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sir-silly · 4 years ago

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The Last War fan review

So, our beloved show has ended. And while I wish things would have gone differently, I did cry with relief when Clarke looked over and saw everyone already waiting for her.

Anyway, I wanted to share some of my thoughts on the finale.

1) Going right into the title sequence kind of shocked me. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but I was just immediately like “oh.” It was a bitch-slap in the face that they left a gap in the credits for Bob Morley. Why you gotta do us like that?

2) Murphy screaming “come on” while they used the defibrillator on Emori was heartbreaking. And his little whispered encouragements were so freaking cute.

3) Clarke rampage? Yes, please! I love me a badass woman. However, unlimited ammo is a sin in writing. The moment Octavia picked up the sword was a big “oh yes.”

4) Did Cadogan not care about his son like at all? Lmao. Why is he so hung up on Callie and not his other kid (who I can’t even remember the name of). I don’t care if they explain in the prequel, that’s still a shitty parent choosing favorites. Along with his wife, like, was she not his greatest love? It was Callie? Kinda fucked up.

5) Why the fuck could Jordan figure out it was a test and not a war in 5 seconds when the Disciples were studying that shit for decades? I know he’s Monty’s son, but he’s not a genius or anything.

6) Thoughts on the test: I think Cadogan would have failed and the human race would be destroyed. Why bother asking questions if you already know all the answers?

7) Why wasn’t Gaia in the finale like at all?? Like, what the fuck. She was hunting??? For what?? That really annoyed me because I’ve grown to really like her and there was no point in her not being involved in the last episode. They seriously couldn’t have thrown her in there? Like, come on! Even Niylah was there! (not saying that I don’t like her, it’s just that Gaia has felt far more important to the story than her).

8) I do think that Jasper and Hope are cute together, and I know they spent the majority of their lives either alone or only with their parents, but GOD I can’t stand how awkward they are. Also, I know ya’ll have feelings for each other and shit, but is now really the time to be making out?? Why do people think that’s okay in literally the worst situations? I know it’s a show, but come on.

9) And how the fuck did Jordan throw and catch that sword? He’s a child who’s never fought a day in his life. Unless they suddenly want to tell me that Harper and Monty were secret ninjas and taught him all their tricks, I don’t believe that.

10) I’m being pissy and bringing up things from the past, but I don’t care. Why the fuck couldn’t Harper and Monty gone into cryo? I know they were happy and shit, but I’M NOT. How the fuck did it take so long for him to get into the files for Sanctum? His ass has done that shit a thousand times before in about two minutes and suddenly it takes him 80 years? Bullshit.

11) I’m still being pissy, but how the fuck does Jordan know what a magician is? “For my first trick, I will make an army appear.” Bruh, no. Monty wouldn’t have known what a magician was either. If they weren’t being taught what a Navy Seal was, there’s no way they knew what magicians were. Calling bullshit on that one as well.

12) I was pretty surprised that the Disciples didn’t start firing on Wonkru immediately. Like, this is the war they’ve been gearing up for forever and they don’t attack as soon as possible? Also, where the fuck did Wonkru get their war paint? Do they just constantly have it on their person? Or did their asses literally spend time making their paint before going to Bardo?

13) I fucking love Miller and Jackson. They’re freaking adorable. Murphy’s flat “I am glad you are safe” was so fucking funny. Also, saving Emori in one scene just to kill her in the next is bullshit. They should have just killed her the first time and done the same thing anyway. Murphy screaming at Jackson to do something and sobbing was heartbreaking. Fantastic acting on Richard Harmon’s part.

14) Octavia putting on Lincoln’s same warpaint again was once again, so sad. I miss that man. He was too good for his own good. And while I do think that her and Levitt are very cute together, I’ll always prefer her with Lincoln. But I think that he would be really happy that she has found someone new to love.

15) Apparently whatever Echo “did” to Levitt was so forgettable that I don’t even know what she’s talking about. Bad writing. I shouldn’t forget that in just a few weeks, I should remember as soon as I see the two of them in the same room.

16) Lexa. Just all of it. There were some suspicions that she would show up for the last episode, but I didn’t really believe them because I didn’t understand how she would be integrated. I’m glad that they did bring her back, but I’m also not. It was amazing to see her back by Clarke in all of her armor and glory, but knowing it wasn’t actually Lexa was just a punch in the face. It wasn’t her mind, so it’s almost like they didn’t bring her back anyway. I honestly would have preferred if they used someone else for her Judge, because that just really didn’t do it for me. Their hug was sweet, but it didn’t even count as her returning. I personally think that her Judge should have been Bellamy or Madi instead, as they both certainly could fill the role of “the subject’s greatest teacher or the source of their greatest failure...it can be their greatest love.” This is just my preference. Believe me, I know how much Lexa meant to Clarke, but as a fan, bringing our favorite Heda back in that way wasn’t the best way to do it. As a writer, it makes sense, but it doesn’t as a fan. The writers can’t just think of what is the best storytelling, they have to think of what those watching will think.

17) I’m confused about the mindspace? Why did Clarke wake up in her solitary room with her memories painted all over the walls, but Emori woke up in the castle with a view of the desert? Why wouldn’t it have been her and Murphy’s cave? Is there a reason it was the bedroom and not the cave?

18) I know this isn’t canon in any sense, but could you imagine if Murphy and Emori fought over John’s body and she won, and then suddenly woke up with a penis? How fucking funny would that be? Just had to throw that out there.

19) Can I just again reiterate how fucking cute Miller and Jackson are?

20) I’m curious about the location of the test. Why did Cadogan’s take place on a pier, while Raven’s happened on the Ark? If it was their favorite place, wouldn’t Raven’s have been actually out in space? Like during a spacewalk? I’m confused about that.

21) I knew that Raven was somehow going to be involved in the test just because of the trailers we got for the final episode. My two guesses for who the judge would be were Finn and Abby. Though I am happy that we got to see Abby again, I would be curious to see if the scene would have played out any differently if it had been Finn.

22) Where was the full line that was given in the trailer? Because that was amazing. “We’re selfish, and we’re violent, and we have destroyed too much, but we survived.” I loved that line far more than what we got instead, which was simply, “Have we made mistakes? Yes. Clarke, me, all of us, but we were just trying to survive.” I definitely would have chosen the former over the latter. Poor choice on the editors’ parts.

