A witch is nothing without her coven, Clarke. And I am so very, very alone.”
Newly twenty-seven as of exactly fourteen minutes and six seconds ago, Lexa’s first moments into her new year of life are spent skulking around the edges of her hometown. She’s headed north to the graveyard that lies just west of the outskirts, past the farm houses and clusters of fields that bunch together, golden patchwork quilts of wheat and corn before the houses become fewer and fewer, as town fading into the distance.
There were graveyards much closer to town, but when witchfolk had settled Polis prior to the arrival of humans, they wanted to be deep in the thicket of the woods, far away from the fields and open plains that nestled at the feet of the Arkadia mountain range nearby. While they couldn’t have foreseen the hatred that humans would initially carry for them (until a group of witches would save the entire town from early waves of an unknown illness shortly after the second winter came to newly founded Polis- leading to a begrudging coexistence) they somehow knew regardless, even after death they wouldn’t be accepted in the graveyards and sacred places humans revered.
She had known it would be hard to be here, her first proper time back since she had left so shortly after Ascending two years prior. She could feel Clarke’s presence like a siren song, could practically feel her heartbeat, slowed in deep REM, in her small cottage on the southern side of Polis.
She hadn’t anticipated the way every beat of her own heart would physically hurt, or that knowing that Clarke was sleeping mere miles away from her for the first time in years would feel like a constant itch, just at the base of her neck.
Go to her, go to her, go to her … the very trees seemed to chant and sway as she stood, paralyzed by indecision just outside of her planned destination. But the though of seeing Clarke again, blue eyes hazy as she sits up in bed, warm and pliant with sleep…Lexa bats the thought away like an irksome fly before taking a fortifying breath and strolling forward.
Lexa shivers slightly as she strides through the iron doorway, cold latch biting into the meat of her palm as she skirts the rusted pole that stands quiet sentry just within the twin metal gates.
While most witches and warlocks were respectful but properly wary of the untamed magic that lay within most graveyards, Lexa had always been drawn to the thrumming, ancient power that twined hungry fingers among the ruined graves since she was a small child. As her mother was a wood witch and spent the majority of her life convening with the earth in some form or another, Lexa had always felt most at home amongst the trees, under the sky that yawned endlessly into the beyond stretching above her. Her fondest memories took place under the wide open beyond as she ran with Anya through this very graveyard, wildflowers blooming in her steps as Anya, cackling with joy, dodged Lexa’s small grabby fingers amongst towering stone guardians.
Lexa could still catch whisps of recollection floating by, tugging on her cloak like a restless child. Running a thoughtful finger across a large whorl in the nearby oak, Lexa recalls sitting under the same tree with her mother as a toddler, giggling delightedly as her mother sent fallen leaves spiraling around her in a small tornado, curls dancing wildly with the breeze as she spun in joyful circles. The brown, orange, and red leaves had shone translucent in the afternoon sun, nature’s stained class as the pair spent their days outside under lazy fall skies.
The spirits that lay slumbering under the damp ground seemed hungrier and wilder than she recalled in years past, the crackling, untamed power leaving her slightly breathless as she passed silently by. It had been years since she dared to visit her mother’s resting place, knowing how townspeople would gossip if the stepdaughter of the dead town carpenter had been seen on the outskirts of town a handful of years after his suspicious but allegedly natural death. Unlucky bastard, falling off of his ladder one crisp winter day and onto his saw-horse.
Lexa had allowed herself one trip back to Polis after she had Ascended. Just the one.
Bellamy Blake has a problem: he's got a book to submit in less than two weeks, less than half of it written, and absolutely no inspiration to get it done. When his desperation reaches its peak, he finds himself compelled to visit 'The Witch's Brew,' a coffee shop run by local witch, Clarke Griffin, who Murphy swears cured his writer's block with one of her signature "enchanted" drinks.
What happens when Bellamy Blake, an absolute skeptic of the mystic arts, realizes that witches are, in fact, very real? Or, better yet, that he's falling hopelessly in love with one?
A Halloween gift fic for @allysketches for the 2020 Bellarke Discord Halloween Gift Exchange!
Ni muer ni viu ni no guaris,
Ni mal no·m sent e si l’ai gran,
Quar de s’amor no suy devis,
Ni no sai si ja n’aurai ni quan,
Qu’en lieys es tota le mercés
Que·m pot sorzer o decazer.”
