can trust me to keep things above board with consent. It's just you've been taking care of me all night like a total sweetheart, and you deserve a good rest, and at this point, I'm pretty sure a nice duvet and your body heat would be enough to keep me nice and toasty. It's a win-win." She watched Anya's teeth descend into her lip, the woman's hand lifting to scratch at the back of her neck a bit, weight shifting from one foot to the next.

"Eat up, and then head down the hallway and to the room on the left. I'll get the bed set up."

Anya wandered off at a brisk pace and left Clarke to her breakfast, Tris happily following her mama through the home. As flustered as Anya seemed, she hadn't rejected Clarke's proposal, meaning she had a nice, warm bed waiting for her after this.

Which, despite the minor effort involved in making breakfast, really did seem like a damn good idea with how her body was aching and energy flagging. Maybe one more bit of resting could help her get to where she could head home for the holidays. Getting to snuggle with Anya would just be a very nice bonus.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this glimpse! Happy holidays!

#clanya #clanya fanfiction #thedeadflag #i'll be home for christmas #long post #writewritewrite

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thedeadflag · 6 years

Text

Forced Marriage WIP

(tentatively titled Faithfully, because the way I’ve outlined it, it’s a fair bit of a journey)

So this one’s existed for, like...half a year-ish? In some form or another? I keep cannibalizing one form and rewriting it slightly, tbh. This version’s loose outline got drafted on a car ride down to the USA to visit family for Canadian Thanksgiving back in october.

Some sections here are a bit brief and in need of filling out, but again, it’s a WIP, very early on in this one

Here’s the latest start to it. Starts angsty, but it’s planned to get a lot fluffier as it goes on

Stark. Clinical. Soulless.

A litany of words ran through her mind as the made her way down the hallway to her father's room in Polis General, the same list that she'd cobbled together and added onto over the past seven months. It wasn't right. Her father didn't deserve to be trapped in a place like this; he'd always been so imbued with life, filling every space he walked into with his joy and warmth.

These days, even he couldn't manage to fill that bleak little room. It wasn't right.

Anya shook her head and stopped a foot by of the doorway, psyching herself up. He'd sent her away to get herself some coffee, and being the loyal daughter she was, she did as her father requested, but she knew it was all to buy him time to gather his strength so he could recycle another of their recent arguments.

Up until now, she'd resisted, with good reason. Up until now, she'd shut him down, and argued back until she was too raw to remain, but it was different this time. When she saw him earlier that morning, she knew, deep inside her she knew, and there was nothing left for her to say, no more ammunition.

After all, how could she deny her father his last request?

Anya took in a gulp of air and nodded to herself steeling her nerves as she took a reluctant step towards the room, and then another that put her halfway across the threshold. It'd been a moment a long time coming, and she knew he was exhausted and he'd fought a good fight. He'd beaten cancer three times in her lifetime, an objectively remarkable feat for anyone. He'd suffered greatly, and this last bout had taken everything out of him, and she wouldn't be his daughter if she didn't understand the importance of mercy.

Still didn't mean she had to like it. She wanted him to be at rest, to be pain-free, for his fight to be over, but she couldn't stomach losing him, either. Just looking at him had her heart feeling like it was being violently torn from its tethers, a painful growing pressure coursing through her body as she stepped over to his bedside.

There was no one left. A car crash had taken her mother seven years back, although her parents had been going through a bitter divorce across the months leading up to then, so even without that, her mother likely would have been gone. And now her father was leaving her. It wasn't right. It just wasn't right, and Anya knew her father's plan, she knew it off by heart at this point, but it didn't change that in the end, she'd be alone. No matter who he insisted she surround herself with, she'd be alone.

She'd always had him. What was she supposed to do without him? Who was she supposed to turn to when she needed someone?

"Please don't make me do this. There has to be another way. I'm begging you...anyone but her." Anya reached down and clutched his hand, knowing he was already in too much pain to feel much extra.

Her father's eyes were drooping heavily, barely open. Still, his voice was clear as always. Cancer had stolen so much from him, but not that. "They'll take good care of you. They'll keep you safe. And you...I will not deny you your truth. You deserve to have a woman in your life...Clarke is one of the few who could make this work here. Trust me, pumpkin...they are good people."

Anya sniffed back her tears and forced the bitterness in her stare toward the window. "You're asking too much. It's too much, and I'm not even friends with her. I don't like her."

It was the truth. They used to be friends, but Ontari and Roan moved into Polis in grade three and shuffled her into their friend group while Clarke went in another direction. She and Clarke hadn't been remotely close since, which would have been impossible anyways with how often the brother-sister duo always butted heads with the girl. Not that she hadn't tried to get them to stop, but when that only drew ire from all parties involved, she just backed off and let the issues stay between the three of them. That said, she probably hadn't helped in fostering a deep, lengthy rivalry with the girl across swimming and art.

And while her father was childhood friends with the Griffins, she rarely encountered them over the years, and she was pretty sure Clarke's parents didn't like her much at all after everything, if just by association with her friends, or through her multi-pronged rivalry with Clarke. Why they would ever agree to her father's ridiculous plan was a complete mystery to her, but they were apparently on board.

But she knew what would happen. She'd lose all of her friends, for one; sure, most were moving away once they graduated in a few weeks, but she'd already lost enough people close to her in life. Losing her father and her friends? Not an option. She'd rather it be anyone but the nerdy outcast who always butted heads with her and was like living sandpaper with the friction she brought to Anya's life.

Anyone else would be preferable. Just about anyone at all.

"You're so strong, Anya. So strong, and I love that, but you need balance in this life. You need someone who can be strong for you when you need it, and you will. I know you will." Her father countered easily, his words drawing her attention back to his tired, loving gaze. "She is resilient, just like her mother. She is...a good girl. Smart girl, like you. You liked each other once."

"That was a lifetime ago. She pretty much hates me now." Anya insisted, knowing it was the raw, uncomfortable truth her father needed to hear. "We can't turn back the clock and pretend the last few years didn't happen, daddy."

"I would never dream of it. I could never regret a second I've spent with you, not one." Her father spoke before letting out a hacking cough. "Do I need to recite some old poetry?"

"Oh, come on, no..."

"All things will change thro' eternity. 'Tis the world's winter; autumn and summer are gone long ago. Earth is dry to the center, but spring, a newcomer..." Her father began, diving into Tennyson as usual.

"...a spring rich and strange, shall make the winds blow round and round, thro' and thro', here and there, till the air and the ground shall be filled with life anew. Don't play games with me...you're dying, I don't...I don't need you to tell me things will change and get better when you're here now, and you're dying." Anya cut in, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking, but it was no use. She could see him starting to fade. Not so much he'd be dying in the next few minutes, but he was quickly running out of time.

Time that was better spent on each other than about the Griffins.

"What's the old saying? 'To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die'. You will never go without me...you have seventeen years and five months with me to remember me by. I'd like to think...that I've taught you enough in this life to help you with the next few years at least." Her father, of course, always had some quote or poem to pull.

Leave it to him to tug at her heartstrings like that. "Daddy, please...you know....you know you mean everything to me."

The smile that bloomed on his face was impossible not to return, all warm and reassuring. Nearly enough for her to forget the ever-looming presence of death at the edge of the room.

"The world was never made...it will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind rage, for even and morn ever will be through eternity. Nothing was born, nothing will die...all things will change." He recited, slowly bringing his other hand over to clasp over Anya's. "Even that will change, Anya. My...my light isn't bright enough to fill your world. You need more...so if it doesn't work out, it's fine, but...I want you to promise me you'll try to let their light in. I'm your father...if I can't take care of you, I need to know you're okay until you're old enough to be by yourself. So I need you to promise that...that you'll try. And I need you to promise...I need..."

"Daddy..."

"I need you to promise me that you'll marry her."

Just the thought of it had her heart blistering in pain, having vowed to never marry, to never have a family of her own, but after all they'd been through, she couldn't deny him this. Lord help her, but she couldn't deny him the peace of mind before he passed over. If he needed this, she'd do it for him. And knowing who her extended family was, and what they'd have planned for her as soon as he passed on, she knew he wasn't asking her to take her time.

Anya could endure the remaining months until she was eighteen and could be granted an annulment. Better that they head into their futures pretending it had never happened, even if something like this did echo her own views on the institution of marriage and how big of a farce the institution was in claiming to revolve around love, a pretty little myth that wouldn't be found in the legal contract her father wanted to enter into.

So she nodded along, jaw clenching at the tears that fell freely down her cheeks. "I promise."

Her father deflated with relief, his hand rubbing over hers. "Thank you, pumpkin. I...I had the nurse call them an hour ago. They should be in the chapel. The paperwork is...it's taken care of. You'll be taken care of." He let out, voice growing sluggish as sleep started to pull at his consciousness. "You'll be sad, Anya. Angry, if I know you...and I do. But you will be happy again one day. And you will always be loved. I promise you this. I promise..."

Anya just squeezed his hand as he slipped back into unconsciousness, leaving her to fulfill his dying wish.

If there was such a thing as fate, it was cruel.

The persistent knocking at the door may as well have been her entire future, as far as Clarke was concerned. She usually loved Thursdays, it was the day when the art room would open up after school and students could bring their own works from home, or the ones they'd stashed in the class' storage, and keep working on them. Ms. Gunderson apparently used to be some big shot stock broker who left that career in her early forties, and was all too happy to pour her extra money into art supplies for anyone that wanted some. Clarke would usually stick around until eight, maybe nine at night.

Instead, she was locked away in the hospital cancer ward's on-call room, with her mother trying to lure her out so her future could be annihilated that much faster. Apparently, wanting to hold onto whatever hopes and dreams she had left was rude and disrespectful.

"Clarke, get out of there! The doctors need that room!"

She stormed over to the door. "You may be the Chief of Surgery, mom, but when it comes to my life, I'm in charge!"

"I know you're upset, but this is another girl's life here, and you know it. You heard what Mister Hadar told you last week...you heard about their family from Azgeda and what they've wanted done to Anya for a while now, what they'd do if they got guardianship of her." Her mother was tossing on the guilt trip, and it more than stung like normal. This time, it felt like a knife was lodged in her chest, and every breath she took only drove it in deeper. "I know you're upset, but this is temporary. In ten years you'll hardly remember it, it'll be ancient history, and she won't have suffered in some godforsaken conversion camp when it was avoidable."

It wasn't as if she needed to be reminded of the stakes. She'd spent many weekends in her life fighting for Trigeda to implement a state-wide ban on conversion therapy, one that had gone into effect a year and a half ago. Clarke wasn't narcissistic enough to take credit for the new law, but it was part of her principles, part of her vision for working towards better lives for LGBT people in her state, her country.

She knew the dangers Anya faced from her horrible Aunt Nia and the Frost family. She knew that half a year to a year and a half was more than enough time to inflict untold horrors on a vulnerable, grieving girl. She knew the stakes, they'd been drilled into her over and over across the past three weeks.

She just didn't understand why no one ever considered what this would do to her. As if it wouldn't affect her at all, as if it wouldn't destroy major hopes and dreams she'd held onto for most of her life.

"Clarke, do the right thing."

The right thing.

She wasn't just going to leave Anya high and dry, regardless of how she felt about the girl. She wouldn't be so selfish to be party to subjecting Anya to suffering that she'd fought so hard against over the years. No, she would indeed do the right thing.

Just, could she not have a little bit of a breather and vent before watching her entire future go up in flames? Was that really too much to ask? Was it so out of line to hold onto the last fleeting shreds of her life plans as long as she could before their inevitable destruction?

It wasn't fair, but life had never been particularly fair to her, so that wasn't anything new. It was just a major heaping of unfairness, and she deserved support and patience, not being rushed to the altar right after school in her skinny jeans and her old grey top she wore on Fridays, both of which were more than a little paint-marred. Not that she was embarrassed, but getting married in her art clothes wasn't exactly part and parcel with all she'd hoped for on her wedding day. Given the fact that she was marrying a veritable nemesis of hers instead of a loved one, as a freshly minted eighteen year old, within a state where same gender marriage wasn't yet on the books, officiated by a Methodist reverend to fit her parents' religious views as if this was actually legitimate marriage and not just an arrangement, the straw on the camel's back had already long since broken. This was just the rotten cherry on top, adding insult to injury.

Clarke didn't bother to wipe the tears from her face, knowing there was no shortage of them and she wasn't equipped to keep them away, not right now. No, she grabbed the door handle, unlocked it, and pulled it open, glaring down her mother.

"Just because it's the right thing to do, doesn't mean it's right, mom."

It never would be right. In no universe was her marrying Anya Hadar a good and right thing that would lead her towards a better life. However many miserable months later, when they eventually got annulled or divorced, all she'd have to show for it would be an array of broken hopes and dreams and a derailed future with no chance at getting back on track.

She'd do it. She wouldn't be Clarke Griffin if she didn't, but she wished even just one other person knew the cost of what they'd asked of her.

"Let's get this over with." She grit out, marching back towards the chapel to confront her fate, the life she knew falling away behind her with every step.

The chapel felt better fit for a wake than a funeral when she stepped into it, Clarke mirroring her own expression with clear anger, grief, and nausea practically shining in neon lights across her face. Clearly, neither of them wanted to be there, neither of them wanted this, and yet, there they were.

Anya fought back another wave of nausea at the sudden recognition of Clarke as her bride. Weddings and marriage had always been a farce, but it was hard to distance herself from all the social messaging around it. Some part of her, a tiny part, felt the magnitude of what was happening to them, and it was sick.

Not that she would, but if she ever married of her own volition, it certainly wouldn't be Clarke Griffin standing with her at the altar. Not even with the girl's unique situation allowing her the ability to marry another woman where most wouldn't be able to. She supposed it was a benefit counterbalanced by the fact that Clarke, as a bi woman, wasn't eligible to marry a man.

It let her be able to take advantage of the situation, or at least allow their parents to take advantage given her outright disapproval of the plan, and Clarke's evident disdain of the situation. So while she could take heart in that she would never have it on record that she'd ever married a man, and fulfill her father's dying wish, Anya was pretty sure that Clarke wasn't getting anything out of this.

She would have felt bad for her in most any other circumstance, but her father was dying and she couldn't spare the energy to care about Clarke. Not right now, at least.

"Can we get this show on the road already? I have somewhere to be." She ground out, marching up to the altar to stand beside Clarke with a huff that she ensured conveyed her full annoyance at the matter. She gestured to the reverend the Griffins must have brought. "Come on, get on with it."

The man shot her an affronted glance before focusing on his script. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God to witness and bless the joining together of Clarke and Anya in marriage. The covenant of marriage was established by God, who...with his presence and power, graced a wedding at Cana of Galilee. And, in his sacrificial love, God gave us the example for the love of two souls. Clarke and Anya come to give themselves to one another in this holy covenant." The reverend began, thankfully milling through his script at a decent clip instead of the many she'd known in the past to drag things out. It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. One she might have taken comfort in had Clarke not started sniffling across from her. "I ask you now, in the presence of God and these people, to declare your intention to enter into union with each other, through the grace of Jesus Christ, who calls you into union with himself as acknowledged in your baptism."

At that, the reverend handed them both a piece of cardstock with a few words on them for the ceremony of it all, as if that was remotely important and not simply a complete waste of time. Why they couldn't just sign a document and get it over with, Anya had no idea.

Clarke took a shaking breath, her father's hand massaging the girl's shoulder as she seemed to fight for composure. Well, that or to keep from vomiting or breaking down. Anya wasn't entirely certain, nor did she really care.

"Clarke, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together with her in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and...forsaking all others...be faithful to her until death do you part?" The reverend continued his spiel, and Anya could feel each second burning away at her soul, knowing each was one she'd never get back. Each second was lost time she could be spending with her father, if her father hadn't concocted this absurd plan and roped her into it.

"I will." Clarke let out, voice all quiet and strangled, shoulders starting to shake from the clear emotions bubbling up within the girl.

"Anya, will you have this man to be your husband, to live..."

"Woman." She bit out alongside the pained gasp across from her, her focus turning razor sharp onto the reverend, who immediately flushed at his blatant error. Anya refused to even spare a glance Clarke's way, not wanting to risk any measure of compassion or empathy when her energy was better spent getting through this and getting back to her father. "I'm a lesbian, I'd never marry a man. This whole thing's a fucking sham, and I'd never marry her on my own anyways, but we're two women, and you're not going to make another fucking mistake like that again or so help me fucking god."

"My sincerest apologies, I was reading for the script and...and it doesn't matter. I'm sorry." The man glanced at both of them and Clarke's parents before continuing. "Anya, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her until death do you part?"

She rolled her eyes at the sincerity in his voice, as if this wasn't a bit of legal finagling to get her a new guardian that would supersede her extended family. It wasn't holy, or rooted in love and mutual faith. It was a business transaction.

Still, she had to say the words, even if they felt like acid coming off her tongue. "I will."

At that, Clarke's father handed out a pair of simple wedding bands to each of them, because apparently being branded as another person's property was necessary. Not wanting to waste any more time on the farce of a ceremony, Anya reached over and grabbed Clarke's hand.

"I, Anya Hadar, take you, Clarke Griffin, to be my wife. To have and to hold, and all that shit. With this ring, I wed you." She was quickly running out of patience, feeling the invisible pull of her father, not wanting to miss out on the little time they had left together. She jammed the ring down Clarke's finger more than anything, but with how upset Clarke already sounded, given Anya wouldn't look her in the eyes, it didn't seem as if she made anything worse.

Clarke's grip on her hand wasn't as vise-like, but it was firm enough that Anya'd probably need a little effort to pull her hand free. She could respect that, if nothing else.