23) How the fuck did Octavia and Echo go out to the field and get Levitt with Echo only being shot once? With all the bullets, the three of them should have been torn apart, I don’t care how much Indra could cover Octavia. Calling bullshit on that as well.

24) Bringing this up kind of late because I’m giving my reviews as I’m rewatching the episode, but what they had Eliza do was really fucked up. Her and Bob suffered a miscarriage during the filming of season seven, so the scene of her holding Madi and crying “my baby” is like 10 times more heartbreaking. If they made her film that after having a miscarriage mere days, weeks or few months before, that’s really, really messed up.

25) They really played-up Sheidheda’s bringing back of “jus drein jus daun” in the trailer. In reality, it was far less intense. I would have preferred what I had been expecting, which was him coming to help convince Wonkru that they would be able to win. However, I am super glad that he is dead and Indra finally got to kill him. I love how that bigass gun just turns people into mist lol.

26) The beginning of Octavia’s speech was literally like “what the FUCK guys” and it was hilarious. And I swear to god if I hear her say “we are Wonkru” or “you are Wonkru” another time, I’m gonna scream. I know it was legit the last episode but I’m sick of it by now lol. When Indra was like “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Octavia’s face was just like “omg me too” and it was really funny.

27) Bellamy. His situation was a whole problem itself. He deserved a hell of a lot better and wHY DID HE CUT HIS HAIR I LIKED IT THE LONG WAY. Anyway, you can bet your ass I’ll be writing a different ending where he didn’t die because FUCK THAT. When I do, I’ll be sure to share it.

28) I’m fucking confused about Murphy and Emori both transcending. Because, what the fuck. Emori died. The dead don’t transcend. Her mind wasn’t even in her body, it was in Murphy’s. So how the fuck did she end up alive and in her own body again. I’m glad she’s alive, but I just don’t understand. It would have made way more sense to have either not had her die in the first place, or to have Murphy, Miller, and Jackson keep pumping her heart so she technically “lived” anyway like Echo.

29) If Madi had decided not to transcend, would she still have been paralyzed? I mean, I would assume not because Levitt and Hope’s gunshots were healed, as was Emori, but I’m curious. Also, wouldn’t Raven’s leg have been fixed? Because if they only fix recent wounds and not old ones, that’s stupid.

30) On the point of Madi deciding not to transcend, why did she? Why didn’t so many other people choose not to? Like, not one Eligius prisoner or person from Sanctum chose to live? No one else from Wonkru? Why didn’t anyone else other than the main cast and guest stars not transcend? I totally understand the Disciples transcending, but seriously, nobody else wanted to live? That’s really weird. Madi and her friends really couldn’t have chosen to live on Earth with Clarke and the others? I just think it’s really unrealistic that not one single person outside of the group chose not to transcend.

31) I was really surprised that Murphy and Emori chose not to transcend, because as the Judge said, they would eventually die and not join them in the infinite. It shocked me due to their fear of dying and wanting to be immortal, but I’m really proud of them.

32) I’m disappointed that those who don’t transcend can’t have children. There were suspicions that Emori might have been pregnant (which were never confirmed), but the idea of her and Murphy having a kid together was adorable. They’d have their teeny tiny families with those two, Hope and Jordan, and Octavia and Levitt.

33) This isn’t as much me pointing out a problem as me wondering, what was Clarke going to say to the Judge when she turned around? What else did she have to say or ask? Was it about Madi? Or maybe Lexa? Or just transcending in general?

34) It’s pretty shitty that some of our questions went unanswered due to the fact that there will be a prequel. On the other hand, I live for lore, so I’m just glad that they eventually will be answered. But still, that doesn’t excuse shitty writing.

35) I want to see a stupid edit of Picasso taking the test where the Judge is Madi.

I think we all know that season seven was really not what we wanted it to be. We’ve been really disappointed by the writers and unfortunately, this is what we got out of it. I believe they really could have done a better job, but I am at least glad that everyone ended up together.

The writing was lacking. Too many questions were left unanswered, I don’t care if you’re making a sequel or not. Plot holes. It really could have been a good season if it was done better.

My ranking of the seasons is as follows: 3, 2, 4, 1, 6, 5, 7. Seasons 4 and 1 are kind of interchangeable for me in spots three and four, as are 6 and 5 in the two spots behind them, whatever the order may be.

But I still love the show. I love the characters, their development, and many things about it. It has been quite the journey and I am glad to have been a fan of the show.

May we meet again.

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girlobsessed21 · 5 years ago

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The 100 - 6x04: The face behind the glass review and predictions.

Before we get into the specifics, I’m a little scared of the rehashing of old narratives that comes to surface in this episode especially. Not sure how I feel about all the parallels. In my trailer analysis, I did point out the fact that it does not seem that much different than previous seasons: There are no good guys, we kill them so that we can live and blah, blah, blah. Even so, I’m interested and invested to see what types of unique twists and turns this story will throw at us. Jason Rothenberg, you better not disappoint.

The face behind the glass written by Charmaine DeGrate and directed by Tim Scanlan, who is known for directing the sex scenes on the show. Dead giveaway. Not my favorite so far, but a lot of things happened that has me excited for the rest of the season.

Is there a better way to open an episode than Diyoza joking with her unborn child? It’s no secret she’s in my top 5 favorite characters and keeps climbing the charts. So, the Sanctumites offer her a deal: Save Rose and we’ll take care of your baby, which she takes, to offer her child a life and it’s something to do other than trying to survive. But in known Diyoza fashion on condition of a gun and a bike.

Then, Simone begs Russel to cancel naming day on account of spies inside the compund. They’ve already been deprived of three primes (Kaylee’s family) and Rose. Pushing them towards extinction at an alarming rate and it once again becomes obvious that Clarke will become Josephine, yet I’m now intrigued by Madi. The cultish way in which these people worship the primes are uncanny and wayward. But then again all cults are weird. I don’t believe in the divinity of the primes either.

Russel disagrees by saying: “If we cancel, Gabriel wins.” Last week I thought that Gabriel will be brought back to life in one of the hosts, but I think there’s something else going on there. It’s clear now that Gabriel and his children are against the revival of the primes, bringing about the question: How has he survived all these years?

Priya and Jordan share some sweet intimate moments where he tells her he feels guilty for becoming another taunting face behind the glass. Which was necessary to show he’s still grieving his parents even while having fun. Her referral to this line later before she becomes a prime is crucial though, meaning there might be a possibility for her to come back.

