For the post-6x02 prompt courtesy of @lilhemmo: ‘For the prompt: WHAT IF CLARKE IS THE ONE TO PATCH UP BELLAMYS THIGH STAB WOUND AND EVERYTHING UNRAVELS AND THEY FINALLY HASH THINGS OUT but someone will interrupt of course but hey’
Thank you for letting me write this!
Every moment we spend
turning from friends to enemies
and fighting to hold on to each other,
every second we fall to the fire below,
it’s so beautiful.
The chaos that follows the arrival of the Alpha planet children is a blur to Bellamy. Abby and Raven rake their eyes over the veins that cover Murphy’s chest like wolves. Octavia eyes him warily from a distance while Clarke tries to get some information out of the kids. There are so many people, and he can feel the last of the eclipse draining from his veins, and why is Diyoza awake, and where the hell are all of the adults on this planet, and Jesus fuck his leg hurts.
“We have to get him to medical,” Abby growls from her perch next to Murphy. She turns to the kids. “Do any of you kids know where the doctors are?”
A blonde girl with frizzy curls ringed in sunlight shakes her head. “They won’t be back for another couple of hours probably.”
Raven huffs and places a hand on Murphy’s chest.
“Do you know where the doctors take people that are sick?” Abby asks, and the little girl nods. “Okay, good. Do you think you can take me there so we can help our friend?”
The girl looks at the kids around her, hesitating, and then she nods.
It takes three of them, Abby, Jordan, and Octavia, to get Murphy to his feet, though his weight rests solely on their shoulders. They cart him off hastily, following a few of the children. Bellamy stands and tries to follow, but the shift of his weight onto his injured leg makes him grunt with exertion.
“No, no, no,” Clarke says, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “Someone needs to take a look at your leg.”
“I’m fine, Clarke. Murphy—”
“Murphy isn’t going anywhere, and you can’t help him if you’re dead from blood loss.”
She glares at him, her brow quirked as if daring him to argue. He knows that look. Arguing is pointless.
“Fine,” he bites out. “Where’s Jackson?”
She stoops to grab her pack and swing it over her shoulder, then meets his gaze and gives him a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Still out of commission,” she says. “You’re stuck with me.” She loops his arm around her shoulder before he can respond, taking the brunt of his weight as he hobbles to a patio of a house nearby. “You um—”
He sees the flush creep up her neck. She gestures at the torn fabric of the leg of his pants that seeps with blood and swallows hard.
“Oh,” he says, and the break in his voice makes him want to beat his head against the wall next to him. “Shit, yeah okay.”
He works at the buckle of his belt with shaky fingers, and he doesn’t allow himself to wonder why a lump has appeared in his throat.
Clarke’s a medic for god’s sake, this is nothing she hasn’t seen before. A tense silence fills the air between them as he drops his pants to the ground. Clarke clears her throat and extends a hand to steady him as he gently sits on the bench. Bellamy’s struck by the warmth of her palms as she gingerly lifts his bare leg to extend to his side. She doesn’t meet his eyes, just kneels next to him and begins to prod at the open wound. He hisses when she touches a particularly painful spot.
“Sorry,” she says. He brushes it off.
She rummages through her pack until she pulls out her med kit, rifling through its contents and pulling out a suture kit. The silence that hangs between them as she preps the tools is awkward, if he’s being honest, and he finds himself desperate to fill it.
“What the hell was that?” he asks. “The veins on Murphy’s chest.”
Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t know, honestly. It looked like some sort of weird blood poisoning.” He can feel the fear that lingers between them and chills his skin. Clarke squares her shoulders and clears her throat. “I’m sure my mom will figure it out. Especially once the doctors from Alpha get back.”
He tries to pretend he doesn’t hear the doubt in her voice.
“You were right,” he tells her. “We have no idea how to survive down here.”
Her grip on his thigh tightens, and he clenches his jaw against the sting of the needle in his skin. It’s not the first time he’s been stitched up without anesthetic, and god knows it probably won’t be the last.
She clears her throat again, and as she pushes a curl behind her ear, he sees the angry purple bruises that have started to bloom beneath the skin of her neck. His stomach flips.
“Christ,” he hisses. “Clarke, I am so sorry.”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t look at him.
