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The Wrestle Ch. I

Hold it right there, I don’t wanna move and summer it begs us to prove that we can last just one more season.

The sun was not even up yet, but already the sky was not as dark as complete night. Slowly the stars were erased from the sky, no longer offering worlds and dreams and the expanse of the universe on display, but instead only the brightest, most stubborn remained as small reminders. The sky grew grey, grew hazy, and already, before the rush and thrust of the sun above the boarder of the horizon, before the breaking of a new day, Clarke knew that it was set to be a brutal, scorching kind of morning. The grass and leaves were already sweating, and a low, thick fog slunk along, sipping at the dew and licking at the edges of any puddles collected the night before. Adjusting to seasons was new, but her first full summer on Earth was much smoother than the winter had been, much more hopeful.

The world was quiet, mostly. Birds shook and blinked and started to scuttle about, in search of the allegorical worms. The occasional shuffling and movement could be heard in the waking huts and houses as fires were blown upon, spurred to life, children grumbled, women went about starting their days in the domestic spaces. Clarke appreciated this time of day the most. The early moments before she had to do anything at all, before questions and problems and worrying about such things as life and death. When things were still, and there was only the routine of waking that every partook of in the same way. The quiet was important to her.

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The Wrestle, Ch. II

Previously on The Wrestle

That’s how you stick to me- your words are soft and sweet and warm the winter was long and it stayed inside of me.

Summer was a permanent state of mind. It settled itself atop the newly growing and nascent village like a blanket, snug and safe and full of foolhardy sentiments of contentedness and hope. The wall itself was a marvel that encompassed a large section of forest, enough to not strangle the inhabitants with proximity, but large enough to provide security. Lexa surveyed it with a sense of pride, that she had stable walls and steady food for her people, and they, though questioning and doubtful at first, were as adamantly set on survival and peace.

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The Wrestle, Ch. III

Previously on The Wrestle

Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness, And you fill my head with you.

After Cantle came and left, came Batten, the leader of the People of the Bay. After Batten came and left, came York, the leader of the People of the North. And after York came and left, came Pike, the leader of the People of the River. Finally, after Pike departed, came word of fighting in the south. The routine was a constant dance of politics and ritual, much different than the days before the Battle of the Mountain. But the news that trickled in from messengers hinted at an inevitable spat, of which Clarke expected to see more of Cantle in the future, and perhaps more of her life before the defeat of the Mountain Men. What surprised her most was how ready she was for something.

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The Wrestle, Ch. IV

This is torturous electricity between both of us and this is dangerous.

There was no mistaking the coming end of summer in the forest. It played the final notes of its song in the very way the days seemed to understand that they were numbered. The sunlight was golden, the days were languid, syrup-like moments that almost tricked everyone into believing their sweetness would last. The tan on the trees began to fade, the shade they provided grew cooler, the sounds changed, were not the droning haze of midday laziness, but instead a gentle rustling as the world prepared for a bitter freeze.

Lexa sat a bit taller atop her horse despite the phenomenal aching in her ribs and pain behind her swollen eye. Still, despite it all, she gazed at the familiar territory and contemplated too many thoughts at once in her pounding head. The thud of the horses’ hooves on the well-trodden ground echoed between the branches, but the heat of the day seemed to soften the noises, not allowing them room to escape. She never realized how tall the trees were, how lush the green, how violent the brown, how alive each colour was, a character of their own right in the landscape before, so much different than the flat open plains of the south. The summer sunlight filtered through the clouds and the colours were different than they would be on any other day. This moment was unique and impossible, and Lexa finally enjoyed her home.

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The Wrestle, Ch. V

But I know that you’re a Timid love beneath the skin.