The four pillars of Sanctum: Repent, Renew, Rejoice, Rebirth. Accentuating rebirth very literally. We know from episode two that Russel Lightbourne does not believe in God, but by killing a person for no reason other than so that someone you love can live is playing god in the cruelest way imaginable.

Embracing their traditions, Clarke decides to repent for her sins. She tries to apologize to Raven who won’t have any of it and compares her to Octavia. For me, the biggest difference between Clarke and Octavia is the remorse she feels. She knows what she did was wrong and she’s trying to make up for it. Therefore she deserves forgiveness. I wonder how Raven will react to Clarke’s death?

Gabriel? Who the f#@k are Gabriel and his children?

As I said earlier, the old man is definitely Gabriel. We don’t know if he’s dead or alive. It can’t be that he lives within a computer because then his existence would be known.

My guess is the split within Sanctum came recently (using the term loosely). Gabriel had to be one of the 12 primes since he came with them and his blood was also altered. Meaning his conscience was also transferred into a host. He was against the hostile takeover of innocent bodies and decided to rebel by saving the hosts.

If this happened sixty odd years ago, Gabriel could still be alive somewhere (perhaps in hiding due to a failed conviction) and old. Very, very old. I’m not sure whether his followers are literally his children or just those that have sided with him, but either way, they want to continue his cause. Which they’ve clearly lost sight of. Save the hosts, don’t kill them.

Or this anomaly they mentioned somehow extends life, only it’s dangerous. Who knows, I’m a bit boggled here.

Xavier purposefully left his bag out to save Octavia and Rose. I’m sure I’ve seen this before. Right, Lincoln kidnapped her and saved her simultaneously. I know this is such a retelling of their story, but I loved Linctavia and thus cannot help boarding this ship.

Another season one throwback to Bellamy and Charlotte. But I think I’ve voiced my concerns about these. Poor, poor Rose. That scene was heartbreaking.

Boy oh boy Bellarke and their romances

Clarke apologizes to Bellamy and states her reasons even though Bellamy has already forgiven her because he would be a hypocrite not to. And they share what has now become known as a Bellarke hug since it’s all these idiots can ever do.

Clarke hooks up with Cillian (who turns out to be the spy) within two seconds, now I’m not sure about you, but I rolled my eyes. Oh, cute, Clarke has yet another lover added to her long list of previous ones. Finn, Niyalah, Lexa, and Bellamy always on the side. I’m glad it’s a guy though to showcase that she is indeed bisexual and not gay. Bisexuality really needs some appreciation.

No one can tell if Bellamy was only upset with the party as he stated or Clarke having fun with some random dude. Most will say it’s the former and it probably is, yet it’s filmed in a different way. Why did they put him in this scene in the first place?

When he sees her having fun, he smiles, he’s happy for her. Then the doctor’s all over her and all of a sudden his attitude changes. I don’t want to read too much into it since I had to watch it like six times to draw this conclusion.

He’s hurt and grieving over a lot of things, especially his sister and then he witnesses his “platonic soulmate” in the arms of another man. She’s always known exactly how to get him to open up, what to say to make him feel better and even though he knows he’s not allowed to feel that way, he’s jealous, he realizes he still needs her.

And that spurs the single tear and his fight with Echo. He even spares another glance over his shoulder when she asks what’s wrong. Or was that just random? Because once he’s calmed down he apologizes to his girlfriend and comforts her when she tells him her backstory after six years of being lied to.

I felt for Echo, her life wasn’t easy, but none of their lives were. Honestly, I just can’t find Becho’s connection. Even though I try, because at some point we have to accept the fact that this is possibly a long term pairing. I’ve made my peace, I’ll ignore them. Give Echo an individual storyline and I might just start liking her more.

A Red Queen and a terrorist walk into a bar

First of all, I have to show my gratitude for the glimpses of Octavia’s humanity. She’s in there and she’s slowly swimming to the top. That thorned rose is blossoming once again, thank you, Bellamy, for your part in this.

This is a weapon of mass destruction if I’ve ever seen one. A pregnant terrorist and a former evil queen. Yes, this is what I’m talking about. I might just write fanfiction about it.

“The devils of earth become the heroes of Sanctum.” They’re set out to kill Gabriel, but I doubt that will occur. From all I’ve heard, he’s good. Enhanced by Cillian’s words: “There are two sides to every story.” So, they will most likely join forces against Sanctum in some way. Hopefully not blowing up another planet. Please do something interesting here.

Josephine!Clarke

Okay, my first take on Josephine Ada Lightbourne was very wrong. To me, she seemed smart, funny and confident. Now she looks like the devil in disguise (No pun intended.)

Reverting back to my earlier assumption about Delilah/Priya. It’s evident that Delilah no longer exists within her body which sets Jordan on edge. But that small statement along with knowing the mind of the host is erased but the brain is unharmed propels me to believe they can come back. Somehow. Hopefully.

Simone says, “I’ll prep for insertion, you clear the host.” Did that mean Clarke’s mind might be stored in some device too? They must have a way of extracting consciousness to transfer it to a host. Thus Clarke Griffin’s mind will be backed up somewhere as well. Not for too long before it’s disposed of, I’m sure.

Come on Madi (Lexa and Becca), Bellamy, Abby, Jordan, Raven, Murphy. You have to figure this out and bring her back before its too late. I refuse to believe Princess Clarke is dead. If she is, my mind is blown in a bullet to the brain kind of way.

One scenario is that Josephine will have to give forth a ruse of being Clarke and willingly accept the “honor” of becoming a prime. She’s been indulging in all their other conventions, why not this one, right? But Jordan now knows what happened to Delilah, so they will try to stop her. Most likely Madi or Bellamy will notice a difference within her.

The dangerous alternative will be for Josephine to simply embrace her new host by saying they brought her to life after Cillian murdered her. Sanctumites, you have no idea how much Clarke’s people care about her. This might even sway those currently mad at her for an investigation.

A few last things

Russel does feel bad about what he’s doing, but so did Dante Wallace.

Raven and Wick (Sorry the other mechanic) what is that? Five minutes after Shaw’s death. Or was it only the motorcycle. Why does this show give us seedlings of relationships that will have no chance of growing?

Is Shadeheda Cadogen and what will he bring to the table?

Madi tasting her first cookie was awesome!

I missed Murphy this episode. His presence is required at all times.

What will happen to Niylah on the ship? And when will Indra make her appearance?

Will Russel and Simone find out that Abby knows how to create nightblood?