“It’s okay,” she says. “The eclipse—”
“God, I can’t believe I could ever do that to you. How—”
She cuts him off with a nod to the wound in his thigh.
“I think we’re even,” she says.
It shuts him up, but it doesn’t remove the guilt from his chest. He watches as she works, the way her fingers move across his skin with practiced ease. The idea that any part of him could ever want Clarke dead is—it’s unfathomable. What kind of place was this, that could turn him into a monster who could kill someone he loves?
It’s a moment before she says, “Do you ever wonder why they chose us?” She must see the confusion on his face. “Monty and Harper, I mean. Why did they wake us up first? Not Kane, not my mom, not the others. Why us?”
If he’s honest, he had thought about it, and he wanted to keep pretending he didn’t know the answer. Of course, they’d woken Bellamy and Clarke up first. The ones who managed to keep a hundred kids alive when they had no idea what the fuck they were doing. Who convinced Kane and Abby that they could survive down here. Who sacrificed their youth and their souls for their people, for each other.
Bellamy swallows hard.
“I guess at the end of the day, it’s always been you and me, huh?”
She finally meets his eye then, and the corner of her mouth tips upward. Her face turns sad for a moment before she looks back at his leg.
“I am sorry, Bellamy,” she says softly. “About leaving you in Polis, about leaving after Mount Weather.” She takes a deep breath, and he can see her shoulders shake with it. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever hurt you. I’ve never wanted that. Ever.”
“I know,” he says without, and honestly it surprises him when he realizes it’s the truth.
“But you were right, even back then. People do die when I’m in charge.”
Despite himself, Bellamy scoffs.
“Yeah, you’re right, Clarke. People die when you’re in charge,” he says. “But a hell of a lot more people live.” She snaps her eyes to his, soft with hope and something else he can’t bring himself to read too much into. “You’ve always been the one to make the calls others weren’t brave enough to make, but that had to be made, nonetheless. And you took that burden on willingly so that no one else had to.”
He watches her lashes flutter as she looks down at his leg, her hands working diligently and with more focus than he thinks the task probably requires.
“I’ve done so many terrible things, Bellamy.”
“Haven’t we all?” He reaches a hand out and squeezes her shoulder. “You’re not the bad guy, Clarke. You never have been. You’re just the one who makes the call others can’t bear to make, and when things go to shit and people need to point fingers at someone, for some reason that always seems to be you. But it’s never fair.” He grabs her forearm and waits for her to look at him before he continues. “You’ve saved our asses over and over again. No one would be alive without you. And that debt is so heavy on everyone’s shoulders that they don’t know what to do with it. But they know, Clarke. We all know.”
She rests a hand on his knee, and the gentle squeeze she gives it is enough to tell him he’s said the right thing. He looks at the relief in her frame, at the lines at the corners of her eyes that have finally started to soften, and for the millionth time he wishes he could take some of that burden from her. Wishes she would let him.
“I gave you my key for a reason, Clarke.” He says it so softly he can’t decide if he even meant to say it out loud. “Even after everything, we still trust each other.” She heaves a sigh. “So please, trust me enough to let me share this with you again. I know it’s been a long time, and I know things are different, but you and me…we need each other.”
When she looks at him, he can see the tears that brim below her lashes.
“I have always needed you, Clarke.”
It’s enough to make them fall to her cheeks, a quiet trail of everything he knows she’s been holding back for six years. They sit in a comfortable silence, and for once he doesn’t feel the weight of so many things unspoken between them. He lets himself revel in it.
It won’t last for long, of course. He knows any minute someone will be here with a new crisis to be solved. There will be other arguments, more politics, an entirely new fucking planet to survive on. But for right now, this tentative peace between them and the rediscovery of an understanding he thought they’d lost a long time ago—for now, it’s enough.
i want drunk tess to give me some bellarke headcanons for the rest of the season
Drunk Tess didn’t read this before she fell asleep last night, but if she were here, I’d guess these are the things she hopes to see but knows she probably won’t before the season ends
1. A confrontation between Clarke and Echo, while the rest of the group watches awkwardly from the side because they all know what’s really happening there:
“You just left him there to die? After everything he’s done to protect all of us?”
“Everything he’s done has now put a massive target on Madi’s back,” Clarke spits. “He made his bed, and I will not apologize for letting him lie in it.”
