Clarke accidentally acquires a grounder baby and unitentionally starts a war. The only option is to become one with the grounders, and when Lexa tells her she must marry a clan leader to seal the union, Bellamy - the leader of Shallow Valley - steps up.
or, the canon divergent, grounder!bellamy, arranged marriage, accidental baby acquisition fic for @life-astudyofhypotheticals!!
I was only paying attention to what my total 911 fic count was going into 100, so I didn't realize what my overall fic number would be until now. And...
a royalty arranged marriage au with some pregnancy thrown in for @life-astudyofhypotheticals because TROPES ARE AWESOME KIDS. do i know what era this is set in? absolutely not. vaguely not modern, i guess? anyway, i hope you enjoy it <3
Read it under the cut or on ao3!
********
“You need me to WHAT?!” Clarke asked, incredulous.
“Bear an heir,” Abby repeated, like it was obvious.
They were sitting at the breakfast table when Abby brought it up, and Clarke had nearly choked on her toast. It’s not like she didn’t know her mother was trying to marry her off for the kingdom, but she never expected her to just jump right in like that. She thought she’d spend a few more months being coy about it at least.
“So you’ve arranged my marriage?” Clarke asked, taking a long draught of champagne from the glass that Jasper discreetly handed her, no longer caring that it was too early in the morning for alcohol.
Abby tutted. “You knew this was coming, Clarke, you’re a princess; you don’t get to decide. You marry who is best for the kingdom, and Kane’s kingdom is what we need right now. They have resources we don’t, and the only reason they even agreed to this arrangement was because Kane doesn’t have any legitimate children - his heir is the son of his sister, and he needs to legitimise him. Marrying him to another kingdom’s successor will do that.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes over the glass, trying to keep her emotions below boiling point. “And you want me to bear an heir.”
“Of course, Clarke, that’s to be expected. But look at King Marcus; he never bore an heir of his own and now his kingdom is in danger of becoming unstable due to his nephew’s legitimacy being questioned. I don’t ever want to lose our kingdom simply by lack of trying.”
“Lack of tr-” Clarke cut herself off by downing the last of the drink, trying to stop her mind from reeling. Jasper appeared at her side to switch the glass out for a full one, and she could see Monty glaring angrily at the back of her mother’s head while he refilled hers. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only person who found this insane. Abby would find it repellent that Clarke was friends with ‘the help’ but she didn’t care. She’d never really cared much about that kind of thing, much to her mother’s chagrin, which was probably why Abby was leaning so hard on the arranged marriage - it was the one thing Clarke couldn’t really contest.
Clarke took a breath, trying to calm herself. “Do I get to meet this man?”
“You’re getting married next Thursday,” Abby said, impassive.
Clarke actually did choke on her toast that time.
“Wh- shit...”
“For goodness sake, temper your language, child. If you speak like that in front of Kane’s nephew, you will give him the wrong impression of your character.”
“Or the right one,” Jasper muttered, which only made the choking worse because Clarke started laughing and tried to muffle it by shoving more bread in her mouth.
When she got her bearings back, lungs burning, she asked, “I don’t even get to meet him before our wedding day?”
Abby sighed loudly and folded her hands over the table - a clear sign that Clarke was in trouble. “This is how it has always been done. I didn’t meet your father until our wedding day and we were perfectly civil until the day he died. You’re far too much like him sometimes; he wanted to be radical and spend more time with the people, and I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s just not realistic. You are marrying this gentleman and that’s the end of the discussion.”
And with that, Abby pushed her plate away and left the room.
Clarke slumped down in her chair and Monty put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, look at it this way - at least it’s not your cousin.”
******
Clarke had never been fond of dresses. She didn’t hate them, but boy did she prefer a comfortable pair of pants to eighty layers of tulle and silk. Yet there she was, standing in front of the mirror in a white wedding dress while Harper added the finishing touches to her hair.
“Are you sure you can’t take my place?” Clarke asked, for at least the third time that afternoon. “We look enough alike, I’m sure we could manage it, at least for long enough for me to escape.”
Harper ducked her head as she laughed. “I don’t know why you’re complaining, he’s really attractive.”
“You’ve seen him?!” Clarke’s eyes widened. “When?!”
Harper raised her eyebrows. “About an hour ago, all of us had to go meet his staff, to make sure none of us step on each other’s toes, and he was there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, actually. I think he was concerned we might not be very friendly to each other.”
“Interesting,” Clarke hummed.
Someone knocked on the door, and then Monty poked his head around. “Are you almost ready? The ceremony is supposed to start in a minute.”
“All done!” Harper said, stepping away from Clarke so she could admire her handiwork. “And looking like a princess, if I do say so myself.”
Clarke walked carefully towards Monty, dress swishing with every step, and looped her arm around his elbow so he could guide her towards the great hall she was about to get married in.
“You look beautiful,” he said, genuine.
“Thanks,” she sighed, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Why couldn’t you walk me down the aisle?”
He smiled sadly. “I’m a servant, Clarke.”
“I don’t care,” she said, earnest, and he squeezed her hand. “I’ve met King Marcus maybe twice in my whole life, I don’t want him walking me down; if I can’t have my dad, I’d rather have a friend.”
Before he could reply, they reached the doors and the king himself poked his head through. “Ah! Princess Clarke, I was beginning to think you might have gotten lost.”
“In my own castle?”
“I get lost in mine all the time,” Kane admitted, taking her arm from Monty as he stepped away. Clarke really didn’t mind Kane, if she was honest - he wasn’t the worst king she’d ever met - but she still ached for someone else to take her towards one of the biggest moments of her life. He seemed to notice her discomfort and tilted his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t be here.”
She managed a wan smile. “Me too.”
Music swelled and the doors burst open, and then she was walking, automatic, with Kane at her side down a long carpeted nave. The hall was packed with people and she kept her eyes forward, looking at the man she was about to marry.
Bellamy Blake.
He was tall, dark hair slicked back and dark eyes scrutinising her as she approached. His hands were folded in front of him and she could see the tension in his frame the closer she got. Harper wasn’t wrong, he was handsome, but there was something in gaze, something like arrogance or annoyance or maybe both, that made Clarke’s hackles rise.
As she reached the front, Kane let go of her, and she stood in front of this man, the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, and all she could think about was that she didn’t know the first thing about him.
*****
The ceremony, and the celebrations afterwards, passed in a kind of slow blur.
Clarke wasn’t really registering any of it, she was just going through the motions. She said “I do” and she let the man kiss her briefly on the lips, dry and to the point, and she sat beside him throughout dinner and dessert and the various entertainment before them, smiling and nodding as people came up to the table to congratulate them.
She was slightly comforted by the fact that he seemed as uncomfortable as she did, sitting up just a little too straight in his chair and drumming his fingers on his knees where no-one else could see.
Jasper kept bringing her drinks - thank god for her friends - and on the third or fourth time he slipped between them to top up her champagne, she nudged him slightly, looking to Bellamy’s empty glass. Jasper took the hint and filled it, before winking at Clarke and disappearing back to the kitchen. She wished she could go with him.
Bellamy sipped the drink, gaze cutting to her briefly before returning to the crowd. “Thanks.”
She lifted a shoulder, noncommittal, and bit into the last piece of cake on her plate. She was still chewing when someone approached; a dark-haired girl, who looked pretty angry, and Bellamy winced.
“I’m really sorry,” he muttered, and Clarke didn’t get to ask why before the girl spoke.
“This is bullshit, you know,” she snapped, keeping her voice low.
“Princess, this is my sister,” Bellamy said. “Octavia, this is Clarke.”