Let me know what you think.

#The 100 #the100 #the 100 season 6 #The 100 s6 #the1006x04 #the 100 season six #the 100 6x04 #the100 6x04 #the100 6x04 review

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kokkoro · 7 years ago

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Violet Blue (8/15)

summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones. Make love. Howl often. Clarissa Pinkola Estes

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (read here on ao3)

May.

The first of may is warm and the park is busy because of it, just barely hitting that seventies range and after a month of fifties and those barely sixties you revel in that short sleeve weather. The wind tugs, a bit cold when the sun dips behind the clouds as it begins its descent in the west, but it's nothing if not refreshing against the heat of your skin.

Clarke likes it too. If the way you catch her watching you is any indication. On the sidelines, keeping tabs on Lily and Madi as they play off to the side of the bleachers in the grass. It’s the last practice before the kids’ first game on saturday, and despite perhaps your teams’ tendency to get distracted, you think you might be ready. Or ready as you’ll ever be.

You pack up with the last few rays of sun, handing out the supplied team jerseys to your group of tiny players. Half of them wear it like dresses, but are excited at the concept, and you’ve grown to like each of them in your own way. Charlie still likes her flowers and Katie lacks the skill but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm. There’s even another ‘aiden’ but he’s so far from your own son that you have a little trouble calling him by name.

By the time all the uniforms are distributed (Danny proudly displaying her lucky number 7) and the last few parents make their way back to the parking lot, not much remains. There’s stragglers, runners after work taking advantage of the last few moments of nice weather, and couples strolling the paths that bisect the park, lingering by the pond and the ducks. They keep to themselves and so do you.

Clarke meets you out by the diamond, leaning into you and kissing the curve of your jaw, sneaking a hand under the loose fabric of your henley. She brushes her thumb over your hip and you can feel the cold press of her ring against your warm skin.

You lean to the side to kiss her cheek, keeping your eyes ahead as Danny does a lap around plates in her new shirt. With no one else in the near vicinity, the other four are quick to join and you and Clarke stand on the sidelines and regard the game of tag unfolding out before you with barely restrained amusement.

Madi trips somewhere between homebase and the pitcher’s mound, nearly face first into the dirt with a thump, hands splayed to catch herself instead of latching onto Danny’s shirt as she intended. Your immediate instinct is to check on her, but you don’t even make it half a foot before Clarke reels you back in.

“She’s fine,” Clarke says, and you watch as your youngest shakes herself off before bracing her hands firmly on the ground, planting her feet flat, and then hauls herself up like nothing happened. She’s back in the fray not seconds later. “See?”

That doesn’t completely get rid of the bits of worry still present in your gut. “Yesterday she hit her head on the kitchen table and she cried for twenty minutes.”

“That’s a gross over exaggeration,” Clarke says, pinching the skin at your hip and you turn to look at her, eyebrow quirked and practically asking for trouble. She moves to stand in front of you, drapes her arms over your shoulders and you sigh when she leans in to touch her nose to yours. “It was five tops.”

It’s soft and quick, which is good, you guess in the long run, because you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket and you have to let her go to answer it. You see Anya’s name, but before you pick up the call you dip to press a kiss to Clarke’s cheek.

“Am I interrupting something?” comes Anya’s voice as you turn away, looking out towards the parking lot. Clarke smirks at you before focusing her attention towards the kids.

“Yes,” you say, monotone. The wind picks up, tugging at your hair, and you run your hand through it, pulling it over your shoulder and out of your face.

“We need your help,” she says, and there’s something in Anya’s voice you don’t like.

“Around four thirty yesterday, a couple stumbled across three bodies in an alley near Cadbury.” Anya tells you the next morning as she plops down a manila file down onto your desk. You glance up at her, holding her stare for a brief second before reaching out to open the file.

What you see first is a picture of a man, close cropped hair, beard, and then the evidence photos of the scene paperclipped together with a typed-up report. You skim it as Anya continues her debrief.

“Two women and a man. Multiple puncture wounds, dumped by the looks of it. So far they appear unrelated, but identification will take some time. Our culprit here made sure any identifying aspects were removed.”

“Is that what you need me for?” you begin. “Identification?”

‘We--” and Anya stops. Starts again, “I have reason to believe it’s a rogue.”

You look up at that. “A rogue?”

“Recent most likely.” She points to one of the photos, documentation of the bodies and the injuries sustained. “Most of the inflicted wounds are from a knife or sharp object, but here,” and she points, “and here… The only possible explanation is teeth and no human can do that.”

“Are they working alone?”

“As of right now, it’s unclear.”

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, and you gather your thoughts together before they escape you. You can only hope you’re ready for what follows.

“Please be careful, Lexa, that’s all I’m asking.”

You purse your lips, tugging off your undershirt shirt and folding it neatly. You place it over the button up folded across your desk chair, followed by your bra, and then scrounge about for a t-shirt in the top right drawer of your dresser. It’s an old Uni tee, one that Clarke wears more often than you do now, but that’s part of the comfort. Threadbare and soft, it drapes loosely, and you pull your hair free, shaking it out.

“When am I not?” you ask, turning to face Clarke with this sly little smile, hoping to dissuade the tension. She stands behind you, already ready for bed, arms crossed and her hip cocked, but she doesn’t rise to take the bait.

Clarke shakes her head, uncrossing her arms as she takes those few steps forward into your space. She reaches out for your hair, cards her fingers gently through the strands and braids, untangling knots as she goes. She clicks her tongue when you try to kiss her, leaning back just out of your reach, focused, and your resign yourself to the attention. You study the crease in her brow and the tension she holds in her jaw and think this is one of the many reasons why you love her.

“I will be,” you say softly. “I promise. But I won’t stand idly by if there’s something I can do to help. Neither would you.”

Clarke’s hands still, and you watch her inhale slowly and hold it for a beat too long before it all escapes in a rush. She knows you’re right, there are just certain times where she hates to admit it. Her lips purse, hands now fiddling with the bent collar of your t-shirt.

When you lean in to kiss her this time she lets you.

The place Anya drags you too first is some corner store at the edge of the city. She grabs a coffee for herself and an iced one for you, but it spends more time in the cupholder of the cruiser than it does in your hand as the streets steadily become abundant and busier. Morning rush has past, and while the roads are still lively it's easily traversed. You make it to your destination around ten o’clock

The scene is still sectioned off, the abandoned apartment of the alleged suspect, and there’s only one other man you recognize. You don’t know his name, but Anya addresses him as you bypass them into the space, ducking under the caution tape. You hear them discuss updates from the forensic team about the dump where they found the bodies, and it’s nothing more than what you told them yesterday.