“Wait, I don’t get it,” Emori chimes in from the sidelines. “Why did Octavia even allow her to ascend in the first place?”
“She didn’t,” Clarke says. “She was unconscious after Bellamy poisoned her with Monty’s algae to try and prevent a war.”
“Where were you during all of this?” Raven asks.
“I didn’t help him, if that’s what you’re implying. Octavia had me imprisoned and awaiting execution, so I wasn’t exactly in the best position to be an accomplice.”
The others stare with wide eyes that shift from her to Echo. Echo’s jaw sets, raising her chin and meeting Clarke’s gaze with an icy glare.
“Did Bellamy know about this?” she asks.
Clarke nods. Echo turns and stalks away before she can answer. She doesn’t know what just happened, and honestly, she’s too tired to ask. All she wants is to find Madi and go to sleep.
2. Bellamy protecting Madi as she leads, not just because he’s trying to make up for his actions in Clarke’s eyes, but because he feels he owes it to Madi.
3. A huge Hakeldama-style blow-up between the two of them that includes:
A parallel to S1 Octavia’s “I didn’t ask you to do that”
“We all had to do horrible things we didn’t want to do to prevent this war, Clarke. I poisoned my sister—”
“I didn’t ask you to do that, Bellamy!”
“Maybe not, but I did it to protect you!”
Throwing hurtful comments at each other in the heat of the moment
“God, sometimes I wish we’d just stayed on the Ring.”
She knows he means he misses the easier times and the peacefulness of it, knows he doesn’t mean he wish he’d left her alone down here. Even still, she can’t stop the words from falling from her mouth as she says, “Sometimes I wish the same thing.”
They both know neither of them mean it. It hurts anyway.
Finally getting to the heart of the issue
“You made Madi ascend, Bellamy. She’s just a child.”
“We were out of options. I didn’t like it, but Octavia—”
“Octavia woke up, and now there’s a huge target on Madi’s back. How could you do this to her? To me?”
“Octavia would have killed you, Clarke.” The anger flickers away for his face, just for a moment, leaving behind something raw that tugs at Clarke’s stomach. The pain in his eyes stops her in her tracks. “I couldn’t risk losing you. Not again.”
4. A B.echo breakup because Madi tells Echo about Clarke radioing Bellamy for all those years, and Echo can’t keep denying that her boyfriend is in love with someone else (I wrote a ficlet about this here)
5. A moment where Clarke and Bellamy both go to the driver’s side of the rover and just kind of awkwardly stare at each other until one of them moves and lets the other drive.
Anyway I have a lot more of these but these are just a few off the top of my head.
Clarke isn’t an idiot. She knows that two people and a handful of rifles will never be enough to stop the hoards of people that were unloaded from the prisoner transport ship two days ago. Aside from the guns she saw in a few of the guards’ hands, she doesn’t know how heavily armed they are or if they even know that Clarke and Madi are here.
They’ve tried to lay low since the ship arrived, only lighting fires under the cover of daylight, sticking to the bows and arrows Madi taught her to shoot for hunting to avoid the sounds of gunfire. It’s taking its toll, though. She’s never been good with a bow, and their food stores are dwindling rapidly. She mentally curses herself for not stockpiling more when she’d had the chance.
“Clarke!” Madi shouts from the radio.
Clarke starts to shush her, a reminder that they must stay hidden, until static starts pouring from the radio with a voice beginning to break through the noise. She feels her pulse quicken. Madi shifts to allow Clarke room to adjust the dials, and soon most of the static has cleared enough to hear the shouts of the transmission.
“—repeat: this is Ark 1, traveling to the ground!” Clarke knows that voice, panicked and sharp through the noise of the speakers that have gone unused for six years. “Mayday, mayday, anyone out there, our chute had a delayed opening and optimal landing speed is unreachable. I repeat: mayday—”
More static breaks over the air, and Clarke sees the awe and fear on Madi’s face. She sees it then, the flash of the red parachute streaming just over the tree line, attached to a black metal structure no larger than two rovers. It’s moving fast, too fast. Just as it disappears beyond the trees she hears Raven’s voice break through the noise, shrill and desperate.
“Brace for impact!”
The line goes dead, and static overtakes the radio once more.