“Uh,” was Clarke managed to get out before she forged ahead.
“He doesn’t need to marry some prissy princess just to prove he can run a kingdom, it’s stupid, and frankly it’s offensive. If you think you’re going to come in and run our place like it’s your own you’ve got another think coming, Princess. We don’t need you, and we certainly don’t like you, so you better keep your opinions and your condescension and your money to yourself.”
“O,” Bellamy said, chastising, and she rounded on him.
“No, it’s bullshit and you know it, Bellamy.”
He sighed. “It’s done now, there’s no point picking a fight with the person I now have to spend the rest of my life with, let alone the rest of this evening. Getting angry about it isn’t going to undo the fact that I’m married. It is what it is.”
“It’s bullshit,” she repeated, glaring between him and Clarke. “You don’t get to look down on us just because your kingdom is wealthier and Bellamy isn’t a direct heir.”
Not for the first time that evening, Clarke was thankful her mother was at the other table across the room. She took a long sip of her drink. “Did I once say I did? I don’t care how much money you or anyone else has. I don’t care if you’re direct descendants of the throne or a merchant from across the sea; either way, I don’t know you. You’re saying all this like I had a choice in the matter. You think I wanted to get married to someone I’ve never met? You think I wanted any of this? I don’t get any choice who I marry, I don’t get to fall in love, I didn’t even get to see his face before I married him, I just do my duty because that’s what is expected of me. You don’t know me and I don’t appreciate the assumption.”
Octavia scowled, folding her arms like she was about to start a fight, but Bellamy held up a hand, quieting her, and she huffed loudly and stomped away back to her table where she immediately started muttering to people, shooting glares up at Clarke.
Bellamy turned to Clarke, apologetic. “She’s just worried about me.”
She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “It’s been a long day, I think I’m going to bed.”
He nodded, getting to his feet and holding out his arm.
At her questioning look, he rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “It’s our wedding night; it might look a bit strange if you go to bed alone.”
She felt mildly nauseous. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Princess,” he rushed to correct himself, “I don’t intend to do anything you don’t want me to do, but for the sake of appearances-”
“Good idea,” she said, before he could speak any further, and took the hand he was still holding out to her. They stepped away from the table to the cheers and toasts of the crowd, and she smiled until her cheeks hurt, until the people could no longer see them, until they reached the door to their new bedroom and she finally let it fall from her face.
He dropped her hand as he let them into the room, barely sparing a glance at the bed before he walked to the closet and started shedding clothes, hanging them up as he went. She hovered near the bedpost, biting her lip nervously, and when he glanced over his shoulder and noticed, he stopped unbuttoning his undershirt and returned to her side.
“I meant what I said, Princess, I don’t have any expectations about tonight. You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”
“We have to consummate the marriage, Bellamy, or it isn’t bound,” she said, matter-of-fact, and he laughed.
“Who’s going to know? Outside these four walls, who would notice if we didn’t?”
“Are you not... interested in women? Because if that’s the case I’m sure we could arrange something,” she noticed the expression of pleasant surprise cross his face and forged ahead. “Or is it me? If you don’t find me attractive-”
“Yeah, that’s,” he let his eyes trail down her figure appreciately, “that’s not going to be an issue.”
She blushed. “Then surely it’s just better to get it out of the way?”
He snorted. “Well, when you put it like that.”
“You know what I mean,” she bristled.
“Princess, we’re married. We have years ahead of us, and I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to know more about you before we do anything else. I don’t even know what you eat for breakfast yet, let alone where you like to be kissed.”
“Neck,” she said instinctively, and his eyes widened a little. Her blush deepened. “Now probably isn’t the best time to admit I’m not a virgin, is it?”
His face broke into a wide grin. “Me neither. See, we’re learning about each other. Isn’t this a better use of our time than a quick consummation of a marriage neither of us wanted? I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind being friends, if nothing else.”
Clarke felt the tension she’d been carrying in herself for the last week slowly uncoil and she took a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
He returned to the side of the room to finish undressing and she did the same, managing to get out of most of the layers on her own before she reached the corset and gave up.
“Bellamy?” she asked, quiet, and within seconds he was at her back, fingers making quick work of the ties. As it loosened, she sighed, slumping slightly, and by the time it was completely untied, hanging off her frame, she was leaning against him and his hands were around her ribs, comforting. “Thank you.”
He hummed acknowledgement and pulled her towards the mattress, sitting down and positioning her on the edge in between his legs. Before she could think to ask what he was doing, he started taking out her hair, unwinding the twists and tugging pins from the ornate updo until all of it was hanging around her shoulders and he was idly running his fingers through it.
“You’re good at this,” she mumbled, eyelids drooping.
“I’ve got a little sister, you pick things up. You might remember her as the woman who accosted you earlier,” he said dryly, and she laughed. He removed his hands from her person and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his waist while she finished putting her things away. She was dimly aware of him watching her, and as she tucked herself in next to him, he said, “I am sorry about that by the way.”
“I understand,” she said, turning to face him on the pillows despite the darkness they were washed in. “You’re moving in here for the foreseeable future and she doesn’t want you to leave her. She has to blame someone for that.”
“It shouldn’t be you though. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Clarke smiled reassuringly, hoping he could see it. “It’s okay Bellamy, really. We’ll introduce her to my mother and then she’ll really have someone to hate.”
And when Clarke drifted off, she did it with the sound of Bellamy’s low laugh still circling her mind.
*****
Over the next few days, Clarke learned that waking up next to Bellamy was incredibly frustrating, mostly because she kept waking up on his chest.
It wasn’t her fault; he was warm and she seemed to unconsciously gravitate towards him, and it really didn’t help things that he looked abnormally good in the mornings. The first time, she stammered an apology as she sat up, scrambling to her own side of the bed, but he waved a hand, uncaring, and promised her he didn’t mind. The fact that he went to bed shirtless only made it worse.
The first morning, he’d tossed an undershirt on loosely and encouraged her to not get dressed properly either; so they could sell the idea that they’d spent the entire night consummating the marriage. Clarke had wrapped a dressing gown around her night clothes and at his smirk of approval, they’d walked to breakfast together.
His family was staying in the castle from the wedding, so Kane and Octavia were both at the breakfast table with Abby, along with Kane’s staff, and Clarke wanted to sink into the floor when she realised they were all there, but Bellamy’s arm snaked around her waist and he kept it there as they found their way to their seats. She felt embarrassed despite not having done anything wrong, but his hand on her hip made her feel a little less anxious, especially when he seemed to forget it was there and idly stroked her side while he chatted to his sister.
To her credit, Octavia seemed a lot less furious in the light of day, and even managed to spare a nice word or two towards Clarke, which was progress.
Of course, it helped when Clarke suggested that Octavia should stay even when Kane returned to his own kingdom, to help “make the transition easier” for Bellamy. She was pretty sure she earned herself a serious chunk of respect from the fiery girl for that, not to mention from Bellamy, whose eyes poured into hers like liquid gold until Abby cleared her throat and changed the topic.
Breakfast passed comfortably and after a while Clarke could almost forget that she and Bellamy were in a significant state of undress for a royal gathering.
Almost.
Monty and Jasper, mature adults that they were, kept mouthing innuendos at her behind the heads of Abby and Marcus, and more than once, Clarke had to cough to cover a laugh. It didn’t take long for Bellamy to notice it too, and he turned and hid his smirk in Clarke’s shoulder, which only deepened their ruse.
And then, of course, some of Kane’s staff joined in, which only made the laughter in her chest bubble even closer to the surface, and Bellamy’s cheeks turn pink with the effort to remain expressionless while he ate.