In your opinion, everything reeks, but it's part of the job. There’s trash in the sink and the table is covered with dishes caked in leftover food probably a week old. Clothes litter the floor, ripped up newspapers, and when you finally make it into the living room you don’t need your heightened sense of smell or even your sight to know that’s blood stained into the carpet. Your nose does tell you other things, however.

It’s a mix, and when Anya wanders over to you after finishing up with her subordinate, you glance at her to make sure you have her attention before speaking. “It’s not alone,” you say, soft enough where your tone doesn’t draw extra attention. You gesture to the blood. “Or at least it wasn’t.”

Anya quirks a brow, but you see her mouth settle into a grin. “We’d save so much time and money if you’d just come back full time, you realize that right?”

“I’m a family woman, you know that.” The smile doesn’t fade, and before Anya has the chance to tease you about how bad Clarke and the kids have you wrapped around their fingers (like you’d have it any other way) you cut her off. “This was supposed to be my month with the kids.”

Anya’s face falls, but you see it for only a fraction of a second. You know in spite of her insistent teasing, Anya recognizes and acknowledges the entire world comes in second to your family.

Though that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy your job. There’s a certain satisfaction only it can bring.

“Well,” Anya says, “The sooner we’re done the better.”

On friday you go in late. You wake up with Clarke and the kids, though it's more along the lines of rousing disorientated the second Clarke leaves the circle of your arms, pulling away from your grasp. You groan halfheartedly, your nose no longer buried among the mess of her hair and you miss the scent immediately.

There’s the quiet part of your morning where you make breakfast hip to hip in the kitchen with Clarke. After you get ready and join her downstairs with your shirt untucked and half-buttoned. Clarke scrambles the eggs and you mix up the batter for pancakes and she fixes you up in the lull between.

Aden is the first into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and bumping into his chair before climbing up into it. He’s just following his nose, you’re sure, eyes still half closed, sleep clinging stubbornly to him.

It’s another ten or so before you hear the noises stir upstairs. You pile the pancakes onto a plate, depositing it onto the table as you pass, ruffling Aden’s hair. Halfway upstairs you hear the bathroom door squeak open and Jack greets you with a yawn. He grins this toothy smile when he notices you--giggles as you lumber closer to kiss his cheek and forehead.

His footsteps patter away as he makes his way downstairs. You nudge open Lily and Madi’s bedroom door and Lily picks her head up at the sound, looking for you. Her hair’s a rats nest, sticking this way and that, but the cuteness outweighs the inevitable herculean task of combing it out later.

By nine, all of you are situated around the table. You finish up your cup of coffee, going over notes on your phone while Clarke finishes eating he last of her pancakes drenched in syrup. She’s in the hall with you when you go to leave, the kids’ chatter quiet from the kitchen. She pulls you in by the hips, kisses you soundly there in the space all by yourselves and it leaves you dazed.

It’s certainly one of the better mornings this week.

You take saturday off thanks to the big game and Anya doesn’t say a word about it. Danny is a jittery mess in the backseat of the car for the duration of the drive, and you have to stop yourself from checking the rearview mirror every few seconds just so you can see her in her seat with her hat and her shirt tucked into her cute white baseball pants and her glove already permanently attached to her hand.

She’s out of her seat the second you unbuckle her, though, making a beeline for the field and your not quick enough to snag her. She doesn’t respond when you call her, and your’re lucky you’re early and the parking lot isn’t busy yet. You dart off to catch her just as Clarke looks up from her task of unbuckling the rest of the kids from their booster seats.

You close the distance quickly, grabbing a fistful of Danny’s jersey, and then escort her back to the car while reiterating proper parking lot behavior. You know she’s just excited, but you tell her that’s no excuse not to be careful. Danny has at least the decency to look guilty.

The rest of the team shows up thirty or so minutes later. Luke is last and decidedly alone. He smiles at you, waves to Clarke and the kids, and Charlie rushes to join the circle that’s already formed by home plate. When the other team arrives as well, you can’t help the slight prideful puff of your chest as you regard your group of toddlers lined up and ready near the benches.

You’re not one to brag, but you’re pretty sure you have the best team in the league. Or at the very least in the downtown area.

You also know that winning isn’t everything, especially not at this age. It’s about laughter and participation in whatever form--about encouragement and having fun. Danny excels in it, and while there aren’t many, any pop-up that’s within twenty feet is an easy catch. By the fifth inning, bits of her hair escape from the cap, tickling her cheek, her jersey practically untucked as she darts back and forth out in the field no matter if she gets the ball or not. The others avoid her and Jack watches with a mix of confusion and curiosity. It doesn’t stop her from trying.

“You have to give the other kids a chance to catch the ball, Danny,” you tell her when she comes in at the end of the inning, crouching down in front of her. She doesn’t really listen, glancing longingly back over her shoulder as the other team takes the outfield.

“I can catch it really good though, momma,” she says when she turns around again and you can’t help but smile a bit because it's true.

“Just because you can make it to home plate from the outfield doesn’t mean you should.”

She pouts, pursing her lips and scrunching her brows. You ruffle her hair, kiss her cheek, and the giggles that bubble forth are music to your ears.

You hop down from the backseat of the cruiser and try to ignore the wide eyed double-takes from the pedestrians walking by as you shake out the kinks in your muscles. The backseat always seems cramped in this form, no matter how you decide to sit.

The only thing that saves you from prolonged staring is the bandana tied around your neck, signifying the ‘k-9’ unit of south county police department. You hate the thing, but it’s better than a collar and leash. And at least you don’t have to worry anymore about the rookies shooting you by accident. You stick close to Anya’s side anyway, a buffer to the enquiring eyes as you go about your job.

There’s a lot of smells to sift through, especially one that’s nearly six days old, but you’re the best at what you do for a reason. The station had received a tip concerning a couple of shady individuals not far from the recent site and it’s a simple thing to match two and two together.

“Find anything?” Anya asks as you trot by and you give a whole shake your head with a huff. You continue your search near the mouth of the alley, nose to the ground.

It takes a moment or two, but you manage to pick up a scent not entirely human and you take one more lap around the area just to be sure there wasn’t something you missed. You’re relieved to find there isn’t.

