#wanlidas

back in the weeds, underneath the sun  ----  it’s welcome after the blood and gore of the school, but between every tree, felix still searches for empties, unrelenting in his grip on his s-pole, expression scarred with something like a permanent grimace; but there’s an encroaching fatigue, too, settling into the lines and curves of his features. more often than could be deemed casually, he’s presses close to hope and iris both, as if assuring them that he’s still here (or, the other way around, if the way he exhales, blinking in rapid relief could be any indication.) it’s iris he’s near now, right hand on her shoulder, head on a swivel as he studies the surrounding woods; quiet, still, but the tension that radiates hotly between his ribs doesn’t ease.

the squeeze to her shoulder that eventually comes is subtle, though enough to alert her that it’s intentional; felix pairs it with a little hey, hesitating a step and allowing himself to fall behind their little group, guiding iris to do the same. he waits a beat for the distance to grow another inch or so  --  earning a brief look from huck, but she seems to understand the unfolding events, and, in turn, so do the others  --  before he’s leaning into her, casting a glance downward, the edges of his features softening... but only just. 

Talking was foreign to her.   She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke to anyone about the events she’d gone through; she hadn’t even spoken to Gale or Dewey about anything, the two people who would actually understand. Her name had been plastered in every newspaper across the country and elsewhere, a movie had been made about her life and the deaths of her closest friends   —   it wasn’t easy living this life. It was a continuous cycle, always an attempt to destroy whatever normalcy Sidney had built for herself. Another sicko would rise from the cracks and succeed for a short amount of time, killing whoever had planted their feet next to the brunette, but always end up in a gave buried six feet deep. Anymore, it seemed wanting normalcy was a fantasy she’d never be able to obtain.

Even though those events happened years ago, she remembers them as if they just happened yesterday. They replay through her head numerous times a day, as if they’re a dark rain cloud hovering above her head, trailing her wherever she went. It doesn’t help half the time whenever she flips through the television channels at night, she sees a televised rerun of the Stab movie. 

@wanlidas​ said: 💬 for iris!

clarke  shifted  her  weight ,      conscious  of  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕  𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍  𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚝 .               she’d  feel  𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫  with  it  curled  in  her  fingers ,       but  resisted  the  urge  to  REACH  FOR  IT      *&  BROADCAST  THE  UNEASY  FEELING  IN  HER  CHEST.                besides ,      being  the  𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱  to  pull  a  gun  only  ensured  she  wouldn’t  be  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭.               clarke’s  eyes  slid  across  the  room,      surveying  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎  𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍  𝚑𝚎𝚛  before  settling  back  on  niylah. 

                  ❛ ❛    i’ll  do  what  i  can  to  make  sure  you’re  safe.    ❜ ❜

her  laughter  fills  the  room  along  with  the  music   flowing  from  the  piano.   her  gaze  leaves  gabriel  and  focuses  again  on  jordan  as  he  twirls  her  back   into  his  arms.    fingers  gripping  his  hands  and  a  smile  big  enough  to  make  her  cheeks  hurt.    she  doesn’t  remember  herself  ever  laughing  this  genuinely  save  for  when  she  was  a  little  kid.   there  were  happy  moments  in  skyring  with  dev  and  gabriel,  echo  and  orlando  but  the  underlying  worry  about  her  mother  never  let  her  be  truly  happy.   but  jordan  made  her  feel  as  carefree  as  when  she  was  a  child.   they  were  messing  around  as  friends  do,   both  having  a  kind  of  fun  that  was  stolen  from  their  childhood.