Sneak Peek: the darkest night (and the sweetest dawn)
In honor of @broodybellamy‘s birthday, I’m releasing an extended excerpt from my upcoming Game of Thrones AU that will be released...eventually. Happy birthday, Kate! Hope its great like you!
“My mother tells me that as long as both you and those dragons are alive, you’re a threat to my reign,” Clarke says, placing the glass of wine onto the wood sharply.
She leans over the desk toward him, her face drawing so near to his he can feel her breath fan across his cheek. Warmth radiates from her open neckline, the creamy expanse of skin flushed a pretty pink. He forces himself to keep his eyes on hers beneath her dark lashes.
“But you would never threaten the rule of House Griffin,” she says with a smile, “would you, Lord Blake?”
Bellamy swallows hard and lets a sly grin slip onto his face. He does his best to keep his thoughts on the queen, and not on the contents of cage that rests below his bed in this very castle.
“Of course not, Your Grace.”
The queen’s eyes narrow, the corner of her mouth turning upward so slightly that for a moment he thinks he imagines it. She gives him a nod as she retakes her seat, tipping the goblet to her lips.
“Pardon my asking, Your Grace,” Bellamy says, “but if not for power, then why have you asked me here?”
She places the wine back onto the desk and clasps her hands in her lap. She searches his face for a moment, like a lion eyeing its prey for weakness.
“Word of you has spread throughout the realm, Lord Blake,” she says. “Your followers do not simply speak of the legitimacy of your claim to the Iron Throne, nor the vastness of your holdings and resources. They speak mostly of the kindness and mercy you have shown them. Loyalty like that shown toward a man of your breeding does not go unnoticed.”
“A man of my breeding?” he challenges.
“I mean no offense.” She holds up a placating hand. “I simply mean to say that a man who does not solely rely on the name of his father to win the allegiance of the public is worthy of admiration.”
His posture softens. The approval of the queen was the last thing he’d expected when he’d received the raven carrying his summon to King’s Landing.
“House Griffin is beloved by the people of the realm,” Bellamy says. “After the victory over the invasion of House Sydney—”
“I know my father’s legacy,” Clarke interrupts. “King Jacob was undoubtedly a great ruler. But his time has passed, Gods rest his soul, and I must now create a legacy of my own.”
At last, he understands.
“Without solely relying on the name of one’s father,” he finishes.
She nods with a smile.
“My father was the first king in the nearly six-hundred-year existence of the realm to challenge the law that an unwed woman could not sit on the Iron Throne,” she says. “Because he fought for my reign as rightful heir of the Griffin line, I am now queen.”
Her fingers fiddle with the foot of the goblet, spinning it slightly so that the gold casts the light into flickering patterns on the wood beneath it.
“Unfortunately, it seems that many in the realm reject the idea that a woman can rule,” she continues. Her jaw shifts slightly, her expression growing tight. “Some of those men hold some power of their own, and their denial of the legitimacy of my crown is dangerous. For both House Griffin and the realm.”
The queen’s words ring true. A coup would undoubtedly create a power vacuum within the Seven Kingdoms that would result in a war between lords, each vying for a chance to sit on the Iron Throne.
“With all due respect, Your Grace, that doesn’t answer the question of why you’ve summoned me to King’s Landing.”
Clarke pauses momentarily, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I believe that if a man of hardly any nobility at all was capable of winning the hearts of his people, then surely he could aid a queen in winning the hearts of hers.”
The unspoken offer hits him squarely.
“What are you asking of me?” he levels, folding his arms across his chest. “To leave my home, my sister, my people—”
“To serve here in King’s Landing as the Queen’s Hand, yes,” Clarke finishes with a nod.
Bellamy stares hard at the wood grain of the desk between them, his jaw clenching as he processes his options. To leave his home, to leave Octavia, was not a small decision to be made.
“I understand that it is a large request, and of course, you are free to decline. But I do hope you will consider my offer.” She dips her head to meet his gaze, her blue eyes soft. “You need not decide immediately. Take a day or two to consider and to discuss with your family. I will await your decision by the week’s end.”
His eyes are still fixed on hers. Her face is soft, so far from the striking woman that sat on the throne this morning and faced her subject. Kind, he thinks. She is fierce, but she is kind. For some reason, it doesn’t surprise him.
