An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapters added to a Bellarke fanfiction
He tasted like joy and joy tasted better on Earth by MidnightRocket
Clarke finally admits her feelings in her radio message
"I know you guys can’t hear me but it’s almost better that way, I can say things I never would have otherwise and I guess it keeps me sane. It keeps me feeling connected to you somehow despite the distance. And I guess it’s a choice I’m making with my heart and not my head..."
The first thing I notice is the noise. Polis is awake.
Boots echo against the stone floors, the steady rhythm carrying through the corridors as warriors move between rooms. Voices overlap in the open doorways of the throne room, some low and controlled, others sharp with urgency. Somewhere below, someone shouts an order, followed by the unmistakable clatter of weapons being gathered and armor being fastened.
The city is moving, preparing. For anyone else, it might sound like chaos. To me, it sounds almost normal. Or as close to normal as Polis ever gets.
I lie still beneath the furs, listening. For the first time since waking, I don't feel like I'm waiting for someone to tell me who's dying.
My gaze drifts across the room. Roan is already awake.
My brother sits near the throne, speaking quietly with Indra. He still looks pale, and every so often his hand presses against his side, but he's upright.
I shift carefully beneath the furs. Pain immediately pulls through my side. I grit my teeth and settle back. Apparently, my body disagrees.
“You're going to tear the stitches.”
I turn toward the voice and find Bellamy standing near the doorway, watching me with that same attentive expression he's had ever since I woke. “You've been awake for five minutes.”
“I've been awake longer than that,” I argue.
“Not according to Abby.”
I roll my eyes.
He walks over, a cup of water in hand, and holds it out toward me. “Drink.”
I take it from him, my fingers brushing his as I settle it carefully in my lap. “You're becoming annoying.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Becoming?”
I glance at him over the rim of the cup, but he only gives me a faint smile in response.
I study him for a moment, noticing the faint shadows beneath his eyes and the exhaustion he isn't bothering to hide. “You didn't sleep.”
“I slept,” he insists, though the tiredness in his voice makes the claim unconvincing.
I narrow my eyes, unconvinced. “Where?”
I follow his hand and stare at the narrow wooden chair before looking back at him. “You slept there?”
“Apparently,” he mutters, following my gaze toward the chair.
I shake my head, taking another sip of water. “You're an idiot.”
“Probably,” he admits with a faint shrug, as though he's long since accepted the accusation. The answer is so casual that I can't help the faint smile that pulls at my mouth.
I lower the cup, my attention shifting toward Clarke and Abby across the room. Whatever they're discussing, neither of them looks particularly eager to bring me into it.
“What happened?” I ask.
Bellamy's expression changes almost immediately. Whatever ease had been there a moment ago disappears, replaced by something more guarded. “Nothing.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That was a terrible lie.”
His jaw tightens, and his gaze shifts toward Clarke. She notices. After a brief exchange with Abby, Clarke makes her way toward me, her expression carefully composed.
“Y/N.” Clarke takes a slow breath, her eyes lingering on me as though she's trying to decide how to deliver whatever news she's been carrying. “We need to talk.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. “About what?”
Clarke glances toward Bellamy before meeting my eyes again. Whatever she sees in my expression seems to make her choose her next words carefully. “ALIE warned us about what's coming.”
I frown, struggling to understand what she could possibly mean. “The City of Light is gone.”
“I know.”
“Then what is there left to warn us about?”
Clarke's face hardens. “Praimfaya.”
The unfamiliar word hangs between us, carrying a weight I don't yet understand.
I stare at her. “What is Praimfaya?”
For a moment, Clarke says nothing. Then she finally answers, her voice quieter than before. “The second nuclear apocalypse.”
My fingers tighten around the cup, the metal suddenly cold against my palms as the words settle into place. “How long?”
Clarke doesn't hesitate this time. “Six months.”
The number seems to echo through the room.
My eyes immediately find Roan. He isn't surprised; he already knows. His expression remains grim as he watches me, and there's something in his eyes that tells me he's spent considerable time thinking about what comes next.