As it turned out, she liked Kane’s staff almost as much as she liked her own; the ones assigned to stay with Bellamy once Kane left - Murphy and Miller - were particularly fun, and Clarke found herself in more than one animated conversation with Murphy about the local markets (which she was not supposed to have visited, but what Abby didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her). And Miller’s deadpan sarcasm never failed to bring a smile to her lips, particularly when it was directed towards her mother.
But the person she was most taken with was Bellamy.
He was perfect.
It was actually incredibly annoying how wonderful he was.
He loved to read, and in the first few days he kept going missing, until Clarke asked Miller where he was going and he told her he liked hiding in the library.
He also clearly loved his sister, and doted on the girl frequently.
He was an impressive archer (although he would be the first to tell you that his sister was better) and his sword skills were remarkable. Sometimes Clarke went and sat to the side and sketched while she watched his fencing practice with Miller or Murphy or Octavia.
He was also unfalteringly kind.
Sometimes she found herself daydreaming about what it would be like to wake him up with a kiss or surprise him before bed, especially on the occasions when she caught him looking at her with that warmth in his eyes, or when his hand brushed against the small of her back when he passed her at the table.
It was beginning to drive her a little crazy how easy it was to want him.
*****
After a few weeks, Abby started to make more and more obvious hints about expecting them to bear an heir in the very near future, and it began to really stress Clarke out.
She wasn’t ready for a baby, and she was just getting on even-footing with the idea of being married, but her mother was always eight steps ahead and expecting her to catch up.
The first time Bellamy walked in on her having a panic attack was over two months after their wedding. He’d been away for the weekend, back in his own kingdom to assist Kane, and the entire two days Abby had done nothing but lecture Clarke about how important it was for her to bear children and how much better of a wife she could be if she would only try, and if she couldn’t even bring herself to perform her wifely duties then how could she be expected to run a kingdom - and Clarke reached her breaking point. She was sitting on the edge of their bed and sobbing into her hands, unable to catch her breath, and she thought she had the entire afternoon to herself as the Blakes weren’t getting back until the evening, but she must have lost track of time, because suddenly the door of their room was opening and then it slammed as he pushed himself towards her.
“Whoa, whoa, Princess, what’s going on?!” Bellamy crouched down between her legs, trying to catch her eye.
“It’s nothing,” she wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked away, attempting to get her breathing under control.
He huffed. “It’s clearly not nothing. C’mon, Clarke, what’s going on, what can I do?”
“Nothing, I... it’s my mom, she... she just keeps talking about heirs, and she thinks I’m not spending enough time on you, and she spent the entire weekend just making me feel awful about it and she think we’re already sleeping together. I can’t even imagine what she would say if she knew we hadn’t yet, I... I just... it makes me feel so...” she sobbed. “I’m not just a princess, I’m a person, I can’t just be perfect all the time, it’s so exhausting, I’m so tired Bellamy, I’m-”
“Hey, hey,” his palms were stroking up and down her thighs and he was still trying to find her gaze. “Your mother has no say in what we do behind closed doors, okay? If you don’t want to-”
“But that’s the problem, I do want to,” she admitted in a rush. “I want to so much, all the time. It’s all I think about. But I’m... part of me thinks that if we do, that I’m only doing it for the wrong reasons. And I know I’m not, I know I like you, but I’ve spent so long listening to my mother and the other royals that it’s so hard to separate duty and want in my head, they’re so intertwined I don’t even know if I know the difference anymore-”
“Whoa, Clarke, breathe,” he said urgently, palms ceasing their movement against her knees and the pressure of it felt like it was holding her together. “It’s okay.”
She chanced a peek at him, and she wasn’t expecting to find anger in his features. It startled her. “I’m sorry.”
His scowl only deepened. “I’m not angry at you, Princess, I’m angry at Abby. She has no right to make you feel this way. Hell, if I’d have known this sooner I would have confronted her. I would have confronted her every day if I had to. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Clarke shook her head. “It’s not your problem.”
“You’re my wife,” he said, emphatic. “It is absolutely my business when someone makes you feel lesser, especially when that person is your mother.”
She felt those words to her core, resonating in her chest, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so supported. She didn’t even let Monty or Jasper see her panic attacks - the only people who knew were her father and Wells (who had been across the oceans travelling between kingdoms for two years) and she managed to keep them hidden from everyone else for fear of being accused of being weak. But Bellamy was sitting in front of her, looking up into her eyes like he wanted to fight the world to wipe the sadness from her brow, and she found herself swaying towards him.
The first time their lips met, it was moistened by her tears, and he made a noise of surprise. She made to pull back, feeling embarrassed for being so forward, especially when she was crying, but he followed her upwards, hand coming up to her neck to steady them when he kissed her.
She instinctively tangled her fingers in his curls, tugging slightly and making him moan into her mouth and yep- that was a noise she wanted to hear again.
Somehow, they ended up horizontal, Bellamy’s arms framed either side of her head as he trailed kisses down her neck, making her arch up into him. She felt his cocky grin pressed into the underside of her jaw and she couldn’t even be annoyed at it, because of course he remembered.
“This okay?” he asked, moving down her chest, nosing fabric aside as he went.
“I swear to god if your clothes aren’t off in the next two minutes, I’m divorcing you,” she breathed towards the ceiling, and felt his laugh against her collarbone.
“As you wish, Princess.”
*****
It took a lot of time for Bellamy to convince Clarke that the fact that they were sleeping together didn’t mean that she was just doing her duty. Months passed and she still couldn’t quite shake that anxiety, despite all his attempts to convince her otherwise. He made sure to check in constantly that she wanted it, making sure to remind her that it had nothing to do with their lives outside that room.
And occasionally the bathroom.
And once in the library.
(In her defence, he’d looked particular radiant in the light from the window, squinting at the book because despite the sun being in his eyes, he didn’t want to move and lose his place.) (He didn’t mind so much about losing the place when she climbed in his lap.)
She wanted desperately to silence the voice in her head that told her it was part of her wifely duties, and sometimes, when Bellamy was murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, he could drown it out, but it was never quiet for long.
That was, until the day he told her he loved it.
It wasn’t anything big, not a sweeping romantic moment, he was just climbing into bed after her (shirtless, of course) and when he leaned across the pillow to kiss her goodnight, he mumbled the words into her lips. Like it was routine, something he always did.
“Really?” she asked, stroking his hair back from his face.
He smiled and dropped another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Princess, I’ve been in love with you for months. Surely you’ve noticed. Or Octavia must have told you. Or Murphy.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t put much stock in what Murphy says,” she said, lashes fluttering.
“That’s a pity, sometimes he does actually say something of value, and it would be a shame if you were to tune it out,” he teased.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she retorted, kissing him again.
“I love you,” he repeated, for emphasis, and she smiled into the kiss, ruining it somewhat. “And it’s not like it could come as a total shock, considering we’re married.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” she laughed.
“Go to sleep, Princess, we’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned.
“That’s what I’m here for, to remind you of all the important engagements we have to keep.”
“Ah yes, that’s the only reason I love you,” she rolled her eyes, but he froze above her, eyes boring into hers.
“Yeah?” he asked, and she almost laughed again at how earnest it was; he could tease her for being surprised at the words, but when it came down to it he was just as taken aback by it.
She shrugged. “It’s true, that is the only reason.”
His head dropped against her chest, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “You’re awful, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you the rest of my life.”
“Get used to it, I’m not going anywhere,” she teased.