The scent appears to lead down park avenue, and from what you know from experience is essentially a straight shot to a stretch of woods that spreads out west. But with the smell as faint as it is, the likelihood of following it to the source is closer to zero, especially with the scent of rain close on the horizon.

You take off in the direction anyway, practically hearing Anya’s eye roll, but the muffled, exasperated ‘wolves,’ comes in loud and clear. You pick up the pace just for her.

The house is dark when you get home from a late night at the station and you’re frustration only amplifies when you somehow managed to stub your pinky toe on the first stair. To your credit, none of the swears are above a whisper, clutching at your foot until the pain subsides, but it leaves you in a bitter mood as you climb the steps up to the second floor and then down the hall to your room.

Clarke is already in bed, bundled up in an excess of blankets despite the oncoming heat of May. The window is open, the breeze a breath of fresh air, and you only bother with your pants and socks and jacket, tossing them aside, before crawling into bed with her. She rolls over at the disturbance, facing towards you, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

You tangle your legs with hers, scooting closer until your foreheads touch and Clarke hums low in her throat. You kiss the tip of her nose, her lips, the apple of her cheek and you’re not surprised by how fast the bitterness subsides.

“Lexa... Lexa,” Clarke mumbles under her breath, face scrunching. “Lexa, I’m trying to sleep.”

So you stop, exhaling softly in the darkness and letting the tension ease its way through your system. Of all the dead-ends and setbacks and failures.

Clarke finds your arm, pulls lazily it over her hip. “You stopped,” she says, voice barely above of whisper, but she seems more awake now, closing the distance between you until not much remains.

“You told me to.”

Her hand finds the fabric of your blouse and holds fast. “I changed my mind.”

You duck your head, pressing your lips to her temple, and the last thing you see before you close your eyes is the small, satisfied curl to Clarke’s lips.

You get to the field just after six and you park right next to a very familiar suv. You make your way out to the diamond, but you can hear the laughter from the parking lot. You can’t help but feel a bit too dressed up for this, and though your blazer is folded over your arm, your badge is still clipped to your belt. The rest of parents over by the bleachers are a group of jeans and t-shirts and yoga pants, and they look at you somewhat curiously. Clarke herself is in joggers and one of your light sweaters, but the subtle lift of her brow when she spots you is a sure sign she enjoys what she sees.

“Welcome,” she says, looking down at you from her seat at the edge of the bleachers. When you’re within reach she dips low for a kiss you’re happy to give. “Glad you could make it, coach.”

“Did I miss much?” you ask, handing her your blazer so you can roll up your sleeves.

“They just started.” You hear a solid thwack as a bat collides with a ball and sends it sailing and you turn to watch Jack giddily run the bases in a victory lap, Luke (and Charlie by his heels) making sure he runs the bases the right direction this time. “They’re practicing their swings.”

“Thank you for bringing the equipment.”

Clarke shrugs, smiles. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She props her elbow on her knee, rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “Another kiss would be nice, though.”

“Clarke--”

“When will we see you?”

You turn away, leaning against the doorframe and away from the breakroom. The sound of Anya as she goes about fiddling with the company coffee machine builds behind you. You’re not sure how much a cup of coffee will do you this late but you’ll take what you can get.

“Probably not until sometime tomorrow afternoon. We have a good lead and if everything goes as planned… it’ll be over.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She inhales quietly and the exhale follows shortly afterward. “Okay.”

10.

You remember in bits in pieces. That sudden sharp sting of pain when the knife slips deep into your side during the scuffle. The funny thing is that it disappears almost instantly--the pain--and you continue the chase as if nothing happened. Clarke says you have a one-track mind sometimes and you know you do. You’re not here to take your time, you’re here to get work done, to make the world a better place for your family, your children. You just weren’t expecting it. Rogue’s are impulsive and rash and in that way predictable, quick to use their teeth, so when it hits you, it does so all at once.

You remember the ground. The sudden rush of it when you stumble, limbs tangled. The way your nose and the side of your face scrapes the ground. You remember the moment you took to breathe, so fleeting in a sense, how the shift back happens unconsciously, the earth warm and rough against your cheek.

And you remember Clarke. First just the white of her fur a blur from far away. The cold touch of her nose, the insistent scared whines. But then... soft hands and her worried face.

You blink. “Clarke.”

“Don’t,” she says, voice high and trembling even as she gently cups your cheeks in her hands, swipes her thumbs over the smudges and scrapes. Her hair is windswept and golden in the early morning rays and there’s nothing you want more than to dig your fingers deep into the softness there.

“I can’t--” She fusses, talking mostly to herself as she moves her hand from your cheek to your side and holds it there. Somewhere off in the distance you hear shouts, anya’s voice among others... “--on my goddamn birthday Lexa, you absolute piece of--”

“Clarke.” And she looks up, brows pinched in concern and dirt on her chin. “I’m fine.”

She tries not to laugh and it comes out watery and strained and you can tell she’ll be mad about this for awhile.

It probably serves you right.

You wake up later in a small hospital room. Sparse with white walls and curtains. The breeze comes in through the open windows and it’s a breath of fresh air you greedily inhale until the pain in your side flares violently. You groan, attempting to shift to alleviate some of the discomfort only to stop immediately the second Clarke pushes her way into the room.

You don’t say anything, figuring it safer to wait. Clarke catches you watching though, holds your stare as she plops down into the chair next to your bed. She scoots closer though. “I’m mad at you right now.”

“I know.”

“I told you to be careful.”

You exhale, somewhat painstakingly, and lean back against the pillow, breathing as deep as your side will allow. You’re intimately aware of the way your skin stretches and pulls and the itch of the stitches. Clarke holds out her hand for you and you don’t hesitate to take it.

“Anya called me,” Clarke says and you can tell by the sound of her voice that she doesn’t like the memory. “Told me they had lost you somewhere out near Levy Park chasing some rogue, that you might have been wounded and--” She rubs her other hand across her forehead, pushes back her hair with a shaky inhale. You still see the dirt smudged on the underside of her chin. “I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“You did.” You squeeze her hand, clearing your throat. “You always do.”

She smiles this small thing, hangs her head and her shoulders droop.

“The kids?”

“Gustus. Though Mrs. Jefferson was kind enough to watch them until he was able to get there.” She exhales, wipes the palm of her hand across her eyes. “Remind me to get her something nice as a thank you.”