Not dying nor living nor healing,
there is no pain in my sickness,
for I am not kept from her love.
I don’t know if I will ever have it,
for all the mercy that makes me flourish or decay is in her power.
For @tryalittlejoytomorrow and @ofthedirewolves who introduced me to this magical, fantastical show and for @marauders-groupie because witches.
"How do I look?" Clarke asked, twirling about the living room. She was dressed in her Halloween costume, showing off her talent for makeup.
"Are you serious?" Lexa asked, mouth agape.
Clarke laughed, her hat falling down over her eyes. "Come on, don't be so offended."
"I mean, it's just…" Lexa trailed off, chewing on her lip.
Madi bounded down the stairs, yelling a, "whoa, mom that's so witch-ist!"
"Witch-ist?" Clarke asked.
Madi floated an apple from the fruit tray to meet her when she plopped down on the couch next to Lexa.
"Feet," Lexa admonished her eight year old.
Madi huffed and chomped down on the apple, a few pieces falling out of her mouth as she said, "yeah, it's prejudice against witches."
Lexa clicked her tongue at her daughter, scooping up the pieces of apple that had fallen from her mouth and wrapped them in a tissue. "No talking with food in your mouth, Mads."
"It's a joke!” Clarke said. "You guys don't even look like this. No wonder humans haven't ever been able to find you." Her face was painted green with warts on an exaggerated nose. Her head was covered by a pointy hat and she wore a long black gown. "Really, why would you ever want to look like this if you could change it with magic? Besides, it’s a rocking costume if I do say so myself.” She twirled again, and Lexa had to fight down her smile at her wife. She really, truly loved her, even if she was being highly insensitive right now.
“It’s kind of like saying that all humans are stupid and slow,” Lexa commented instead. “Like shoving our faces with the garbage some of you call food, and talking about how we’re the superior race and whatnot.”
Clarke twisted her mouth to the side in thought. “Okay, but I don't think like that,”
“Obviously, or we wouldn’t be together,” Lexa quipped.
“I just mean -- it’d be so much easier to be a witch. I mean, Madi can talk to animals, you are a superstar athlete. You’re like the spoiled brats of society.”
Lexa scoffed. Madi rolled her eyes. “I am so not a spoiled brat,” Madi chimed, more apple crumbs falling from her lips. Lexa glared at her child until Madi picked up her trash from the couch. She tried to wiggle her nose to send it to the trashcan, but Lexa snapped her fingers before she could, putting a safety lock on her nose.
"Come on!" she whined.
"You have legs," Lexa retorted. "Use them."
With a huff, Madi got up and dumped her trash into the trashcan in the kitchen. Lexa joined her, stirring the pot she had started for dinner.
Clarke continued her rant, “You kinda are. Whenever you want something you just have to poof it into existence. Lexa snaps her fingers or you wiggle your nose and there it is, whatever your heart desires.”
“What would you do if you had magical powers, babe?” Lexa asked over her shoulder. “Since you clearly have had such a horrible hand dealt to you.”
Clarke shrugged. “I’ve never really thought of it because it’s completely impossible. It’d be like a vacation, though. I'd probably make everything silent so I could just relax. Man, you guys have it so easy.”
Lexa smirked, and then winked at Madi. "Alright babe," she said, turning to her wife. "Deal." She snapped her fingers, and the costume on Clarke’s frame shrunk down to fit her snugly, and the green paint disappeared from her face.
“What the --”
“Let’s see what you got,” Lexa teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve just handed over my powers. You, Clarke Griffin, are now a witch for twenty-four hours.”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve had the ability to turn me into a witch for our entire lives and never bothered to do so? Rude!”
Lexa laughed. “It’s not quite how it works. You have to have a deep emotional and physical bond with someone.”
“Like a soulmate?” Madi asked.
“Yeah, like a soulmate. Seeing that you’re my wife and also have bore my child, our connection is more than strong enough to allow me to pass my powers onto you for a short period of time.”
“So I’m legit a witch?”
“And I’m human,” Lexa replied.
“Cool! Can I be a werewolf?” Madi asked.
“No!” both parents barked at the same time.
“How does it feel to be powerless?” Clarke asked. “You do realize I’m not going to help you with any of the housework so you can get a sense of how tough it really is to grow up and have to fold your own laundry.”