Rather than return to his side of the bed, Bellamy settled in against her chest, arm curling over her waist as he got comfortable, and she played with his curls, feeling sleep beckoning. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with hers, and she’d never felt so content in her life. But still, she felt she should clarify;
“I do, you know. Love you.”
He chuckled into her shirt. “Yeah, Princess, I know. But it’s nice to hear it again. I can’t see myself getting tired of it.”
“Good, cause now that I’ve said it, I’m not going to stop.”
“Good plan,” he exhaled, already half-asleep.
And as she drifted of, Clarke noticed that she hadn’t heard that voice of self-doubt since the moment he first said the words.
*****
Unfortunately, Bellamy was particularly blessed, and not two months after their first declarations of love, Clarke woke up feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom. She spent most of the morning hunched over the toilet, but it didn’t occur to her that it could be anything other than food poisoning until she was sick again the next day. And the one after that.
Just over a week later, Bellamy crouched with her as he had done every day, palm stroking up and down her back as she sniffled against the wall, the worst of it fading.
“I think I’m pregnant,” she whispered.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there. “I think so too. Is that okay?”
She closed her eyes as another smaller, wave of nausea hit her. “I don’t know. I’m so sorry, Bellamy-”
“Don’t you dare apologise,” he said, earnest and passionate and everything she loved about him. “It’s okay if you’re not ready, we don’t have to-”
“I want to,” she promised, turning to look at him and ignoring the way her stomach flipped as she did. Her hand lifted to his cheek. “With you, I want to. I just... I wish it was on our terms.”
“It is on our terms, Princess,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to, but if we’re doing this, if we’re having a baby, we’re doing it because we want to. Because we love each other and respect each other and we decide. Okay? No-one else has anything to say to us about it.”
She starting crying in earnest, overcome with emotion, and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into a tight hug. They sat on the bathroom tiles, misty-eyed and rocking slightly, and Clarke wondered how they’d gotten here. When they got married she had decided she didn’t know him, that she wouldn’t like him, and every day since he’d managed to prove her wrong.
“I love you,” she sobbed.
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Princess,” he said sardonically, to hide the wobble in his own voice as he dropped a kiss into the crook of her neck.
“Shut up, you know I do.”
“Yeah,” he sat back, brushing the hair from her face. “I know.”
“I want to do it,” she admitted. “With you, I want to.”
A small smile began to grow in his cheeks. “Yeah?”
“But we’re not telling my mother for at least another month.”
“Make it two and you got a deal,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss the tears from her cheeks.
There was a noise in the doorway - someone clearing their throat - and they looked up to find Wells standing there with Jasper and Monty trailing sheepishly behind him. He smiled awkwardly down at them. “Hi. Sorry; they let me in. They said your husband would be busy with Abby by now, I assumed you would be bored and I could surprise you.”
“Wells?!” Clarke stumbled over her feet as she stood up and Bellamy’s hands snaked out to steady her, right before she leapt at her friend. “When did you get here?!”
“This morning.”
“How long were you standing there?” She asked, pulling back to look at him properly.
He shrugged. “Long enough to offer you congratulations.”
“Yeah, congrats Princess!” Jasper said loudly, earning a smack from Monty. “Ow, what was that for?!”
“She just said she didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I don’t want my mother to know,” Clarke clarified, reaching blindly back for Bellamy’s hand. “Provided you can keep it a secret from her, I’m more than happy for you to tell every other person in this castle.”
“Thanks,” he smiled, eyes flicking to Wells. “So you’re the best friend, right?”
“And you’re the husband. Clarke’s letters have been getting to me a little late because of my travels, but I’m pretty sure the last one I received said something about wanting to kiss you and not knowing how to ask,” Wells grinned at Clarke as a blush filled her cheeks. “I assume you’ve managed without my advice, what with the baby on the way?”
“That was months ago,” she said, flustered.
“And that letter reached me barely a few weeks ago,” he replied, winking at her. “C’mon, let’s sit in the garden for lunch, you can tell me all about it.”
“Bellamy?” Clarke asked, looking up at him with all the affection she could muster. “You coming?”
“I’ll give you some time to catch up - I’ve got some news to give my sister,” he kissed her nose.
“Tell me what she says!” Clarke called after him as he ducked from the room, waving sweetly as he did.
As it turned out, there was no need for Bellamy to relay the message to her, because twenty minutes later, when she and Wells were sitting on the grass with Jasper, Monty and Miller, Octavia ran up and - very carefully - tackled her. “You’re pregnant!?”
“Keep it down, O,” Bellamy’s voice said as he approached behind her.
“Don’t worry, Abby’s not here, she’s with the council,” Monty waved a hand.
“You’re pregnant?” Miller asked, somewhat more subdued than the youngest Blake, who was now dancing around excitedly, attempting to drag Bellamy into it. Things had changed a great deal since their first arrival all those months ago.
Clarke smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to call Doctor Jackson, but yes.”
“Nice,” he held his fist out for her to bump and she laughed.
“Where’s Murphy?” Jasper asked, glancing around.
Bellamy made a face. “I told and he disappeared, I don’t know where he went.”
“It’s not like him to avoid us, especially when Abby isn’t here,” Miller frowned.
“CONGRATULATIONS, IDIOTS,” Murphy’s voice rang through the garden and they all swivelled to see him carrying an enormous cake towards them, iced to perfection. He put it down on the blanket and rocked back on his heels so he could cut it, handing the first slice to Clarke. “I’m so glad we got stuck with you, because Kane’s first choice was someone from Azgeda and I can’t deal with those bland, icy people. There’s no sense of humour in those mountains. You get me.”
“And more importantly, she loves your friend,” Miller nudged him with his toe.
“Ah, yep, that too,” Murphy shrugged, and Bellamy snatched a piece of cake from the plate, looking unimpressed, but it was belayed by the smirk that threatened to overwhelm his whole face.
Her family was supportive, and regardless of how anyone else reacted, regardless of the months ahead, regardless of what had brought them here, this was enough.
*****
“I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Clarke had been in labour for fifteen hours and she had hated every agony-laden second, not least because at first, the only people in the room had been Abby and Jackson.
Jackson eventually asked for Harper to join them, to help with the process, but even her calming presence didn’t alleviate the stress Clarke felt at having her mother peer at her from the side of the room.
“Where’s Bellamy?” she’d panted, throwing her head back against the pillow as another contraction started building.
“He’s still in court with the parliament.” Abby said, like it was obvious.
“Why?!”
“Focus less on your husband and more on your baby,” she said, serious.
“Why isn’t he here, Mom?!”
“He doesn’t need to be distracted from his duties simply because of labour; it isn’t as if he could be in the room anyway, that isn’t civilised.”
“He doesn’t even know?!”
“You’re having a baby, Clarke, that’s hardly something he can help with.”
Clarke wanted to scream. “If someone doesn’t bring me my husband right now, I’m going to abdicate the throne.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Harper!” Clarke cried, and she took the hint immediately, running from the room and calling out for Octavia and Wells who were pacing nervously down the hall. They immediately ran to the stables to make their way to the parliament house, while Harper returned to Clarke’s side and dampened a cool cloth to place around her neck.
It felt like hours passed, but the court was only a twenty minute carriage ride from the carriage, and she was certain her friends could ride fast, but finally, finally, Bellamy burst into the room.
Abby shrieked in shock. “Absolutely not! Out! Out!”
Bellamy didn’t even look at her, just climbed onto the mattress and crawled up to Clarke, his boots still on. He reached for her hand. “Hey Princess. You’re doing great, okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. You’re doing great.”
