#mintyficnet

[reysmarauders]

GUYS! I know only like 5 of you will probably care, but I got into nursing! I start studying in July and I’m super excited, so yeah. I’m really happy and yeah :)

Also in a completely unrelated topic, if anyone wants to chat ever, I’m always free!

[arteomis]

Okay, okay but the delinquents reading Harry Potter... just imagine

Monty and Miller are out scouting when they stumble across a bunker full of books--there are stacks and stacks from floor to ceiling. books line every wall and fill every corner

when they finally tear themselves away from the shelves and shelves of ink and paper books (all they had on the ark were electronic books, and it’s just not the same) they go and find Clarke and Bellamy. 

Bellamy practically tears through the trees on his way there.

Clarke laughs at him but when she sees the underground library herself, her breath catches and she just stares. openly amazed.

Bellamy goes for the big tomes--the stories that lasted hundreds of years and Bellamy wants to be sure live on for a hundred more.

Miller slides Shakespeare from the shelf and loses himself in sonnets.

Clarke picks up poetry. she crumples when she reads Sylvia Plath.

but Monty’s the one who finds it. the slim, worn hardcover with so many cracks in its spine that Monty can tell it was loved by someone or maybe even a few someones.

he cracks open Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and it’s magic.

he drives Miller crazy, staying up late, wasting candle wax, but he can’t put the book down. or any book in the series that follows.

Monty makes Miller read them next. 

Miller heaves a sigh and starts the book just to humor Monty, but then Miller finds something of himself in the boy with light and dark in his soul--the boy who never thought he could be enough let alone more than. 

after Miller, it’s Clarke and after Clarke, it’s Bellamy. then Raven.

soon, all the delinquents are waiting their turn to get their hands on the next Harry Potter book. they steal the copy from their friend’s bedside table. arguments break out over who’s turn it is to read next.

they treat the novels like they’re sacred. they wash their hands before touching the pages. 

(when Murphy accidentally tears one of the pages Miller has to hold Monty back.)

arguments break out over characters--whether Snape was a bad guy, whether or not Draco deserved to be redeemed. 

everyone starts sorting themselves and their friends into houses.

“You would be proud to be in Slytherin, Clarke”  “Fuck off, Bellamy. Everyone knows that Gryffindors are nothing but recklessly brave idiots who constantly risk themselves for the sake of heroics.” “All I heard is that you think I’m brave and heroic.” “Whatever.”

Clarke and Monty desperately searching the bunkers they find for more copies.

Bellamy reading the books aloud to the younger kids in camp.

Raven and Jasper trying to come up with science that imitates the weasley’s wizard wheezes

Harper and Monroe drawing the deathly hallows symbol on their wrists.

Just... the delinquents reading Harry Potter guys

[amosnaomi]

is this a kissing book?

the monty/miller princess bride au you never knew you needed. 17k.

(ao3)

Miller calls out, “Hey, Farm Boy! Save an apple for me."

"As you wish," Monty says.

[ponytailcoby]

So after my "Arkadia drama club" post I need a Minty high school AU with Monty as a drama geek and Miller as his smitten best friend who lets Monty talk him into trying out for the drama club with him. Of course Miller's reluctant at first because the only acting experience he has is quoting Marvel movies with Monty during their weekly movie nights. But eventually Monty's sad eyes and quivering lip are enough to convince Miller to try out and he ends up being good, really good, and Monty just kind of stares at him throughout his whole audition with this wide-eyed look like "Where have you been all my life?" And there's mutual pining on both their parts because Miller's been in love with Monty this whole time but he's been too scared to pursue anything. And Monty's feelings are new but no less intense and he's nervous because this is his best friend and he doesn't think Miller even likes him like that. Meanwhile Bellamy, Clarke, Jasper, Octavia, Raven, and Lincoln are all shaking their heads in the background and laughing at how ridiculous their friends are. Everything manages to work itself out in the end and Monty and Miller realize they're both idiots in love.

