40. favorite disney songugh rn I’m so grossed out by Disney and their massive takeover of everything lol. just seeing their name kind of makes me grossed out but there are films and songs that ARE close to my heart of theirs. Most of them are some of the old school ones like He’s a Tramp and Cruella De Vil and Everybody Wants to Be a Cat.
But really -- all time fav is instrumental. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice from Fantasia.
My stupid brain struggling to remember what T.M.R stands for after months of not reading about Tom: Tom Marlboro Riddle. Me: that's not it, but, close...
HAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAAAHAHA
u don't even understand how often i think this im glad im not the only one omfg
I'm a creep and went through your bookmarks. Are you writing for harringrove? Or like give me your thoughts on the ship pls i love u 🌺
kjsdhfkjshdjf that’s not creepy at all, I totally do that when I find authors i like!!
i have not written for harringrove, but I am being reluctantly pulled into the pairing via porn, excellent modern aus, and my love for garbage boy billy hargrove who is an absolute first class awful gay disaster deeply fucking obsessed with steve harrington aka clueless den mother who has no idea what he wants sexually until it hits like a big ole clue bus and then he has like three crises at once
Time travel bellarke. For some reason one or both travel to the past and it was not good. Or anything you want but with timetravel
I couldn’t come up with a historical era for them to go to, so I just made this a Star Trek AU with them coming back to now oops
If and when Bellamy gets back to his own time, he’s going to petition Starfleet to add some mandatory classes on what to do if you’re thrown back in time and/or into a parallel universe, because he thinks generic guidelines and word-of-mouth tips just aren’t cutting it. They need to stop acting like this doesn’t happen all the fucking time.
“At least we’re on Earth,” says Clarke, looking around with a frown.
“I don’t know, Vulcan might be better. If we told Vulcans we were time travelers from the future, they’d probably roll with it and help. This doesn’t look like an advanced enough Earth to give us any help.”
“I think the Prime Directive forbids talking about being a time traveler.”
“Yeah, and we never ignore the Prime Directive.”
Clarke huffs a laugh, and he smiles too. He wouldn’t admit it without some serious interrogation, but Clarke is probably his first choice for a companion in any tight spot. She’s smart and capable and practical, idealistic without being stupid. Which is kind of a problem with Starfleet, in his experience.
“Never,” she agrees, and when the computer finishes its analysis with a ping, she’s the one to go check it. “You want the bad news?”
“No, I like going into potentially hostile situations blind.”
“It could be worse. Early twenty-first century. Pollution levels are near critical, so I’d say between 2015 and 2020.”
“Fuck, we probably landed in the Trump administration,” he says, rubbing his face. “Just our fucking luck.”
“We just need to survive long enough to repair the ship.”
“Yeah, because if there’s one thing we’re great at, it’s ship repairs.”
“You know what doesn’t help? This shit,” says Clarke, mild, but with just enough of an edge to snap him out of it.
“You’re the optimist here,” he says. “But I’ll go with it. So—what’s the plan?”
She looks around the ship, thoughtful. “First step is figuring out if the replicators work and if we have anything we can sell without compromising the timeline.”
It’s as good a place to start as any.
“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
*
The replicator works long enough to make them some period-appropriate clothing and breakfast, but given the overall shaky state of the ship’s systems, they don’t want to make anything they don’t have to. They have better things to do with their power; they’re going to have to try to get by on their own.
Unfortunately, they’ve landed smack in the middle of late capitalism with no identification papers, in a country that thinks poverty should be a death sentence.
So that’s good.
And then, of course, there’s the much larger issue, which is that they have to get home, and even if they repair the ship, they have no idea how to do that. They set up a beacon that Starfleet will be able to detect, in case Raven figures out where they went and how to get to them, but Bellamy has no fucking clue how they got here, let alone how to reverse it and get back.
Which is the downside of being stuck with Clarke. It would really help if they had an engineer with them. As it is, all they have is the computer and time.
“And this,” says Clarke, tossing him something.
It’s so small, he barely sees it, but he still manages to catch it, blinks down at the ring in his hands. “Antique?”
“Yeah, a family heirloom. There’s some sentimental value, but I think my mother would understand why I sold it. It won’t be enough money to go far, but we can sleep on the ship, so all we need is food and supplies.”