"I, Clarke Griffin, take you, Anya Hadar, to be my wife from this time onward. I pledge to share my life openly with you, to speak the truth to you in love. I promise to honor and tenderly care for you, to cherish and encourage your own fulfillment as an individual through all the changes of our lives. I promise to be loyal to you with my whole being as long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow." Clarke recited, hand shaking as she slipped the band over the tip of Anya's ring finger.

It was the way that Clarke took hold of her hand with both of hers that on instinct had Anya's gaze drifting upward, meeting Clarke's tearful, stormy eyes. She immediately recognized the fresh grief and pain there from before, but there was a new intensity as well, a similar sort of determination swirling in there to the kind that bewildered and aggravated her to no end during swim meets.

"With this ring, I...I give you my promise that from this day forward you shall not walk alone. I have no greater gift to give. May my heart be your shelter, and my arms be your home. May we walk together through all things, for I will share with you my joy so that it be multiplied, as I will share your pain, that it be divided. With all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you." Clarke finished sliding the band down her finger to where it settled, never breaking eye contact with her.

Anya would never admit it later, but she averted her gaze first, finding the vows and the intensity radiating off Clarke to be a special, disconcerting sort of distraction that she just did not need to concern herself with at the moment. She did not need those infuriatingly piercing blue eyes boring into her damned soul over a fake wedding ceremony. She did not need the tension in her chest from Clarke offering to be her home, as if that was anything Clarke would or could ever offer her.

As if that was anything she'd ever want, either, despite the deep knot forming in her chest. Whatever, it'd been a really emotional day, it just made sense that Clarke could inadvertently feed off of some of that and stir up a response in her. It wasn't like any of it was real or legit; the last thing she wanted was to get married, and the last thing she needed was any sort of partner.

She was more than fine on her own.

"Anya and Clarke, just as two very different threads woven in opposing directions can form a beautiful tapestry, so can your two lives merge together to form a beautiful marriage. To make your marriage work will take love." Anya scoffed at the reverend's assertion, although he wasn't entirely wrong. The only reasons she'd endure the sham of a marriage until its end point would be the love she held for her father. No other reason. "Love should be the cornerstone of your marriage, but it will also take trust...to know in our hearts that you want the best for each other. It will take dedication to stay open to one another, to learn and to grow together even when this is not always so easy to do. It will take faith, to be willing to go forward to tomorrow through the grace of God, not knowing what it will bring. And it will take commitment, to hold true to the journey God has set you upon what you both now pledge to share together."

Anya rolled her eyes about as hard as she ever had as the Reverend brought her hands to cover Clarke's hands. Clarke's warm, soft hands. "Now that Clarke and Anya have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands, and the offering of rings, I announce to you that they are wife and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder. The peace of the Lord be with you both, always. Amen."

As soon as the reverend let go of her hands, she marched over to the side table in the chapel and scribbled her signature onto the paperwork waiting there. "Well, this has been fun, but I have somewhere to be." She nearly slammed the pen down, the chapel's air more and more stifling and suffocating with each breath. It was all preposterous and ridiculous, and she needed to get away to somewhere she could breathe again, somewhere that was real and genuine.

Thankfully, no one called out after her as she stormed out of the chapel, finding her way back across the hospital to her father's room to plop down in the chair at his bedside, the steady beep of his monitors dismissing her nerves, bringing her out of the chaotic senselessness of the wedding and back to more stable ground.

Anya took his hand and held on, hoping he'd been right about all he'd said, that she'd be happy again one day. With the prospect of life without him approaching quickly, and the sham marriage to Griffin, it was hard to imagine his assertions could be further from the truth.

The call had come in the middle of the night.

After she'd been crying in her room for two hours, and her father had finally stepped into ther room to check on her, the call had come in, whisking away any shot at a reprieve. Her mother and father had left for the hospital a little past one, leaving her with orders to finish prepping the guest room for Anya, not that she had any idea how to help with that, let alone where she'd find the energy. She'd already done the laundry, made the bed, made room for any of Anya's things she might bring over, and installed the old mini-fridge by the bedside. There wasn't much else to do, leaving her to lounge in her room with Snoopy at her side, too burnt from anxiety and tears to sleep.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was the weekend, so she could afford to be awake. She could fix her sleep schedule later, and there was a good chance her mother and father would allow her to take a mental health day on Monday if she really wanted to, especially since it was so late in the school year and she'd kept up in her studies. Not that it mattered anymore, with her life ruined and all.

God knows she deserved time to grieve and process after everything.

Hell, Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever been so humiliated and heartbroken at the makeshift ceremony earlier that evening. All her life, marriage had been something she'd fantasized about as a positive, life-affirming event where she'd be joining herself to the person she loved, the person who wanted to spend the rest of their life with her as their wife. She'd be surrounded by gleeful, accepting friends and family members, she'd say her personal, handwritten vows, they'd kiss each other to celebrate, and then they'd spend the night celebrating their union with all their loved ones.

Instead, she'd been called a man, bitterly rejected at the altar, had even the simplest vows spat on by her bride who seemed repelled by even holding hands with her and having heard her makeshift, cobbled together vows she'd pulled off the top of her head. The ceremony was concise, and tiny, just her parents, Anya, and some stranger reverend she'd never met in her life, certainly not the one from her church.

Hell, the only reason she hadn’t been more devastated about the misgendering was that a lot of the jerks at school had gotten her so used to the experience that it was more second nature to let it roll over her, except this was her wedding, and the officiant had called her a man, a husband.

Clarke the Husband.

Because even after some very good fortune with hormones and genetics, apparently that’s what she’d remain in a lot of people’s eyes. Trigeda was much more accepting than Azgeda, and Polis was the most LGBT+ friendly city in the world, arguably, but there was still so much to be done, and so much shit to trawl through, and her wedding should have been a safe place away from that. A place where, bare minimum, she was accepted as the woman she was.

All in all, it'd been a soul-wrenching disaster, a nightmarish wreck of what should have been one of the best days of her life, the first day of the rest of her life with her partner. They'd get a dog, they'd have children, have a family so full of love and hope. She'd spent so long dreaming about falling in love, of someone falling in love with her, and creating a bright future for themselves.

All of those hopes and dreams were gone now.

She'd barely made it home to bed before collapsing, dehydrated and eyes stinging from her unrelenting weeping.

As always, Snoopy was there to cuddle with her and attempt to cheer her up, her pup burrowing into her side. She could always count on him for comfort, and even in his old age, he was still spry enough to hop up onto bed with her. If she was going to get through the next half year or so, she was going to need him at her side.

Wells and Raven, too, but both were gone this weekend and on social media blackout, having left on their debate club trip to Nationals with their coach mandating that they purely focus on Saturday evening's event. The wedding had initially been planned for next week, so she didn't blame them for not being around. She just missed her friends.

Being alone had never been easy for her. Not that her parents hadn’t hung around for a bit to comfort her after everything, but they’d also put her up to this in the first place, so it was hard to really accept that at face value.

And given the newly bleak future outlook she had to deal with, she'd probably end up alone more than not over the years. After all, having sexual experience wasn't always frowned upon, but being an eighteen year old divorcee? Who would even want to look her way again once they learn about that?

Probably no one. As much as she always fought to hold onto hope, it was hard. In the face of her new future, it was a daunting task, one she wasn't sure she was capable of.

"All I wanted was to marry someone who loved me. Most people get that...why couldn't I?" She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, taking comfort in Snoopy nuzzling her shoulder as she pet him with her other. "And Anya...she looked so...angry when I said the vows. I know she probably hates me, but...she didn't even try to make it okay for me. She was...shit, she was offended that I put any effort into mine, even if I winged them. I just..."

She let out a sigh, unsure exactly how to finish that thought. In truth, she wasn't sure why she'd recited those vows, not in the heat of the moment, and not really hours later, either. The only thing she remembered thinking was that it wasn't right. It wasn't right to go through the ceremony and not try to respect it, to not respect each other to even a basic extent despite everything. If she did want to get married later in life, she'd need to not have the whole thing ruined for her the first time around, after all. How to keep it from being ruined was just a complete mystery, though, and not something she was sure she could manage.

And sure, their marriage wasn't rooted in love, not in the usual sense. Anya did it out of love for her father, that much was clear, and Clarke did it out of love for her greater LGBT community, her people, but as individuals? It didn't play a role

"Maybe that's why she was mad. Maybe she thought I was just...saying words for their own sake. She's always been a bit brutal and honest. As much as I wasn't lying, I...I guess I wasn't telling the whole truth, either, maybe. I don't know." She worked through her thoughts, going back over her vows, mentally pushing away the stricken expression on Anya's face when she'd spoken them.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs had her and Snoopy's ears perking up, her pup predictably getting to his feet and off the bed to greet her parents and Anya.

Anya who, by now, almost certainly had lost her father.

Her father listened to the radio religiously in the car, and always came in singing or whistling something, no matter the hour, but there was none of that as she listened, breathless in anticipation. Just slow, plodding footsteps making their way around the ground floor briefly before ascending the stairs.

Clarke got out of bed, tiptoeing over to the door and quietly closing it, hearing some muted conversation between her father and Anya as they made their way up the hall. Or, talking on her father's part, and crying that only made sense coming from Anya.

Because of course her father would be comforting Anya. He was an empathetic soul, he hated when anyone was hurting, and she couldn't hate him for that, but she knew how this would go. Anya lost her father, that would take priority. There was no hope of him or her mother helping her get through this with any consistency. Not even Snoopy had come back to her.

Clarke's teeth bit into her lip, the taste of copper soon touching her tongue, sharp and distinct like the intense rivalry she'd had with Anya over the years.

The burden of her life's demise was her own cross to bear, and if she had to, she'd bear it alone so her parents and Anya wouldn't have to, not that they'd probably notice. It'd be better that way for everyone, it was the right thing to do; she just had to survive the weekend before she'd be able to have her friends help her through it.

"Just have to get through today and tomorrow." She muttered into the darkness, capping off her thoughts as she got up and made her way back to bed, feeling much sleepier now. She could wait until she woke up fully rested before putting any specific plans to action.

Only time would tell if she'd have any luck, but she had to hope for something better than this.

He was gone.

He was gone, and she was alone, tucked into a strange bed, in a strange room in a strange house, having been whisked away in the dead of night. She couldn't even go home.

Not that the Griffins hadn't tried, but her Aunt had been a 'guest' at their home for a week now, like a damned vulture, and the woman and her burly family members no doubt would have taken her straight to Azgeda by force had she entered through her front door.

Her father had been smart enough to have her pack some things in advance and keep the luggage in his hospital room, so she wasn't without some necessities, but she still felt foreign in the Griffin household.

She was alone now. Alone, isolated, no family left to her name. No friends to keep her company and comfort her, although she was certain Luna and Lincoln would be by whenever she felt good enough to reach out. It didn't ease any of the blinding pain coursing through her grief-wracked frame, but it offered a minor reprieve in the future, and she could cling onto that eventuality for now.

Anya thought she'd been ready. Her father's fight against cancer had been long and drawn out over nearly three grueling years now. In truth, she'd long since wanted it to be over if only to end his suffering, but now that he was gone, she already missed him, and there was no filling that vacancy. No more time left.

Her face burned from all the tears and crying, but she knew that wasn't about to end any time soon. It felt like all the grief she thought she'd worked through in advance over the past years had simply bottled up in wait for this moment, the sheer unrelenting force of it all flowing out of her in a torrent of anguish she hadn't felt since the death of her mother.

It wasn't right. None of it was right.

"What did I do to deserve this?" She muttered through broken sobs, clutching at the duvet and burying her face in it, trying to muffle the noise more for her own pride than out of fear of keeping anyone awake at nearly four in the morning.

She heard the creak of her door, apparently not having fully closed it earlier, and jolted up to a seated position, looking up at eye level before glancing down and immediately spotting the golden retriever from when they'd arrived. He was an old dog, bordering on ancient for his breed, loads of white across his drooping face.

The effort of jumping onto the bed seemed to take a bit out of him, but the dog just let out a tired huff and slumped down, resting his head on her stomach.

Anya reached down and took hold of the tag on his collar. "Snoopy." She read aloud, a laugh breaking through her crying, if only for a moment. "What idiot named you Snoopy? Shit, probably Clarke. Who names a golden pup like you Snoopy?"

Snoopy just stared up at her all expectant and innocent, and damn if she wasn't a huge sucker for dogs. Besides, she could really use a friend right now, and dogs were pretty good at that.

"Okay, you goober, you can stay." She added, scratching at his ears and neck, letting the pup's presence comfort her, even if just a little bit.

As sweet as the dog was, it was hard not to keep getting pulled back to the crevasse her father's death carved into her heart. "What am I supposed to do now?"

There was nothing. Nothing in her future anymore. No father, no career, and with essentially all of her friends moving away, not even them, either.

With her favored post-secondary institute being smack dab in Azgeda's recently acquired territory after negotiations with Delphi, her choice to seek out fashion design was practically annihilated. The legal age in Azgeda was nineteen, meaning a year and a half until she could cross the border and attend her dream school without worrying about her aunt grabbing her and tossing her into conversion therapy. A year and a half of either sitting in Trigeda doing nothing, or attending Polis U's second tier program.

The same school Clarke would be attending for pre-med, of course. Same school her friends derided all her life. Polis was a beautiful city, the best city, but if you were to ever become anything in this life, you had to leave home.

Except, now she was stuck there alone, without a father, without a home, without a future career, and knowing her friends would probably laugh eternally at the thought of her having any sort of ceremony with Clarke.

"I don't know what to do..." She murmured, scooting Snoopy a little higher up, enough to cuddle a little better, unable to allow herself the briefest of smiles at his kisses before he rested his head on her shoulder.

What she hell was she supposed to do? If cuddling a stranger's dog was her best answer, she was completely screwed.

As fitting as the torrential downpour was, it really was making it difficult to keep her eyes open or breathe without choking on the rain falling down on her face. Maybe it was a little extreme, but she'd run out of places to stow away. It'd been hard enough on Saturday even with her parents hovering around Anya, but when she hadn't shown up for brunch on Sunday as per tradition, they went on the lookout for her.

On one hand, it was nice to see that some traditions were still valued.

On the other, she really didn't need to involve her parents, only for them to flit away after a minute or two to see to Anya. She'd escaped out her window and climbed up to the top of the roof, and she'd been there all day, but the light rain had progressed into a storm.

Still, better a storm out there than deal with the storm brewing in her home. At least the rain, as suffocating as it was, kept her focused on the feeling of being waterlogged with her skin aching from hours of stinging rainfall.

Better to keep all the surface-level stuff at the forefront.

"Clarke?!" Her father called out into the storm, her bedroom window swinging open. She found herself holding her breath for a moment before realizing that he definitely wouldn't hear her, and there wasn't really anywhere to hide if he cared to look up.

Which, of course, he did, peeking is head out enough to angle it around to catch sight of her. "Hi dad."

She watched him roll his eyes and disappear back inside for a brief moment before an umbrella sprung out. Her father climbed out onto the treacherously steep roof, taking careful familiar steps up until he could plop down beside her, holding the umbrella over as much of her as he could. He was always a softie like that, even when he was clearly frustrated. "We've been looking for you. Your mom's worried sick, and after all this rain, you might actually get sick." He sent her a soul-piercing look, those bright blue eyes boring into her for answers, asking the unspoken question of what made her feel like she had to come out there.

Which wasn't exactly easy to answer, not when thre last thing she wanted was to make her father feel guilty for doing the right thing. "Can't a girl appreciate a bit of H-Two-Oh?"

"Well, you always did like to dance in the rain." Her father mused openly, a warm smile spreading on his lips for a fleeting moment before worry creased his brow again. "I don't see you dancing. Hard to imagine you'd be in the mood, kiddo."

"Understatement of the century." Clarke couldn't quite catch her words in time; even if it was obvious she was hurting, it wouldn't do to make it a spectacle. She could handle it on her own. "Still, I'll be fine. I just needed a distraction for a little while."

"A book is a distraction. A movie. A walk in the park." Her father's gentle chiding had a pit forming in her stomach as dread washed over her heavier than the rainfall before. It wouldn't be so easy to convince him after all. "Clarke, I'm not here to pass judgment or make you do anything. God knows I was a mess when I married your mother, and I was almost thirty-two years old at the time, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. You just turned eighteen a month ago...you don't have to pretend you're fine when you have no reason to be."

Leave it to Jake Griffin to cut to the chase. He never was much for beating around the bush. She got a little bit of that from him. "I'm not saying I'm fine right now, because I'm not. But I will be...and Raven and Wells will help with that. So I'll be fine, I promise...you and mom can focus on what matters."

Her dad's eyes narrowed a slight bit, and it wasn't from the sudden gust of wind blowing the rain even more into his face. "You know that you matter more than anything else in the world to me and your mother, right?"

Clarke shuffled closer and rested her head against his shoulder. There was no need for them both to drown in the rain when they could both be reasonably safe from the downpour. "I know. It's just..." She stalled, unsure what to say, not wanting to hurt him. However, he'd no doubt he his usual curious self and wheedle it out of her, it was just a matter of time. And like her mother always said, it was better to rip the band aid off than go for the slow agonizing peel.

"Like I told mom, we did the right thing helping her, but...it doesn't mean what happened was right. Not everything can be fixed, dad. Sometimes when you lose something, it's gone." She spoke, allowing herself a sigh knowing that as much as she loved him and drew comfort from him, he couldn't make this feel better. He couldn't make it right. "Words can't make it better. I need time to figure it out, and you can't hold my hand through this."

