Do you ever just like to torture yourself thinking about Bellamy? I do.
Every time the gate jerks open, Bellamy thinks of her.
A lot has changed in two months since… since Mount Weather. Arkadia doesn’t flourish, but it grows all the same. It doesn’t happen all at once, but his friends slowly begin to recover from the nightmare of bunker passageways and cold cages, handcuffs and drills. Miller snarks at him, Monty cracks a smile, Harper doesn’t flinch when someone comes up behind her unexpectedly. Not everything is perfect, but for the most part they’re healing, they’re coping.
But every time the gate jerks open, Bellamy thinks of her.
But a few hours later, all of them standing around the cairn, attending a funeral for a stranger…he had looked across the wheelbarrow full of field rock, and he thought that perhaps the end of all things had finally arrived. The ground shifted forward beneath his feet. She was standing there, just several simple strides away from him and his entire body flushed hot wet with a thin sheen of sweat, heart slamming against his ribcage, a sudden wild pain that had him turning slightly and pressing the heel of his hand into his breastbone. He glanced quickly around the circle of faces and no one else had seemed to feel the world shudder to a stop and re-start itself. It had only been him. Or so he thought for a long confusing moment. He looked back across the space that separated them and she was staring at him, in her soft way, all big blue eyes and sunlit hair, her head cocked the slightest bit as though taking his measure. And the confusion translated by her features looked more akin to mysterious than the bafflement that he was feeling. He realized, as their gazes locked for what could have only been seconds, that whatever body blow he had just taken, the impact had come from the fact that she was standing alive in the same world that he was occupying. As though the world itself had broken the hourglass of the sea and the shore and time was no more.
Max had been busy training in the center park like usual when the magic hit him, one minute he was fine, the next he was blind. He stops what he was doing, a scared look on his face as he desprately tries to rub his eyes to get his sight back.☆
Rei hummed happily as he skipped through a park, having just caused a group of mean girls to run off crying after he’d smashed ones cellphone to bits. His skipping ceased as he saw sunlit, blonde hair out of the corner of his eye.
He grins and stalks over to his old teammate, placing sharp nails at the boy’s throat from behind.
we all thirst for beauty, but one river cannot wield it for everyone.
some drink beauty from late-night walks, thinking and whistling under the winking eye that is the crescent moon.
some drink beauty from children’s hands, feet, giggles and scribbles.
some drink beauty from a drunken kiss with a new lover while lying sprawled on a mowed lawn in a stranger’s backyard.
some drink beauty from waking at six o'clock in the morning and brushing their teeth and combing their hair and saying hello to their kids, then going off to work at the same job they’ve worked at for seven years.
some drink beauty from marrying colors and lines on a pure white canvas.
some drink beauty from luring men with their open shirts and half-grins and blossoming red lips.
some drink beauty from untampered nature, as it happily unfolds itself in front of them.
some drink beauty from going to protests or concerts or festivals or parades and getting tangled in the mass of human bodies and noise.
some drink beauty from riding horses, feeling the solid saddle and movement and strength underneath them, and the wind swim through their sunlit hair.
others drink beauty from everything, and stay drunk for the rest of their lives.