[reysmarauders]

Hey guys! So I wanna change my bog name and if you guys could comment with which number I should choose that would be gr8 xx

1. reysmarauders

2. mintymarauders

3. legendsofrey

I need help!!!

[arteomis]

lovely, dark, and deep - ch. 2

Bellarke Red Riding Hood AU - Bellamy and Clarke grow up together in Arksmouth, a village cowering in the shadow of a wolf. The wolf is only kept at bay by monthly sacrifices of the town’s livestock on the full moon. When the wolf murders Harper, Clarke’s sister, killing for the first time in 20 years, Clarke is caught in the middle of a wolf hunt. Who can she trust when even Bellamy, her best friend and the man she’s fallen in love with, could be the wolf?

part: 3/8  |  wc: ~4.5k  

Previous: prologue || chapter one || picspam || read it on AO3

Dried blood crusts on the skirts of her dress, but she can’t bring herself to care. She feels blank. Empty.

She thinks back to just a few nights ago; Harper had told Clarke she had a secret. She can still see the flash of her sister’s smile, bright and full of life. The memory twists before her eyes. Echoes of laughter and hushed whispers resound in her mind, the thoughts coalescing into the twisted bastard child of dream and nightmare.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and leans her hands against the table in front of her, a wave of grief sweeping over her.

That night, she had tried to get Harper to tell her what she meant, but Harper thrived on attention and she loved teasing Clarke. So of course, she never told Clarke what the secret was. And now she never would. But Clarke can’t be angry at Harper for keeping secrets. After all, Clarke never told her about Bellamy.

Now, she can’t help but wonder if Harper’s secret that night had anything to do with why she’d been in the north square last night on a full moon.

Clarke shakes away the thought to focus on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her cheek and grabs a tonic from the shelf in front of her. Then she turns back to Wells.

He’s sitting on the work table with his back against the wall. His right arm is holding his left elbow, his face twisted with pain. Two uneven lines bisect his chest while his left arm hangs against his side at an unnatural angle, shoulder obviously dislocated.

“I just…I don’t understand why it didn’t kill me,” he says through clenched teeth as Clarke first cleans and dresses the cuts.

Clarke shakes her head; she doesn’t understand either.

Last night, Wells had been working late at the shop sorting through books (and probably getting lost in one, if Clarke had to guess), when he’d heard Harper’s scream. He’d arrived too late to save Harper, but he’d seen the hulking creature—the wolf—standing over her body.

The scratches on Wells’s chest are shallow, barely piercing the skin. (Almost like the wolf didn’t mean to scratch him.) Clarke shakes her head. It doesn’t make sense.

“It just—it just shoved me against the wall and disappeared,” Wells goes on, “It killed Harper, why not me?”

“I don’t know, Wells. I really don’t,” Clarke whispers. Thinking about last night hurts. She can’t let herself dwell on what happened. On the whys.

“I have to set your shoulder,” she says, straightening, “It’s going to hurt a lot,” she hands him a piece of leather, “You probably want to bite down on this.”

Wells hisses in pain when Clarke shoves his shoulder back into place.

There’s not much else she can do for Wells now, she sighs and leans her hip against the work table. Her mind drifts, she wonders what’s happening at the town hall right now.

What course of action will the town take now that the wolf has killed someone? Clearly, the monthly sacrifices of livestock, meant to maintain a peace with the beast, were no longer enough. This morning the air buzzed with tension and fear. It’s been twenty years since the last wolf attack.

Wells knows Clarke well enough to presume the direction of her thoughts.

“Go. To the town meeting,” he adds at her look. “She was your sister, Clarke. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you don’t do something.”

He smiles, weak with pain and tainted by sadness (Harper was his friend too), but encouraging. Clarke nods, Wells is her closest friend aside from Bellamy, and though she resents the marriage their parents have planned between them, she doesn’t hold the arrangement against Wells. He’s just as much a pawn as she is. He’s a good man, kind, and Clarke thinks that if it weren’t for Bellamy, she could have been happy marrying Wells.