Where she expected some form of rebuttal or reassurance, she was met with a gentle laugh, her father taking hold of her hand with his free one. "I promise I'm not laughing at you, it's just that I didn't expect to hold your hand through you coming to grips with being married. Moral and emotional support, of course, but...to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised you haven't dug in your heels yet."

Clarke stared at him like he had two heads, since he may as well have, given the utter lack of sense he was making. "Dug my heels in where? Dad, I lost...I lost a lot."

"And since when do you just give up without a fight?"

She blinked hard enough for her eyelids to sting, because what? "What?"

"I'm not saying you have to, it's just...I've never seen you let anything go that means something to you. You've always worked to make it happen, come hell or high water." Her dad raised a decent point, but he was missing a pivotal bit of information that changed everything.

"You forget that Anya pretty much loathes me, and she really rubs me the wrong way most of the time, too." Clarke clarified, expecting one of his understanding nods, but he just cast her one of his infuriating knowing looks instead. As if she was supposed to know what was going on in his head. As if he knew what she was going through! "Dad, come on!"

He just laughed again, shaking his head. "Kiddo, the whole swim team hated you, but you won them over. When the school board made you ineligible for the team this year, the whole squad...Anya included...fought to have you reinstated."

It was a fair point, if off the mark again. "She only did that because she wanted to keep proving she could beat me in our practices and relays, and that she was the best. That doesn't count."

"Okay, but Melody and Danielle didn't have a stake in that. They read their letters at the board meeting. You changed their minds about you. You fought and won there." Once again, he missed the point. Melody and Danielle were sweethearts. They'd just been ignorant and led astray, but it hadn't taken long to bring them around.

Anya was another matter entirely. "You're missing the point, we're dealing with Anya, here! Anya...who hates me, dad!"

"I can't expect you to forgive her completely just yet, kiddo. I don't know what's gone on between you to cause that sort of rift, but I know that high school, that chapter of your life...it's ending. You're both entering the next chapter, one where Anya won't have her father to help navigate her through it. One where she'll be grieving for more time than she'll likely be able to bear on her own." Her father spoke, all calm and slow, eyes looking off at the trees at the edge of their property. "That girl's been crying in her room since Friday night. I raised you to be kind, to do the right thing, even if it's helping someone you don't see eye to eye with. For better or worse, she's your wife, Clarke."

"How the hell am I supposed to make our marriage mean anything, or be anything but a complete life-ruining catastrophe when she wants nothing to do with me?" It was an impossible situation; she understood what her father was saying, but how was she supposed to get through to Anya? How was she supposed to earn her way past Anya's walls and help her, even if she did give it a shot?

"No one said it'd be easy, but doing things the right way rarely is." Her dad spoke, fixing her with his suddenly intense gaze. "I won't pretend to know exactly what you're feeling, or what you think you've lost, Clarke. I won't pretend that this marriage is going to last your whole lives, or that it's anything near what you dreamed of. I know you're not happy, and you wanted better than this, and I want better for you, too. I'm just asking you to look me in the eyes and tell me you can't do it, that it's not worth fighting for. That it's not the right thing."

There had been one truth that she'd been working from since this whole debacle started, and that was that Anya more or less hated her, and nothing was about to change that, so the whole duration of their brief marriage would be miserable and a complete disaster. In all actuality, that was a damn realistic take on the matter, and her father's words didn't have Clarke changing her mind about that.

However, he was right, in a sense. Usually, she fought harder. She'd pushed back before the ceremony, of course, but not since. It wasn't as if she was just lying down and accepting the complete and utter loss, but she was in the midst of staring it down and coming to terms with it, since marriages required two people to work out their issues as a team, and Anya wasn't about to be up for that or probably even entertain the reality that they were married.

Which all presented a pretty shitty situation, and looking forward, Clarke had a sense that it'd lead to a tumultuous, horrible few months of bickering and pain and hostility, and maybe her father was right. Maybe it could be better than that if she tried hard enough.

As much as she didn't like how abrasive Anya could be around her, she wasn't so heartless as to make her home a hostile place for the newly orphaned girl. She wasn't about to show up all the time with guilt trips and frustrated rants and bring Anya's defenses up for no good reason.

Anya had done plenty of things to earn her frustration, but this wasn't one, and she certainly wouldn’t hate her for it. Anya's father dying was no one's fault, and her parents offering Anya a home wasn't Anya's fault. She could hate Anya for any future defiling of her hopes and dreams when it happens, but right now? Anya deserved what little peace and comfort she could manage, and Clarke wasn't going to get in the way of that. In fact, maybe it was her responsibility to ensure that for her spouse.

It didn't change that living with Anya was going to be a special kind of hell, but unlike Anya, she had a heart. She could be lenient, take the high road, try to make the best of things. It was the right thing to do.

"The right thing..." She mumbled to herself, the puzzle pieces clicking together in her head as she slumped over onto her back again, letting out a heavy sigh. "I already did the right thing."

Maybe she was just overtired and exhausted from hours of being pelted by steady rain, and needed to think it through better after a good rest, but a sense of clarity was forming in her mind, and it all made sense. She had a tendency to fight for a better future, to surround herself with people she loved and care for them, work with them to better their lives. Being a bit of an outcast, that didn't leave her with many, but she did have people she cared for, who she'd do anything for.

Combine that with her unwillingness to let go of her future hopes and dreams, and it really did all make sense that she cobbled together her vows at the ceremony.

She didn't have to love Anya to consider the girl one of her people. She could care for her platonically; as hard as that was to fathom in the moment, she'd managed to work with Bellamy to eventually become friends after him being one of her greatest bullies throughout her childhood. Not the best of friends, maybe, but decent friends. And like her father said, she'd won over the swim squad minus Anya, a group of girls who cared for and accepted her even if they all ran in different social circles.

So the potential, as dim as it was, did exist, and all she needed was a glimmer of hope. Hope that she could get through these next months with her soul intact. Hope that she could keep from rendering marriage and partnership a worthless, eternally tainted institution by upholding her vows.

Loyalty and fidelity were the easiest, she knew. She didn't exactly have people beating down her door to date her. She could speak the truth to Anya out of love, if not for Anya personally, then out of love for her people in general and for her love of the truth. She could care for Anya in her time of grieving and transition to adulthood, having a good feeling that the girl had many more changes in her life coming up fast, and she'd need help. She could encourage and value the potential growth and efforts Anya made towards constructing her own future. She could, in time, provide some semblance of solace for the girl in troubled times. She could, perhaps in time, offer Anya her habitually affectionate side. She could place herself in Anya's life and ensure Anya never felt alone in any of her struggles or her happier moments. She could honour their pact and honour marriage as a whole, keeping at least some of her future dreams and hopes alive while potentially turning an enemy into at least a neutral party.

Was it probable? Nope.

Possible? Just barely, but it was enough to let her grasp onto those formerly fading tendrils of hope and reel them back in. She was Clarke Griffin; if anyone could manage it, it was her.

She wouldn't let this tragedy, or Anya herself, take more away from her than was necessary. She'd fight like hell to keep a connection to her dreams, and she wasn't so much of a monster that she'd let Anya go through this tragedy alone; she hadn't lost her family, but they'd had a scare or two, and she knew that sort of fear, that dread, and the pain it brought her over those months. It wasn't the same, but it was something, and maybe they'd be able to form a connection of sorts out of it after everything, too. Still, her future happiness was the most important thing to focus on, she wasn't going to just let it go without a fight, and she'd always been a girl of her word.

The vows had been spoken. It was her duty to uphold them.

Clarke met her father's gaze. "I can do it."

Her father smiled and pulled her in for a hug. "Whatever you need, your mother and I will help however you need us to."

"I need the car." She let out as an idea came to mind, one that wouldn't fix anything, but could be a good start. "Well, I need a shower, and change of clothes, and to dry off, but I need the car."

They both moved to sit up, her dad holding the umbrella over her head as they made their way down towards the window again. "I'll leave my credit card on the kitchen counter, you do what you need to do."

Once she was safe indoors and out of the rain, she embraced her dad, pulling him in for a tight hug. Hope could be a dangerous, painful thing, but it could also be wonderful, and Clarke needed to be an optimist. She had to believe she could salvage something out of all of this absurdity. "Thanks, dad."

"Always, kiddo."

She made quick work of grabbing a change of clothes, knowing she didn't have a whole lot of time to get what she needed done on a Sunday afternoon. Still, her father promised her whatever she needed. A day off on Monday could make sure everything would start off smoothly with a little luck and willpower.

And maybe, just maybe, Anya wouldn't make an attempt on her life tomorrow for her efforts.

Everything ached. The sun had risen already, bringing with it the stinging heat of summer that demanded more sweat from her when she'd already cried out every ounce of moisture in her sore, exhausted body. It'd been a long time since her father was part of her breakfast routine, but she'd always stop by afterward, and just knowing she couldn't do that had her feeling emptier than anything, a vast chasm no meal could hope to fill, not that she had the energy to go out and make one.

Not that she'd admit that to anyone, of course. Not out of pride, even if that was entirely justified, but out of just not wanting to get the Griffins hovering even more than they already were. At least Clarke had spared her from her presence so far, but Abby and Jake were insistent, and too kind to be angry at, which put her in a predicament

As much as they were relative strangers to her, they were kind people, and she couldn't be cruel to their kindness. It wasn't something she could find it in herself to do.

She could maintain a good distance from them and keep them in the dark as much as possible, though.

After all, no sense in dragging anyone into her suffering. She'd been given the week off by her school, so she had plenty of alone time ahead of her. She'd survive it, even if she wasn't sure how she'd emerge on the other side just yet.

The sound of the door's quiet creak met her ears, forcing her to expel more energy than she'd liked to stifle her dried out, tired sobs and pull the covers over her face, feigning sleep. She wasn't particularly successful in her efforts, but the intruder didn't seem to notice, or care.

The end of the bed dipped slightly, something hard being rested right at the tips of her feet. The wagging of Snoopy's tail against her thigh told her it was a Griffin, but that was dead obvious already.

"Are you hungry?" The sound of Clarke's voice would have had her bolting up to her feet and dragging the other girl out of the room if she had the energy, but it was already too much of an ask to quiet her own emotions to a barely reasonable level. She didn't have anything else in the tank. Anya shook her head, shame rising to her cheeks as she let a sniffle slip out. "You need to eat, even if it's just a little bit of something."

The hard object at the end of the bed was thankfully whisked away, Anya vaguely keeping tabs of the movement around her room, thinking Clarke made her way to the dresser briefly before returning and pressing a knee onto the side of the bed this time, right in front of her. "Please just eat a little fruit. I'll leave you alone if you just please eat something." Griffin's voice was a little softer, smoother, like velvet. It would have been more than a little alluring coming from anyone but Clarke Griffin.

Anya waited for Clarke to leave, but the infuriatingly stubborn girl remained as seconds turned into minutes, and the longer it went, the more her grief built up inside her, bubbling and burning in her chest.

She wouldn't let Clarke see that. She wouldn't let Clarke win. Not here, not now. She'd sacrifice a battle to win the war.

In as swift a motion as she could manage, she tossed the covers away from her head and shoulders enough to grab the bowl, refusing to make eye contact as she popped a peach chunk into her mouth.

"Thank you, Anya." Clarke murmured, using that same frustrating tone of voice. "If you come out today, I'll see you then. Otherwise, I'll see you tonight. Take good care of her Snoopy."

With that, Clarke thankfully shifted off the bed, her slow deliberate steps fading off towards the door.

"Good morning, Anya."

She waited for the door to close before struggling to a seated position, the tiny bit of peach reminding her body enough of its hunger and need for liquids to give her that jolt of energy to finish eating. Anya quickly mowed down the bowl of fruit and scanned the room with bleary, bloodshot eyes, not needing to look hard to spot the rest of the breakfast tray.

Not because it was completely visible, but because there was a big stuffed gryphon plopped beside it atop the dresser.

It took a minute or two to get to her feet, and another to find her balance before staggering over to the furniture, shaking her head at the silly plushie. And yet, as she picked it up, it was clear the thing wasn't new. It'd definitely been loved in the past, even if it wasn't haggard, either.

More than anything, its presence confused her, so she left it there and brought the tray back with her, a little happy to see there was something for Snoopy as well. Not wanting her bed to become a massive mess, she placed his bowls on the ground at the side of the bed.

"There you go. Eat up, bud." Anya whispered, fighting every instinct not to just flop back onto the bed from exhaustion, forcing herself to eat a little of the eggs, toast and bacon before guzzling down the juice and settling back in to face her future again.

As if Clarke could snag some sort of moral victory in taking the high road. When she recovered enough energy, she'd lock the door, not wanting to give the girl another chance at thinking she was better, that Clarke would come out of this on top. For making her father's death into yet another of her petty squabbles or competitions.

"I know I can't offer you food, but you'd still take my side, right, Snoopy?" She asked idly as she set the tray on the nightstand, pulling the covers back over herself once the dog rejoined her on the bed. The damn gryphon plushie look so damned sanctimonious from its perch, and she really just needed someone to share her grief with that wasn't going to use it against her. She couldn't let her friends see her like this, especially living with the Griffins, knowing that'd probably be the end of their support, and she really needed it right now more than ever.

She just had to survive this. She'd spent the last few years living a day at a time, what were a few weeks more?

#Faithfully #clanya fanfiction #forced marriage au #thedeadflag #writewritewrite #long post

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thedeadflag · 6 years

Text

Demon WIP

Remember NaNoWriMo? Here’s part of one of those fics I never got around to finishing. It’s a bit of a mess and totally cracky, but eh. Got to sort of exorcise parts of my old long-buried feels and settle some of them a bit better than they had been, so at least there was that.

Between the winding oak trees lining the roadside, the crackle of dirt and leaves under her feet, and the petrichor saturating the humid air, Anya wasn't sure which part of her latest destination made her more nostalgic. Georgia was more than a stone's throw away from North Carolina, but the similarities to her childhood home remained as she looked around the area at the particularly isolated backwoods destination. There was a fence along the southern portion of the road, and there was a dilapidated abandoned shed just off the eastern corner, but aside from that, the area was devoid of civilization.

She'd been there for seven hours and there'd only been a single vehicle passing through the rural three way crossroads. Used to be that she could sit out on the porch of her family home and see two, maybe three vehicles pass all day long. It was as if she had a bit of that childhood comfort now, which felt like luck given the circumstances.

It'd been a long year of research and traveling, countless nights spent in shoddy motel rooms and camping out in the back of her aging 1998 Subaru Forester, but she had a good feeling about this place. There was a weight to the air separate from the oppressive humidity; there was a certain sting to it, like the fading burn of embers and resin in her nostrils.

And honestly, she needed it to be right this time. With a hundred and seventy one dollars to her name, she was running out of chances. She'd long passed the threshold for desperation, so Anya went into each possibility fully prepared, knowing she had to make her shots count where she could get them.

Seven times she'd failed in her quest. She hoped her poor fortune would end there. It was the rare Florida Torreya at the western corner that had her thinking this was it, but it was dangerous to get her hopes up too high.

Anya checked her watch and then her notebook, triple checking the right time. There was a new moon overhead, it was well into harvest season in mid-late October, and the sun had set just shy of seven o'clock, setting the stage for her ritual to take place between seven-thirty and nine.

Not having wanted to jump the gun, she'd waited for the sky to darken nearly completely before deciding to start, keeping the area lit with lanterns along the fence posts in preparation, but it seemed appropriate to get things underway now. Anya checked around, making sure she had everything ready, before heading out onto the road with her ingredients in hand. She didn't have the money to last until another new moon, so she needed to be precise.

Perfect had never been a word anyone used to describe her, but that evening, she had to be. For her sake, she had to be.

With a dagger to carve the lines and symbols into the damp dirt, and the ashes of yew trees to fill them, Anya worked with slow precision, allowing herself the time to ensure everything was positioned properly according to the night sky, that every line was precise, that the trail of ash remained unbroken.

In truth, as much as she needed this to work, she couldn't help but fear who or what would arrive if she was successful. She'd bounced around the past year performing summoning rituals of all kinds to no avail, but with the distinct knowledge that the demons or deities she tried to summon weren't necessarily the peaceful, loving types.

But that night's ritual had been entirely promising in that she'd met someone who claimed to have had luck with it, though the woman had been sworn to silence on who it was that would be summoned. Some of the elements had Anya thinking Enodia, or some other variation of Hecate maybe, but the woman she'd met hadn't seemed all that witchy. In addition, the symbols were entirely wrong, both foreign and new to her despite her vast researching. Some resembled a few Greek symbols, but others were wholly perplexing.

She'd been desperate enough to take the woman at her word, having run out of reasonable options before, but she'd had the financial resources for one last attempt, so there she was. In rural Georgia, on her hands and knees carving intricate runes and symbols into the dirt, littering the area with jasmine and lavender, and setting out a meal for her guest smack dab in the middle.

Bizarre didn't begin to describe it, but after a half hour of work, she was satisfied she had it all to code, enough to bring the pre-heated meal off her camping equipment and into the center of the set stage.

Anya knelt at the edge of the design and reached into her bag, pulling out the final ingredients: the blood of the chicken she'd slaughtered for the meal, a vial of the tears of her greatest woe, a collection of dead skin from her body, and her box of matches. None of it really made any sense, but she pushed that aside and began the ritual.

She'd been instructed to have a small line poking out from the main circle encompassing the main ritual design, symbolizing that she was currently outside of her summon's reach, seeking audience, or entrance, or some form of contact. In that small portion, she carefully poured the chicken blood, the liquid spreading further in and saturating the ash she'd used in the main design.

"The fuck...?" She muttered, expecting the liquid to mostly remain where she was pouring it, but it seemed to naturally retreat from the area and into the circle, as if it was drawn, leaving a small puddle in the area it'd been poured. Enough for her to empty her tears and dead skin flecks into.