“Supplies for a ship from two-hundred years in the future,” Bellamy points out. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, just that whatever parts we might need are probably going to be expensive and hard to access. We should maybe be trying to settle in for the long haul.”
Clarke’s shoulders slump. “I know.”
“So–we’re a young couple who fell on hard times,” he says, slow. “You’re selling your wedding ring to help us make ends meet. We should replicate papers now, before we’re worried about power. If we have to, we can probably find jobs, get a post office box–what?”
She’s staring at him, slack-jawed, but at the question, she smiles, shakes her head. “You have an amazingly detailed plan ready for how to survive in the collapsing United States.”
He shrugs. “Have you ever looked into Starfleet records? People get sent back in time a lot. This one works for most capitalist societies.”
“So, you think we might have to stay?”
It’s a staggering thought. The country is on its way to a much needed and ultimately successful revolution, but Bellamy doesn’t really want to witness it.
“I think we need to make sure we can survive here first,” he says. “And once we’ve done that, we can work on getting home. But unless you have an idea for what to do right now to fix the ship and get back–”
“You’re right.” She sighs. “So we’re going native for a while.”
“At least they speak English,” he says. “Come on, let’s go pawn the wedding ring.”
*
There is something academically fascinating about traveling into the past. Bellamy’s done it before, to an extent, the same way everyone has: in the holodeck, as a curiosity. He never went to this exact year, but he’s been to places like this, in recreation. He knows how it’s supposed to be, and it’s interesting to see the differences.
If he knew he could just end the program and go back whenever he wanted to, he’d probably enjoy it. As it is, he’s too aware of the dangers they’re facing, of how close they are to being found out and detained as illegal immigrants or terrorists or whatever else this regime is afraid of.
It’s not all bad, of course. Most of the time, they’re just living their new lives, taking advantage of their fictitious histories and credentials. Bellamy gets a job at a university, working in the library, and Clarke finds one at a hospital. He never stops being worried every time he sees a police officer, but he learns the routine of it, the same way Clarke learns to keep her head down and not respond when men tell her to smile or whistle as she walks past.
They can’t afford to make waves. They can’t afford to be caught.
“I do like seeing the television programs,” Clarke says, with false cheer. It’s been a month, and she saw her third person die of an injury she could have cured in a matter of seconds at home, and had to turn away someone else because they couldn’t pay for their own treatment. She crawled onto their lumpy couch next to him and curled into his side, and he wishes he had something better to do than just hold her. “They’re interesting.”
“Yeah, it’s amazing how much of this stuff didn’t survive. Apparently they’re in a golden age of television, but I missed most of them.”
“For a golden age, there are a lot of white men,” Clarke grumbles.
Bellamy has to smile. “Most golden ages in history have just been for white men, yeah.” He leans back. “I wonder which of our proudest accomplishments will seem barbaric in three hundred years.”
“It’s not like plenty of people don’t know it’s bad now. And we have an advantage, at least.”
“We might get out of here someday?”
Clarke snuggles closer, which feels like an advantage all by itself. He knew how much he cared about her before, but it’s different now. He thinks she might care about him just as much, for a start. “We know it’s going to get better,” she says.
That makes him smile. “We do, yeah.”
*
After six months, Clarke starts a countdown to the revolution that they both know is coming.
“We should really get out before that,” she says, and he snorts.
“Yeah, I figured. I still don’t know a fucking thing about time anomalies, though. If you have any ideas, I’m all ears.”
“Honestly? I was thinking we could start looking at science fiction.” He snorts, and she elbows him. “I’m serious! I’m not saying we’re going to find the answer we’re looking for, but we might get some ideas. Something we could run by the computer for projections. I’m not coming up with anything on my own, so–”
“So let’s start seeing what other people have thought of.” He shakes his head. “I guess you’re right, it couldn’t hurt. I think you just want to interact with more media,” he teases.
“I don’t just want to interact with more media,” she shoots back, and he laughs.
But somehow, it works. They nearly turn off Back to the Future once it becomes clear that it’s not actually going to help, but the whole thing is fun and amusing, and it’s not like they don’t have time to just enjoy themselves.
And then, in the second movie, the main character gets a letter from the past, the distant past, and Bellamy thinks, well, why not.
“We could do that,” he says.