The morning passed and crept along with a mist that smothered the damp grass that sizzled in the final day of summer. In the fog of the morning, Clarke crept along the damp paths, past the small garden she and her mother worked hard to create, and beyond that, the field before the wall, and even beyond that, once she left the gates with just her bag filled with a few pieces of fruit and a book, she passed finally the tall trees, like heavy, slumbering sentinels blanketed by new and creeping moss, humming in the slowly meandering mist. By the time she reached the field brimming with tall grass, the sun lifted its head somewhere behind the wall of the forest and filtered in, making the last drops of dew glow gold, like embers, like the entire sun was consumed by the field.

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The Wrestle, Ch. VI

I’m gonna kiss you like the sun browns you, devour me. I want every other freckle.

If the summer days were blinks that paradoxically lasted for eons and disappeared without warning too quickly, than the winter nights were long sighs that moved along slowly, settled in among the trees and between the houses, on the paths and in the naked branches, and took its time in passing, lasting longer and longer as the season went on. It came in one morning, and frosted the tips of grass and bits of metal along the wall, in the smoke that poured from chimneys and the sun that was just as bright as the day before, but not as fiercely as the summer afternoon. In the few months following the union of the ground and the sky, the world started to chill, started to grow crisp and colourful as the leaves burst aflame and then fall in a cascade of embers and light upon the world.

The summer days of long, unending sun faded and were replaced by nights that were conducive for only a few things, all of which made Lexa extremely satisfied. Things changed in the small bed in Lexa’s quarters. It was usually filled with a blonde, which was a fact the Commander quite enjoyed. She would return from her day and get stories read to her in that voice, and with those absent fingers knitting themselves under her shirt, in her hair. She would get questions answered and ideas explored. She got kisses and she got fire and she got to warm up from the winter outside. She got Clarke’s moans scalding her neck, tangling in her sheets. She saw stars in her own bed, she shook and she thought her body was not her own, and when she regained control, she got Clarke’s smile and eyes and voice. Lexa was torn with how much she loved winter.

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The Wrestle, VII

You split my skull and reached inside my head, And pulled out the pictures I’d been wishing I’d forget. And you stitched me up then, And wiped the blood from off my chin.

“There has to be some sort of compromise,” Jaha shook his head and looked at the board of ideas. His forehead wrinkled in thought and desperation until he ran his hands over his face to clear away the same view and hopefully give himself a new one. “There has to be some… solution. Some way to merge.”

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The Wrestle, VIII

From one final battle That we couldn’t afford to lose I whispered suddenly My greatest fears to anyone who would hear me- You’re the last thing I want I’d love to stay here.

The sun had not grown hot just yet, though that part was coming, sure as anything else in the world and as steady as the dawn. One day, it would appear in the sky and be eagerly belting the ground with everything it had. But today it was cool and polite, still waking and disinterested in showing any sort of force upon the grove of trees and heavy heads of wheat which bobbed and nodded lazily in the occasional gust. The snow was long since disappeared, making way for a long thaw to come across the land.

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The Wrestle, Ch. IX

Slow, slow me down. Her blood on my bones.

By the time the sun was thinking about rising, Lexa had already gotten up, unenthusiastically, but still. She had not awoken, because she had not gone to sleep, but instead sat in her chair by the table and watched Clarke move uneasily in the bed. The rain from the night before stopped and all was quiet in the world save for the breeze that moved around the trees and shifted the house as it settled against the weather. The Commander listened to the trees outside and she found an odd comfort in the familiarity of her home’s noises.

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The Wrestle, X

Wrap me up, unfold me. I am small, and needy.

The room was quiet and tiny. It took exactly twelve steps to get from one side to the other, and Lexa knew those twelve steps intimately. Her steps were like a long concerto keeping beat, slowing and softening at times, followed by the quickening that came when her thoughts jumped off of cliffs. She never strayed from her course, though. She paced and felt her hands continually bunch into fists before she forced them open and felt them bunch again of their own vocation. Her forearms ached with the pacing, but she did it, at varying speeds, for varying reasons, but overwhelmingly because she could not, for the first time in her life, keep herself still. She was always careful, always reserved in her movements, idolized Commander Pike for her voracious use of time and placement. And now she was incapable of stopping, because if she stopped, she would surely explode from the pressure building in her arteries.