"Well, here, goes nothing..." She mumbled to herself. In past rituals, there had always been a vocal component, some oral request for aid, or rite of submission, but she'd been instructed that there was none for the entity she'd be seeking out.

Anya wasn't sure if that was good or bad, all things considered.

Instead, she lit a match and dropped it into her sacrifices, focusing as hard as she could on the pain and sorrow that had led her there, on the deep lifelong yearning she'd felt which she'd never been able to quench.

Fire erupted from the circle, sending Anya stumbling backward as blue flames reached up towards the sky. The heat was unbearable, searing at her skin and wrenching a cry from her dry, scorched throat. The air was thick with smoke and ash and try as she might, Anya couldn't breathe, choking on the burning remains of her offerings, vision fading as she collapsed to the ground.

Her yearning for family was the last thing that passed through her mind before her body gave out, Anya falling into the clutches of unconsciousness.

The gumbo was spectacular.

It was so rare to be called to material form, and most times her meals were the blandest, most middling offerings of sustenance she could imagine. Often times, it was raw, and as much as she could appreciate the taste, she preferred that it be a rarity.

As in rare.

No one ever laughed at her jokes, so it was her duty to fill that gap. Puns were the highest form of humour, after all. That some didn't understand that was simply shameful.

But back to the gumbo, it really was something special. There was a gloriously sweet heat to it, and maybe if she was more generous, she would have decided that much was worthy of a gift in response, but some traditions were important to hold up.

Sure, when precious few people were around to uphold those traditions, they didn't matter quite so much in practice, but it was the principle of the matter that had her holding off. At least, until she finished her gumbo.

There wasn't a big enough bowl in the world for her when it come to such a delicious offering, but as she stared down at the empty bowl, she knew it was time to get down to business. Despite the lack of a captive audience, it was unsightly to lick her bowl clean, so she set it aside and perched back atop the fence, snapping her fingers.

In an instant, the blonde on the road jolted upright into a seated position, gasping for air, chest heaving and throat straining. It was all a bit dramatic, but entirely necessary to gauge the intentions and pursuits of those that put in the work to summon her.

While she wasn't exactly a mind reader, she was granted the final visions of the summoner, which tended to help her navigate the following moments. It never was good to get caught off guard, after all. Other such beings failed to include that sort of safeguard and look where they were now.

Dead. Or, well, nearly all dead.

She'd survived as long as she had because of principles and caution, not luck, after all.

It was only polite to wait until the woman on the road stopped hacking and coughing before she decided to make her presence known.

"I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you." She spoke with a twang, feeling a spike of concern at how violently the woman on the road's head turned in her direction. There was a modern word now for it. Whiplash? She was pretty sure it was whiplash. "You rang?"

The woman on the road just gawked at her, leaving her feeling a little concerned that she'd yet again used outdated terminology. As much as she found modern technology and society exciting and intriguing, it sure was difficult to keep up with the language.

"Do people still say that? Humans haven't moved on from phones yet, have they?" She added, thankful at least for the silent shake of the woman's head. "Ah, good, good. That'd be pretty embarrassing. As impolite as it is to ask a woman's age, it's unsightly to reveal you're a few decades or centuries 'out of the loop'. Makes things awkward."

"Are you...?" The woman started, words failing her pretty quickly, but the question was obvious enough.

"You can call me...Clarke." She decided, watching the woman's face twist in bewilderment. It was a decent enough name, and certainly more accessible than the ones humans often found unpronounceable.

The woman slowly got to her feet. "Clarke? I...I performed an elaborate, expensive ritual and nearly died summoning a...a Clarke?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She let out, earning a flat stare from her summoner. It was spunky; she couldn't help but like that sort of gusto. "Look, I could say my true name, but there's a small chance you'll bleed out from your ears, and I'd rather avoid the mess and screaming, all things considered."

The woman seemed to pale a little, which at least let her know she was rational enough. "Clarke it is, then." The woman stated slowly, focus shifting to the empty bowl. "Did you really eat my gumbo? Wasn't it charred?"

Clarke shook her head. "The runes protect the offering. Fantastic, by the way. You should be proud."

Warm brown eyes narrowed at her warily. "I used to cook for a Cajun place down in Baton Rouge. If I couldn't handle a bowl of gumbo, I'd be a little ashamed of myself."

She didn't see the reason for the modesty, knowing she hadn't tasted gumbo that good in decades, but perhaps it was just a character flaw of the woman before her. "So tell me...who is this enchanting, brave woman that summoned me forth? I'm curious."

"You...uh, sorry. I've probably watched too many movies. I thought you'd just know." The woman stammered, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "I'm Anya. Anya Pine."

Clarke grinned at her latest guest and looked her over. "And what is it you're pining for, Anya?"

To her great surprise, the woman let out a loud, sharp laugh before quickly stifling it, trying to compose herself. "Can't believe I laughed at that. Haven't heard that one in years."

"It's a good joke. Nothing wrong with a good pun." Clarke insisted, earning an easy nod from Anya.

"When I was a kid, people made fun of my last name enough for that one to get a little overdone. There are better jokes." Anya countered, making a fair enough point. "Like...a crime was committed in the forest, and the police are stumped. Who did it?"

Clarke laughed at the pun and shrugged, more eager to enjoy the moment than anything. It was rare to find someone who shared her taste in humour. "Who?"

"Yew know who." Anya answered, lips spreading into a wry grin.

"Oh, I like you. Did you know I can cut down a dead tree just by looking at it?" Clarke asked, amusement billowing inside her as Anya's eyes grew wider. "It's true. I saw it with my own eyes!"

Anya rolled her eyes, but the laughter that escaped the woman had Clarke feeling surprisingly happy she'd been summoned. It was a nice change of pace.

"So how does this work, exactly?" Anya probed, stepping closer now, off the road and onto the grass, leaning up against a fence post.

"Well, like I said, you tell me what you're pining for...sorry, I couldn't resist...and we figure something out. That is, if you're looking to barter. Most are, these days. You don't get many who just want to meet me and have a little chat like the old days. The world's changed, though, so I can understand that, I don't take it personally. Faith means something different these days." Clarke explained, keen eyes tracking Anya's expression, feeling a little curious at the confusion there. "What's on your mind, sweetling?'

Anya's head ducked, and even in the dim lantern light, she could see the blush on those high cheekbones as clear as day. "You say faith. It's just...it's an odd word choice given I'm face to face with you."

She'd long since grown tired of that line of questioning over the years, but it was a misconception she did take some enjoyment in clearing up. "The whole Abrahamic god thing's got folks twisted. They're too lazy or scared to actually show up and do anything like the old gods. They point around at things they generally didn't create, get a few people to write some tomes for them, and say 'this is proof of my will, you don't need to see me to know my power'. Whereas for millennia, people had faith in some of us from knowing us, and having faith in our power and guidance. You don't usually get people lined up offering human sacrifices on a whim, to please some invisible deity they've never had any proof of. Either way, it's still faith if you've seen something with your own eyes. Some lazy gods demand people take even their existence on faith. The salt of the earth types that actually get things done just demand faith in our decisions and abilities. That we do what we promise."

Anya stood there for nearly a minute, brow furrowed, clearly processing. She had a good feeling about this one, so Clarke wasn't surprised when the woman eventually offered a slow nod and met her gaze. "Okay. And if I wanted to barter?"

Clarke pushed off the fence and stepped up to Anya, lifting a hand to the human's cheek, marveling at how soft her skin was for a brief moment before being quite taken with the slight pressure against her palm. If this were a more primitive era, she might have offered a different deal than usual. "There's only one thing I desire."

"Popular lore says it's my soul, but...I don't know if that's right, or what it means." Anya let out, voice much quieter now, not that it inconvenienced Clarke. She could hear the cricket brush up against a blade of grass fifty meters down the road, it wasn't any trouble adjusting to a particularly quiet whisper.

"A soul is simply a vessel, sweetling. A part of your spirit that contains your faith." Clarke explained, knowing it was a fair bit more complicated than that, but Anya didn't need to be bored to death with the philosophy of it all. "It's nothing you'd miss, and it's nothing you'd lose. Contrary to popular belief, selling your soul simply gives control of it. We, who can...touch, and use souls...we can do what we will with it and what's contained within it. That's all."

Anya shook her head and took a half step back. "I apologize, but I'm a little hesitant to just take you at your word on that. Especially after all the research I've done on demons."

Clarke couldn't contain her laughter, having not heard that one for a number of years. "Do I look like a demon to you?"

Anya shrugged. "I don't know. On some shows, demons just look like humans, but with black eyes."

"Like, bruising around their eyes? Or are their eyeballs are literally black?" Clarke asked, feeling a mite curious over their representation.

"The second one. But sometimes they just...are a big black cloud of smoke and they enter people and use them as hosts." Anya clarified, leaving Clarke to leave a mental note to write that particularly laughable idea down.

"Priceless. No innocent human hosts here, just a recreation of my mortal body from way back when. I'd like to think I look good for my age, but after long enough, you kind of stop caring what people think." Clarke was a little surprised that Anya's gaze only drifted down to her lips, rather than scanning the full length of her.

After all, she'd had her fair share of followers once upon a time who thought her the pinnacle of beauty. She didn't let it get to her head, or hadn't for a few centuries, but it was curious. She sensed a deep yearning in the woman, and there was definitely a little lust in those warm brown eyes, but Anya was being rather polite about it all.

Maybe Clarke wasn't sure what to think about that.

"I know the feeling, in a sense." Anya murmured, blinking away whatever haze had fallen over her. "So that's all I have to bargain with? My soul?"

"To your credit, it's a solid bargaining chip." Clarke chirped, shooting Anya a bright grin. With any luck, the woman would live a long, fruitful life, and that boded well for her.

Anya stared off towards the road, at the ritual site. "And you're not a demon?"

Apparently, Anya needed more convincing. Clarke contained her annoyance and took hold of Anya's hand, luring her closer. "It's not that simple. The word was created in reference to nature spirits, which...here I am. According to Christianity, I'm a demon, but so is Zeus. So is Diana. Same with Ganesha, and Papa Legba. All gods, demi-gods, or any sort of divine being that's not Yahweh, Elohim, Allah...whatever people decide to call them...anyone who isn't them and their heavenly retinue? Demons. Absurd is what it is, but every faith has its own internal logic systems. So to faithful Christians and Catholics, and the religions themselves, I am a demon. To me, I'm a former nymph that ascended to take on some of the duties of Enodia and Hecate when they were slain. I don't think it's fair to bundle ones like me in with all the Christian and Catholic-specific demons out there, but hey, I'm apparently a succubus to them."

Despite the stricken expression Anya wore, she could see relief in her eyes, and that was enough for Clarke to feel she got her message across clear enough. "Gods can be killed?"

"Uh, yeah. Why do you think the Abrahamic god has angels and demons and prophets to do its dirty work in keeping that whole system of checks and balances running? Laziness is a big part, but when you're working down at ground level, things can get dicey. It's why most of the major remaining gods pull that 'have faith that we exist' stuff. Can't get killed too easily if you never have to meet anyone in material form." Clarke explained, before giving Anya's hand a squeeze. "I have a good feeling about you, though. Pretty sure you're too desperate to try and kill me, even if you knew how."

Anya shook her head. "I have no interest in killing anyone. I just need help."

"You get one deal, sweetling. One request in exchange for your soul." Clarke noted, bringing her other hand over to Anya's forearm, gently rubbing up and down her smooth skin. "It's in my best interest to make it good for you."

It wasn't even a lie, really. If the barter they struck benefited Anya tremendously, it'd only boost the woman's faith in her, and bolster Anya's soul, granting Clarke more years, and letting her maintain her power for longer. Still, the more complex and intense the request was in terms of altering reality, the more power it'd sap from her, so it was a balancing act.

There was a good reason, after all, why only one deal was ever struck per follower, why each negotiation was always about wringing as much value out of each soul as possible. For someone like herself, who didn't seek out limitless power and an enormous market share, each deal had to be approached with great tact and care.

Anya swallowed hard once, twice, and nodded, gaze dropping to Clarke's hands and the hopefully soothing affection she was offering. "I really want to believe that. I'm past the point where anything that happens here could be a mistake, so...okay. Okay, I think."

All that desperation she'd felt upon being summoned was finally shifting to the foreground in Anya, and Clarke couldn't help but feel a little troubled, hoping she wouldn't have to let the woman down. Anya, after all, had been so composed, so curious, and so generous.

Clarke tugged at Anya's hand and moved to sit on the grass. "Come, sit with me. Tell me what you need."

Anya cautiously followed suit, and didn't flinch when Clarke closed the few inches of distance between them, reaching an arm around to lean Anya into her. "I've worked so hard. I'm proud of everything I've fought for and achieved. I've...I've been true to myself, and there's strength in that. There is."

Clarke cradled Anya's head on her shoulder and ran her hand through the woman's hair, wanting to still the slight tremor in Anya's voice.

"Of course there is. I felt your strength in the summoning, Anya. Tell me how I can help." She whispered, turning her head toward Anya, pressing a kiss to her crown that had her summoner practically melting against her. "I'll offer you my strength. All you have to do is ask for it."

Anya let out a shuddering breath and planted a hand hard down atop Clarke's thigh. "I'm a woman. And I'm...I've done all I can to get to where I am, and I'm happier now in a lot of ways than I used to be, but I can't get what I need to ease the ache inside me. No doctor can, no medication can. None in the whole world. And where I'm at is enough for most, and I'm no less a woman for it, but I just need...I need to get rid of this pain. I need..." Anya rambled unevenly, more and more agitated by the moment, closer and closer to those ragged breaths crossing the threshold to tearful sorrow.

Truly, she didn't want Anya crying at all. She wanted to take the pain away. Usually, such empathy only extended to those who had created a solid connection to her, but there was something about Anya, something special, she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Tell me, sweetling." She murmured, pressing another kiss to Anya's crown, managing to sap some of that restless, woeful energy away in Anya's resulting sigh.

"I need to be able to give birth."

Wide-eyed and with her heartbeat reverberating in her skull, Anya waited, waited, breathless and consumed with desperate hope that Clarke, this beautiful demon, would give her what she'd yearned all her life for.

It'd been a life-long struggle, enduring her violently transmisogynistic family and her eventual exile from her childhood home. Enduring schools and homelessness, counselors and teachers alike that offered sympathy and support up until the truth came out. Enduring four and a half years of sex work, two years of routine harassment and groping at her restaurant gig, and another three at her most recent job, a warehouse gig, which had ground her confidence and will to a fine paste.

But above all, she'd endured dysphoria. Throughout it all, it remained. Each attempt to alleviate it would reduce parts of it, sometimes eliminate whole parts, but there was always a deep, intense pit festering inside of her that refused to be quenched by her grieving and cognitive behavioural therapy and hormones.

It was no use. She'd always felt a deep wrongness over not having a vulva and vagina, and she'd always wanted to give birth since she was a young child; those deeply held desires had never left. It'd made her genital dysphoria a hopeless tangled web of suffering, but even if bottom surgery had been accessible, had been affordable, there was no procedure that provided the other missing component. There would still be more than enough dysphoria left to suffer from.

Anya had fought her entire life just to keep her head above water. If nothing else, life owed her this. After all the praying and pleading to every god under the sun, after the countless heartfelt wishes over the years, after the years of torturous laboring just to claw her way to a less dysphoric, more survivable state, she deserved a break. Or, at least an end to it all, if it wasn't possible.

She hoped it was. That hope was harder to hold onto with each passing, aching second.

"Sweetling..." Clarke let out with a level of disappointment and regret that immediately had Anya's throat clenching shut, tears erupting at her last ditch effort collapsing around her.

It's not fair... Those three words repeated through her mind in a vicious loop as a sob wrenched its way out of her, not understanding why beings that could move heaven and earth couldn't help. It's not right...

Clarke tried to wrap her up, strong arms pulling her in as Anya fought the embrace, but she was too exhausted to resist for long. "Shhh, I think you misunderstand me, Anya. I'm supposed to be selfish, sweetling, and were you a lesser creature I would have taken your offer in an instant, but you need to ask for more. Please ask me for more than that, because it hardly takes anything to fix up your ovaries or uterus, and I'd be getting so much from you."

What should have been relief had Anya collapsing from a fresh spike of dysphoria, her demon not even recognizing her, not understanding what she was asking for. Because of course not.

"And...and if I don't have ovaries or a uterus?" Anya managed to get out there, the words feeling like shrapnel as she rubbed her face across Clarke's linen top. "And if I'm a trans woman?"

"I don't know what that means." Clarke spoke, sounding entirely bewildered before pulling Anya away enough to look her in the eye. In an instant, Clarke's blue eyes burned as bright as the flames from the ritual, the demon's stare boring into her as the air heated up around them. Amidst the disgust and nausea, among the dull consuming ache across her body and the stabbing anxiety in her chest, there was something new. Like a pin prick at the front of her skull, hot and sharp, a small acute spike that had a headache blooming behind her sinuses, pulling her focus away from everything else. "Don't fight it, sweetling, let me in. Let me see."

Whether it was exhaustion or the sheer defeat she felt over having tried so hard for nothing, Anya closed her eyes and focused on what she yearned for the most. This time, though, that image shifted, memories from her past flitting through her mind in a whirlwind of exhaustion and heartbreak like a highlight reel of her life.

And then her eyes were snapping open, lungs taking in the oxygen from a desperate gasp as she stared back at an awestruck Clarke. It took a moment to realize it, but her anxiety, her nausea, her pain, it was all gone, at least for the moment, but it was hard not to feel a little unnerved at Clarke's stare. "What?"