“I promise not to leave you alone with my mother for too long,” she says.

She cleans the blood off her hands in the cold water of the basin then disappears into the closet to pull on a pair of trousers. She ditches her blood stained skirts but keeps the fitted bodice and pulls a leather shirt overtop it. She slides a black cloak over her shoulders. Today of all days, she doesn’t want to stand out in the crowd.

She checks the always present knife in her boot. The touch of cool metal against the skin puts her at ease, at once familiar and dangerous. She slides another dagger into a strap on her forearm, beneath her leather sleeve. When she emerges, she can hear her mother shuffling medicines in the back.

Wells is still on the table, but he grins at the sight of her get up. He’s one of the only people who knows that she hunts in the woods.

She leans forward to press a kiss to Wells’s cheek, careful not to knock his injured arm. It’s a thank you and an apology. His expression tells her he understands.

She turns to leave and comes face to face with Bellamy in the doorway. His jaw clenched and his eyes are hard. Angry. With a jolt she realizes he’s reacting to her exchange with Wells.

The door stands open behind him, letting gusts of cold air into the infirmary. Luckily, her mother still hasn’t emerged from the back yet, but Clarke knows she could be out any second.

She sets her jaw and shoves Bellamy out the door in front of her, her hands firm against his hard chest.

She drags him behind her and once they’re safely hidden in the dark space between two cabins, Clarke spins to face Bellamy, irritation clawing under her skin, “What the hell were you thinking, Bellamy?! My mother could have seen you!”

The shadows blur his features, but she can see his anger in the stiff line of his mouth.

“Sorry if I was interrupting something.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You know there’s nothing going on between me and Wells.”

“You’re going to marry him.”

“But I love you. And I’m not going to let my mother marry me off to Wells, no matter what she says.”

Bellamy huffs. “I just hate that we have to hide.”

She takes his hand, her cold fingers sliding between his.

“I know, I hate it too, but right now it’d be too dangerous if my mom found out. She holds too much sway in this town. She could make your life hell.”

Bellamy leans his forehead against hers. His eyes are closed when he speaks, “Sometimes… Sometimes, I wish we could just leave. Run away together,” he whispers. The words are soft and careful, they sound like a precious secret.

She doesn’t know what to say so she kisses him. He knows that if running away were a real option she would go with him in a heartbeat.

Bellamy kisses deeply, lips soft and coaxing. Clarke’s toes curl in her boots.

He pulls away and they stand there for a moment, drinking in one another’s presence. Clarke leans her head against her chest, letting him support her weight. He’s the only person she’s ever let hold her up.

His thumb traces a soft line across her jaw, “I’m sorry about Harper, Clarke.”

She takes a shaky breath, “Me too.”

Bellamy’s words pull her back from grief-stricken thoughts, “Kane is organizing a hunt at town hall. They’re going after the wolf. Octavia and I both volunteered to go.”

She straightens, rolling her shoulders back before meeting his eyes. Something like anger hardens in her chest.

“I’m coming with you.”

Bellamy smiles ruefully, the gesture holds no mirth, “I had a feeling you would say that.”

[amosnaomi]

i won’t say i’m in love

happy christmas! here’s a random monty/miller high school au for all those who need it this christmas eve day

3.9k words. (ao3) 

Nathan Miller was not going to fall for Monty Green just because Monty was the only other gay guy at their school.

“Look, that’s great and all for Monty Green, but we don’t exactly know each other and—” Miller shoots Bellamy a look when Bellamy opens his mouth to argue. “—I’m not going to talk to him just because he’s the only other gay guy we know.”

[arteomis]

you look like a movie. you sound like a song.

She knows shouldn’t care. She and Bellamy were never together. They never dated. But for as long as Clarke can remember, Bellamy’s held her heart. Even if he’ll never know it.