You watch her, tired but unwilling to close your eyes, and her grip goes tight on your hand for a second, releases. You pull it close, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and she leans over to rest her head lightly on your shoulder.

Gustus greets you later that day when you finally make it home. He has this big smile and at the sound of the door and your voices, the kids come hurtling from around the corner of the kitchen. Gustus manages to block most of them from launching themselves at you, but Madi is small and able to squeeze past and jump at you. You catch her, like always, and there’s nothing you can do about the pain but grin and bear it.

“Hello to you too.” You kiss her cheek and she giggles. Clarke is quick to pull her away though, settling the unruly toddler on her hip instead.

“Still alive I see,” Gustus says, grinning.

“It’s just a scratch.”

Gustus glances at Clarke, who rolls her eyes and moves past, shooing the kids back into the kitchen. There’s some of Gustus’ trademark venison stew in a pot on the stove, the rich smell a welcome change from the staleness of the hospital, although it leaves you a little queasy. Gustus stays for dinner, his large frame an anomaly at your kitchen table but you’re grateful for the stability his presence brings.

The kids can’t convince him to stay for dessert, no matter how hard Jack pleas, but he tells you not to hesitate to call should the need arise.

They don’t know, or at least don’t understand the severity of the circumstances. You’re not sure what Clarke told them this morning, but you catch Aden watching you almost worried like after dinner while Gustus says his goodbyes. His little hands fidget with the hem of his shirt, wrings and tugs, and it’s like you can see the swirl of his thoughts behind his eyes. You pull him aside in the hallway, crouching down to be eye to eye, smiling softly.

“Y-you’re o-okay right, momma?” he asks, and he seems to be fighting back the urge to cry. He insistently wipes the back of his hands across his eyes and it's the moment he realizes he can’t keep up with the tears that he breaks down.

It’s not loud, but it’s kind of unnerving even for you. He has trouble controlling his breathing and he stutters and shakes and you pull him into the circle of your arms. He holds you tight, presses his face into the t-shirt Clarke had brought to the hospital for you to change into and stays there.

“I’m okay. I promise,” you say, ignoring the sting in your side and bumping your heads together. “Sometimes I just work too hard.”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch Clarke just around the corner. She holds your stare, eyes tired, but she smiles a tiny bit and it’s like being able to breathe.

You inhale through your teeth at the sharp stab of pain as Clarke helps you out of your shirt later that night, you seated at the edge of your bed with Clarke knelt between your knees. Her fingers are gentle, skating along the edges of the gauze and the still tender skin, but you can’t help the wince when she presses a little too hard and she looks up at the sound of the bitten back whimper that escapes you.

She toys with the edge of the bandage, the part of her that is very much Abby’s daughter evident in the gesture, but she stops herself and rests her hands on your hips.

“Happy birthday,” you say softly. She glances up at you, just for a second, and smiles something small and quiet and you think you see tears her eyes, but you can’t be sure.

She takes a deep breath and gives a small shake of her head. “How are you?”

“Sore,” you reply and it’s meant in all seriousness. You watch as she stands and pulls off her own shirt, steps out of her pants. She leaves the clothes in a pile on the floor, urging you back and under the covers, before turning off the bedside lamp and joining you in bed.

Clarke’s attentive and far too gentle that it drives you a little insane. You’re not dying, but you know saying that outloud would make things worse. Clarke feels things deeply, and if you’re being honest with yourself, if you had found Clarke in a state similar to your own this morning you’d be much more of a mess than her.

“I’m sorry,” you say and Clarke sighs. You feel her breath, the warmth of her cheek where she presses it to your back and listens. The touch of her skin against yours makes you calm.

“You don’t have to apologize, Lexa.”

You know it's the same for her, too.

11.

“Lexa, if I see you with even one foot out of bed i’m going to murder you myself.”

You feel a bit out of it to be honest, left to wonder what exactly was in those painkillers Abby managed to secure for you. Though a little doped up, you still know better than to test Clarke when she takes that tone with you.

“With love?” You relax again, leaning back until you feel the comforting give of your pillow.

“Yes, with love. Now please just... relax. Today. For me.”

Your eyes follow her as she moves about your room, making things easy for you. You’re not incapacitated. You can move and walk around with minor stress on your injury if you take your time. In fact, if you’re not fully healed by Monday, you’d be surprised. But you realize the sentiment.

“I hate lying in bed,” you say, and Clarke chuckles as she returns to your beside.

“Well, if you were more careful maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” She kisses you softly and then pulls away. “I’m going to check on the kids. Stay put.”

You doze off not too long later, resigned to your recooperation, stretched out over your bed. There’s a breeze from outside that drifts pleasantly into your space, keeps you cool and comfortable and you drift in and out of consciousness for the better part of what feels like hours. it's a welcome change of pace then when you rouse to huffs and quiet giggles as your children clamber up onto the bed. Danny launches herself, scrambles up and over the side, while Aden and Lily take the softer approach.

“They wanted to see you,” Clarke says from the door. You turn your head to look at her before returning your attention to the kids.

“You smell like peanut butter,” you tell Jack who snuggles up on your left, rubbing his face against your shirt. Clarke has to help Madi up onto the bed, who tugs at your sheets but lacks the strength and dexterity to pull herself up. The moment you see her face, chubby cheeks and the remnants of her sandwich, your lips split into a wide smile.

Clarke joins after a moment, squeezing in between the kids so she can situate herself carefully on your injured side. She sighs when her head finds your shoulder, tugging up Madi who bumbles over your legs trying to find a spot to curl up and nap like the rest of her siblings.

On that calm friday afternoon you all find a little bit of peace.

12.

“How are you feeling?”

“Clarke.”

“Answer the question please.”

“I’m--” and she shoots you this look and you shut your mouth. You think through you’re response before continuing. “--doing better.”

You place the last of the snacks in the cooler for the game, some juice boxes and chopped fruit and bottles of water. When you turn back Clarke’s still waiting. “You can handle it?”

“I appreciate your concern, love...” You reach out for her, snaking a hand around her waist to pull her close. “But I’m more than capable of handling of group of human children, Clarke, injured or not.”

“Uh huh,” she says with this little smirk, running her hand over your side and you try your best to mask the wince. “I’ve seen you on the sidelines, coach,” Clarke mutters and you kiss her before she has the chance to say anything else.

13.