"I knew there was something about you." Clarke said with a grin, not quite predatory but very toothy and a little intimidating. "Enodia would bring in all she found, those like you, to be nymphs under her guidance. You're making me nostalgic, Anya of the pines."

Anya knew she was gaping, but she couldn't help her reaction. The violent swing from hope to despair and back again had her feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, but if Clarke spoke the truth, then she'd surely be able to help. She had claimed to have, in some sense, taken over for Enodia after the deity's supposed passing.

Clarke wasn't Enodia, or Hecate, but if Clarke could help, then Anya was happy to hitch her wagon onto that proverbial star.

"And she helped them?" Anya asked, knowing her fingers were digging into Clarke's thigh, but she was close. So close. With her whole body tense and on edge, waiting for confirmation, she couldn't help herself.

Clarke didn't even seem to notice it, those soft blue eyes never wincing, not even a little bit. "Of course. Some of them were like you, yearning to give birth, to create. Some didn’t, but felt a great misalignment in some form that Enodia was happy to help with. My predecessors offered that gift, knowing how special creation was, and how painful their lives could often be without aid."

Not that she thought a deity could remotely be a chaser, but Anya couldn't help but fixate on that last bit, even as relief flooded through her at the knowledge. "She thought we were special?"

"She had the ability to help women ascend to become nymphs. But she couldn't create a new divine being unless through one that had already been shaped thoroughly by a deity, and that wasn't a common request from most woman followers. Re-shaping your bodies, at least the ones that requested it, was enough to make it possible. Most of them were women like yourself." Clarke explained, Anya's buzzing mind still managing to put two and two together, leaving her breathless at the implications. "Women like you could give birth to demi-gods or immortals, if you chose to. I had many sisters like you...Raven, Octavia, Emori, Costia...I loved them all so much. And like my mother, and her mother Enodia, I can take care of you. All you need to do is offer yourself up to me."

Anya held Clarke's gaze, knowing this was what she'd yearned for all her life. No price was too high for freedom, and no one was better suited to make it all happen.

She swiftly turned and straddled Clarke's lap, a thrill rushing through her as Clarke's hands immediately went to her hips. "I'll offer you my body and soul if you put a baby inside me."

Apparently, Clarke wasn't on the same page, recoiling slightly at the offer, eyes growing wider at the gesture. "Me? I'll be happy to make you fertile, I'll change your body as you need, but...I'm not sure you know what you're asking for."

In reality, it was simple. "I've wanted to get pregnant all my life. I'm a lesbian...I love women, so that already limited my options before considering I'm trans. But you...you're a...a demon, a succubus, a goddess, something powerful enough. And if by changing me, you make me able to bear your children...then I want that. I want you."

Clarke's focus shifted between her eyes, and finally, finally, the demon's composure seemed to be faltering, blush rising to Clarke's cheeks. "You'd let a demon plant their essence in you?"

Anya lifted a hand to caress Clarke's face, palm gliding down her cheek. "I would let you do much more than that."

Despite the thrumming of her heartbeat in her temples, Anya heard the moan rumbling up Clarke's throat as clear as day. "You don't understand...any hope at a normal life would be gone."

As if such a prospect could ever lure her, not after all she'd known in her life.

"Fuck normal! Do you think I want to fit into this bullshit society that's hated me all my life? I don't care about that! I want a family!" Anya yelled, forcing herself to take a calming breath or two as she slumped forward, nose slowly trailing up and down Clarke's. She was so close, and Clarke could clearly help her. She didn't understand the reluctance when she was putting herself out on a damned silver platter.

"Sweetling..." Clarke let out, voice low in clear warning, but she couldn't heed it. She had to press, lowering her own voice to a whisper.

"I want a family. I want to adopt as many kids as I can, but I want to experience pregnancy, too. I want to give birth, even if just once. I want to be free enough from dysphoria to be able to raise my children well. I don't care about normal. You can help me, and give me what I want, so please." Anya begged, her breath hitching as she brushed her lips across Clarke's. "Please make me a mom."

Clarke had seemed intent on being so controlled, so calm, but as she leaned back enough to get a better glimpse of the demon's face, she saw a very human response. Blown pupils staring hard at her lips.

Anya gave Clarke's cheek one last caress before she gripped the demon's jaw, wresting away her complete attention. "Make me the mother of your children. Take me, fuck me, and make me a mommy. Make..."

"'Mommy'? Isn't that a child's word?" Clarke interjected with a hard laugh, clearly trying to distract from the situation at hand despite the demon's hands gripping hard at Anya's hips. She could see the lust in the demon's eyes, but for some reason Clarke was conflicted.

She was handing over her soul, Anya wasn't sure what there was to be conflicted about. "It'll be your child's word for me, your children's word for me. Or some other word, whatever fits, so long as you put a baby in me!" She stressed, grazing her nose along Clarke's, staring down at the demon with all the determination she could muster. "I'm offering my soul for you to get me pregnant and birth your child. What is there to think about?"

"It's been centuries...I haven't had a family in centuries." Clarke spoke, and though her voice spoke the words calm and clear, she could see the mix of anguish and yearning in the demon's eyes.

Anya wouldn't pretend to understand immortality or godhood or any of that. It was beyond the scope of her existence, so she just didn't want to waste time on it, but she could focus on Clarke's desires. As much as the demon seemed pained at the memory of her family, the grip at her hips was only growing tighter, more painful.

Clarke wanted what she did. Anya just needed to convince her it was worth it.

"Then we'll make a new one. We'll keep it safe. It's not ancient whenever, there aren't roving parties looking to find and hurt you. We can start over...we can both start over." Anya offered, smoothing her hands down Clarke's cheeks, leaving one to tilt the demon's chin up, leaving their lips inches apart. "I'm tired of suffering and just existing to live day after day. Aren't you?"

A fire flashed in Clarke's eyes and then Anya was falling backward, flat on her back in the grass with Clarke looming over her. "Life should be about more than just surviving. We deserve better than that." Clarke purred, crawling over her body until the demon's blonde locks curtained Anya's head. "I'll take your offer, sweetling. But don't get it in your head that this is strictly for you...I'm doing this for my people."

Anya rolled her eyes. "And I am yours, and I want to mother your people, so cut the bullshit and take me already."

Clarke let out a growl, eyes burning bright and hot with that same flaming blue glow to them. As mesmerizing as they were, though, it was hard not to notice how Clarke's canines descended and the rest of her teeth grew sharper, the demon's hair taking on a dark crimson tint that flowed from root to tip faster than Anya's brain could really comprehend it.

It was the feeling of Clarke's hand against her cheek that drew her out of her stupor; or, perhaps more accurately, her talon, five digits having narrowed to three larger ones. "Shall I take you here, or somewhere more modern like that shack over there?" Clarke's voice was, for a lack of a better word, fuller, sounding like it was coming across at a few different octaves.

It was all bizarre, but it couldn't distract her. "The shack's set up with a devil's trap as a precaution if things went wrong. Here's better." Anya let out, leaning up on her elbows to nip at Clarke's lower lip. Having sex on the grass wasn't perfectly ideal, but the ground was soft and there weren't any rocks jutting into her back, so she didn't really have anything to complain about aside from being in full view if anyone drove down the road tonight. "But do something about your claws, I'm not into being cut while getting finger-fucked."

The demon cocked her head a bit to the side. "You're peculiar. I don't frighten you?"

"What's supposed to scare me, the jagged teeth? The flaming eyes? The talons? The blood-red hair? Please. I've seen real evil in this world, you don't scare me." Anya pressed a kiss to the slight cleft in Clarke's chin. "It's a little weird, but if this is you, then I want to see all of you."

Anya wasn't sure how Clarke managed it, but the woman loomed over her holding both hands up, one human, one...more beastly. In the blink of an eye, Clarke's clothes vanished. "Then you'll see me. It's been a little while, but I'm not so green that I'm gonna toss this..." Clarke waved her taloned hand. "...into one of your pussies to start with. I'd like to think a few hundred years hasn't made me rusty."

She groaned and nodded, falling softly back onto the grass. "I'll take your word for it." She answered, moving to pull her clothes off before a snap of fingers met her ears and she was suddenly nude. "Okay, could have used some notice, there."

"You're a big girl, and we were going to get naked one way or another." Clarke asserted, lowering herself onto Anya, leaving her wondering how she didn't notice how damn hot Clarke's body ran before. The demon felt like a heated blanket cranked up to max, but Clarke's gaze still managed to be hotter as those burning eyes stared down at her. "My my, you are a lovely one, aren't you? I might actually take my time with you."

Clarke's more human hand grazed down along her side, coming to a halt at Anya's hip. As much as she'd been in it for the deal, having sex with a divine being seemed like an experience she didn't want to rush. That combined with having gone an uncomfortably long time without being touched, and maybe Anya liked the sound of a more leisurely roll in the hay. "Please do."

"In that case, I've got a long list of things to work out...aside from the obvious, is there anything you need me to cross off that list, sweetling?" A demon with manners. Novel. Anya just shook her head side to side, drawing a broad toothy smile from Clarke. "Then let's light your candle..."

I hadn’t finished the smut section, so I’ll leave this here, but yeah...when the demon au prompt got interest, I got the “deal with the devil” and “crossroads demon” tropes swirling in my head, and well, being that I intended to write trans rep into most if not all of the NaNoWriMo ficlets I was writing at the time, I felt this was a fair direction for things to head into.

And, like, as I mentioned in the top disclaimer bit, it let me put some of my age-old feels to word, and put them out there. I grieved over that part of my reality alone a number of years ago, for days, alone. It felt good to air them out a little. Not being able to get pregnant and birth children hurt like hell, but it didn’t make me less of a woman. And if I magically gained that ability, it wouldn’t make me any less of a trans woman, obviously. Sometime in the future, trans women will give birth...for now, we have the rare story exploring that notion.

Anywho, I hope y’all enjoyed this snippet, as cracky as it might have been (it’s a demon AU, of course it’ll be a bit OOC)

#writewritewrite #demon au #thedeadflag #clanya fanfiction #crackfic #pregnancy tw #long post

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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Summary: Every year, Anya looks forward to Polis' Comic-Con as an escape from the routine hostility and transmisogyny that have defined most of her teenage years. So when she arrives at the hotel for the Comic-Con weekend to learn she's been booked to share a room with Clarke Griffin, one of the sources of her torment during high school, maybe she's a little upset. And when she learns there's only one bed, well, maybe she's a little furious that her yearly reprieve is slipping through her fingers.

Facing down a weekend with an oddly despondent Clarke Griffin, Anya had to hope that she could salvage some semblance of normalcy and distance, but Clarke had other ideas, of course

#Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe #clanya fanfiction #clanya #the 100 fanfiction #thedeadflag #final chapter!#I hope you all enjoyed it :)

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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Second half of the dragon AU (first half here). Just shameless fluff because I do what I want.

I’ll probably post this to Ao3 when I figure out what’s bugging me about it and make the changes I need to make.

It wasn't often that Clarke got to leave the mountain safely for any real length of time. Between the fact that Mount Weather was far from civilization, the fact that the roads between her cave and the nearest civilization were full of highwaymen and soldiers vigorously defending their borders, and the fact that she needed to be around to prevent enemies from setting up camp and laying an ambush on her, she really didn't get out often.

One of the only times was when the traveling market would make its stop in one of the cities near the Trigeda or Floudo kingdom borders, usually Chantil. It had a dangerous set of mountains to its north, giving her a solid place to travel to unseen, and so long as she was careful with her footing, she could make her way down well enough. She'd buy loads of meat for recharging her energy, stockpile it outside of town to be eaten at night, and use the rest of her gold to buy whatever caught her eye.

Not that she allowed herself many luxuries in the past, but she carried a box full of what she could find through the cave and into the chamber she'd called her home for the past decade, avoiding the suspicious glances from Anya's knights on route to her table. And just the same as when she'd left, Indra was incensed, so at least she knew some things didn't change.

Clarke grabbed her small collection of furs and covered Anya with them, then carefully propped up the sleeping woman's head with an extra pillow or two. It wasn't the lap of luxury, but Clarke would take comfort in those things on her bad days, and since Anya needed them more than she did at the moment, Clarke figured they were best put to use with her.

It'd been a little over half an hour since she'd run into her cave with Anya in her arms, the knights following her in after a brief delay, having heard her rush in; it'd thankfully given her time to change and treat Anya's wound as much as she could. She could tell they were getting antsy, and she couldn't blame them. Especially not with Anya's leg scarred up along the back, which even if it wasn't the main reason for her feeling out of sorts about it all, was still considerable. Her blood having regenerative abilities, she'd used some in treating the princess' wound, needing to stop the blood loss if nothing else, and Clarke wasn't happy about leaving lasting damage to such a beautiful, kind woman.

While she was technically magic, or magical, her blood wasn't a cure-all or without its flaws. It ran terribly hot, and from past experience in healing an unfortunate soul caught in a hunting accident a few years back, it burned the body it healed, leaving the treated skin appropriately scarred, even if still mostly covered up by bandages.

Which Indra was still worked up over, if the murderous glare she sent Clarke's way was any indication.

"You all can ease up a little. No one's going to be harmed while they're in here." Clarke suggested as she set up a few more candles in the room.

"You expect us to believe the dragon would tolerate intruders in its cave?" The burly knight let out with a scoff.

"Only if you try to kill it." Clarke rolled her eyes, wondering why they were so scared of dying if they were also so eager to have a go at the dragon.

"And what of our princess?! Not only was she harmed, but she was permanently scarred by the dragon!" Indra raged, speaking enough truth to make countering her words difficult, even if it wasn't entirely accurate, context-wise.

Clarke shook her head and turned to face her accuser. "That's not what happened down, there. But if your king and queen are reasonable people, they should be happy their daughter is safe and sound."

Indra looked like she was ready to slice her throat, but Anya's groan had the knight stilling, maintaining her glare for a moment longer before rushing to Anya's side alongside Nyko and Lincoln.

She let their muted banter fade to the edges of her mind, not wanting to eavesdrop or stick her nose into where it didn't belong. It was better for Anya to have familiar faces near after such a trauma. She remembered growing up, and how tightly knit she and her friends were back home. In truth, it might have been what she missed the most out of everything she'd lost.

So watching those three flock around Anya? Not just as her guards, but as people who genuinely cared for her? That warmed her heart, even if it was yet another contrasting reminder to how utterly alone she was.

"Clarke?"

If not for how the room went silent directly afterwards, Clarke would have chalked it up to hearing things, but when she glanced towards the bed and saw Anya staring directly at her, the notion of Anya calling for her suddenly didn't seem so improbable, even if she still didn't understand it.

With Indra still glaring at her, Anya approached cautiously, feeling slightly out of place by her own bedside. "How are you feeling?"

Anya took a breath, brow furrowing as she took a moment of consideration, stretching out her limbs. "Like I could jog a few miles in this heavy thing." Anya lifted her bandaged leg and lowered it, repeating the motion with increasing mobility each time, not showing any signs of difficulty or pain. "I feel...great."

"That doesn't make sense. The dragon burned you." Indra stated, focus having fully shifted to Anya's previously wounded leg.

"It did no such thing, Indra. Not truly. An Azgedan ranger shot an arrow into my leg while I was defending Clarke." Anya clarified, all three knights growing tense at the mere mention of their apparent rivals. "If not for the dragon swooping in to rescue us, I'd be dead or abducted. I was only burned slightly in our escape, just by the heat of the air, nothing more, and Clarke tended to my wounds."

Clarke wasn't sure what to think of Anya's lie, but glancing at Nyko and Indra, they seemed to accept it, if begrudgingly. It was when her gaze met Lincoln's that she realized the third knight was quicker to the take, staring at her with new eyes, fresh understanding.

Meaning two people knew her secret now. Fantastic.

"In the interest of security, if we form up out by the mouth of the cave, is there a way to avoid spooking the dragon?" Lincoln asked, making it clear he was going to play along, at least for now. It was a decision she couldn't fully comprehend, but she was thankful for nevertheless.

"Well, they're always charging at her, so anything that's not that, to start." If anything, Indra and Nyko seemed less unimpressed and more quietly furious at her well-earned sarcasm. "If you're seated, you can't charge her, so she'd probably be fine with that. Enough to at least call for me if she sensed trouble or needed an explanation." Clarke rambled as she made her way back to her small table and hopped up onto it, hoping her on the fly suggestion would pass muster.

"What, and leave the princess alone with this..."

"Captain, you heard her highness. Azgedan rangers. There could be more, and we don't want them securing a tactical advantage by sneaking in here and containing us in this chamber. We're too vulnerable with all of us in here." Lincoln snapped out, the first time he'd sounded the least bit aggressive.

Which seemed to work on Indra, who may have let out a hard grunt, and huffed, but the captain still turned her focus to the exit. "I may hate it but you're correct. We need to fortify the entrance." Indra turned focus to Clarke. "If you harm a hair on her body, I will end you."

Clarke nodded at the threat, feeling her tension leave once the trio slowly, reluctantly made their way out of her little room, leaving her and Anya alone. As happy as she was to not have the knights around, it still left her with the deeply uncomfortable reality of having to deal with Anya knowing about her. It meant that she was at risk, and she didn't have the heart to really do much of anything about that.

Her future, what little she'd allowed herself to dream up since she was fresh into her teenage years, was fading fast in her mind, leaving her grasping for hope that she knew had always been scarce when it came to her.

She'd never been the lucky kind. As she turned her focus to her weathered and treasured art book, Clarke wondered just how many more pages she'd live to fill.

Her life was in Anya's hands, and after everything, Clarke wasn't sure she could take it back this time.