Modern AU inspired by Adele’s When We Were Young. AO3

The bourbon burns her throat on the way down, but the champagne being passed around by waiters in crystal flutes wasn’t doing enough to take the edge off. Clarke closes her eyes for a moment, taking solace in the black of her eyelids as she waits for the alcohol to make its way into her bloodstream.

She taps on the bar and orders a rum and coke. She waits until the bartender has passed her the drink before she turns to face the room. Golden light pours through large glass windows as the sun sets. It’s perfect and she couldn’t have pictured anything better for Octavia and Lincoln. Getting married on Christmas eve isn’t right for everyone, but she thinks it works for them. The newly married couple spins on the dance floor lost in a world of their own. Octavia’s dress floats around her as she and Lincoln twirl around and around. Clarke’s never seen either of her friends look so incandescently happy.

Her heart aches as she watches her friends, sorrow tugging at her chest. She’s missed them. She’s missed all her friends. It’s been months since she last saw them.

She has a good life in California, she fits in well there. She has good friends, she likes Maya and Anya a lot. She’s even dated. But she ended things with Lexa because it felt dishonest. Like lying, to herself and Lexa. Because she knows it could never really work out. (She’s in love with someone else.)

She’s has a good life in San Francisco, but it’s not her home. And coming back to the east coast—back to New York, where her friends—her family—are—only makes Clarke miss everything she left behind.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of dark curls and a strong jaw, across the room. A crooked grin she’s thought about a thousand times.

(He’s the person she’s missed the most. He’s the reason she left in the first place.)

She knows shouldn’t care. She and Bellamy were never together. They never dated. But for as long as Clarke can remember, Bellamy’s held her heart. Even if he’ll never know it.

She hasn’t been able to look at him directly all night. It’s too much. The suit. The smile. It’s the same smile he’s wearing in the polaroid she keeps in her wallet and with her always. The photo’s faded, worn, a seam down the middle from being folded and unfolded too many times. But Clarke can’t help herself from bringing it out whenever she misses him. It’s the closest she can get to holding a memory.

It was taken by a stranger on the side of a road, they hadn’t really slept in days, their last shower had been at a motel with more rats than residents. But she, Miller, and Bellamy didn’t care. Flashes of memory play across her mind like the flickering images of an old movie. Echoes of laughter play like the songs they listened to as they drove cross-country in Bellamy’s old pick-up truck.

Quiet moments colored grey by the dark on the nights Miller fell asleep and she and Bellamy stayed up until dawn, just talking until the words came out soft and rasped, feeling brave and like magic under a cloak of stars.

She can’t face him now. She can’t face the soft and easy look she knows she’ll find when he sees her. Clarke’s never been more than a friend to him—a good friend, it’s true. One of his best friends, maybe. But just a friend. And it’s that truth that sealed her decision to leave. To do her residency in San Francisco instead of New York. She left because she knew that she’d never be able to move on if she didn’t. And she had to move on. Because one day he was going to find someone. He was going to fall in love with someone. Fall for them the way Bellamy does anything: with his whole heart.

Clarke didn’t want to be around to watch him fall in love—marry someone else. He’s electric, and eventually, someone’s going to notice. Clarke didn’t want to be around when it happened. So she left.

It’s been months since she’s seen him, years since she’s lived here, yet just the sight of him, even after all this time, stills her heart. (She was fooling herself thinking she could move on. There will never be a time when she won’t love him. It comes as easy as breathing. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him.)

She’s halfway through her rum and coke, watching Murphy ineptly flirt with the bartender when she hears his voice behind her. Her eyes shut of their own accord at the sound of her name on his lips. He stands a few steps away, and there’s a beat of tension before she turns to face him. She smiles, weakly, staring at his shoulder. Too much of a coward to meet his eyes.

“Can’t even bother to come say hello, Princess? Am I not worth your attention anymore?” His voice is the same: deep and warm. He’s teasing, but she can hear the undercurrent of hurt in his tone.

She turns her eyes to the drink in her hand and shrugs, “You’ve been busy all day. I didn’t want to distract you from wedding duties,” she swirls her drink, listening to the ice clink against the glass.