She gripped his fingers so hard she would have been worried about breaking his knuckles, if it weren’t for the pain taking up every inch of her consciousness. To his credit, he didn’t say a word, didn’t even wince, and settled down next to her, stroking her sweaty forehead.
“This is highly irregular,” Abby sniffed.
“I want her out,” Clarke panted. “I don’t want her here, I can’t- get her out.”
Before Bellamy could take action, Jackson straightened and turned to the Queen. “Madam, it seems that with both the Princess and her husband in here, the parliament must be lacking in royal guidance. I suggest you make haste to assuage them - I am perfectly capable of delivering this child under Prince Blake’s supervision.”
Abby looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t have a leg up against the doctor, so she spared one last disparaging look at the couple on the bed before she strode from the room.
The second she was gone, Clarke slumped sideways into Bellamy. His arm came up around her, holding her upright as he offered a strained smile to Jackson. “Thank you.”
“I’m a doctor, my first priority is my patient; I don’t care what the done thing is - if Clarke wants her husband and not her mother, she gets it. There is no reason to make childbirth more strenuous than it typically is.”
Clarke whimpered in acknowledgement as another contraction started, and Jackson’s clinical gaze looked her over.
“I do believe it might be more than helpful to have you here, Prince Blake - could you sit behind the Princess? She needs something sturdy at her back, and when I tried to take the pillows away, she used some rather harsh language.”
“Because the headboard is wooden, ah-” she cut herself off with a cry, scrunching her face up in pain.
Bellamy didn’t need to be asked twice. He kicked off his shoes and manoeuvred himself around until she was sitting between his legs and her arms were propped up on his thighs, nails digging into his knees. He banded an arm above her baby bump, holding her steady, and she threw her head back against his shoulder, trying to remember to breathe.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she growled.
“That’s hardly language befitting of a princess,” he teased, and she dug her nails in harder. “Ow, ow, okay, I’m sorry, not the time for jokes, I’ve got it.”
“We are never doing this again,” she panted. “I don’t care how good you are with kids, or how cute you are, or how much you love me, we are never having another goddamn baby. This is the only one you get.”
“Whatever the hell you want,” he promised, brows pulling together in distress as she muffled a scream of pain against his neck.
*****
Over twenty hours of labour and at least eighty curse words later, Clarke cradled her baby to her chest, unable to tear her eyes from the perfect creature in her arms.
“She’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Bellamy pulled her sweat-soaked hair back from her neck, blowing cool air on it as he looked over her shoulder at the gorgeous baby girl.
“She’s wonderful,” he agreed, kissing her cheek idly.
“I’m sorry I screamed at you.”
“I’m not, it was pretty fucking attractive,” he deadpanned, punctuating the sentence by running his nose along her cheekbone, pressing gentle kisses as he did. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you before-”
“I was bright red and sweating,” she pointed out.
“You say that like it’s going to change my opinion,” he smiled against her skin and lifted his hand to brush his thumb carefully over the baby’s chubby cheeks as she slept. “Can you believe we made something this perfect?”
“Should I let in the spectators?” Harper asked, grinning.
Clarke almost started; she’d forgotten anyone else was in the room, but Harper and Jackson were both standing to the side of the bed looking tired but pleased. At their nods of approval, Harper shuffled to the door and called out, waking up the people on the other side. Wells, Monty, Jasper, Miller, Murphy and Octavia all stumbled in, half-asleep but excited to see the new royal baby.
Octavia was the first to hold her, rocking her gently as she sat on the edge of the mattress. Clarke tangled her fingers in Bellamy’s, feeling a surge of pride, and Jasper started openly weeping, grinning from ear to ear. He wasn’t the only one, although Miller and Murphy were a little more subtle about wiping their tears away.
“Where’s Abby?” Jackson asked, bemused.
“We told her we’d wake her up when the baby was born,” Monty shrugged, cooing at the baby.
“Do you want me to go get her?” Jasper asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, “I can tell her you’ve born an heir.”
Clarke smiled softly, watching Octavia pass the child to Wells, who looked like he was holding the entire world in his hands. “You know what, I think we can wait a few more minutes. She’s had a stressful day, after all.”
Murphy snorted. “This kid is gonna grow up a tiny menace with parents like you two.”
“Good,” she grinned.
“What are you going to name her?” Harper asked, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she spoke.
Clarke hummed pensively, exhausted, and rested her head against Bellamy’s. “I don’t know. Can we figure it out later?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” he agreed.
It was sappy, and later she would claim to have never had such a thought, but surrounded by her family in that room, sleep-deprived and spent, it occured to her that with Bellamy at her side, she was ready for anything.
@starlightafterastorm asked for a “little Bellarke timey-wimey time travel story” and honestly that’s like catnip to me, so here you are my dear! The anomaly accidentally throws together dropship bellamy and clarke and s6/7 bellamy and clarke, in front of everyone (bring out your popcorn kids)
read it under the cut or on ao3!
***
Clarke wasn’t sure what happened.
One minute she was walking through Sanctum on her way to meet Madi after school, the next her foot stepped into nothing and she was falling, hard. She landed in a cloud of dust and wisps of material, and she coughed as she pushed herself back up on her knees.
“Clarke?!”
She lifted her head. She had fallen through some kind of hidden trapdoor into a secret room, clearly well out of use, and her fingers had snagged a sheet as she went down, dragging it off a large machine against one wall. A few heads began to appear over the trapdoor as Bellamy called her name again, and she looked up.
“I’m okay,” she reassured him, getting to her feet and dusting off her pants. She narrowed her eyes over at the contraption; it had symbols carved all over it like the anomaly and levers along one side. “What are you?” Clarke muttered to herself as she approached it.
There was a series of dull thuds behind her and she turned to find Bellamy, Gabriel, Murphy and Miller had all jumped down into the room after her.
“Cute,” Murphy deadpanned.
“I was wondering where this went,” Gabriel said, brushing the last of the flimsy cover off the machine. “Russell must have hidden it after I left.”
“What is it?” Miller asked.
“It was supposed to be able to figure out what the anomaly did by harnessing it, but I could never get it quite right. It could take a snapshot of the wave but the readings were all over the place; it was incomprehensible. I managed to capture what I thought was part of the anomaly inside this-” he rapped his knuckles against the glass box in the center of it, “-but once the wave disappeared, so did whatever was in here. And then I never got to try it again, for obvious reasons. I had to make do outside of Sanctum, I figured Russell had destroyed this one.”
Clarke felt Bellamy’s hand come up against her side, and she glanced at him, seeing the concern in his face as he looked her over, checking for injuries. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but she couldn’t help but savour the feeling of his palm against her waist. It was pathetic, really, what she’d been reduced to - gasping for every tiny morsel of physical affection she could get. She opened her mouth to say something, but caught herself when she saw something flickering behind the glass in the machine. It was small, but she was sure she saw a lick of green flame.
“Is that…” she stepped forward. “I think there’s something in there.”
“Unlikely,” Gabriel started to say, right before the entire cavern lit up with green as the flame burst into life inside the box and the machine started on its own.
“Holy shit,” Murphy vocalised what they were all thinking.
“What the hell?” Gabriel shook his head. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
And then the light flashed, filling up the entire room and blinding them all. Something slammed into Clarke’s shoulder and she would have hit the ground again if it weren’t for a pair of strong arms catching her. There were clatters and shouts and then the light faded and Clarke blinked the vision back into her eyes. She squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The light must have screwed with her head, because there was no way the scene before her was actually happening. Except-
“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, taking a step towards her, confused.
