#& drabble

[tobelockedupmoved-blog]

all harper ever wanted was freedom. from her first days on the ground with a gun on her hand, fingers flexing around the metal, all she ever wanted was space to MOVE. she was stuck on an ark, their home -- but still no room to run and be free. too many rules, too many consequences. she was always itching beneath her skin for her only confines to be the horizon, and not even that.

on the ground, she grew brave and strong and FREE. she joined bellamy’s army because of his words. doing whatever they wanted, no council to fear, no RULES. she was stuck in a box for god knows how long (because we STILL don’t know her back story??? the fuck?), told that she would either be FLOATED once she was of age or sent back to live among her people, most likely being something of a pariah because of her criminal record. she had fresh air. she had friends. she had a sense of self.

then, she was in mount weather. already UNEASY, because god didn’t this bunker feel a bit like the ark? but she shrugged it off as coincidence. she TRUSTED the people who told her that this would be safe. she trusted jasper when he said that helping their people would help them. they could all live together. she still wasn’t being bossed around. she didn’t feel like she was a dog in a cage. still moving. still playing.

and she’s tied down to a table with a drill bone deep, screaming so loud and long that her voice is hoarse and she’s asking for HOME. home is a drop ship flooded with teenagers. home was a starry night filled with smoke from a fire as they laughed around it. home was trees and air and sun and smiles. home was the ground. harper was told that she was special, that she would be here forever -- they told her that this was home now. she was going to die here in her home. trust was a fickle thing and she told herself that she would NEVER let herself be fooled so easily again.

she’s back on the ark, but it’s different now. there are a few more rules as the adults take command again, and that familiar itch returns under her skin. they boss her around, pretend as if they can empathize with her pain. she grows bitter. resentful. trust is lessened, especially with PIKE. she sees her home being taken over again, and she means it with every bite in her words as she mentions shock lashing his fascist ass. artificial intelligence takes over her friends, her family. RAVEN. JASPER. “this will bring you to the city of light,” they said. another lie. there is no safe place. there is NO SUCH THING as a SAFE PLACE. another lie causes more death and pain, something she realizes as one of her best friends smashes her temple with an object he grabs. a concussion. a scar. she doesn’t trust people who offer her technology as a way out -- science has never been KIND to her.

there’s room for 100 people in a bunker. harper wonders what will happen. but surely she would live, right? after everything she’s done for everyone here -- being the only surviving female in the guard, mount weather, her intelligence, her BRAVERY... no. clarke peeks into medical records. trust is broken again. she’s not on the list, hopes dashed and ruined. you can’t trust bunkers, she tells herself. SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN.

she’s tired now. someone grabs her from behind as the rain hits her face and stings the skin. images flash before her eyes, a doctor with dark hair pulling her back -- guards hooking themselves under her arms and dragging her into an operating room. she shakes him off and it results in his death. guilt she carries with her. she can’t even trust HERSELF.

harper is tired. they tell her there’s a bunker with enough space for everyone and they’ll be safe for the five years it will take for them to survive this new apocalypse. but she’s learned now, hasn’t she?

bunkers are never safe.

the people there will never keep you safe.

she can’t trust her friends, can’t trust herself.

she wants to go home, to that place with the fire and the sun, where a gun meant DEFENDING instead of MURDERING.

all harper mcintyre ever wanted was to be free.

[princecfdenmark]

We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live  

“I’m sorry about Onkel,” Irina said as she leaned against the railing and looked out towards Connecticut.

Hamlet was standing next to her, but he could have been a thousand miles away. He was gazing towards Connecticut as well, but it was moving northeast towards Boston, Cambridge, and Andover. Another world, a better one where Senior wasn’t dead.

“He was a real man,” Irina continued as her hair fluttered in the breeze.

“Hyperion to a satyr,” Hamlet replied.

He felt the breeze, too, but it wasn’t playing with him the way it did with his cousin. It didn’t lift his sleeves and reveal a marble-like skin or the too short skirt she wore.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

He went down first, but stopped himself at the door and held it for her. The breeze was becoming something greater now. As soon as Irina was through and he let go of the handle, the door slammed behind him with a loud bang.

“Thor is riding in his chariot today,” Irina said as she walked down the stairs.

“Maybe,” Hamlet said following. “Or it could be my father. Horatio told me the most bizarre story a few days ago.”

“Oh?” Irina said. They were in the living room now and she had made herself at home on the living room.

“Supposedly, there’s a ghost that looks my father,” Hamlet said taking the couch opposite her. “It comes almost every night.”

“Does it say anything?” Irina asked.

“No,” Hamlet said.

“Nothing?”

“It just looks at my friends and disappears.”

“How do you know this isn’t a joke?”