Bellamy settles next to her, the heat of his arm inches from hers. She knows she should step away, but all she wants to do is curl in closer.

She chooses not to move.

“I wouldn’t have minded being distracted by you,” she can hear the smile in his voice, but she doesn’t check to make sure. Instead, she stares resolutely at the couples dancing and hides her smile with a sip of her drink.

On the dance floor, Miller grins smugly and Monty’s cheeks are pink as he laughs at whatever his boyfriend just said.

Bellamy’s voice is gruff when he speaks, “I’ve missed you. It’s been months since I’ve heard from you…” he clears his throat, “Is—Is everything okay, Clarke? You’re acting like you’re mad at me.”

His voice is soft, almost apologetic, and Clarke finally looks at him. His hair is short on the sides but long on top, his curls falling across his forehead. He smells like pine needles and coming home.

Her eyes catalogue the familiar pattern of his freckles as she takes him in. Her gaze lingers on his mouth. On the scar on his lip, the way the corners of his mouth are turned down, telling Clarke he’s upset. Clarke knows she’s not being fair. But just being this close hurts.

Her fingers squeeze her glass as she meets his eyes (she’s always loved his eyes), “I’m not mad at you, Bell. I’m just tired. Jet-lag and all,” she lies. She hopes her smile doesn’t look as stiff as it feels.

His brow furrows, “I don’t believe you, Clarke. We haven’t spoken in months. The only way I knew you were alive is because you were still keeping in touch with everyone else.”

“We’ve talked.” Her hands are shaking. She set her glass down on the bar to lace her fingers together in front of her.

“Twice. In 5 months.” Desperation starts to thread his words, “Clarke, I don’t understand. Is this because of what I said? Before you left?”

Clarke swallows. A week before she left, Bellamy had called her, drunk, and told her not to leave. He had rambled and slurred about how much she mattered to him. I love you, Clarke. You’re my best friend. It had broken her heart. Because no matter how much she wanted those words to mean more, she knew he hadn’t meant them the way she wanted him to.

She’s saved from answering by the clinking of glasses to signal for everyone to return to their seats for the speeches before dinner. Octavia gestures to Bellamy and Clarke moves to make her way to her seat, but Bellamy catches her hand, oblivious to the sparks his fingers send across her skin. He gives her a look that tells her he’s far from done with their conversation before letting go to hurry to where Octavia’s waiting for him with the mic.

After that, Clarke makes sure she’s not alone again. She talks to Miller and Monty at their table, teases Murphy about the handsome bartender, and pulls Wells up to dance with her when she notices Bellamy getting up from his seat.

Bellamy finally catches her alone at the table after dessert while her friends are getting refills on their drinks. He offers his hand, cocking his eyebrow in a challenge.

“Dance with me, Princess.”

She’s never been able to back down from a dare and he knows it. A smile plays at the corners of her mouth as she thinks back to June nights and fireflies. She slides her hand into his, ignoring the way the gesture makes her heart trip in her chest.

The music swells, sweet and sad and slow. She carefully places her hand on Bellamy’s shoulders, feeling the hard curve of muscle beneath his white dress shirt. Bellamy’s hands on her waist draw her in, leaving little space between their bodies. She squeezes her eyes shut, half her heart wishing he wanted her the way she wants him, the other half cursing fate for never giving her any other option but to love him. Because she does. Love him. Her love for Bellamy feels like stars in the night sky. Infinite. Inevitable.

She loves him for every part of who he is. She loves the parts of himself he brandishes for all the world to see, and the ones he hates and hides. She loves the way he speaks, passion threading every word. She loves his heart, how when he feels, he feels deeply and fully. She loves his strength, his kindness, despite everything he’s been through. She loves that his favorite place in the whole world is the library in their hometown because it was his safe haven as a kid and because it’s where he first discovered the powerful magic of words.

When she opens her eyes, Bellamy’s watching her, face inscrutable. She’s never understood his ability to do that. To shutter his expressions. So that not even she, the girl who’s known him since he was a teenager with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, can read the feelings flickering behind his features.