Anya wasn't sure how to feel, watching the grumpy, exhausted peasant woman mope atop her makeshift table. The only clear thing in the room seemed to be how sorry Clarke felt for herself, given her sad frown and thousand yard stare.

Which was probably well-deserved, given all that had been revealed, so Anya couldn't exactly blame the woman for moping. For a decade, everyone had been looking for a dragon, not a pretty peasant girl. With that secret out, even if just to her and probably Lincoln given how he looked at her, it was hard to blame the girl for feeling upset and unsafe.

After all, Clarke had been upset and unsafe for so long. Anya had considered her attitude to be rude earlier, but she understood now, as much as she could. All of Clarke's words about the dragon, in defense of the dragon, rushed back to her, clarifying that Clarke had been speaking of herself. That the dragon didn't have a human helper; no, the dragon was all alone in the world. Just a few trinkets and books to keep her company.

It was a devastatingly sad reality. A decade of living all alone in the middle of nowhere, with no friends, no family, all under a constant threat of death. All with Clarke being forced to defend herself. Suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach, knowing her kingdom sent so many of her friends and people to murder this beautiful, sad girl.

"How are you feeling?" She had to repeat herself before Clarke snapped out of her haze, the woman eventually meeting her gaze and letting out a tired sigh.

"I should be asking you that, your highness." An entirely absurd statement, of course, perhaps even unexpected, but it made sense for Clarke to deflect focus away from herself. Anya often did the same when she was uncomfortable or feeling vulnerable.

"You already have. I believe it's your turn to answer." She cocked an eyebrow, feeling a little rush at how pink Clarke's cheeks went at either the question or the gesture. She hoped it was the latter; she didn't want Clarke to feel embarrassed.

Clarke gave a smile that was entirely forced. "I'm fine."

"Now this time with feeling, dear." Anya pressed, holding her stare as Clarke huffed at being called out on her entirely transparent lie. She waited, as seconds passed, but Clarke just sat there, growing slightly redder with each moment. "Come sit with me." She patted the space beside her as she sat up in the makeshift bed.

It took a few more seconds, but Clarke reluctantly hopped off her table and made her way over, each step more cautious than the last until she'd plopped down beside Anya. "What do you want from me?" Clarke's words came out a little hard, gruff, making her wariness more than audible enough to get a grip on.

Anya didn't want Clarke feeling on edge. Not after everything. "You saved my life. I just want to know why."

Clarke sank back against the pillows, her golden tresses splaying out. It was an odd shift for Clarke to go from being distant and guarded to practically laying herself vulnerable, at least in a physical sense. Between that and the close proximity, maybe Anya's heart-rate spiked a bit.

"You're a princess, and you saw me as a commoner, but you treated me well. Like an equal. That's...well, credit to your character, I guess. And you defended me when you didn't have to, you tried to protect me, to sacrifice yourself for me...a peasant you didn't even know, who wasn't one of your people. That's honourable. That's incredibly...kind." That last word slipped out quietly, but with conviction. As if the woman beside her wanted to believe it more than she did.

Which was fair. A single event couldn't tell a person about another's whole personality, their virtues and vices, their ethics and morality. Their heart.

Anya had never been one to readily accept compliments, but then again, she'd never been complimented by a dragon before, so she was alright chalking it up as a first. She just wouldn't linger on them, was all.

"How's your shoulder faring? I never did get the chance to see to it." Anya wanted to reach out and check it herself, but it seemed a bit more intimate than she imagined Clarke would be comfortable with.

"It's all healed up. Perk of being a monster." Anya didn't need to watch Clarke shift away from her, turn her head away, or hear the sardonic tone in Clarke's words to know she'd touched a particularly frayed nerve.

Still, she couldn't have Clarke believing she was a monster. Not after what she'd done for her. "You are hardly the monster, Clarke. I was the one who came here with hate in my heart and yearning for your blood. I was the one who pushed to get us out into the meadow. The Azgedans drew us into a conflict, and I was the one who insisted we stay and not run. I was the one who prompted you to use your abilities to kill on my behalf." Anya listed off, watching and hoping for Clarke to turn her way again, but the woman remained closed off and still. "No monster mourns the fact that they've killed seven people. No monster mourns the thousands of people she killed in her lifetime, all that could have been prevented had we not struck out in violence and fear. We should all be insects to you, pests, nightmares to vanquish, but you can still see good in us. Darling, you're not a monster...you're...you've been condemned to a decade of this suffering, and it did nothing to your spirit, your humanity, your heart."

"And what do you know about it?" Clarke asked, peeking past her shoulder up at Anya.

"I know you risked your life, for the rest of your life, to save mine today. I know you pleaded with me and my guards to go home because you were scared and were already broken up about the three from earlier. I know you're absolutely exhausted, but you still carried me in here and tended to me." Anya noted. "Honestly, dear, do you even have the energy to transform again, if you wanted to?"

Clarke's head turned away from her again, giving her all the answer she needed on that. "Is that why you steal the livestock?"

"I need a lot of energy. Not much for a dragon, but a lot for a human. In time...my body will give me enough energy on its own, but...it's dangerous. I did it once after I stretched myself thin a bit in feeding, and I lost a dangerous amount of weight when I transformed back. I was bedridden for two weeks eating my shitty stores of jerky until I could get up and walk again. Thankfully, no one came and attacked me back then, but...yeah. That's why I take from farms. And I have to transform every few days at least or my body will force it and I can get stuck for a while." Clarke explained at length, leaving Anya wondering what other growing pains and hurdles the woman had stumbled through all alone without help. "I grab the oldest one I can, I eat, and then I leave my payment. A good cow's enough for about three or four shifts, which used to be more than enough to last a week or two, but these days, I have to hunt more often, with more and more attacks, even if they're smaller."

"It's clearly been hard on you. You've earned the right to be tired." Anya added, pushing past her own hesitations to reach across and pull Clarke onto her back again, hand tilting the woman's head to face her. "Darling, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

The way Clarke's cheeks turned a deep red had her thinking that she either liked being touched, or liked the term of endearment, or perhaps both. Either way, Anya took it as a sign to keep all of that up.

"My life back. Or, as decent enough of a life as I could hope to have." Clarke let out softly. "I don't want to kill anymore. I want to have friends again."

The mention of friends had Anya curious. "What happened to them? Were they dragons as well?"

Clarke shook her head. "No. It's...complicated."

"More complicated than being able to transform back and forth between a human and a dragon?" Anya asked, earning a quick roll of Clarke's eyes, the woman letting out a frustrated huff.

"It's just complicated. It hurts to think about." Clarke's tiny little shrug, along with the blooming sadness in her eyes, told Anya to press a bit. Whatever had hurt Clarke, she wanted to do what she could to heal it.

Anya reached over and took hold of Clarke's nearest hand, lacing their fingers. "What happened to you?" She probed, watching Clarke's hesitant, worried gaze flicker between her lap and Anya's eyes. "Darling, you're safe with me. I promise you this."

For the first time since she'd met the young peasant, she saw hope in those blue eyes. So she waited, second by second, as Clarke worked up the courage, knowing she could be patient if she needed to be. That after a decade alone, Anya could wait a minute or two in contrast.

"I was born Clarke Shelley Griffin, daughter of King Jacob and Queen Abigail Griffin."

Anya was certain her heart stopped, mind flooding with equal parts questions and information. The Griffins had only ever had one child, who had been missing and presumed dead since she was thirteen years old. The popular theory had been an abduction gone awry, with the young girl being killed accidentally before she could be ransomed, but strangely enough, this all made more sense.

It had been just over a decade since the Griffin girl's disappearance. Clarke both shared her name and had been alone in the mountain for ten long years. The timelines matched up perfectly.

"My mother's pregnancy was...troubled. After a long time of working with royal advisors and doctors, they sought out a pact with a witch. A witch who was more trickster than anything...she said a dragon would rise in the line of gryphons, and she'd come to claim a vial of virgin dragon's blood. Apparently, that could only be taken during my first shift, which only made that moment scarier for me, but she got what she wanted. My parents had thirteen years of me being healthy, but...I guess they weren't so happy, since they sent their knights to attack me." Clarke continued, her story only growing more heartbreaking by the moment. Anya couldn't imagine being chased off at such a young age, in such a scary, foreign situation.

There weren't words to express her sorrow, and she could see Clarke still had more to say, so she opted to offer a gentle squeeze of her hand, hopefully reminding Clarke she was there for her, that she was safe.

"I ran. Or, well, stumbled, and crashed, and eventually figured out how to fly. I found a river and followed it north, and...found my way here, to a cave that was large enough to halfway curl up in to start with. I hid out here, but I guess some people noticed me on the way up, and...yeah, the attacks started about a day after that." The tears welling in Clarke's eyes, the slight ducking of her head, it all told her that her fellow princess was finished.

As thankful as Anya was to have been trusted with that story, she was utterly horrified. Her people had been sent to murder a child. A scared little girl who had just lost everything. "You were only a child."

"I survived." Clarke choked out, a tear or two streaking down her temples.

Anya's brain was too tactical not to have come up with some manner of solution to their problems, but she knew it would be selfish. The last thing she wanted was to use Clarke, even if the situation could potentially necessitate it. Still, she wanted to give Clarke what she asked for.

Mind mostly made up, Anya released her hold on Clarke's hand enough to pull her close, wrapping her arms around the exhausted woman, their foreheads touching. "I promise, Clarke, if you wish it, I can give you that which you desire most."

Clarke's focus immediately slips lower on Anya's face, those bright blues honing in on Anya's lips, which in turn had a blush rising to her own cheeks. Perhaps she'd misjudged Clarke along the way, but she was more than pleased to have that misinterpretation sorted out.

"Please don't promise what's not in your power to give." Clarke murmured, letting out the tiniest moan when Anya wet her lower lip.

Heart thrumming in her chest at the prospect of her selfish desires also possibly being the best outcome for all, Anya tightened her hold around Clarke's waist and ran a hand through her hair, adoring the way Clarke's eyes fluttered half-shut at the gesture.

"I'm the youngest of my siblings, the only one left unmarried. My parents yearn for the day I'm wed. If they would welcome a marriage to a wealthy merchant, then...I assure you that they would welcome a marriage to another princess." Anya laid out her offer, heart blooming with hope that Clarke would accept. That Clarke could see that they could all have what they desired from this.

After all the death, there was a path to some semblance of happiness before them. Anya just hoped Clarke would walk it with her.

Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever stared so wide-eyed at anyone, and she'd been a massive dragon, so there was a pretty solid baseline to go up against. Everything inside her felt like it was straining, pulling at her bones to try and get closer to Anya.

She'd spent a decade alone, desperately lonely, and here this beautiful princess was, offering her a hand not just to pull her head above water to keep her from drowning, but for something unfathomable. Something unspeakable, with how entrenched it'd been in her past hopes and dreams for herself, back when she had a future to look forward to, back when she had a family and friends.

She hadn't allowed herself to think about something like that for so long, to even put it into words, and yet here Anya was, offering her this hope, this dream.

"Are you...are you asking me to...to..." Clarke stammered out, trying to say the word, but it was scary. She'd had her future destroyed before; she didn't want to risk that heartbreak again.

"I'm asking if you'll take my hand in marriage."

It stole her breath, Anya being direct, warm brown eyes shining with hope and yearning. As if Anya wanted this as much as she did, which would be absurd, given her heart felt like it was about to give out. "Why in the hells would you do that?"

She needed some answers, because as alluring and wonderful as the offer was, it felt like a trap. She needed to understand.

"I'm a princess of the Trigeda Kingdom, I can choose my suitor. Past that, you're the only heir to the Griffin Kingdom." Anya started, and Clarke had to butt in right there, because the last thing she wanted was to be some political pawn.

"So is this just politics? To give your kingdom more power?" Clarke interjected, though by the way Anya's features softened, she figured she might have been a bit quick to accuse her.

"It's not, it's certainly not. However, revealing yourself to the public, while united with me and safe in my kingdom? That could bring your old friends back into your life, even if you want no part of your parents. And I could help you have a life you'd enjoy living, free of this suffering." Anya explained, making a bit more sense with that.

Even if it wasn't such a simple situation. Ten years gave her a long time to think and reflect. "I'm not so sure i wouldn't want to speak too my parents. It must have been scary for them. I know I was terrified, and disoriented, and clumsy. I was smashing into everything, and crying out, and I was panicking. They might have just thought I'd turned into some brainless, oversized lizard, that I wasn't their daughter anymore." She answered, letting out a content hum as Anya gave her a gentle squeeze. It felt wonderful, being in her arms. She was sure it'd feel wonderful being held anyways, but by a beautiful woman? Yeah. "I might want to talk to them. Yell at them. Curse them out. Maybe all three."

"As is your right." Anya murmured, combing a delightful hand through Clarke's hair again.

"Do you...do you really, truly want this? I couldn't do it if you didn't want it. Please don't ask me to do this if you don't." Clarke blurted out, feeling far too comfortable and overwhelmed with affection to know she'd be able to give straight answers. A few more minutes, and Clarke wasn't sure she'd be able to say no to much of anything.

Anya leaned away slightly, putting just enough space between them to clear her head, thankfully. "A beautiful peasant girl laid her life on the line for me, a princess who, unknowingly, had made clear her desire to kill her. You're special, Clarke...brave, strong, and so kind. I want to help relieve you of your burden, to give you a life to look forward to. Perhaps occasional trips to a royal farm with all the livestock you could need. No stealing, no worries over debts or payment, no being hunted, no isolation."

"But what do you get out of it?" She pressed, having already considered the impact it'd have on the kingdom and on herself. She needed to know what Anya got from it.

"My people gain the stability of a marriage, my parents get what they've always wanted for me, we potentially gain a connection with the Griffin Kingdom that could be leveraged to keep our kingdom save and prosperous. If you'd allow it, the gold and gems in the mountain would help secure a future for our people for generations, perhaps. And..."

"No, please, Anya." She interjected, stilling the princess' methodical rambling. "I need to know what you get from it. Just you."

Anya hesitated, a crimson blush flowing to her cheeks as the edge of her lips curled into a tiny smile. "A friend?" Anya's answer leaved much to be desired, even if Clarke did understand it. Marrying for friendship just didn't seem smart, but Clarke felt her intelligence seep out of her skull as Anya brought a hand up to cup her cheek, thumb ghosting across her cheekbone. "Or...if I'm fortunate...maybe something more intimate?"

Clarke couldn't hold back her whimper as she leaned into Anya's palm. She was so utterly tired, so exhausted and worn out, and Anya was so beautiful, and pristine, and sweet. "I want to trust this so badly it hurts..."

"I understand if you're scared. Trust can't come easily after all you've been through." Anya cooed as she leaned in closer, caressing her cheek. "Perhaps I could visit here every other day? Get to know you over time? Show you I can be trusted?"

It wasn't an option. "No, it's too dangerous. I get attacked almost daily, now, and I couldn't put you at risk again." She insisted, earning a reluctant, subtle nod from the princess. "You're right, I am scared. But...I'll go with you...on one condition."

"If it's in my power to give, it's yours." Anya murmured, nose nuzzling down Clarke's, turning her entire body to goo for a few moments as she indulged in the affection.

"I need a room where I can see the sky and the forest. I've spent too many nights in here sleeping in this oversized stone coffin. I need the night sky. I need the stars. I need to see my forest if I'll be too far away to hear its music." Clarke needed something better than this, something different, something where she could look out and see the world and not feel the crushing weight of isolation.

Anya smiled, eyes shining with mirth. "You'll have my tower, then. It has a balcony surrounding it, where you can see off in any direction. A small bit to the west is blocked by the main castle structure, but I've stargazed out there on many occasions. It's a wonderful view, especially during dawns and dusks."

It all sounded so exciting, but still left her with a question. "But...where will you sleep?"

"I could take the royal guest quarters for the time being. Though I hope...after enough familiarity..." Clarke swallowed hard at the degree of suggestion in Anya's voice, at the yearning the princess was practically emanating. Clarke had been against a political marriage, but if Anya might like her, might enjoy being close with her, then that was different. And the prospect of sharing space together was just too alluring to pass up. She'd been alone for so long. Having someone nearby would make a world of difference.

"I can't have you leaving your home to make room for me. Please, stay, I'm sure there's enough room for both of us." Clarke just managed to hold back a moan as Anya bit her lip. It was so tempting to cross that last inch or two.

"It wouldn't be proper, Clarke." Anya suggested lowly, without much conviction.

"Is this proper? Us lying together? Holding each other?" She knew the answer, they both did, Anya shaking her head. "Then does it matter? Who would mind? It's just...I don't..."

Just the prospect of being in a strange new place, and being all alone again had her anxiety kicking into gear, but she took some comfort as Anya stroked her cheek. "Shhhhh, darling, I know. You don't want to be alone." Clarke gave a small nod as she caught her breath and tried to calm down. "I will make certain that we share my tower, then. I dearly hope you come to love my people, my kingdom, as much as I do, but until then, you'll have me. You won't be alone, I promise."

It'd been six years since her last kiss, something she'd thought of often over the years as a measure of solace, but try as she might, a breath away from Anya, she couldn't remember it at all. The only thing she wanted to do in that moment was kiss the girl, even if she knew Anya had already made more than enough concessions on what was proper.

"I'm really looking forward to when we can kiss. It's been a while for me." Clarke admitted, holding Anya's suddenly heated gaze.

"I've never had the pleasure. I'd only had male suitors, but...as it turns out, I'm only interested in women. I haven't exactly had much attention from outside my kingdom." Anya added, her words leaving Clarke perplexed as she tried to understand how someone as strikingly beautiful as Anya didn't have a waiting list of suitors from across the other eleven kingdoms.