Six months. After everything. Six months.
For the first time since waking, the thought of surviving doesn't feel quite as simple as it did before. Because surviving one more battle is something I understand. Surviving the end of the world is something else entirely.
My mind immediately shifts into something I understand far better than fear: planning.
Clarke’s expression changes as she realizes exactly where my mind is going. “Y/N—”
“How much of the world will be affected?” I ask, already running through possibilities. “How long before the radiation reaches Polis? What areas will remain habitable?”
Bellamy shifts beside me. “Whoa.”
I ignore him. “What about food? Water? Weapons? If we have six months, we need to start stockpiling now. We need to know how many people each clan has and what resources they can provide.”
I push the furs aside, determined to sit up properly, only for a sharp bolt of pain to tear through my side. A hiss escapes me, and before I can try again, Bellamy's hand settles firmly against my shoulder.
“Absolutely not.”
I turn toward him with a glare. “Take your hand off me.”
“You're not getting out of bed.”
“I need to start planning.”
“You need to heal first,” he argues, keeping his voice low but firm. “You can barely sit up without reopening your stitches.”
“I can do both.”
The words come out sharper than I intend, but the irritation behind them has been building since the moment Bellamy put his hand on me. I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see even a hint of uncertainty.
Bellamy's expression hardens as he realizes I'm not backing down. “No, you can't.”
I ignore him and turn my attention toward Roan instead, refusing to give Bellamy the satisfaction of another argument. “We need to call the clan leaders. If we're going to survive another apocalypse, we can't wait until the last minute to decide who's going where.”
Roan watches me for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern. “You've been awake for less than an hour.”
I give him an incredulous look, folding my arms carefully across my chest. “And we have six months.”
“You've barely managed to sit upright without wincing.”
“That doesn't make me incapable of thinking.” I retort.
Roan's mouth twitches, but I can see him trying not to smile. “That doesn't mean you need to personally solve the entire problem before you've even had breakfast.”
I stare at him, irritation flashing across my face. “Someone needs to start.”
Bellamy shifts beside me, looking between my brother and me with open disbelief. “Don't encourage her.”
I snap my gaze toward him, my patience already wearing thin. “Finally, someone agrees with me.”
Roan sighs heavily, leaning back against the edge of the table. “I wasn't agreeing with you.”
I turn back toward him, narrowing my eyes. “You should.”
A quiet breath of laughter escapes him, and I glare harder. “Don't laugh.”
Roan immediately tries to compose himself, though the amusement remains in his eyes. “I'm not.”
“You are.”
Bellamy looks away, clearly hiding his own smile. I catch it.
My eyes narrow. “And neither of you is funny.”
That only makes Bellamy's mouth twitch harder.
I reach for the cup again, muttering under my breath as I settle back against the pillows. “Apparently I'm surrounded by idiots.”
Roan exchanges an amused glance with Bellamy.
“Apparently,” he agrees.
I glare at my brother. He only smiles.
Clarke exhales quietly, rubbing a hand over her forehead as she watches the three of us. “We've already started discussing some of this.”
My attention immediately returns to her, my irritation giving way to focus. “Then tell me what you have.”
The humor disappears from Clarke's face. “We may have a way to survive the radiation.”
My focus sharpens. “How?”
“That's what we're trying to figure out.”
I reluctantly settle back against the pillows, wincing as my side protests the movement. “Then start talking.”
Bellamy shakes his head beside me, though I catch the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
The smile disappears almost as quickly as it came, leaving the room heavy with the reality none of us can escape.
Six months isn't a distant threat. It's a deadline. And sitting around waiting for the end has never been something I've been particularly good at.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Classic Bellarke fanfiction from 2021
Forget-me-not blue by
PenguinofProse
Historical AU. Clarke's father is sick and Bellamy offers a marriage of convenience.
"But she’s happy for other reasons, too. She’s happy at the thought of a little freckled face, of a child half her and half this wonderful, infuriating man. She’s happy at the thought of a child which might bring her and Bellamy closer together, when this marriage so far..."