But he didn’t look right; he was younger, clean-shaven, and she remembered the clothes he was wearing but she hadn’t seen them in years. The figure at her back tensed, and she looked up to see Bellamy - her Bellamy - frowning warily at the figure before them.
He opened his mouth, “What-”
“Why are there two of us?” Another voice said, and Clarke turned her head to stare directly into her own face. She was younger, hair longer, wearing a shirt that Clarke missed. She tilted her head. “You cut your hair.”
“Yeah. A while ago,” she replied, unable to think of anything else.
“I don’t like it.”
“I do,” Young Bellamy remarked, eyes raking over her. “Suits you, Princess.”
Bellamy’s grip tightened instinctively on Clarke’s shoulder at the old nickname, and he snapped his fingers at his young self. “Hey! Jackass! Eyes up here.”
Young Bellamy smirked, but dragged his gaze up, raising an eyebrow at himself.
“I got old.”
“Fuck off.”
“Real mature,” Young Clarke rolled her eyes. “I see you haven’t changed.”
Clarke couldn’t help but laugh incredulously at the idea. Gabriel and Murphy were getting to their feet behind them, and Miller was standing to the side staring widely. She wondered how young these versions of themselves were - it was definitely the dropship days, but it had to be early. There was no way she would be automatically irate at Bellamy after the Day Trip, so it must have been before that.
“Where are we?” Young Bellamy asked, taking in the tiny room and the hole in the ceiling.
“When are we?” Young Clarke corrected.
Gabriel lifted a hand, “It’s probably better you don’t know that. We don’t know how the Anomaly works; we should mess with it.”
“Didn’t Octavia’s memory get wiped when she returned?” Miller asked.
“Well, yeah, but-”
“So you’re in the future, we’re on a different planet, and you two are in love but neither of you have done anything about it which drives the rest of us fucking insane,” he explained loudly, before anyone could jump in and stop him. Clarke felt Bellamy’s hand on her shoulder loosen, like he wasn’t sure what to do with those words out in the open, and she became hyper aware of every part of her body that was touching his; wanting to move away but frozen to the spot.
Young Bellamy snorted. “Not likely.”
“How did we get here?” Young Clarke asked, completely sidestepping the other revelation.
“There’s an Anomaly on this planet that messes with time,” Gabriel chimed in, resigned to the fact that they were going to know regardless of his protests. “I built a machine to harness it and somehow it spat you both out.”
“Why us?” she made a face, looking over at Young Bellamy with distaste.
“Didn’t you hear, Princess, we’re in love,” he replied, raising his eyebrows at her in that cocky way that used to drive her crazy.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hey, Future Miller said so,” he shrugged, clearly amused by her annoyance.
Young Clarke rounded on their older selves. “He’s joking, right? You’re not really in love?”
Clarke opened her mouth but nothing came out, and she could feel Bellamy shifting his weight behind her, also staunchly refusing to say anything to break a silence that was becoming steadily more awkward. Young Clarke faltered, and the amusement fell off Young Bellamy’s face.
“You’re not serious?” he asked, incredulous.
“Oh my god this is better than Christmas,” Murphy grinned.
“Shut up, Murphy,” Clarke and Bellamy said in unison.
Young Bellamy’s gaze cut across to him, curious, and Murphy lazily saluted, leaning against the wall.
“Still following Bellamy’s orders, I see,” Young Clarke remarked.
Murphy snorted. “You hear that, Bellamy? She thinks I’m a lackey.”
“No, I think you’re a dick,” she snapped, eyes narrowing at him. “You shove around the younger kids and you picked a fight with Wells.”
Clarke felt the breath catch in her throat. She was talking in the present tense, which meant that these versions of themselves were from before Wells died, and she wanted to cry at what they were still yet to go through. At all the horrible things headed their way. Bellamy seemed to come to the same conclusion, and his arm slid down her arm soothingly, stroking between her shoulder and her elbow.
To his credit, Murphy’s attitude sobered somewhat, and he shrugged. “Yeah, I was an asshole back then. But I like to think I’ve done enough to make up for it by now.”
“Give it another year,” Clarke joked, trying to push down the tears that threatened to fall.
Murphy noticed her expression and huffed, walking forward to hook an arm around her and pull her into a bony hug. “Anything for the Princess.”
She managed a watery laugh into his shirt before she pulled away, and he pinched her side. “Don’t you get crying on me now, you know I’m bad at dealing with that.”
“Shut up, Murphy,” she repeated, but there was a smile in her voice.
“Wow,” Young Clarke said slowly. “You weren’t kidding. I’m friends with you?”
“Don’t push it,” he winked. “Sexually charged acquaintances at best.”
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered.
“No arguments here,” he flashed a grin. “Anyway, it’s nice to catch up and all, but now that they’re here, how do we send them back?”
Everyone turned to look at Gabriel. He held up his hands. “I have no idea. All I know is we can’t let them leave this room, because even if the Anomaly wipes their memories, if everyone else sees them, then people might try to use this machine for the worst. The second they return to where they came from, I’m destroying it. In the wrong hands, this could be a weapon of mass destruction.”
“So we just have to… sit here?” Young Bellamy asked, already looking restless.
“Until the wave returns, yes.”
“Great,” Young Clarke said sarcastically, pointedly not looking at either of the Bellamys.
A heavy silence fell over the room, no-one willing to permeate it. Gabriel was scrutinising the machine, attempting to appear oblivious to the awkwardness, while Murphy and Miller were just staring between the two sets of their friends like it was a tennis match, waiting for someone to volley first. Bellamy’s hand had long since stopped moving, clasped loosely around Clarke’s elbow, and she was watching Young Bellamy as he tried to maintain that cocky bravado she remembered finding so annoying. Young Clarke just folded her arms and glared at the hole in the ceiling.
“Well, this is fun,” Miller deadpanned.
Young Clarke huffed. “I just don’t see how we would ever become… that.” She gestured at her older self and Bellamy dismissively. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s been a long time since the Dropship,” Clarke said quietly.
“But still; Bellamy? I thought I had better taste,” she turned up her nose, and Clarke noticed the way Young Bellamy’s gaze flitted across to her, amused.
Even back then, he didn’t hate her as much as she thought he did. And she remembered those days - she hadn’t hated him as much as she wanted him to think either.
“I’m wounded, Princess,” Young Bellamy teased, clutching his chest like he’d been hit. “I thought we had something.”
“Was I really that arrogant?” Bellamy asked, sounding bothered.
Miller choked on air.
“God, remember the arguments we used to have?” Clarke said wistfully. “I miss those.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, shaking his head. “Things were so simple. We only had to worry about a hundred delinquents, not the world ending. Fuck, I miss all of it, how sad is that?”
“Pretty pathetic,” Murphy chimed in.
Bellamy’s hand was still on Clarke’s arm, and Young Clarke noticed, raising her eyebrow at them. “When did this happen? When did we get so close, what changed?”
“Everything,” Clarke said, at the same time as Bellamy said,
“Nothing.”
“Well that clarifies it,” Young Clarke said sarcastically.
Young Bellamy snorted. “Don’t be like that, Princess, it can’t be the most repulsive idea in the world. Don’t think I haven’t caught you sneaking a peek at me in the mornings before I put a shirt on.”
“Did you really? I thought I was being subtle.” Clarke asked, looking up at Bellamy.
He shrugged. “Yeah. I figured you didn’t like that you found me attractive though, seeing as you constantly got in my face, so I never brought it up.”
“Until now, apparently,” she smiled, and he returned the expression, eyes crinkling in the corners as he looked down at her, faces closer than they had any right to be.
“I just don’t get it,” Young Clarke interrupted, exasperated.
