Clarke Griffin knows what it means to give everything. Bellamy Blake does not know how to love without sacrifice.
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Clarke loops her fingers through Madi’s, squeezing hard. The small, reassuring wiggle does little to soothe her racing heart. Across the cabin, she can see Bellamy frantically struggling with Jordan’s harness, come loose in the commotion. The buckles are broken and unresponsive. Fear fractures through her—no, no, it’s too soon, too soon to fail in the one thing that Harper ever asked us for—and Bellamy gives up on the buckles, pulling the straps together to tie them into a knotted, makeshift harness. Behind them, Raven and Shaw are shouting at each other, desperately trying to get systems online as the hurtle towards the ground.
Would you want to make a gifset of in-episode 5x13 parallels? I’m sure you noticed the “I can’t leave the man I love behind” memori, the “strike me down or get the hell out because I’m saving the man I love” kabby and “I will *break* when they torture you” zaven and then, of course, the “I can’t do that again” bellarke. The couples unable to leave each other / women standing frozen as their men might die, unwillingly to leave without them parallels. <3 Hope you want to do it :)
if you didn’t get the notification for tagging, here you go http://hisstericallypawesomesleepurr.tumblr.com/post/176893102058/couples-parallels-requested-by-annayyh
*chants like a little kid for ice cream* 141! 141! 141! Pleeeeeeeeeease xD
ahhh! your wish is my command! be thankful i didn’t write this in a canon setting i was in a mood lol prompt: the blood isn’t mine, calm down
Bellamy’s phone rings loudly at exactly 1:13 AM on a Wednesday. He blinks and reaches across the nightstand blindly to grab it, squinting at the screen. He doesn’t recognize the number, but doesn’t think anything of it and answers the call.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Bellamy Blake?”
Bellamy blinks again, rubbing at his eyes. “Mhmm.”
“My name is Dr. Tsing, I’m calling from Ark General. Your wife–”
He’s sitting up in an instance. “What happened?”
“Your wife was in an accident…” the rest of it gets drowned out as Bellamy scrambles out of bed and into his clothes. He trips over his shoes and anxiety rolls off of him in waves. Accident. What kind of accident? How bad is it? What happened? Fuck.
His stomach is in knots as he remembers that he’s on the phone with someone. “Fuck. Yeah. I’m on my way.”
Bellamy speeds to the hospital. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t get pulled over, given that it’s 1:20 on a Wednesday morning. His stomach is in knots and his heart is in his throat. Clarke was working late at the gallery tonight, and he tried to stay up, but he has work in the morning and needed his sleep.
He bursts through the doors and it’s like a gust of wind opened them for him. Bellamy practically throws himself onto the desk, demanding for Clarke’s name and the nurse looks alarmed for a moment. “Clarke Griffin, I-I got a call,” he starts, and the nurse rapidly looks through her computer.
“Room 208, up the elevator and towards the left.”
And then Bellamy’s moving quickly again, and thank Christ there aren’t many people around because he’d be knocking everyone over. He taps his foot in the elevator, and wrings his hands. He’s fucking scared. His wife is in the damn hospital and he can’t remember what the last thing he said to her was. Was it that he loved her? Or have fun at work? Was it a joke? He doesn’t remember.
He hears her before he sees her. “For God’s sake, I’m fine, will you stop?”
“Clarke!” Bellamy busts through the door and she turns, her body relaxing. His eyes rake over her body, looking for any injury, any indication as to what the hell happened to her. She is absolutely covered in blood.
“Bell,” she says, and she reaches towards him. Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to find her hand, going to stand right behind her. “He’s my husband,” she hisses, when the doctors start to protest.
He looks down at her, at the blood splattered on the front of her shirt, on her face. “What,” he starts, swallowing thickly, the lump in his throat making a reappearance. “What the hell happened? You’re covered in blood, what the fuck?”
“Okay, it’s not my blood, calm down,” Clarke snaps, leaning back to rest against his chest. Bellamy swallows again, still staring intently at his wife’s shirt.
Then, he splutters. “Not,” he can’t process it, “not your blood?”
“It was just a little accident,” she murmurs, her eyes closing, and he only realizes then how tired she looks. “It’s the other driver’s blood. He’s okay, now. That’s what they said. Something sliced his arm open a bit and it bled onto me. Wasn’t my fault,” she continues, and the doctors leave the room to give them a moment.
Bellamy deflates, relief coursing through him. She’s okay. It’s not her blood. It wasn’t her fault. “Scared the hell out of me,” he mumbles, turning her so he can see her face. “Why haven’t they wiped this off yet?”
“They wanted to check me out first,” Clarke replies, leaning forward and resting her forehead onto his sternum. “I’m okay. Just a broken wrist.”
Bellamy presses kiss after kiss onto her head, his hands gripping at her hips tightly. “Thank God,” he murmurs, “I’m glad it’s not your blood.”
Clarke snorts a bit, leaning back so she can look at him. “Yeah, I am too.”
