“You have me, Blake.”
Even if her voice wavers ever so slightly as
she speaks, she means every word. It’s up
to them to look out for one-another. If they
can’t lean on each other, who can they lean
on?
“You always will.”
SEND “WA-PISH!” FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION TO YOURS SLAPPING THEM HARD ON THE REAR
Harper was half-way through explaining something very important and partly scientific to Miller when she felt the unmistakable sting of a hand against her ass, a surprised yelp forced from between her lips.
On instinct, she turned, a laugh widening at each corner of her mouth. “Gay-tavia,” the seventeen year-old snorted, amusement clear upon her face. “Keep your hands off the merchandise.”
Put a 👍 in my ask if you like how I play my muse
you are the actual babe.
warriorhearted replied to your post: when you want a new theme but you have no skill.
me in a nutshell tbh
life struggles.
Send me ▼ and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours.
INJURY SPECIAL
25 was generated!!
“'Walk it off?’“ Harper repeated, teeth clenched in pain. “When I can walk
again, I’ll kick your ass for that.” What. An. Asshole. Sure, Octavia had
endured injuries like this before but none like this. With her ankle twisted
in a hole, it was all Harper could do to muffle a scream into her hand. But
that had been hours ago—- surely she should be able to walk by now.
Send me a ‘҂…’ and I’ll generate a number…
91 was generated!!
if there’s anything harper isn’t, it’s a fool, so when she notices the way her
friend’s eye catches his, the seventeen year-old feels poison settle on the
tip of her tongue.
“—- DON’T talk to him.“
( But what if she’s never been safe? )
She hasn’t felt like that since the Ark; maybe even since her mother was floated. Harper sure as hell didn’t feel safe at Mount Weather. Even those days in camp when they first arrived, when Monroe first taught her how to braid her hair, she was terrified. But as brave as she was, she would never let it show. Harper couldn’t let them see her weakness– she barely let herself notice her own weakness. Those years on the Ark with a father who couldn’t look after himself and a mother who was floated, and selling her body to anyone who could provide what she needed in terms of medicine, food or other supplies.
They weren’t her proudest moments, and when Octavia speaks, she glares up at her from her place on the ground, gun tucked under her arm, grasping onto it like it’s her lifeline. “I’ve never been safe, Blake,” she argues but there’s not bite in her tone, just sadness, maybe regret. When she speaks next, her voice is just as soft, even more so, and she winces inwardly at her own words, an unapologetic gaze thrust towards the older girl. "Neither have you.“
do you have any idea how long it took for me to find a faceclaim? but thank you, thank you, yes, i love it.