The song rises and crashes around them like a wave. Bellamy’s quiet as he guides her around the dance floor and Clarke feels herself losing the battle against her reason. She lets herself be pulled into him completely. Bellamy has always been magnetic. It’s the way he carries himself, the way he speaks. And just this once Clarke lets herself bend to his pull. She rests her head on his shoulder, Bellamy turns so that his jaw presses against her hairline, his breath sweeping across her forehead as he speaks. She can feel the rumble of his voice through his chest.

“Do you remember the first time we danced?”

Clarke smiles, involuntary, “I don’t know if you could really call what we did ‘dancing.’”

…

The night before Bellamy was deployed, Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy spent the night drinking vodka and eating whatever they could find in the fridge, stubbornly ignoring what the fast approaching morning would bring.

Octavia had fallen asleep around one in the morning, curled up on the in their living room couch while Clarke and Bellamy stayed up through the night.

At some point, the two of them ended up on the grass outside. The warm beginning of summer buzzed around them as they passed a can of whipped cream back and forth, both of their mouths stained red from the maraschino cherries they’d been eating all night.

They were talking, whispers against the night when of the neighbors opened a window and the lilting melody of an old radio wafted through the air.

Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s hand without thinking.

“What are you doing?”

“Dance with me,” she said, pulling his hand to drag him to his feet.

“I don’t dance, Princess,” he smirked, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck gave him away.

“It’s fine if you don’t know how. I’ll teach you.”

They were terrible. Stumbling, uncoordinated. But too drunk to care. They laughed and spun as the music faded into the background.

It had been that night. Under a sky streaked with morning, a breath away from Bellamy, a boy with constellations painted in his freckles, that she had first wanted to kiss him. Bellamy had always been beautiful, but she had never noticed in more than a passing manner. He had never made her heart skip before. But that night his mouth spread in a wide grin, teeth red from the cherries, blades of grass in his hair, she had wanted to kiss Bellamy. Really kiss him and be kissed by him.

He’d been on a plane headed halfway across the world by ten the next morning.

…

The song ends too soon. But before she can pull away, Bellamy takes her hand. He leads her out of the room to the balcony out back. The air is cold, but the warmth from the drinks she’s had numbs her against the bite of frost.

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, nervous. Clarke stares down at her dress, gold and flowy, unable to watch him as she waits to hear what he has to say.

“Clarke, I don’t know what I did, but I can’t take this. I can’t take not talking to you, not seeing you. God, I’ve missed you like hell these past few months and you won’t even look at me.”

She meets his gaze, his dark eyes are filled with feeling so deep she could swim in it, “I—You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What did I do, Clarke? This is about what I said before you left, isn’t it? Because--”

“No! It’s not that. You haven’t done anything, Bell.”

“Then, fuck, Clarke. What is it?”

“I’m in love with you,” she whispers. The words slip through the cracks in her heart. She stares at his shoulder, instead of his eyes. Bellamy freezes.

“And it’s not your fault, I just, I need time, okay?” she swallows the lump in her throat, “To get over you. It’s just—it’s too hard right now, and it’s not fair to either of us—”

She cuts herself off as Bellamy steps forward. He brings his hand to her face, his thumb brushes her cheek and she finally looks him in the eye. Her breath catches at the undisguised look of raw hope on his face.

His voice is ragged when he speaks, “I don’t want you to get over it. I—fuck—I love you, Clarke. I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you.”

The next moment he’s kissing her, deeply and desperately. Her back is pressed against cold brick, but she doesn’t care as she twists her fingers in his hair and pulls him in as close as she can.

They spend a few minutes tangled up in each other and when they pull apart, their lips are red and their eyes are glassy as they struggle to catch their breath.

Bellamy rests his forehead against hers. Their breath mingles in the cloud between them, but her heart is warm. She pulls Bellamy down into another kiss and smiles against his mouth at the promise of forever on his lips.