She couldn't imagine not wanting to have Anya in her arms. "A beautiful princess like you? You'd think kingdoms would be falling over themselves to bring noble ladies your way."

"Oh, there are some within my kingdom who...would be suitable, surely. My parents, however, want me to marry outside the kingdom, to create new connections, so marrying in was a last resort. And when the other eleven kingdoms know you were once considered a prince for many of your years, even if erroneously, that's difficult to get past. Especially with how I transitioned." Anya clarified, leaving Clarke stunned once again.

Her poor little heart could hardly take any more surprises, no matter how happy they might potentially be. If Anya had used magic, then the odds of her kingdom accepting Clarke rose sharply. "Did you use a witch?"

Anya shook her head. "Of a sort. My father knew of a shaman from outside the twelve kingdoms, across the badlands, who had experience with those who ailed as I had. She and her apprentice came and saw to me, to my spirit, and mixed up a number of tonics for me to take over a few years. My mother managed to get the apprentice to remain when the shaman left, and now she helps others like me from across the kingdoms." Anya explained, a sad smile forming on her lips as she took a heavy breath.

"Unfortunately, most other kingdoms aren't so accepting and understanding, and are wildly superstitious about magic, so we often take them in as refugees. They fear us...they believe we've been touched by the hand of evil, that we're unnatural." Anya continued, gripping Clarke a little harder, seeking comfort in her. It had her heart blooming, and her hands rubbing at Anya's back, hoping to help in whatever small way she could to ease the heartache from such absurd rejection. "But we're just people...I was a girl before the shaman, and I was a girl after, she just helped alleviate my physical discomforts, but the other kingdoms don't care. Even if they accept I'm a woman, which isn't always the case, they believe me to be corrupted."

"They fear what they don't understand, and they're wrong. So wrong about you." Clarke asserted, nose nuzzling at Anya's cheek. "I saw bravery today. I saw kindness today. I saw mercy today. I saw no evil...just a good woman trying to do what was right."

"You're making me blush." Anya countered quickly with a laugh, her smile radiant even in the dim confines of the cave.

Clarke brushed the hair from Anya's face and returned her smile. "And I just learned I like making you blush."

Anya laughed again, reaching behind herself briefly. Clarke didn't have a chance at avoiding the swift, sudden pillow strike to her cheek. "Flatterer. But I fear this decision of ours won't be without complication."

"Indra will absolutely want to kill me, yeah. I figured as much." Clarke added with a slow nod.

"She'll take the requisite time to warm up to you, but she won't hate you." Anya stated, not really clarifying the matter for her, since Indra had more or less glared at her as if she wanted Clarke's head on a pike. "She'll hate your parents for what they did to you, and what they led our kingdom into doing. You were a child. You were their responsibility, their blood. Even if you're an adult now, I know she'll consider them directly responsible for the first five years at the very least, and likely the rest, given your current situation is a direct product of their actions."

It didn't exactly make sense to her, given she was the dragon, not her parents, but she trusted Anya to know her royal guard well. If Anya said it was so, then it was probably so.

"So what kind of troubles do you think we're in for?" Clarke asked, eyes fluttering shut as the princess ran a hand through her hair.

"Well, convincing the other kingdoms not to come around the mountain will be difficult. Getting word to my parents and arranging this marriage, and disclosing that you're the dragon...that could be difficult. Getting the wealth from the mountain and to our kingdom, even if ours is the closest to the mountain, could be a challenge. Also, once we marry, when other kingdoms realize you were the dragon all along? That could cause political friction." Anya listed off, combing her hand through her hair once more. It didn't quell Clarke's concerns, but it sure did feel nice. "But I can manage all of that. You needn't worry, darling."

"I just need you to know I'll protect you. If you'll deliver me from this hell? If we're going to be married? Then anyone who tries to harm you will have to go through me." Clarke insisted, not wanting Anya to feel she had to bear the full burden of the situation.

Anya brought her hand back down to cup her cheek. "You are aware that I can protect myself."

"Of course you can. But you don't have to face anything down on your own. You'll have me...a dragon." Clarke offered, smiling as she felt Anya shake her head, their noses brushing from the movement.

"I could never use you like that. Not after everything." Anya's promise had Clarke's heart feeling over-full, knowing that this woman in her arms was good. This woman was safe. This woman was someone she could fall in love with.

And as scary as that prospect was to think about with her past, with her long history of heartbreak, she needed to believe in this. She needed to trust this.

"You wouldn't be using me. It's just I couldn't let someone I care for come to harm. So...maybe we're at an impasse." She whispered, smiling at the way Anya's arms tightened around her, how snug and comfortable she felt cuddled up with the princess.

"Mmmh, then you understand the very same quandary I find myself in. No one will hurt you the way you've been, not again. I simply won't allow it. You may be a dragon, but I have a sword, too. I'll keep you safe, my darling." Anya's words spoke hope into Clarke, knowing their mutual stubbornness would probably cause some problems down the road, but this was a woman with a huge heart. This was a woman she cared for, and who cared for her.

They could make it, even if things would surely get rocky along the way.

And really, they had time for all of that later. "Why don't you tell me about your kingdom? Your people? My parents didn't talk about the Trigeda Kingdom too often, and I'd like to get acquainted."

"The first thing you must know is about our capital city, Polis..."

Clarke laid there listening to Anya's passionate words, hoping she'd one day come to hold such love for her future home, for its people. She'd wanted a family for so, so long, she'd wanted people she could care for, love, and keep safe. Taking some forest people under her wing sounded more appealing with every word, and Clarke felt like pinching herself, wondering if this was real, if this was really going to be her life.

It wasn't a sure thing yet, of course, but Clarke hoped she could grow alongside someone as special as Anya. She hoped she could help heal some of the pain she and the Trigeda people were forced to endure for so long. She hoped she could carve out a good life for herself and have mornings where she could maybe wake up in a good mood for once.

For the first time in ages, she had hope, and for the time being, she was content to hold onto it, much like she held Anya.

For all the tales she'd read about dragons, she'd never expected herself and a princess to save each other.

#writewritewrite #thedeadflag #clanya fanfiction #clanya dragon au #long post

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thedeadflag · 6 years

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Summary: When Clarke is dumped by her now ex-boyfriend with less than a week to go until the big Winter Masquerade Ball, maybe she's a little heartbroken. Still, she paid for her ticket, and the glorious power of spite motivates her to go, to prove Finn didn't break her. However, when she finds that she's not alone in her heartbreak, Clarke decides that maybe she could use the anonymity of the masquerade to heal together with Anya.

#Our Hearts of Ruin #clanya fanfiction #clanya #the 100 fanfiction #thedeadflag #NaNoWriMo 2017

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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Facing down a weekend with an oddly despondent Clarke Griffin, Anya had to hope that she could salvage some semblance of normalcy and distance, but Clarke had other ideas, of course

#Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe #clanya fanfiction #clanya #the 100 fanfiction #thedeadflag

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thedeadflag · 6 years

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Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Anya/Clarke Griffin

Additional Tags: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Smut, Shameless Smut, Angst and Feels, Light BDSM, Spanking, Light Dom/sub, Strap-Ons, Trans Female Character, Muffing, Alternate Universe - College/University

Fic Summary: Clarke and Anya are best friends. Most days of the week, you’d find them crashing at each other’s places, cooking meals for each other, holding cheesy Netflix marathons, going out running together, and all the typical things one might find two friends attached at the hip doing. On top of that, sometimes they do wind up attached at the hips, having ran with a friends with benefits arrangement for a few months now. But Anya’s hungry for more, and Clarke’s still struggling with her sexuality too much to be open.

When Anya makes herself vulnerable one evening after their late-February midterms, she learns she’s far too invested not to get hurt, leading her to wonder whether to cut bait and seek out something real with someone new, or to see if there was any chance at being more than friends with Clarke.

#Cover Me Up #clanya fanfiction #clanya #Clanya FWB AU #the 100 fanfiction #thedeadflag

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thedeadflag · 7 years

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And to follow up that new chapter, which is mostly old material I’ve slightly revised and finished up, here’s a smaller ficlet of new egregious fluff, just because

"...and we're back in the living room. I guess that finishes up the tour of the house...do you have any more questions?" Lexa asked while Clarke took another look around. Polis would be a fresh start for her, and this seemed like just the place to crash land.

She'd spent all her life in Arkadia, and come the weekend, she'd be free of it and in a new city. A big change, for certain, but a necessary one.

"No, I think we've covered everything on my list, you've been really helpful." Clarke checked down at her phone, spotting all her boxes checked on her app. "Yeah, I'm ready to hand over a deposit. Maybe as soon as I take a seat in that recliner over there, I've been eyeing it up since I got here."

"Oh, uh...well..." Lexa started, words stumbling a little, leaving Clarke a little confused. It was a recliner. A very nice one, but just furniture. It didn't look on the verge of breaking, and it had signs of wear so it clearly wasn't brand new and kept pristine by a fussy owner. "That seat's Anya's."

Clarke worked her memory, recalling Lexa going over the other roommates. Anya had been the only one not home at the time. "So...it'd be a problem for me to use it?"

"Well, not exactly...it's just she should be home any minute, and she likes to crash on her recliner for a nap after classes." Lexa explained, covering why it'd be a bit of a wrong move to sit there now, but not really covering the general apprehension. "Don't get me wrong, I love my cousin. She's wonderful, and an amazing roommate, but she can be thorny and a bit of a grump. There are a few things that can make living with her a lot easier...giving her space and not bugging her is one, getting the exact brands she puts on the grocery list is another, and then leaving her the recliner is the third. It's a nice chair, but not worth the abrasion of taking it from her. We've all learned that the hard way. I wouldn't even try, you'd just end up disappointed and back on the couch."

The front door swung open, an Asian woman sporting messy dirty blonde braids storming in with a huff. Within seconds, the woman's boots were off and she was practically collapsing onto the recliner, letting out a relieved sigh.

A bit of a dramatic entrance, but Clarke understood it well enough. At that, Lexa pulled her attention back to the details of the rental agreement, and Clarke signed over a cheque, but a part of her kept bringing her to glance over at the recliner. Anya was resting, not quite asleep, her arms wrapped around herself, a frown marring her face.

And the more Clarke glanced back, the more a plan started to come to fruition, picking up on subtle cues and drawing tentative conclusions she'd work at testing out going forward. She would have that chair. The house would have their chair back. And Anya? Well, maybe she could get on her good side in the process, and help bring a bit more happiness into her life.

Or, well, the whole idea could blow up in her face, but there was always a risk with any great plan. Besides, the chair really did look damn comfortable. It was worth the trouble.

Hunger was annoying.

Sure, Anya could go days without eating, only facing down the pull of hunger the once before it faded. So long as she didn't eat after that, she'd be free from it, but as much as it was tempting, her body did need nourishment. Which meant eating. Which meant the continued daily harassment of hunger every few hours.

Hunger was annoying, and as much as she loved food, it was such a nuisance to make it over and over every day. So much time, so much energy. It didn't help that her roommates could never get the food she put on the week's grocery list; even Lexa sometimes fumbled up, but Lexa rarely went to grab groceries. It was usually Niylah, or Emori, who didn't understand that just because certain items shared the same name, that they weren't necessarily the same in content or quality.

It was the front door opening, followed by the shuffling of their reusable grocery bags, that had Anya halting her search forfood momentarily. It was an odd time of day for anyone to do a grocery run; usually, if they went, it'd be early evening, but it was just past noon.

Clarke, the new roommate, stumbled in, entirely over-exerted as she dragged four bags behind her into the kitchen.

She wasn't raised among wolves, so Anya quickly grabbed up three of the bags and set them on the table, freeing the new girl to collapse on the ground in dramatic fashion. "I think I'm dying..."

"I've been home all day, you could have waited to go on a run with me. Share the load. I wouldn't have minded, even if it's not my week." Anya stated as she peered into the bags, quickly spotting an egregiously large tub of ice cream.

Clarke rolled onto her back and let out a lengthy, strained groan. "Wanted...to show I...could get it right...on my own."

Anya frowned at the girl and then checked the rest of the bag's contents, noticing her favourite cereal inside. The exact brand she'd requested, something the others would often ignore to save a dollar or two, despite Anya being more than willing to reimburse them the cost after the fact.

She checked the other bags, suddenly overcome at the strange sense of joy, knowing each and every item she'd requested had been filled. That the list had been completed with precision.

Maybe she offered Clarke a smile, not that the girl was aware, her eyes close shut in agony from her over-worked body. "I appreciate that, Clarke." She noted, kneeling at the side of her newest roommate. "But you could have made multiple trips to and from your car to ferry everything in. No need to carry all four bags in at once."

Anya offered a light smack to Clarke's cheek and stood up. "I was about to make lunch. I suppose I could make enough for two, if you were interested."

Clarke's silent thumbs up was all she needed to start setting out two portions' worth of ingredients for her salad. So far, the new roommate had been quiet, courteous, and now had shown value in her attention to detail. Anya had been nervous after Luna moved out, but maybe this girl would work out after all.

It was a little over two weeks into her new residence when Anya finally joined the rest of them for a movie night. Lexa had made it clear that Anya wasn't exactly avoiding the and their biweekly evenings of tv or movie marathons, but Anya was often busy writing her novel, and worked best after the sun set.

She'd made solid efforts to be nice to Anya during her time there; it took about a week to muster up the courage to pull her in for a hug, but after a brief moment of surprise, the woman had ever so slightly sunk into it, which only spurred Clarke to offer more ever since.

Her pet theory that Anya was a little touch starved seemed to be on point, so when Anya let out a lengthy yawn around midnight, Clarke could hardly let the opportunity pass her by.

"Sleepy?" She asked, looking past Lexa to where Anya was sitting.

Anya just grunted. "I can stay up. It's only another hour."

"You always get headaches when you get overtired, Anya. We'll be fine if you go to bed." Lexa added, rolling her eyes when Anya shook her head at the proposal.

Still, it only played into Clarke's tentative plan. "Well, we don't want you to get a headache. Why don't you lay down here? You can stay awake for the rest of the movie, and I can give you a scalp massage. Might work, and if it does, it's a win-win. If it doesn't, you wanted to stay up anyways."

Both Lexa and Anya looked her way, the former with curiosity, and the latter with hesitation.

"There's hardly enough room for me to spread out." Anya noted, worlds dripping slowly from her mouth.

"I'd swap spots with you, and you'd have your head on Clarke's lap. You'd have to curl up a bit to leave me room, but if that's comfortable enough for you, I'd be happy to shift around." Lexa chimed in, clearly seeing what Clarke had in store, even if she still seemed puzzled by it.

Anya's gaze flicked between her and Lexa, seconds stretching on and on before she let out a heavy sigh. "I guess if it could help. But if either of you aren't comfortable, then you need to tell me."

Her thorny housemate carefully switched spots with Lexa and curled up beside Clarke, Anya's head resting hesitantly in Clarke's lap. Knowing Anya was a little on edge and wary, Clarke got down to business quickly, loosing Anya's ponytail and running her hands through her housemate's hair, fingertips grazing across her scalp.

Hardly a minute had passed before Anya was completely relaxed, letting out the occasional soft hum from Clarke's ministrations. It was a nice feeling, knowing Anya already trusted her that much, even if it was probably more that she trusted her other also-present roommates. She wanted Anya to feel comfortable, happy, safe.

Clearly, the recliner was Anya's happy place, and if Clarke wanted to share it, she needed to fit right in. She needed to not be an obstacle to Anya's comfort and security.

So at the end of the marathon, when Anya reluctantly pushed up and left Clarke's lap, cheeks dusted a rosy pink, maybe Clarke knew she was getting somewhere.

Clarke Griffin was up to something.

Anya wasn't sure why, or what, but she was sure that the other blonde had something up her sleeve. It was the only explanation. One thing she could be certain of was that no one was that affectionate to relative strangers.

Especially her.

Not that she had ever put much emotional stock into the fact that people tended to feel she had a legendary 'resting bitch face', but it did generally scare people away from being around her, let alone hugging her.

Yet, Clarke seemed to gravitate to her on every remotely relevant occasion. Anya was headed to the community center to volunteer? Clarke was there to hug her and wish her well for the day. She came back from a grocery run? Clarke was there t hug her in thanks for getting her listed items. Every morning if she was in the house when Clarke woke up, she'd be hugged and wished a good morning. Every evening, if she was awake, Clarke would find her and hug her, wishing her goodnight. If she made lunch or dinner for Clarke, she'd get a hug. Hell, sometimes, Clarke would just mosey on by and hug her for no reason other than wanting to check in on her.

It was all tremendously suspicious. Even if Clarke was certainly affectionate with all the other roommates, her housemate seemed to take a special interest in her.

So Clarke was up to something, and she desperately wanted to know what it was before the rug was pulled out from under her. That certainty bounced around in her mind as she returned from volunteering, kicking off the snow from her boots before stepping into her home.

It was always a bit of an endeavour, removing all her layers, but it wasn't hard to spot Clarke peek out from inside the kitchen and offer her a wave. "Hey, babe! How'd it go today?"

Anya finished pulling her boots off and hung up her coat and scarves. "It was a good day. A little quiet, but it tends to be this time of year." She answered, her suspicions rising with every moment Clarke remained in the kitchen. Usually she'd have come out to hug her by now.

Something was definitely up.

"It's kind of a blizzard out there. I'm sure they appreciated you coming in today, if nothing else. Did they at least get you some hot chocolate?" Clarke called out, forcing Anya to think back, shaking her head in confirmation.

"They gave me a bagel, but I think it was a day old." Anya mused openly, suspicions shifting a bit as Clarke left the kitchen with two mugs in hand. Two very nice smelling mugs.

