#neiith

“Okay… Monty, what’s wrong?” Monroe questioned, following after him.

also Zoe: NO STOP BEING A LITTLE BITCH WE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE BROKEN

   HEADCANONS;;

      I.     From the moment she landed on Earth, hands shaking and lungs full of fresh air, Harper had instantly gravitated to Miller’s side, meeting Monroe along the way. It was every bad cliché of every bad teenage romance movie all squished into one; girl is probably really straight, girl is also really cute beautiful, girl will never like the other back. Still, it didn’t stop the day they had watch together, also known as when they officially first met (or when Harper stop staring and actually spoke to her),  and finally learnt each other’s names. God, hearing the two syllables of her name on Monroe’s lips was like falling in love– and god, it could have been love.

      II.     A few days after their watch, huddled around the campfire, the girl’s eyes full of the stars above– the ones they had once lived among– Harper leant forward, draping her arm around Monroe’s shoulders, muttering an excuse about how ‘it’s really cold’ and she was ‘really warm’. Just as she was feeling asleep, eyes squeezed shut against the heat radiating from the flames, she felt fingers running through her hair, leaving delicate braids throughout her hair. Each morning, at the crack of dawn, Harper sat down at Monroe’s side, let her plait her hair, and though no one asked about it, she felt herself falling even more. It might have been love.

      III.     Eventually, she gave up on her. They could still be friends but she couldn’t fall in love, not with her, and instead starting falling for Jasper but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t want her either and she knew they were better friends, she had always known that, but it didn’t stop her from searching endlessly for Monroe when the storm hit; Monty was gone, Miller was gone, and her crush was glued by Clarke, arguing over something with her voice strong and unwavering. Relief had come off her in waves, just about, before she had reached for her hand amongst the crowd, lips mouthing the subtle words that told Monroe that ‘it’s really cold’ and she was ‘really warm’, so they smiled and stuck by each other. It was almost love.

      IV.     The war against the Grounders was something– she was with Jasper, braids messy and coming undone, her gun, however, was steady. Harper was scared, maybe even more than when she was locked in the skybox, because her friends, the people she loved, were no where to be seen. Monty’s best friend told her they’d be okay but his words seemed hollow, and only once they had made it back to the dropship to safety did she feel relieved, sitting on the cold ground with her heart choked in her throat, too occupied with helping Jasper to search for the woman she loved. It was love.

      V.     She woke the next morning in a bed that wasn’t her own, surrounded by white and cleanliness. Monroe wasn’t with her; neither were Miller and Monty. Their reunion was short-lived when she had found them, hair straight (even though Fox offered to try and braid it it wasn’t the same) and no traces of Monroe left. Her skin was probably too clean; too washed off for any hints of her to remain. Harper had asked, had searched amongst the crowd (‘Monroe?’, ‘is she here?’, ‘where is she?’) and still nothing. It was painful to be in love.

     VI.     They drilled her and every time, she heard Monty’s begging, his insistence, but all she pleaded for was Monroe’s hand in hers in her last moments. But she didn’t die– she held Monty to her own body and thanked god that he was safe, and then Monroe, practically scooping her into her arms, hot breath against her neck, trying to fight off every desire that screamed to tell her that she loved her, that those few days weeks without her were far too much.

    VII.      The teenager spent eight days in bed at Camp afterwards with Miller and Monty by her side, holding a hand against her damaged hip with teeth gritted in pain, trying to tell them that she didn’t want their help; she would get better on her own. It took nine days after their hug to see Monroe again, to stare at her thigh and ask if being shot hurt, fingers digging into the bone of her waist, fighting back tears. It was rushing pain, other hand reaching out to grasp at her friend to steady herself. Was it still considered love if Monroe didn’t love her back?

    VIII.     Night came quick on the ninth day after Mount Weather, dragging her crush to her tent and asking her to stay once she had braided Harper’s hair, hand grasping her. Words were lost that night into the silence, hands wrapped around her friend, searching for warmth she couldn’t find in herself. ‘I love you’ seemed so simple when no one but her could hear it, when she knew that Monroe would never know she had said it.

             “I love you” seemed like a silent prayer when she was with the               girl she loved. It sounded like three simple words in her head but               when whispered in their (?) bed, it carried more depth, more feel-               ing. Maybe because all those years on the Ark spent caring for a               father that never truly loved her had gotten into her head, almost               made her feel unworthy of being with someone. But Monroe was               different; she didn’t love her back but god, she could’ve.

                       Harper didn’t care that it was probably unrequited; she just wanted to                       have something to love– like her parents had never loved her. In the                       dead of night, chest against Monroe’s back, face pressed inside of                        the crook of her neck, she said it again, wondered it maybe the other                       girl knew but didn’t say anything. “I love you even though you don’t                       love me, you know. I’ve always loved you. I always will.

          “ Till…… you tell me how in love with me you are? “ She guessed, flashing a wide smile at the other girl.