“I do,” Young Bellamy ran a hand through his curls as the attention of everyone in the room stuck to him, looking sheepish and avoiding her gaze in particular. “Hey, I might find you annoying, Princess, but you’re not unattractive. And you’re smart, and you care about people - too much, sometimes - and you think ahead, which is more than I can say for most of us.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me the entire time we’ve been on the ground,” Young Clarke said, surprised.
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
“Why not? Clearly we get there eventually,” she gestured at the older versions of them.
“Don’t want you getting too cocky,” he said in explanation, smirking.
She rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she might pull a muscle. “You’re such an ass, how did I ever fall for you?”
“It was all the beard,” Clarke deadpanned, the joke out of her mouth before she could overthink it.
Behind her, Bellamy froze. “Really?”
She turned around to face him and his arms fell to his sides, eyes widening at her as she started berating him, arms gesticulating wildly. “No, you idiot, I’ve been in love with you for years, I didn’t just decide when you got back to the ground that I find beards sexy. In between falling in love with you and losing you, I didn’t think, ‘hm, wow, if only he had a beard, then I would jump his bones’. Oddly, that thought never crossed my mind. I don’t know exactly when I stopped just looking at you as my friend and started looking at you as the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but it was long, long before the fucking beard. God, Bellamy you’re so much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, but sometimes, you’re so-”
Bellamy cut her off by kissing her, fingers on her cheeks and lips warm against hers, and she melted into it, caught completely off-guard. One of his hands slid around her head, tangling in her hair, and she sighed into his mouth and draped her arms over his shoulders, deepening the kiss.
“Gross,” Murphy said, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Seriously? Eight million years of sexual tension and that was all it took? You made a joke about finding beards sexy and that was all it took?! You could have saved us all years of torment,” Miller complained loudly, but Clarke just flipped the bird at him over Bellamy’s shoulder.
“Stop kissing in front of the children, you’re upsetting them,” Gabriel said, impassive, and Clarke laughed, breaking the kiss. She caught Gabriel’s eye and he grinned, winking as he went back to fiddling with the levers and pulleys on the machine.
“Did that just happen?” Bellamy asked, soft.
She blinked. “Yeah. I guess it did.”
“Doesn’t feel different,” he murmured.
She searched her feelings, waiting for some kind of realization to hit her, or for the world to shift under her feet, but Bellamy was right - it didn’t feel any different at all. It felt exactly like they always did. She hummed agreement, stretching up on her toes again to press a chaste kiss against his lips and he chased her back down to the floor, arms banding around her waist to keep her there.
“Is it weird that I found that kinda hot?” Young Bellamy asked, squinting as he thought it over.
“Yes,” Young Clarke snapped.
“I mean, it’s us,” he pointed out.
“And?”
“And watching us make out is kinda hot, Princess, I don’t know what you want me to say,” he rounded on her, one hand resting on his gun the way he always did back then.
Gabriel made a noise of excitement, dropping a pin back into the contraption, and it whirred to life again, green starting to glow from within the glass box.
“Everyone back!”
They all stepped away, leaving Young Clarke and Bellamy still bickering in the center of the room. Miller squeezed Clarke’s hand as she leaned back against Bellamy’s chest, his arm around her waist, as they watched the young versions of themselves get in each other’s space, all heated words and blatant sexual tension. She poked his chest and he stepped closer into his space, and both of them seemed to be doing their best not to let their eyes drop to each other’s lips and still failing. It was almost comical how obvious they were.
“Is that really what we looked like?” Clarke asked.
“Yep,” Murphy nodded.
“I can’t believe we didn’t see it,” she shook her head, awestruck. “Look at us, we’re practically desperate to tear each other’s clothes off.”
“We are not!” Young Clarke and Bellamy said at the same time, right as the green light flashed once more, filling the entire room and blinding them all.
When it faded, the two of them were gone, leaving no trace of their presence behind, and Gabriel patted the hood of the machine, happy with the result. He glanced up at the rest of them, still processing what had just happened, and tossed a hammer at their feet.
“Who wants to help me destroy it?”
Murphy didn’t need to be asked twice, picking it up and taking a wild swing at the machine. Miller joined next, while Gabriel went looking for some accelerant to set it on fire, and Bellamy made to join him, but noticed the way Clarke had fallen silent. He hung back, moving into her space, trying to catch her eye.
“You okay?” he asked, lips almost close enough to brush her forehead as he talked.
“I’m just thinking about them,” she admitted. “About everything they’re going to go through. It’s not fair.”
He tangled his fingers in hers. “No, it isn’t. But we made it; here and now.”
“Yeah.”
“The past is the past, there’s nothing we can do to change it-”
“Especially not now!” Murphy yelled, slamming the hammer down once more and making the machine cough smoke.
“-but we’ve got a whole future to look forward to,” Bellamy continued, ignoring the man. He tugged Clarke closer. “And I’m looking to you, Princess.”
Clarke made a beeline for Blake’s Diner, practically battering the door off its hinges to get inside, and collapsed against the counter, banging her head on the surface in frustration.
“Bad day?” Bellamy’s familiar gruff voice washed over her.
“Coffee.”
She heard Bellamy snort, and then there was something being pressed against her hand. She curled her fingers around the mug and slowly rolled her spine back until she was sitting up. He’d given her the extra large mug, which he never did, so she must look bad.
He - wisely - waited until she had a few sips of coffee before he asked, “Busy day at the Inn?”
She felt her shoulders slump involuntarily. “The worst. It was like every evil customer in the world decided to holiday in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere on the same day. Plus Harper’s on maternity leave at the same time as Murphy is on his honeymoon, so the kitchen’s in chaos, my love life is nonexistent, my daughter hates me, and my entire life is a disaster.”
“Your daughter doesn’t hate you.” He tutted, and appraised her concernedly, sliding a croissant across the countertop. “When was the last time you ate?”
Clarke ignored the question. “She does.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She’s staying at her grandmother’s tonight.”
“So?”
“So she hates me.”
Bellamy sighed. “Please eat something.”
***
@aainiouu asked for a Bellarke Gilmore Girls AU and i honestly couldn’t decide if i wanted to do them as Jess/Rory or as Luke/Lorelai so it’s mostly Luke/Lorelai, but with a dash of the literati dynamic thrown in, because I can’t help myself.
Congratulations!! You're so talented and it warms my heart to see all this love for you!! My request is Brienne x Jaime where they give each other belated Nameday gifts to make up for the ones missed in their eight years of knowing each other. Set during their month together at Winterfell, please. ♥
Thank you my dear! I’m sorry it took so long! You can thank @fen-ha-fuck-you for coming up with the right gift for Brienne to give Jaime, because she’s a genius.
A Good Omens/Gentleman Jack crossover for one of my favourite bitches @loveavillain
******
Aziraphale liked taking long walks.
You wouldn’t think so, for looking at him, and if he was honest with himself, his body wasn’t really built for anything very strenuous, but he did love a good walk. Once, after a particularly stressful day in the 1200s, he’d walked for almost two days straight before he bumped into Crowley and the demon convinced him to sit down for a drink. In his defence, the human passage of time had always felt a little strange to him, but Crowley seemed abnormally concerned about the fact that he’d worn holes in his shoes, as if he couldn’t just miracle them back together.
Which is why he was wandering around some part of Scotland he didn’t recognise, just taking in the fresh air, when he stumbled upon a woman crying on a bench.
“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, rather too loudly.
Her head whipped up and she began wiping the tears from her cheeks almost immediately.