"You're such a peach for them, they should take better care of you." Clarke added, an odd degree of annoyance slipping out alongside the words. It wasn't often she'd see Clarke remotely upset. Usually, the girl would retreat to her room on those occasions, and would be back to her calm, cheerful self shortly after. "Here. You must be freezing, honey."

Anya was chilly, for sure, much like anyone would be when the temperature dipped well into the negative double digits. "Thank you."

"Of course." Clarke turned on her heel and made her way into the living room, thankfully not noticing Anya having braced for a hug that hadn't arrived. Yet again, Clarke had passed up the opportunity.

It was strange, and a little distressing that she found herself wanting one.

That fresh mix of confusion and concern had Anya striding through the house to her room, wanting to get somewhere stable and secure to work through her thoughts, but she found herself stilling at her doorframe. She always left her door open when she was gone, in case Lexa needed to leave her a note and needed her to see it. That there was a gift-wrapped box with a bow on it resting atop her bed had her thinking perhaps this was Clarke's plan, that it had finally come to fruition.

With healthy measures of caution and curiosity, Anya approached the box and pulled away the ribbon, allowing herself a deep breath before pulling the lid off.

The gasp that escaped her was unbidden, but deserved as she reached down and touched the pelt inside. It was faux-fur, certainly, but of remarkable quality, thick and so delightfully soft. Her trusty winter blanket was so close to biting the dust, unlikely to last through the season, so maybe Anya was grateful.

Still suspicious, but as she lifted it up and held the throw blanket against her, taking in the texture and knowing how warm it'd be, she couldn't help but be thankful.

However, as much as she adored the gift, it only spurred on her need for answers, prompting Anya to march through the house back to the living room. Clarke was curled up on the couch with one of her medical dramas on. Nothing Clarke couldn't pause for a few moments.

Anya tossed the throw blanket at Clarke, the blanket unfurling across the other blonde's head while Anya plopped down beside her. "What do you want?"

Maybe the question escaped her a little harshly. Maybe her tone was a bit flinty, but it was important. The past weeks had built up to this moment, and she needed answers.

"You to stop hitting me in the face with random things would be a nice change of pace, I guess." Clarke shot back, pulling the blanket off and pushing it onto Anya's lap. Anya only cocked an eyebrow, holding Clarke's gaze until the girl finally broke, letting out a heavy sigh. "I just wanted to help, okay?"

Anya shook her head. "No. Or, well, I don't understand. Explain."

"You're always lugging that disintegrating blanket around whenever you hang out with us out here. It's absolutely not keeping you warm, you're always shivering underneath it, so I thought it'd be nice to help out. You're home a lot, and have to deal with the shitty insulation here, so I wanted you to be warm, and have something nice." Clarke relayed, making a little more sense given her past actions, but still. Something was up. Anya just knew it. "Just don't share with anyone. If you do, I'm ninety-percent sure Emori will steal it and lock it away in her room."

It wasn't good enough. Not enough to shake her off track. "Okay, but why me? You...you always seem so focused on me."

Clarke's lips slowly spread into this absurdly soft smile that might have had her heart-rate rising a teensy bit, not that anyone would know. "Babe, you're the only one here that's consistently grumpy. I'll check on the others when they have bad days, or are upset about something, but you're in a stormy mood or even just distant like, forty percent of the time. I get worried...you're my people, and I want to do what I can to help."

Her housemate's words ricocheted in her head over and over, but the notion that she was one of Clarke's people stuck at the forefront of her mind. It made no sense, given how new Clarke was to the city, how recently she'd moved in, but as she thought back across the weeks, Clarke's words were accurate. She'd get less affection from Clarke on the good days than she would on her worse days. And the hugs did help, even if they had made her suspicious.

It didn't make a lot of sense, but Clarke was staring at her with such sincerity that she couldn't flat out reject the idea. And really, it was a nice gesture, in the end. It really was lovely to have someone so happy to hug her and hold her close.

"Oh. Well...I appreciate the thought, Clarke." Anya let out, nodding slowly as she tried to think of some way to validate her suspicions. Try as she might, she couldn't manage a single nefarious conclusion.

"I'm sensing a 'but' here?" Clarke added hesitantly after a few seconds, breaking Anya from her thoughts.

"No, no. I'm...it all just caught me off guard, and had me suspicious. Like you were up to something, but that's clearly an absurd, silly path I traveled down. I'm sorry for being brusque with you, Clarke." Clarke reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, leaving Anya wondering how her hands could be so soft and smooth in the dry winter months. It was a battle she fought and often lost daily in terms of her own skincare.

"No apology necessary. I should have just been up front. No nefarious plots here...I just want you to know I've got your back." Clarke gave her hand another squeeze and returned it to her side, leaving Anya a little starved for touch. She'd usually gotten a hug by now. "Hey, feel like curling up with me for some TonDC Medical hijinks?"

It was a little early, and she usually used the rest of the afternoon to clear her head and prep for the night's writing routine, but maybe it'd be nice to take a bit of a break from that with Clarke. Maybe she'd earned it.

"So long as you don't mind my snarky commentary." Anya offered, prompting Clarke to pat the space directly beside her, beckoning her closer.

"Are you kidding? I love making fun of the show!" Anya scooted closer and covered herself with the throw, Clarke covering herself with her own blanket before resuming the show on screen. "So to catch you up, Doctor Jaha's been hallucinating and seeing his son all over the hospital, and Doctor Kane and Tsing are trying to remove an unexploded bazooka shell from..."

Clarke's words faded off into the background, Anya losing focus as Clarke wrapped her up and held her close, her housemate resting her head on Anya's shoulder. Just like that, she was warm again, heart blooming with relief in her chest as she sunk into Clarke's embrace, arms looping around her housemate in turn.

Yeah, maybe a break was just what she needed.

"So it's been a month now since you moved in. I have to say, you've been a really good fit, I'm glad we brought you in." Lexa said as they unloaded the car, arms full of bags from their latest grocery run. "How've you liked it so far?"

Clarke tried to shrug, but the weight of the bags held her shoulders down too much for her attempt to be the least bit noticeable, forcing her to speak. "It's been good. I'd like to think I'm getting along with everyone and settling in. There's plenty of room for me to work on my art, and even though the insulation's shit, the place is nice and big. I can't complain."

Lexa nodded along as she propped the screen door open with her leg and unlocked the main door, giving it a shove with her shoulder. "I have to say, you've gotten along well with Anya. Better than i expected."

"Eh, she's a sweetheart. I had her pegged from day one. Honestly, it's been harder to win over Emori. It's sort of weird to leave things of mine out for her to take...she means well, and she's a lot of fun, but I keep having to break into her drawer to get my toothpaste, and I'm pretty sure that's weird." Clarke let out as she hauled the groceries towards the kitchen, her arms feeling longer and longer with each step as they weighed her down.

"Emori just likes surrounding herself with things that remind her of us. It's her way of showing she cares. She's just...very selective about what those things are, so you won't have much luck offering things to her." Lexa explained, and while she made a strange sort of sense, Clarke still didn't quite get it. "She takes your toothpaste because she likes your smile. You're always smiling, and she's the kind of person where if she's near someone who's happy, she'll get happy. So she takes your toothpaste. Get it?"

Clarke nodded, finding the logic a little odd, but it was sort of flattering. "Okay, yeah. Yeah, that does clear it up a bit. So why did she take Niylah's fluffy blanket?"

"That one's a bit more personal...let's just say Niylah's...helped Emori get through a few rough patches, kind of got her through them in one piece." Lexa said, the slight grimace on her face letting Clarke know that maybe her housemate had said a little too much there. Not that Clarke thought any less of her for it. It was good to know more of Niylah's character. The woman seemed strong, capable, reliable, all while keeping things mostly lighthearted. Knowing she was Emori's rock once or twice made her feel a little more secure with who she was living with. "Either way, the point is, Emori likes you. That was always a foregone conclusion for me, I thought you two would get along well. I didn't expect Anya to warm to you so quickly."

Clarke set down her bags and let out a huff, more annoyed at her upper body strength more than anything. "Like I said, she was easy. I can usually tell pretty quickly what people want, what they're looking for. Might not always understand the why of it all, but it's usually easy to connect the dots to figure out what they want. All that's left after that is giving it to them. You were pretty on the mark about Anya when you interviewed me...you said it's best to give her space and let her be...and you do. You can't just crowd her, she'll get suspicious and anxious. I tested that and got her up in my face about it not too long after."

"And...?" Lexa probed, putting away the milk and cheeses, eyes never leaving Clarke.

Clarke thought about spilling. After all, Lexa was Anya's cousin. However, it'd taken a fair bit of effort to get Anya to be more open with her, and in the end, she wanted it to be Anya's choice. Besides, seeing was believing.

"She should be home any minute now, right?" She earned a quick nod. Clarke finished putting away everything that needed to be refrigerated before heading out of the kitchen and into the living room. "Then you'll see for yourself."

It was still a bit of a risk. Even a month in, a week after clearing things up with Anya, she couldn't be completely sure this wouldn't blow up in her face, but Clarke was a good ninety-four percent confident. So when she planted herself on the recliner, and Lexa gasped, she just straightened out the throw resting atop the chair instead of giving Lexa's response much of a reaction.

Instead, she stretched out, got comfy, and curled up alongside one of the armrests, leaving about a third of the chair vacant.

"Clarke, do you want to start a war? Because this is how you start wars. She'll move you if you don't move yourself, that's her chair." Lexa's warning was admirable, and perhaps if this was the day after moving in, Anya would react with hostility.

But when the front door swung open, freezing Lexa where she stood, her housemate mouthing at her to get up, to move, Clarke remained where she was, listening to Anya unburden herself of her winter-wear.

As usual, Anya let out a loud, lengthy groan as she staggered into the living room, literally on auto-pilot up until she seemed to realize someone was in her chair. Clarke could see the apprehension in Lexa's eyes, and she could see the pure confusion in Anya's as her tired mind tried to work out what was going on.

"Hey babe. Come on, there's room for two, I wouldn't leave you hanging." Clarke shifted slightly, patting the space beside her.

One second ticked by, and then another, and maybe Clarke felt a little concern as the third second came and went, but then Anya's shoulders slumped forward, the woman clambering onto the recliner and settling in behind her.

Lexa's jaw dropped to comic proportions as Anya's arms slipped around her waist, a leg lazily looping up and over Clarke's thighs. And then, with a content sigh, and a gentle squeeze, Anya was out like a light.

Which was maybe more successful than Clarke had expected, given Anya's trouble falling asleep during these crashes of hers, but the gentle snoring behind her alerted her to the fact that Anya was fast asleep.

"How? I mean...I don't understand." Lexa whispered, cautiously drawing closer. Clarke reached a hand up to take hold of the throw blanket, and lexa did the rest, pulling it free and covering them up all warm and snug.

"You're right, she's more comfortable with people giving her space and leaving her be, but she was lonely. And sometimes chilly. She'd always get a little freaked out when I'd hug her, but she'd always lean back into me when I'd start pulling away, like she didn't want me to go. And she hates being cold. She wants affection. She wants attention. She likes cuddling, and having someone warm with her. Anya might not be entirely comfortable with that, and all it entails, at least not yet, but it's what she wants, so it's what I've given her, and yeah...she's warmed up to me. She's happier, so I'm happier." She explained softly, resting her hands over Anya's. She'd had a long productive morning as well, so she could probably use a nap, too.

Lexa reached out and gently smoothed a hand over Anya's hair. "I had no idea. I knew she'd get grumpy, but she'd always been a bit of a grump."

"She still is, sometimes, but she's an adorable grump that needs to feel connected and cared for. Not just with words, but...you know. She needs affection, physical contact. Which...thankfully...is pretty easy to manage. Just not too much all at once." Clarke clarified, earning a relieved smile from Lexa.

"I'll let the others know, but not to over-do it." Lexa stated with a firm nod before turning her full focus back to Clarke. "And I'll put away the groceries. And if it comes to it, I'll wake you two in time for dinner."

Clarke pulled the blanket a bit tighter around herself and Anya and gave a happy hum. "Thanks, babe, I owe you one."

Lexa's scoff soon slipped into laughter as her housemate left the living room, and while she could have spent time thinking about what that meant, she decided to close her eyes and enjoy the comfort of Anya pressed up against her.

It was always easier to sleep with another person around, and Clarke definitely felt herself pulled in that direction, leaving her precious little time to bask in the victory of having achieved what she'd set out to do. She'd conquered the chair, and in the process, come to really enjoy her time with Anya.

And maybe it was the unintended consequence whose arms were wrapped around her that remained in her mind as she drifted off, rather than the comfy leather seat beneath her.

It was the smell of delicious food that drew Anya out of slumber, her stomach loudly and sharply protesting to Anya's lack of nourishment, having skipped breakfast and missed lunch. Between the salmon and the roasted potatoes she smelled, it was hard to resist being lured into consciousness.

Even before she opened her eyes, though, she felt an unfamiliar weight pressing against her, and something soft but a little itchy brushing at her face. Anya peeked her eyes open and got a face full of blonde hair.

"Clarke..." She murmured, mind putting two and two together. She didn't remember much from earlier, didn't remember falling asleep in the chair, or Clarke joining her. Maybe Clarke being in the chair, but that didn't make much sense, although she supposed neither did her present situation, so there was that.

Anya brushed the hair out of her face and gauged her position, realizing she was pressed up against Clarke's back, arms loosely looped around her housemate. Her throw blanket had fallen to the floor sometime since they'd settled in, leaving her exposed arms feeling a bit of the winter chill. She checked her watch, seeing that they still had a little while left before Lexa would be done with dinner.

And maybe she should have gotten up. Maybe it would have been the right thing to do, the courteous thing, but instead she slowly, carefully reached and grabbed the throw with her feet and brought it up enough to take hold of once she'd managed to get an arm free of Clarke. Once covered back up again, she slipped her hand down to the side of the recliner and pulled at the lever, gently reclining them and getting them into a comfier position. She rarely reclined in the chair, but she knew it would be more comfortable for Clarke.

Clarke, who was grumbling and shifting around now, apparently a very light sleeper. "Anya? Whuh's goin' on?"

"Oh, uh, well...I was just...um..." It was hard to come up with an explanation, unsure if Clarke would feel she'd crossed a line, that she was being inappropriate.

Clarke stretched her legs out and turned around in Anya's loose embrace, snuggling up against her, lightly prodding Anya onto her back. "Mmmn, smells good out there. But I'm too comfy to get up. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah, same." Anya admitted, hesitantly wrapping both arms around Clarke, allowing herself a relieved smile when Clarke just nestled even closer, head burying in Anya's neck. "This okay?"

"Yep." Clarke mumbled before letting out an airy yawn. "Should do this more often. You're real comfy, sweet, an' you smell nice."

Anya felt heat rush to her cheeks, teeth descending into her lower lip with a dull ache. "You, uh, you too." She mustered, having no idea how to respond to those compliments without being mistaken for flirting. Not that she didn't want to flirt with Clarke, but she wasn't certain it'd be appropriate.

Clarke laughed, of course, her entire frame shaking lightly in Anya's embrace. "Really? Gonna rock the ditto? Kinda flimsy, babe."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Anya tried, earning an easy scoff against her neck.

"Try me. I'm a hundred percent comfy right now, nothing's changing that." Clarke insisted, and while she still felt it was a bit dangerous, Anya rarely backed down from a challenge. A weakness, for certain, but one she indulged in often enough, it turned out.

Anya let out a sigh, arms shifting to hold Clarke a tiny bit closer, wanting to revel in her warmth and soft comfort as much as she could, while she could. "You're weirdly charming, and so beautiful, and soft, and I really like..." Anya started, feeling the words catching at the back of her throat, so she shifted to a whisper, hoping if she made the words small enough, she could get them out. "...I like cuddling with you. I really like you, Clarke."

It felt like her heart was being cracked in two as Clarke wiggled against her, managing to free herself from Anya's embrace enough to prop herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over Anya. However, the way those soft blues stared down at her was a soothing balm, the way Clarke's lips bloomed into a bright smile had her thinking maybe she hadn't been entirely foolish.

"See? Was that so hard?" Clarke asked, cocking a playful eyebrow.

"Yes." Anya answered instinctively, shamelessly, knowing it was absolutely the truth.

Clarke rolled her eyes and dipped down, Anya barely having time to process what was happening before soft lips were cushioning her own, offering delectable pressure.

And then, just as she caught up, just as she'd managed to kiss back, Clarke pulled away, sporting a sneaky little grin. "For your trouble, then." Clarke noted, stroking her palm down Anya's cheek. The gesture was soft and sweet, and only amplified the joyful weightless feeling blooming inside her. "So, I'm awake now, but I still want to cuddle until dinner's ready, so why don't we agree to go out on a date tomorrow so we can get back to that. Sound good?"

Anya was still pressed flat on the recliner, breathless with her lungs straining for oxygen, too stunned to do much of anything but nod.

"Great!" Clarke exclaimed, plopping down beside her while trying to secure the blanket around them again. "Anything I can do to make you comfier, hon?"

Her brain took a second to really catch up, still reeling from the kiss. After a moment's thought, she shook her head. She was comfy, she was warm, she was holding Clarke, and she had a date tomorrow. There was literally no way the day could get better.

"No, this is perfect." Anya pulled Clarke closer, tangling her legs with her housemate's, feeling entirely content for the first time in a long while.

Maybe Lexa would cook their dinner until it was charcoal, but for now, with Clarke all cozy up against her, everything was perfect.

===

There! I hope you enjoyed this dose of egregious fluff

#clanya #clanya fanfiction #writewritewrite #thedeadflag #ficlet #long post

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