“Is that all, Your Grace?”
Her brows furrow for just a moment, and then it is gone again as quickly as it appeared.
“Yes—yes, of course,” she stammers. She puts a cheerful smile on her face, but it does not quite reach her eyes. For the first time since his arrival in King’s Landing, it strikes him just how young she is. “I must not keep you any longer. You ought to visit the gardens east of the drawing room, the lilacs are beautiful. A place to clear your head, I find.”
He offers her a smile of his own.
“You will have my decision very soon,” he assures her.
Her smile softens, her chin dipping slightly as she peers at him from under her lashes.
Hey! I've got an AU idea to swing by your for your follower celebration! (this is @bellark-e btw, hermione-blake is just my main). Maybe a quick only slightly altered canon AU where BOTH bellamy and clarke get arrested for killing cooper instead of just clarke and octavia wants to force them to fight each other in the pit
Clarke sinks onto the metal bench, her shoulders slumping as she puts her face in her hands. She can feel them shake against her cheeks. Madi, she thinks. She wonders if Madi knows she’s here, if she’ll be forced to watch her and Bellamy in the arena. The thought makes her sick.
She’d do it herself, she decides. A blade to the wrists, quickly and quietly before he could stop her. She would not force Madi to watch Bellamy kill her. She needs to be able to trust him, to allow him to take Clarke’s place after today. After she’s gone. And besides, she could never ask Bellamy to do that. She would do it for Madi, but she would also do it for him.
She doesn’t know how long she sits there, fingers knotted in her hair, before the door opens.
“You have to hurry,” Indra says. “A few minutes, no more. This is all I can give you.”
She doesn’t understand until he walks through the door. His curls are wild as though he’s been tugging his hands through them as she has been. The look he gives her, god, it’s enough to make her leave all of her bravery on the bench as she stands. Bellamy meets her halfway, colliding together as she shoves her face into his chest with a broken sob. He doesn’t shush her, does not attempt to take away her fear with false promises that things would be okay. He simply wraps his arms around her the way he did a lifetime ago, a hand stroking her hair softly as she collects herself.
At last, she pulls away to meet his eyes, tears pooling in their depths.
“Tell Madi I love her,” she rasps. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
His brows furrow as he shakes his head.
“Clarke—no,” he stammers. “You’re not doing this—we are not doing this.”
The dry laugh that falls from her lips is sharp and desperate.
“We don’t have a choice, Bellamy. If we don’t fight, Octavia will execute us both, and I won’t—” Her voice breaks. She swallows hard to shove down the lump that has risen to her throat. “Our people need you.”
“We need you, too,” he counters. His hands slide up her back to take her face into his palms. He glares at her with fearful eyes. “What about Madi? She needs you, Clarke.”
Clarke shakes her head.
“She’ll have you,” she says. “She needs someone to show her that you can survive in this world and still be good.” She places her hand over one of his own as her lip trembles. “And there is no one I would trust more to do that than you.”
A tear slips onto Bellamy’s cheek, carving a path through his freckles. She gives him a sad smile.
“If anyone can get Octavia to listen to reason, it’s you,” she whispers.
“Clarke, she doesn’t listen to me,” he seethes. “She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
“I know she’s changed. But you’re still her brother, Bellamy. You’re our best chance for peace.”
His eyes fall shut and he leans toward her, his forehead pressing against hers. She can feel his breath fan across her cheeks, and she takes a moment to revel in it, to have this moment to remember in her last.
“I can’t, Clarke,” he whispers. “I can’t lose you. I can’t mourn you.” His hand tangles into her hair as he pulls her imperceptibly closer. “Not again.”
And there is this moment where the world seems to stand still. The cell falls silent, the hum of the generators and sound of the air filtration system disappearing, until there is nothing but Bellamy and Clarke and the sound of their breaths intermingling with one another. She can feel her heart thudding beneath her ribs, racing as the whole world seems to wait to see what happens next.
“Clarke,” he breathes. “Clarke I—”
The door opens once more with a loud clang. This is it. They’re out of time.
Monty steps in, breathing heavily with a cut on his cheekbone.
“We have to go,” he pants. “Now! Let’s move!”
Bellamy pushes her toward the door, one step behind her. They take the guns that Harper offers them on the other side.