“I beg your pardon madam, I was simply walking through the fields and I must have walked too far, is this your property?”
“Not mine,” she shook her head, offering a cajoling smile. “My sister’s. I’m sure she won’t mind you passing through, but I don’t know about her husband, so perhaps keep away from the house.”
“I will endeavour to do just that,” he nodded primly, not sure if he should stay and ask if she was okay. He was an angel, after all, but he’d never been very good at the emotional aspect of humanity. That was - strangely - more in Crowley’s wheelhouse. Rather than enquire after her health, he said, “You look like someone who needs a walk.”
Her brows drew together a little, confused. “I’m sorry?”
He clipped his heels together, straightening his spine, and held out his arm. “Yes, I believe a walk is just what the doctor ordered. Come on my dear, I’m not going to bite.”
She giggled, still sniffling, and curled a hand around his elbow as she got to her feet. “I’m Ann. Ann Walker. And who might you be?”
“Aziraphale,” he offered.
A strange look crossed over her face. “Like the angel?”
He blinked. People didn’t often recognise the name, seeing as he was one of the smaller players in the stories, but clearly this woman knew her history. “Exactly.”
“I could do with an angel’s guidance about now,” she said wistfully, eyes beginning to well with tears again, and he patted her hand.
“You’ll have to guide me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said kindly.
Ah, that’s why you invited me to walk, you don’t want to get caught in someone else’s garden,” she teased, the colour already returning to her cheeks.
“Naturally,” he joked, breathing in the faint smell of lavender as she walked him through the fields. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye and decided he should probably ask. “I don’t mean to pry, but-”
“I’m not well,” she said in a rush, cutting him off.
“Oh?” he frowned. “Do you need to see someone, a physician?”
“It’s... I’m...” she huffed, shaking her head in annoyance at herself, but Aziraphale had enough patience to wait for her to decide what she needed to say. She wiped her cheeks again. “I’m having something of a... crisis of faith.”
“A crisis of faith?”
“I don’t believe God approves of... me,” Ann finished lamely, waving a hand.
“Why not?”
She glanced at him. “I... I’m unnatural. I’ve done things that he wouldn’t approve of, I’m... wrong. And the worst part is that I don’t regret my actions, I loved her, I don’t understand why it is so wrong to be in love when-” she stopped in her tracks, clapping her hands over her mouth and eyes wide as she stared at him. She looked terrified that she’d said the wrong thing. “I’m so sorry, I just, I don’t know why I said that, it just came out-”
He moved his hand dismissively, “It happens all the time, my dear; you’re not the first person to spill a secret to me and I’m certain you won’t be the last. I believe I must just have one of those faces.”
She just kept blinking at him, fear permeating the air between them.
It struck Aziraphale that she was scared he would hurt her or turn her in or some other such horrible act and he stepped forward in a hurry, hands on her shoulders. “Oh, oh dear, don’t be frightened, I’m not... there’s no reason to be afraid.”
“Really?” Ann asked through her fingers, unconvinced.
“As you say, I don’t believe there is any cause to feel somehow wrong for loving a person. Provided you love for the right reasons, I don’t believe anyone should ever be made to feel unnatural for the person they choose to give their hearts to.”
Her hands fell from her face, and there was a new kind of shrewdness in her eyes he hadn’t yet seen. “You speak like you understand me.”
“Well of course,” Aziraphale said, like it was obvious, because of course - to him - it was; he understood all the heavenly creeds, and discrimination against love was not one of them. Yet she seemed to understand him incorrectly, or at least not in the way he intended, and her expression lit up.
She turned to start walking again, arm back around his own, and her posture appeared straighter as she peered over at him curiously. “How do you cope?”
“Cope?”
“Loving someone that you’re not supposed to,” she elaborated. “Aren’t you afraid that everyone will find out, that people will shun you? Aren’t you afraid of God’s disapproval?”
His heart jumped into his mouth at the idea of loving someone he wasn’t supposed to, and a brief image of Crowley flashed into his mind before he pushed it aside. “Of course I fear His disapproval, but not for anything like that. If he spent all his time chasing after people who love other people, he wouldn’t have time to keep the universe running. It’s such a quaint human idea; that God is interested in you so personally. As long as you endeavour to be a good and kind person throughout your life, your heart need not affect any judgement he might lay down.”
“What about other people?” Ann asked shyly, running her fingers through some flower bushes as they passed, catching petals briefly as she did. “What about people who would reject you if they knew what you were?”
Aziraphale thought about the humans he’d met over the years before realising that probably wasn’t equivalent to her feelings, and thought about the angels instead - how would the angels react to him doing something they thought was unnatural - and yet again had to swallow down the memory of golden eyes. “We can’t control the way other people react to us, my dear. All we can control is how we let it affect us.”
“And you don’t care?” she asked, surprised.
He hummed thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say that. I wonder about it often, but sometimes you must put the idea from your mind and keep on.”
She fell silent, and for a few minutes they walked together, breathing in the fresh air and the freedom that the garden offered. Ann seemed a lot lighter than she had when he first stumbled upon her on the bench not an hour earlier, and he was pleased to see it. He didn’t often sit down for conversations with humans, and especially didn’t offer angel guidance, not for a few hundred years, and it felt nice to stretch that muscle again.
They seemed to have reached the edge of the property, if the gate was any indication, and Ann slowed down slightly, like she wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. He squeezed her hand before he dropped it and turned to face her, bowing slightly.
“Thank you for a lovely walk, Miss Walker, it was a pleasure talking to you,” Aziraphale said, genuine. “I do hope you keep well, and perhaps I might stumble across you again someday!”
She curtseyed. “I believe I would enjoy that.”
“Wonderful,” he clapped his hands together. “I’ll be going-”
“Does he know?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Does who know what?”
“Does... the man, the man you love, does he know how you love him?”
Aziraphale swallowed nervously, fiddling with his sleeves, and for once he decided to speak his mind - it’s not like anyone would ever know; just this one human, in need of a friend. “I’m not sure, my dear. We’ve known each other a very long time, you see, and I’m not certain he would like the idea. Not that he’s against it in principle, of course, he’s not really the judgemental sort. I mean specifically, with me, with someone of my... ilk. He’s an odd creature, quite unsuited to me, really, but I do like him.”
Ann smiled knowingly. “I see.”
“Does your... does she know?”
“I hope so,” she whispered, tears beginning to form against despite the smile on her face. “She’s very far away at the moment, and we’ve had no correspondence, but I hope... I truly hope...”
“I’m sure it will work out,” Aziraphale promised, clasping her hand before he stepped towards the gate. “I have faith.”
She waved as he walked away, and he kept on through the fields and down the roads until he reached a town and sat down for a drink.
He’d been sitting for barely twenty minutes before someone pulled up a chair next to him, and he didn’t have to look up to know which golden eyes he’d see.
“Hullo Angel,” Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, a drink already in hand as he leaned back in his chair lazily. His eyes caught on the shoes, thinly veiled concern flickering across his gaze, and Aziraphale felt something tug deep in his chest. He did have faith that things would work themselves out for Ann Walker and her love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything to help.
He was an angel, after all.
He waved a hand, concentrating, before he turned to look at the demon properly, and Crowley shot him a questioning look.
“Just a small miracle, my dear, nothing to concern yourself with,” he smiled, leaning closer. “How are you?”
And over a thousand miles away, in Copenhagen, Anne Lister received a letter requesting she return home immediately due to her aunt’s ill health and immediately dropped everything to return home. Quite by happenstance, Ann Walker went to enquire after her after she left Scotland, just for a forwarding address, only to discover that Anne was home after all.