“I look forward to it,” Lexa said with a small laugh.
“Wow,” Clarke said, marvelling at her hands. “How do I like, make it go?” She tried snapping her fingers and blinking excessively, but nothing happened.
Lexa chuckled. “Stop forcing it. Just let it come to you.”
“Got it, Chief,” she said, pointing her finger guns are Lexa that she typically did when she was trying to be sarcastic. With a flash of light and a poof of smoke, Lexa’s head donned a Native tribal headpiece.
Clarke’s eyes widened and she looked at her hands. “Oh, come on!” she bemoaned. “I can’t believe my trigger is finger-guns!”
***
Lexa bit into the dinner she had prepared, noting the meatballs ended up a little spicier than she had originally anticipated. She stood to refill her glass of water, but Clarke held a hand up to stop her.
“Don’t worry babe, I got this.” She finger gunned at Lexa and said, “water.”
Lexa sighed.
A sudden downpour of water fell atop Lexa's head, soaking her clothes right through.
A few seconds later, an empty glass appeared in the air, only to crash onto the kitchen floor.
***
“Jesus… Christ… How do I… Stop this… from… happeniiiiiiiing?” Clarke asked as she bounced up and down in the air, trying to get control of her levitation. She pointed her finger at Lexa, who sighed as she floated, and tried her best not to throw up at the sudden rollercoaster that her wife forced upon her in their living room.
***
Halfway through the pile of laundry, Lexa pouted at her smiling wife. “I got this, babe,” Clarke said. She finger-gunned at the last of the clothes and said, “fold,” but the already folded clothes exploded from their spot on the bed, littering the room in the family’s underwear.
***
“How’s it going?” Lexa asked, poking her head around the corner to Clarke’s art studio.
Clarke huffed and pouted at her wife. In front of her was a series of canvases covered in sad clowns and dreary landscapes.
“Moody,” Lexa said.
“I don’t seem to know how to control any colour other than the black. This was easier when I was human."
***
Clarke was determined to master her magic, knowing that she would never hear the end of it if she came out of this day not being able to cast one proper spell.
Lexa drove them to the store to get groceries for the week. She perused the aisles while Clarke thought and thought and thought about what she could do to get it under control.
She thought over the words and the basic spells that Madi taught her when Lexa wasn't working, finger gunning without casting the spell aloud so she could practice her posture.
“Hey Clarke, isn’t that Harper?”
“Who?” Clarke asked, finger inadvertently pointing at her wife.
Suddenly, there was a poof of smoke and a bright flash of light, and hovering in front of her was an owl with the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
“Lexa?” Clarke gasped.
“Hoot, hoot, hoot,” the bird replied, fluttering its wings furiously. "Hoot, hoot, hoot!" The owl called. Clarke slowly backed away as the owl squawked and screeched and flew after her.
***
The next morning, Clarke awoke to a platter of eggs, bacon and pancakes, and a single lily in a vase.
Lexa leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at her wife as she handed over a cup of coffee. “Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.”
Bashful and cowed, Clarke took a sip of her coffee and nodded at her wife.
After she finished her breakfast, she brought the plates downstairs and marvelled at the sparkling clean home. “Looks like someone got their powers back,” Clarke teased her wife.
“Nah, you still have a few more hours,” Lexa replied, hands busy scrubbing the pans used for breakfast.
“Really?” Clarke asked. She finger gunned in the direction of the milk container, and made the entire jug explode, coating the ceiling in dairy. She sighed. “Wheres Madi?”
Lexa laughed and pulled out a rag from the cupboard, already moving towards the mess when she said, “At Jordan’s. It really was Harper we saw yesterday.”
“So, you’re telling me you cleaned our entire place and made me breakfast without the use of your powers?”
“Clarke,” Lexa sighed. “I always do. I don’t want Madi to grow up thinking that her powers are the answer to everything. Everything I do at home I do as an equal to you. I only use my powers to spoil you if I can… or to fix something I broke on occasion.”
Clarke’s cheeks dusted pink at her wife’s words. “You really are something, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”
“I’m yours, Mrs. Griffin-Woods.”
“I’m sorry for saying you were spoiled. This magic stuff is harder than I thought. I love you.”
