to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be the one destroyed
1. clarke
she's never been one for boys. being locked up for a large portion of her life in a cell with no windows and sketches in charcoal all over the floor take a larger priority really. it's not that she wouldn't be wanting for a boy, any boy, but bigger things are at stake: oxygen deprivation, her best friend's betrayal, the fact that her blonde ass is being shipped to earth with the rest of the juvenile delinquents in a hunk of century old metal.
yeah there are other things to worry about. and on the ground, those things come into sharp perspective. and all those things, coincidentally enough, are beautifully harsher than a cell with no windows and sketches in charcoal all over the floor.
2. wells
she's known since the beginning of everything that he was in love with her. how he stares at her like she is the sun outside his window, all encompassing in the bitter dark surrounding the ark. traces her movements on papers, shading in the cerulean crayon and supernova silver that criss cross. holds a secret in so deep in his chest it starts to burn him to ashes, all for her protection that he knows she doesn't need.
he is the boy that you should probably love, the boy that sacrifices all to be something you could maybe someday if you had enough whiskey deign to love as a last choice. he takes it with stride and prays to a merciful god that doesn't listen that the last choice is the one that she wants.
3. monty
she's impressed by him. this is noteworthy because she isn't impressed by anyone. he has nimble fingers and a quiet demeanor and is decidedly a background kind of guy. until he isn't anymore. with one flick of his hands, the wrist band ignites with cool blue, shines unearthly and vibrant against a crooked grin that falls across his face. he looks like what she imagined hope to be before there was the possibility to poisonous fogs and grounders with spears and complete anarchy.
he is the boy that you don't have to fix because he doesn't need fixing; rather, he rectifies before you get the chance to. and even when that cool blue fizzles out, embers dying in his fingers, instead of giving up, he sighs and picks up his tools. gets back to work, gives you something to hope for.
4. jasper
she wants to protect him with every fiber of her being even though he is the exact same age as she is and doesn't need protecting. something about the way his hair falls gracefully into his warm eyes reminds her of the tenderness of earth, that all encompassing feeling of hearth and home. he would blush apple red in those cheeks of his if she ever were to say that to his face because he wants this persona of reckless without abandon and strong brave warrior that is nothing more than a mask for a beautiful girl with chestnut reams of hair and a ruthless glare in her midnight eyes.
he is the boy that would face hell and high water, poison fog and grounders, would run through the valley of shadows with death biting on his heels all to make sure that he got you back safely even if every inch of his body is shaking and his eyes are rimmed with tears, the stench of masked fear heavy on his skin. he is sacrifice at best, and though it terrifies him, his life has become a bargaining chip that he gambles on frequently for the life of another.
5. murphy
she hates him. it's as simple as that. nothing about him screams redemption or selfless, and she is positive that he will only ever look out for his own skin. love, friendship, community are pawns in his game of chess that he unsuccessfully maneuvers around the high top trees and suffocating moss, eyes ever watchful. a predator in his natural habitat stalking prey, waiting for that ever right moment to strike.
he is the boy that would rise against fallen kingdoms and demand ransom for his actions, cast lots against his own kind, splash their blood all over the forest till the floor was slick with ruby red. kill for the purpose of injustice, the power hungry kind of satan that never even made it to heaven in the first place because he knows, understands, and wrote the fucking rule that it is better to reign in hell than serve anywhere else.
6. bellamy
she wants to dislike him, after all, he has done everything to earn it and nothing to dissuade her from rolling her eyes every time he opens his mouth. she can practically hear the star crossed bullshit spout from her mother's mouth a million light years away, ensconced in space. he is weak and pitiful, she can see that; he cannot make the kinds of decisions that a leader makes, he cannot live the kind of grating life that a leader lives. he cannot do what needs to be done because he has his own troubles like a rebellious teenage sister and fourteen boys that drool when she walks by, like pretending this massive fuckup was his plan all along even though at night he lies awake with worry, like stealing glances at her when she thinks he isn't looking even though she wasn't looking at him to begin with.
he may be weak and pitiful, but he is also too full of heart and too stupidly compassionate. it's admirable really, but he hides it away in tents with the flaps closed under the cover of night and in hushes tones to a select few. it's a kissing closeness away from whispered confessions when they stand so near that she is breathing his air, and though this is another lifetime and another world, she is not another girl for this boy. she doesn't want to be.
he is the boy that would slide his fingers with ease over her eyes to shield her from any wrong doing, would try to save her even though she doesn't need it. he is the boy trying to be a man and failing miserably because he had never been taught before, the boy that raises his voice and pitches a fit when the universe doesn't bow to his will. lost and confused and so utterly lovely in that missing link, but not the kind of lovely she could ever care for. the kind of broken that she doesn't want to fix. lost causes are beautifully harsh like cells with no windows and charcoal on floors, but this isn't that world anymore.
7. finn
she—
he knocks her off her feet. he has this ability to calm her and charm her and aggravate her all within a teaspoon's amount of time. he is the kind of volatile that she is not, the kind that she cannot endure because it will scorch her from the inside out, that inability to control how he feels, how he acts, how to moves. he doesn't bend to her will, doesn't listen to her warnings, instead he laughs and laces a hand through hers, drags her through the streams of trees, bursting out of the cloud cover and into the sunlight. he isn't cells with no windows or sketches of charcoal on floors, he isn't even earth with all its newness and fervor and horrors. he is the start of time.
he is the boy that is comprised of colored pencil magic tricks and heartbreaking grins out the corner of her eye. fingers pushing her butter cream hair off her cheekbones, sliding over the swish of her waist, tickling the naked skin of her lower back. he is all the last words and promises of a thousand first loves gasped into her mouth until a sky full of constellations, chuckles and low rumbles of a flame starting in her belly when he sleeps with his arm around her shoulders. he is the boy that is made of sarcasm and sweet nothings all rolled into one, the kind you fall head over heels for only to have the rug swept out from under your feet quicker than you can bat an eyelash. he allows you to think that the ground is safe and the ark is harmless because the real danger lies with the side swoop of a grin and his hand wound in the hair of a girl that he has loved since before he ever laid eyes on you. you know he won't blame you if you hate him for it, for falling into the start with you or the end with her, but you can't bring yourself to do it. it would hurt more to pretend that it was anything else.
he knows he shouldn't want you, but he does anyway. and gods, if that's not enough then what would be?