“Which part?” Clarke asks. She’s already half asleep; her hours are longer than his, most days. And the healthcare system is slowly killing her, he’s sure.
They have to get out of here.
“We could leave a message for Raven. There are some companies that are still in operation, we just have to find one. Tell her where we are and when. Set a delivery date. You remember when we got lost, right? It can’t hurt.”
Clarke’s awake now, and laughing. “I can’t believe you actually got a plan from Back to the Future II.”
“It was your idea,” he shoots back.
“Teamwork.”
He has to smile. “Teamwork.”
*
They get a zipcar out to the park where they hid the ship, have the computer find a list of local attorneys or delivery companies that are still operating under the same ownership. The computer comes up with more options than Bellamy was expecting, which turns out to be a good thing, because none of the first few work out. Some think it’s a prank and refuse outright, and others agree, but with the kind of patronizing expression that made Bellamy think they weren’t really going to follow through.
At the fifth place, Clarke takes a different approach.
“I know this is a little strange,” she says, “but–we wanted to leave a time capsule. For our descendants, if we have any.” She holds up the package, neat, and wrapped in brown paper. “To be opened on the three-hundredth anniversary of our daughter’s birth.”
The man smiles, indulgent, but not opposed. “So, this is the date we, as caretakers, should open the package?”
“And then follow the instructions to find any surviving relatives of ours.”
“Like she said, we know it’s unconventional, but we had a time capsule from my grandparents, and we wanted to give something to that to future generations,” Bellamy adds.
“Well, I can’t promise anything, of course,” says the man. “No one can see the future, and that’s a long time for the business to survive. But we have performed similar services for others, so if you’re willing to risk it–”
“We understand,” says Clarke. “Thank you.”
They leave a few others, just to be safe, and then it’s suddenly–awkward. That’s the thing about time travel; if it works, they should find out soon. They don’t have to wait for Raven to get it, because sometime in the future, Raven will have gotten it as soon as they left, and even if it takes her months or years to solve the problem, they shouldn’t feel that delay.
All they told her was the day she couldn’t come before, to avoid a paradox; everything else is up in the air, and all they can do is hope.
“I wonder if she can even hit an exact day,” says Clarke. “Or if she’ll accidentally show up three years early or something.”
“If anyone can figure it out, it’s Raven. And she has all the time she needs.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t waste her life trying to figure out how to come get us.”
“We did tell her we’d be fine if she didn’t make it back,” he reminds her. “She knows that.”
“I know.” To his surprise, she takes his hand and squeezes it. “We will be fine, Bellamy.”
“Yeah,” he says. “We will.”
*
Raven doesn’t make them wait long; they check the ship two days after they deposit the messages, and there she is, repairing the engine like she’s been there forever.
“Seriously, you two had to land here?” she demands, by way of greeting. “There’s so much air pollution I can barely breathe.”
“We’ve been here for six months,” says Bellamy, and then they both break into smiles and hold on to each other together. He passes her onto Clarke, and then it’s all business, Raven getting the repairs done while Bellamy and Clarke have the strange responsibility of putting their affairs in order, quitting jobs and leaving apartments with no notice, only a few steps above vanishing without a trace.
It’s hard to care that much. They’re going home.
Raven brought another ship and more crew to help, and it only takes a day, all told, for them to be redoing whatever she did to get back the first time. After all that waiting, it’s almost anticlimactic. All that worry, all that stress, and then they’re just–home. No money to worry about, no police watching him with wary eyes, just their ship and their people, like it’s supposed to be.
There’s only one thing missing: he and Clarke barely see each other, the first week. They’re together at meals, and sometimes throughout the day, but their duties have never brought them together very much, and after six months of cohabitation, it feels like nothing.
She must feel the same, because at the end of that week, she shows up at the door to his quarters. “I thought we could watch something,” she says, with a small smile. “Maybe some golden age television.”
He laughs and tugs her in. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you, and if I can’t, I want to know now.”
“I’ve been wanting that too,” she murmurs, and tugs him down.
oooo I love the hurt/comfort aspect of it. Like it can be on both sides, because Steve has lived through real live monsters and billy has his dad, and they’re just so alike but totally different too. I like how billy can get out of his head if he’s taking care of steve, and vice versa, it’s just so fun and fucked up.