“What’s happening?” Clarke asks. “Where are the guards?”
“Dead,” Harper says. “Now hidden in a supply closet down the hall.”
Monty scoffs.
“With a trail of blood leading straight to the door,” he says. He looks at Bellamy. “Quick and silent just like Echo trained us, but someone’s going to see it eventually. We have to move.”
Bellamy’s jaw clenches. He nods.
“Alright, let’s go,” he says. “If we can get to the rover without being seen, there’s a chance we can all make it out of here alive.”
“Where are we going to go?” Clarke asks. “Shallow Valley is days from here, even by rover.”
Harper shrugs her pack to her side and unzips it. She holds up a vial. Monty’s algae.
“Well then I guess it’s a good thing I brought snacks,” she says. “Now let’s go.”
Bellamy looks at her then, and she sees it without him saying a word. Sees the relief in them, the gratitude, the hope—and something else she doesn’t have time to think about right now. He places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. She smiles.
pls write a drabble where clarke shaves bellamy’s beard s5 and its all like quiet at first but its intimate bc they havent talked in so long so there’s so much unsaid and they’re all up close and personal but THAT BEARD NEEDS TO GO hahaha thank you ✨✨✨
Ugh I love this prompt so much. This started as a drabble but ended up getting a lot longer than I expected whoops. Here’s this weird mixture of angsty fluffiness my brain came up with. As always, special thanks to @bellamylovedlincoln for the beta. Enjoy!
for everything unsaid (there is a flourish of my pride)
The leaves crunch beneath his feet as he makes his way to the clearing, and again he’s reminded of just how close they are to winter. The chill in the air at first light gets sharper by the day, and Bellamy is struck by how much this feels like the anxiety he’d felt during the days at the dropship.
Clarke says that this time they’ll be ready, that she and Madi have been storing up enough food to get them through until spring. But he sees the way her expression tightens, sees the faint lines that appear between her brows as she inventories their stock. Despite everything the last six years has stolen between them, recognizing her unease isn’t one of them. He knows that no matter how much she’d hoped the rest of the group would be back on the ground by the time the first snow fell, adding seven more mouths to feed wasn’t part of the plan.
But that seems to be the only thing that hasn’t changed between them. The years have hardened them both, inside and out. He sees her struggling, both to survive and cope with the world as it is now, but he doesn’t feel as though he has the right to comfort her the way he would have before he left her behind. He wants to—fuck, he wants to—wants to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he’s okay, she’s okay, they’re both alive. But he doesn’t.
They argue more, like they had when they’d first been sent to Earth. But this time, there’s a bite in their tones that he knows is due to something much more painful than mutual disdain. They haven’t talked about that last day, the day he’d left her to die. They don’t talk about much at all, to be honest, aside from food rations and strategies to negotiate with Eligius to get their people out of the bunker. It’s not the easy quiet that they’d found here the first time around, one that felt like a warm blanket draped over their shoulders. This was just…silence.
Before the world had ended again, Clarke had been a lot of things to him. His best friend, his partner, his sounding board. He’d even thought that maybe someday she could have been more than that, too—something that might make both of their lives about more than just surviving. But not even the second apocalypse could have made him think that she would ever be a stranger to him.
Bellamy reaches the edge of the clearing where the earth goes flat, creating a meadow about thirty yards in diameter, and makes his way to the hollowed-out log at the edge of the trees. He slides his pack from his shoulders and drops it to the ground with a soft thud, taking a seat on the jagged bark. He rifles through the bag until his fingers find their targets, setting his supplies out beside him.
He places the battered mirror on his knees in front of them, angling it so that his face is visible. He tries to recognize the person he sees, the one who appears so much younger than he feels, aside from the tired eyes that stare back at him. The metal tin in his hand opens with a pop, and he feels himself smile at its contents. Animal fat isn’t his first choice for shaving cream, but it’s far better than anything they’d had on the Ark.
He dips his fingers into the tin container and scoops some of the grease into his fingers, fighting against a grimace as he feels it soften on contact with the warmth of his skin. He presses it to his jaw, spreading its oil smoothly across the surface of his skin and into the hair of his beard.
The blade of the knife he’d found is dull and slightly rusted, and that combined with the lack of practice makes the process far more difficult than he expects it to be. The cracked mirror resting against his legs certainly doesn’t help, scattering his image in multiple directions and making it difficult to track his progress.