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The Wrestle, XI

Don’t polish it for me At the end of every kiss there’s a war And I know She’s got fangs like mine.

The grass would be heavy with dew in the morning as the sun began its slow, stretching awakening. The droplets would glow and dance with bits of morning trapped in each orb, would be heavy on feet that walked through it, would drip from edges when it got too full of itself and forgot of its precarious positions within the universe. The world itself, was laden, was encumbered, was burdened by the very weight of her sighs, or so Clarke seemed to think, becoming innately apologetic for them as they displaced dew outside. They were the dew drops upon the pillows, upon the sheets, and they covered her in her sleepless nights and aching joints.

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The Wrestle, XII

Give me your eyes - I need sunshine. Your blood Your bones Your voice.

The first night back in camp after the battle they collapsed in bed. Not soft and dreamy, but an exhausted, worn huff of a collapse that echoed in their bones and they were asleep before they hit the sheets. The sky held out and refused to rain any longer, clearing itself completely, the whole way through, though puddles and mud persisted until tamped down to clay under the scurrying of the entire village. Clarke spent her time in the Ark with the new people, Lexa spent hers being reacquainted with those she left.

Tired as she was, Clarke waited up anxiously until Lexa came into the tent. She washed Lexa’s face, scrubbed the dirt from it, pushed the clothes from her shoulders and laid her down in bed in that dissatisfied huff of tired, tangling limbs. She kissed her forehead and they slept like lambs in the dell, entwined and warm and smiles planted on their lips that stayed well until after they woke and were reintroduced with renewed vigour. All of which left them content until they left the bed.

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[indra-the-boggart]

The Wrestle Ch. I

Hold it right there, I don’t wanna move and summer it begs us to prove that we can last just one more season.

The sun was not even up yet, but already the sky was not as dark as complete night. Slowly the stars were erased from the sky, no longer offering worlds and dreams and the expanse of the universe on display, but instead only the brightest, most stubborn remained as small reminders. The sky grew grey, grew hazy, and already, before the rush and thrust of the sun above the boarder of the horizon, before the breaking of a new day, Clarke knew that it was set to be a brutal, scorching kind of morning. The grass and leaves were already sweating, and a low, thick fog slunk along, sipping at the dew and licking at the edges of any puddles collected the night before. Adjusting to seasons was new, but her first full summer on Earth was much smoother than the winter had been, much more hopeful.

The world was quiet, mostly. Birds shook and blinked and started to scuttle about, in search of the allegorical worms. The occasional shuffling and movement could be heard in the waking huts and houses as fires were blown upon, spurred to life, children grumbled, women went about starting their days in the domestic spaces. Clarke appreciated this time of day the most. The early moments before she had to do anything at all, before questions and problems and worrying about such things as life and death. When things were still, and there was only the routine of waking that every partook of in the same way. The quiet was important to her.

Keep reading

[indra-the-boggart]

Who is the girl in the avatar picture?

Kat Barrell she invented the bullet proof vest

[indra-the-boggart]

Contains spoilers for Jurassic World:

I’m finally watching this movie. Katie McGrath’s character just died and I’ve lost interest 2000%. Who cares about the rest of the dinos when my Babesaurus Rex has just gone extinct?

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Let's Take a Sec to Appreciate How Sly Clexa is as a Political Pairing

Lexa calls Clarke Wanheda on purpose during her speech. If the COMMANDER OF DEATH SAYS NO TO TAKING A MAN’S LIFE then these two crazy kids might just pull off this whole bloodmustnothaveblood thing after all.

[indra-the-boggart]

Don't tell heda, but...

I keep adding candles everytime she leaves the room. People assume she has an obsession. When really it's me.