I wrote most of this at one in the morning, so it’s probably really bad
48: “We accidentally got married in Vegas oops”
Clarke woke up with a killer headache. She groaned and looked over at the clock. 11:30. Sighing, she started groping around the bed for an article of clothing to put on so she could get out of bed and freshen up. Bellamy was half on top of her shirt, and he stirred when she pulled it out from underneath him. She assumed his headache was throbbing just as much as hers was when he groaned and shoved his face into his pillow.
She pulled on the shirt, and got out of bed. The night before, Clarke had been smart enough to put the bottle of painkillers on her bedside table. She took a couple out before leaning over Bellamy and putting it on his bedside table.
Walking over to the cups, Clarke noticed some papers strewn across the coffee table. When she reached down to pick one of them up, she finally noticed the ring on her finger. Clarke’s eyes went wide. She grabbed the papers, gasping audibly when she found the paper she was looking for. The marriage license.
A million thoughts raced through her head. Her and Bellamy had been dating for three years, and she'd be lying if she said she didn’t want to marry him. She’d been dropping hints for months, of course she wanted to marry him; just not like this. Clarke wanted the romantic proposal, and the small, family wedding with all of her friends and family. She had imagined her wedding dress, and the look on Bellamy’s face when he saw her in it; how her mother would be so happy for her, and her father would walk her down the aisle.
At her gasp, Bellamy rolled over and looked at her, checking that she was alright.
Clarke opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She brought him the marriage license. He took it from her, and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table.
“Holy shit,” He said once he realized what it was. He grabbed Clarke’s hand and looked at the ring up close, before dropping it and putting his hands over his eyes.
Clarke grabbed two cups of water. She placed one of Bellamy’s bedside table, and used the other to take the pain meds. By the time she was done, Bellamy hadn’t moved. It was kind of scaring her.
Sighing, Clarke sat down on Bellamy’s side of the bed.
“I don’t know what to think,” she told Bellamy.
He didn’t respond.
“I mean,” Clarke continued, “I want to be married to you, but I’d like to remember how it happened.”
Bellamy let his arms flop down beside him.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” He finally said.
“What?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Bellamy repeated. He stared up at the ceiling, “I was supposed to propose to you in New York at the end of August.”
“Really?” Clarke breathed.
Bellamy glanced down at her and nodded.
“I know you’ve been dropping hints for months,” Bellamy said, “I wanted it to be perfect.”
He sat up and grabbed the painkillers and the glass of water.
“I don’t think it’s valid,” Clarke said after a moment, “the marriage,” She clarified.
Bellamy looked over at her.
“We should be able to get it annulled,” Clarke said, “we were both obviously drunk when it happened, which should be enough on it’s own. I also don’t think we consummated it, judging by the fact that we’re both wearing underwear. We can go get the marriage annulled, I’ll give you back my ring, you can go through with your proposal, and we’ll laugh about this when we’re old and grey.”
Bellamy took another drink of water.
“Sounds good,” He said.
“Okay,” Clarke said, “I’m going to go shower.”
She got up and started towwards the bathroom.
“Wait,” Bellamy said.
Clarke turned to him.
“If we’re married, does that mean that now you’re Clarke Blake?” He grinned.
colour: purple
food: pizza
smell: vanilla
movie: a league of their own
genre of music: rock
texture: soft things
time of day: early morning
day of the week: wednesday (new comic book day)
celebrity: Bob Morley / Ricky Whittle
drink: raspberry iced tea
precious stone: ruby
animal: otter
flower: daffodil
font: I don’t have one
video game: super mario 64
sound: rain
fruit: pomegranate
vegetables: sweet potato
shop: barnes and noble
fashion/style: jeans and a t-shirt
workout: running
boy’s name: Jacob
girl’s name: Emily
potato chip flavour: bbq
meal of the day: breakfast
ice cream flavour: chocolate chip cookie dough
soda (pop): dr. pepper
popcorn: lots of butter and salt
season: winter
month: december
word: serendipity
disney princess: mulan
insult: dickwad
eye colour: green
dessert: cheesecake
candy: sour patch kids
restaurant: cheesecake factory
language: spanish
thing about myself: my smile
Hey Lexi! Congrats on 1.3k! You deserve that and so much more. Could I get a fancast for The 100 or Sense8 please? My face tag is /tagged/my face. Thank you so much!
Thanks Ashley! :)The 100fancast: harperbest female friend: clarkebest male friend: murphyenemy: mount weatheraffiliation: delinquentsship: maya vie/miller
She runs down the hallway, still in her blood-spattered surgery scrubs, and barely makes it into the bathroom before vomiting.
Her hands shake as she clutches the hard edges of the sink, and a cold sweat gathers on her brow. Still smelling the mix of tangy iron and antiseptic, she coughs up more of her empty stomach. The image of the boy’s insides soaked in blood–they couldn’t find the bleeder, goddamn it, why didn’t they find the bleeder–won’t be purged though, so her own insides roll a third time.
The door swings open as Clarke is wiping the spittle from her chapped lips.
“You said you’d be able to handle it.”
Clarke glares at Anya over her shoulder. “He died.”
“He did. And we knew he probably would. You knew that, or you said you did. It’s the only reason I let you in the OR. So are you handling this, or not?”
Tears well up in Clarke’s eyes, because she did know, but her friends out in the waiting room didn’t. She had lied to them–she lied to Miller, his friend, and she lied to Octavia, who begged her to save the man she loved, and she lied to Bellamy, who looked at her with pleading eyes, to save his sister from heartbreak.
She had promised them that she would save Atom, and she hadn’t.
“They’re waiting,” Anya says kindly, and Clarke hates her for it, because Anya is never kind. It’s what makes her an excellent mentor, and an excellent surgeon, and she shouldn’t change that just because her intern is being weak.
She is right, though; her friends are waiting. So Clarke splashes her face with water, strips off her dirty outer layer of scrubs, and pushes past her resident out into the hall.
When she walks into the waiting room, Octavia sees her first, but all Clarke can see is Bellamy’s face falling, because he knows. His sister doesn’t though, and Clarke has to force the words past her lips, words she knows well by now but wishes she didn’t.
“Octavia, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but–”
Octavia’s cry drowns out the rest of it, and then Bellamy’s shoulder drowns out his sister’s sobbing.
Clarke looks blankly at the siblings, at Octavia’s heaving back and Bellamy’s forgiving eyes. Still, she fists her hands and then rubs them on her scrubs, as if blood still remains there.
She was supposed to save him, and she couldn’t. And that’s on her.
spooktevia replied to your post:Top 10 all time favorite songs! :)
Yessss, AMAZING TASTE IN MUSIC. Love literally every single song on this list and Sara Bareilles!! Ahhh. I literally listened to her first two albums on repeat for a good year straight when they came out. I freaking love her!
I’m pretty sure she is an actual goddess. Her lyrics are beautiful and her voice is such a powerhouse!