“I don’t.”

“Then how do you know that they’re not hallucinating?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“Then why do you care?”

Wasn’t it obvious? Hadn’t she mentioned Senior a few moments ago on that roof? Was she as forgetful as everyone else was? Was he the only one who remembered amidst all of this revelry?

Hamlet shifted on the couch and gazed at Irina. She was the perfect model and a photographer’s dream. Yet he knew better than to see her for what she was and not who she was. One of a hundred people that wanted to see the American branch of Norden fall so that they could take its money and take what rightfully belonged to him.

“It’s just a story,” he said.

“A story that you thought was important enough to mention to me.”

“A tale told by an idiot,” Hamlet said. “Full of sound and fury. Probably signifying nothing.”

Irina rose from her place, sat down next to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder.  “Maybe,” she said gently. “Or it could mean everything.”

[awildflowcr-blog]

emily in relationships

im gonna write a meta abt this here bc i dont have someone to scream about it with rn

she would set herself on fire to keep someone else warm. emily THRIVES off of being useful to others, feeds off of the idea of helping and being there and being needed. she would do anything for her significant other to make them happy, which can be a blessing and a curse. it makes her easily taken advantage of, but you will never find someone more loyal. she doesn’t ask too many questions unless what you’re asking is CRAZY immoral -- anything other than that and she’s your girl.

emily would stay up all night to take care of her significant other, whether it’s sickness or inability to sleep or they’re working on a project. she would pour one hundred percent of herself into making sure that they’re okay, that everything is working out, that everything will be ALRIGHT. even if it meant her losing sleep, she would do anything to make the other feel better.

she’s too sweet, probably. very passive. she doesn’t like to argue and always just wants to SUPPORT -- she will always try to avoid a fight if at all possible, even it that means doing things that she doesn’t necessarily want to do. emily loves love and hates conflict.

she is very big on the little things, would make sure to memorize their favorite color, favorite foods, favorite time of day in order to use it later. if someone likes the stars, she takes them stargazing late at night. if they like the morning, she would find the perfect spot for them to watch the sunrise. she’s big on intimacy, is in love with soft, small touches and hand holding.

but she would change for them, no matter what. emily falls in love so hard and so easily that she lets herself change for the other person’s benefit, to be exactly what they need her to be. what they WANT her to be.

she wants someone to need her. she wants to be able to take care of someone, to nurture them and love them with her entire heart. she’s submissive, always willing to let the other take control. she’s a partner, she’s a pacifist, and she just wants someone to look at her as if she’s WORTH something.

[tobelockedupmoved-blog]

& drabble

harper never liked science.

she found it cold and unrelenting, honest like a slap in the face. there was nothing about science that she found comfort in -- the blonde preferred to seek solace in the written word. dickinson, shakespeare... they were her companions. medical jargon was an enemy.

when she was young, she found out that her father had fallen ill. the doctors weren’t sure exactly what caused it. CANCER, they said. apparently, on earth, it was almost common. they weren’t sure how it SNUCK into his dna.

although how would anything sneak through molecules, harper had wondered to herself. how could a disease creep in like a masked intruder? where were the ALARMS?

her father called her BUTTERCUP. said her hair was as yellow as the flower and her smile always brightened up her day. he used her nickname in his last sentence. she never wanted to be called it again.

she remembered comforting her mother when the woman couldn’t bear the idea of losing her rock, forgetting about the fact that the young girl -- no more than twelve -- had no rock of her own now. harper grew up the day her father ceased to exist. she forgot what it was like to be a child when she was spoon feeding her mother in order to keep the woman surviving. her mother couldn’t live without the man. harper made the decision to NEVER let a person have that kind of hold on her.

she didn’t know how to grieve, she didn’t have time to. her mother was never the same after the loss of mr. mcintyre, locking herself in the bathroom, refusing to let harper LEAVE as if she would catch the cancer just by walking down the hall. it made her mother paranoid, made her a f r a i d of the world around her. she wasn’t sure what caused her father to stop breathing. she wasn’t sure if it was something she would one day get. but harper couldn’t afford to obsess over it.

and while her mother insisted on living every day as if it were your last in terms of safety -- always making sure not to stray too far from sidewalks, always thinking that one wrong step could be the one that killed you, harper was the opposite. she saw how much her father regretted not doing. she saw what this world could TAKE.

she would live every day like it was her last.

recklessly. without abandon. she would never let one minute go unfilled. she refused to look back and WISH she had done something different.

if one day there’s blood when she coughs, if one day she notices that her body is ATTACKING itself, she won’t be afraid. if the radiation gets her first, all the better.

“i’ll see you soon, daddy.”

“hopefully not too soon, buttercup.”