“Mom...? Dad? What’re you doing here?” You hear Clarke say as your make your way downstairs, cinching the buckle of your belt. You make it to the bottom just as Clarke sets down Madi onto the floor and your youngest is off the second her feet touch hardwood, making a beeline for Abby’s arms.

“Lexa told us you needed a babysitter,” Abby says, scooping up her granddaughter in one swoop and planting kisses over red cheeks.

“But we don’t--”

“Grampy!” Jack yells, giggling like mad as he hurtles past Clarke and into his grandfather’s waiting arms.

Jake laughs, catching Jack under the arms and swinging upward, Jack’s screams a mixture of elation and excitement. Jake places him back down gently, but just one liftoff isn’t enough to satisfy and your son pesters for more.

“I’m pretty sure you need one,” Jake says above the noise, giving you a wink once you’ve made it downstairs, and it takes a moment but Clarke’s head swivels and her eyes lock with yours.

Your smile is this soft tilt of your lips as you watch the bob in Clarke’s throat as she swallows, her eyes lingering on your mouth, stumbling down the exposed line of your neck to the dip of your loose blouse and where it’s tucked into snug black jeans. You know it’s the pair Clarke loves if only because of the way her eyes get stuck on your hips, the way her cheeks flush this pretty pink.

Abby and Jake round up the kids for a trip to Friendly’s for milkshakes and fries and maybe some real food, followed by a movie night over at the grandparents.

“What’s all this for?” Clarke asks as she gets ready, slipping on this cute jean jacket over a floral print sundress that flares gently over her waist.

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” Clarke says, looking up at you and your chest feels tight. “I love you, too.”

She trials her hands down your sides, gentle, fingers twisting into the space between your belt and the loops of your jeans and tugs. You let out this breathy little hum when your stomachs touch and the only thing that keeps you from kissing her senseless right here and now is that you have all night.

And you’re looking to make the most of it.

You take her to this nice restaurant you pass everyday for work. It’s rustic, brick walls and candles and tall champagne glasses--different kinds of spoons that you and Clarke pretend to know when and how to use. The food is good, but you don’t remember much of it once it’s gone.

The two of you take a walk along the strip afterward, hip to hip and stealing kisses in the darkness between the street lamps. You buy her a drink at a pub down the road that you take turns sipping while sitting as close as you can get without have to share a seat. Your knees knock together and you lean in until your foreheads touch so you can talk to her over the sound of the band.

You take an uber back home, stumble up the steps of the porch like teenagers. Clarke presses up behind you, kissing the slope of your shoulder while you attempt to unlock the front door with impatient hands. She kicks it closed behind her once you’re both inside, stripping herself of her jacket and it crumples to the floor. You turn and cup her cheeks in your hands and kiss her like you wanted to hours ago. You smile through most of it and Clarke laughs into your mouth, giving your butt a brief squeeze.

“Are you going to take me to bed or…?” Clarke says against your mouth and your lips tilt up into a grin.

She pushes you back towards the stairs and you dip to reach for her thighs, lifting them up and around your waist. You kick off your shoes and her arms wrap around your neck and you nearly trip walking up the steps when she nips at the line of your jaw, dull and only the hint of teeth but a promise nonetheless. She laughs.

You stumble into your room, setting Clarke on her feet so you can tug at the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric in your hands near her waist and Clarke gets the memo and raises her arms. Your fingertips trail along her ribs, up and up until you’ve tugged the dress over and off.

She kicks off her flats and you back her up till the back of her knees hit the bed and she falls back among the sheets, dragging you with her. You catch yourself before the collapse, hands on either side of her head, and you chase her skin and the sound of her laughter. When your lips find the underside of her chin, she tilts her head back and sighs. It takes a moment for her to come back, but the second she does her fingers clumsily reach to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one until it hangs open and she can curl her arm around your waist, tugging you soundly against her. The gasp you let out at the pain is involuntary.

“Clarke,” you exhale, your voice dissolving into a soft growl as her left hand moves from your side to your ass, fingers dipping into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Sorry,” she says, apologetic but amused, and you get stuck on the curl of her lips as she stares up at you. “You were saying?”

You pull away, sitting back, and Clarke smiles and your stomach does flips. It’s the way your mouth goes just a bit slack and Clarke laughs and your chest fills with warmth and you dip blindly for her lips.

Clarke pushes you over easily, her hands this gentle pressure on your shoulders until she’s sure you won’t move. She undoes the button of your jeans and you lift your hips without being told, allowing her to slip them off. You can see her clearly above you even in the darkness, hair in disarray, but her eyes are open and full of love.

“Have I told you that I love this shirt on you?” she says and you let out this soft whine, grabbing her hips as she fiddles distractedly with your open blouse.

Clarke knows you like the back of her hand and it doesn’t take much to get you to fall apart. With the kids, time is precious, but she grabs your hand in hers Her breath is warm, her face tucked into your neck and you savor the sensation of your stomach and hers pressed together as your breathing steadies. Every so often she presses her lips to your neck and you shiver, your hands flexing at her sides and when the world comes back you use your hips, angling just so until she loses her control and tips.

Though you’re willing to bet it’s more like she lets you, still a little high on the feeling of you. You take the time to reacquaint yourself her skin, your lips and the softness of her belly and the swell of her breasts. You make love to her slowly, until she’s trembling and flushed and the only sounds you hear are breathy sighs and gasps of your name.

And then you go again.

29.

The moon tugs at the corners of your mind as the sun sets and it’s something inherent in your bones and all the muscle and sinew. It’s a part of you just like everything else. A little wild, maybe, but still you.

You don’t know anything else, after all. You were born like this, like your kids, and your parents taught you what they knew before they weren’t. That you were a powerful thing, that you had stars in your blood and the strength to move mountains. But also to not always follow your nose and that home was where you made it.

It’s not like the movies. You feel a pull, a tug somewhere deep in your gut and you know not to fight it. Not tonight. You let it consume and it's vaguely like being submerged and holding your breath.

There’s pain, though brief and dull with time, and impulses when you resurface, but experience is all it takes to control it. It happens too fast for the pups to fear it, and in the moon’s silver light it’s more of a blessing to be all parts of themselves. They yip and howl, safe enough away from the suburban life you’ve built for them, you and Clarke a comfortable distance behind.

She bumps into you, footsteps soft among the leaves and branches, and you nip at her neck. Barely teeth, but she pushes against you again, playful, and you nudge her back before darting off deeper into the woods.

#clexa #clarke griffin #lexa #werewolf au #this could have gone on but like we'll stop here

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