clexa promts

Jealous

Clarke told herself that this was enough. Sitting here around a bonfire with her fellow delinquents drinking some strong Polis booze. Her head felt deliciously heavy and her body tingled warmly. Raven was in the middle of an animated story that had Octavia clutching to Lincoln in laughter. She could see that the older grounder was trying hard not to smile...he was failing miserably.

She told herself this was enough because finally there was peace and her people were in Polis, happy, safe and at ease. Bellamy was sitting next to her, quiet and calm, finally. Monty had Jasper back and Harper, Murphy and Miller were bickering lazily through slurred words. It was enough, she told herself. It was enough.

And Clarke loved Polis in the evenings. The capitol came alive when the sun dropped. Chatter and music wafted through the warm air, children played throughout the streets and the booze flowed freely among the various taverns and inns.

She liked to watch the way the grounders interacted with each other as people and not as warriors. They had a rich, social culture that she, frankly, was envious of. She told herself it was enough to be here to observe it from a periphery. It was enough to be able to roam Polis freely and safely with her small group of friends, garnering only a few strange looks here and there.

It was enough, because she was alive.

But Clarke was sick of just being alive. She was sick of being the outsider who watched from afar and only let her guard down cautiously and sparingly. Life is about more than just being alive, surviving. She herself had said that.

And when she saw her, she wanted to do more than just be alive. She wanted to live.

From her place around the bonfire, Clarke could just barely make out Lexa's tall, strong figure inside the city's main tavern. The door was always propped open at night and Clarke could see into the warmly-lit place. Lexa was surrounded by her adoring people as she and a towering warrior faced off in a knife throwing game, an activity she often partook in at night now that there was relative peace and political matters could be handled during the day.

The young commander was cocky and her people loved her for it. Clarke could tell by the way Lexa twirled the knife around, snaking it through her fingers deftly, garnering drunken cheers and laughter. She often caught herself smiling and chuckling too as she watched from afar. Tonight, though, as the alcohol coursed through her veins, she felt annoyed by the scene.

She had kissed Lexa those months ago. They had slept together and Lexa had been shot hours later. In that moment, Clarke thought that things could not get any lower. But she had been wrong. Lexa had lived, she had returned to Arkadia to deal with Pike and nothing was the same. A small war ensued, she and Lexa on opposing sides by nature of their allegiances to their people. But they were never really enemies. Clarke hated Pike as much as Lexa had, and when the coalition's army had succeeded in assassinating him, effectively winning the small war, Clarke couldn't exactly say she was upset.

But something had changed. When Skaikru was once again initiated into the coalition and Clarke chose to live in Polis, bringing the delinquents along with her who gladly accepted the offer of a much needed change of scenery, she expected things to be the same. She expected Lexa to look at her the way she used to-like she was the moon and the stars and everything that Lexa could not reach but tried desperately to anyways.

When she returned to Polis, however, Lexa could not or would not meet her gaze. She avoided her when possible and when circumstance forced them to speak, Lexa spoke to her only as Wanheda, ambassador of Skaikru.

So while Clarke could not deny Lexa's beauty and the way her head thrown back in laughter made her heart warm and her lips spread into an instinctual smile, she was also very aware of the tang of bitterness that rose in her throat as she watched from afar.