Clarke leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her wife’s lips, and with a gentle poof of smoke and a warm flash of pink light, Clarke's magic worked properly for the first time ever, levitating her and Lexa off the ground together, high off their love.
Bellamy Blake arrives on campus and Clarke's magic suddenly starts going haywire. Or, Clarke meets another magic user and teaches him to control his gift--and learns some things along the way.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The 100 (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, background Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Background Octavia Blake/Lincoln (The 100)
Characters: Bellamy Blake, Clarke Griffin, Wells Jaha
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, witch!Clarke, Warlock!Bellamy, Friends to Lovers, Magic Lessons, Halloween, Tropes
Series: Part 1 of waiting til the beat comes out
Guys. This!!! Was the best!!!! Bellarke magic AU!!!! I have ever read!!!!
Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you
(You can run but you can't escape)
Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins
(You will open the yawning grave)
The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron
~~~
Clarke’s smile had nearly split her rosy cheeks as she twisted one jolival finger in the air, the same cape spinning merrily in front of Lexa’s disbeliving eyes as it made a neat rotation within the air before landing obediently in Lexa’s lap.
“I- Clarke this is….”
“Beautiful? Perfect? Incredibly fitting for a promising young witch of newly sixteen?” Clarke had piped up from her seat in the hay-covered loft, having accosted Lexa with a rousing chorus of both “Happy Birthday” as well as a verifiable mountain of sloppily levitated presents upon her entry into the barn.
“Well, yes. All of those things. Bit it’s also too much. I got you a witchlight for your birthday. This must have cost…” Lexa trails off as she runs an admiring finger down a glistening green seam. The cloak shimmers in response, the trace amounts of magic that were woven into the very cloth reacting to the same power that sung through Lexa’s being.
Clarke’s smile dims slightly upon seeing the defeated slouch in Lexa’s shoulders. Standing fluidly and brushing trace amounts of hay off of her matching dark blue cloak, she floats gracefully to land, catlike, in front of Lexa.
They both pretend not to notice how Lexa holds her breath when Clarke reaches forward to gently brush an auburn curl from Lexa’s cheek.
“I wanted to, Lex. It practically followed me home, you know how these capes are. Besides, I’ve been helping out so much at my mum’s apothecary, I had the extra gold. And, every witch deserves a cape for her sixteenth birthday, it’s witching law. Or so says nan.”
They exchange a mutual hidden smile at the mention of Clarke’s grandmother, a wonderful woman with twinkling blue eyes who just so happened to produce the meanest Amnesia spell of this side of the Atlantic. Rumor had it Clarke had also inherited her spell casting ability, a skill that Lexa was keen to not try out any time soon.
“Well…” Lexa draws out the word heistently as she stoops just enough to let Clarke, mouth twitching to hide a gleeful smile, gently tie the velvety strands around Lexa’s slim shoulders. “If nana says so, who am I to argue with the head of the Griffin Coven?”
Clarke’s fingers linger briefly at the base of Lexa’s neck, pointer finger resting oh so gently on her pulse, which flutters like a trapped hummingbird under the attention.
if the silence takes you then i hope it takes me, too
///
Clarke shivers as the wind whips icily around her, pulling her thick black peacoat tighter to her frame as she hunches her shoulders for a brief respite from the chill. Frost sparkles brightly on the long grass, the cool glow of moonlight bathing the fringes of the forest with silvery light. A murder of crows sits silently on the wire fence that stands at the far end of the field, soft cawing occasionally breaking the deadly still of the night. Clarke counts seven, goosebumps raising on the back of her neck as every pair of beady eyes tracks her progress through the yard.
Dried, browned leaves dance across the frozen ground, spinning and twirling in the wake of the breeze. The soft crunch underfoot is the only noise that echoes through the eerie stillness of the field, save for the loud pounding of Clarke’s heartbeat as it rushes through her ears.
She reaches for the small talisman in her pocket, trying to draw comfort from its solid presence as she stares up at the derelict barn that sits at the far corner of the clearing, sagging with age and neglect. What was once a fence lies in pieces in front of the building, broken. Rotting wood stands at awkward angles, jagged teeth that punch the broken surface of the ground. Clarke silently skirts a rusted bed frame that sits slumped by a corner of the barn, pulling her coat in so she doesn’t snag on any exposed pieces.