He startles at the sound of a branch cracking behind him, causing the knife to painfully nick the crest of his jaw. He swears at the sting it brings.
“Bellamy?” Clarke appears at the edge of the tree line pulling a rope behind her that’s weighed down by several rabbits. It’s been a productive hunting day. “What are you—oh.”
He sees the tips of her ears turn slightly pink as she sees the knife and the shattered mirror in his lap and begins to understand their context. Even in the days back at the dropship—god, that feels like a lifetime ago—shaving had always been something of a private affair for him. It was a way to clear his head before he began the day, a way to add regularity to a place that would never be conducive to routine.
“Your knife sucks,” he tells her, flicking the excess oil off of the blade. He presses the pad of his thumb against the newfound sore spot on his neck and feels the sting of contact with the open wound.
The corners of her lips tilt ruefully in response, and it sends a painful tug through his stomach as he realizes how long it’s been since he’s seen her smile. A real smile, not one that was forced and looked just as much like a cringe of anxiety as it did a sign of happiness. He expects her to leave him to it, to turn and continue with whatever she was working on from their infinite to-do list. But she doesn’t.
“Here,” she says. She closes the few feet between them with only a half second of hesitation, and he can’t help but feel like she’s crossing more than just the physical distance that separates them. She holds out her hand. “Let me help with that.”
Bellamy and Murphy getting into a fight on the Ring and Murphy taking it too far by bringing up Clarke.... give me all the pain, sister
Afterward, he doesn’t remember what starts it. Something stupid and inconsequential enough that it probably doesn’t warrant a second glance. After living for the last four months in a confined space with only six other people, Bellamy’s learned that arguments up here can start at the drop of a hat.
This time was no different—one moment he’s discussing the schedule for training with Echo, and then Murphy says something that rubs him the wrong way, and before he knows it they’re in the middle of a full-on shouting match.
“What, you think you can just decide who does what and when?” Murphy challenges, his voice echoing loudly off the metal walls of the room.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Murphy, and you know it,” Bellamy snaps. He knows this is Murphy’s way of picking a fight, of riling him up most likely for the sake of boredom. He tries to keep his temper in check, fists tightening at his sides until his nails dig painfully into his palms.
“Really?” Murphy yells with a sneer. He strides to Bellamy, going toe to toe with him and meeting his gaze directly in spite of their height difference. “Because ever since we got here that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.”
Their noise has begun to draw a crowd. He can see Harper and Monty enter the room warily, sees Raven on edge at the control panel while Emori drums her fingers anxiously against the tabletop.
“John, stop it,” she says sharply.
“Stay out of this, Emori,” Murphy says. He squares his shoulders and gets so close to Bellamy’s face he can feel his breath against his cheeks. “You think you’re better than us, Bellamy?”
Bellamy clinches his jaw, doesn’t dignify the comment with a response. The room has gone still, and everyone knows this is different from all the other bickering that has taken place over the past few weeks. This is vicious. Feral.
“Who died and made you king?” he asks, his tone low. Bellamy grits his teeth so hard he thinks they might shatter. “Oh, that’s right, Clarke did. When you left her to burn.”
Bellamy’s fist makes contact with Murphy’s cheek at the same instant Emori shouts, “John!”
He feels the crack of his knuckle as it meets flesh, knows it will bruise and swell and he relishes the pain of it. He turns on his heel and stalks from the room, leaving Raven and Monty behind as they call after him.
He doesn’t know what draws him to the window, but when he arrives he can’t bring himself to look at the earth that scorches below. When you left her to burn. He snatches the half-empty bottle from the ledge impulsively, doesn’t think about where he’s going, doesn’t want to think about anything.
His holds the bottle in his throbbing hand, unscrewing its lid with his other, and presses it to his lips. It burns going down, stings against the rawness that has found its way to the back of his throat again.
Before he knows it, he finds himself alone in a room with a hunk of metal that resembles a shitload of nothing. He doesn’t know how Raven plans on turning that piece of crap into something that can get them home, something that can reinforce the rocket to prevent them all from burning up in the atmosphere. Bellamy can’t help but think that maybe that would be his poetic justice.
He eyes the scrap metal and takes another pull from the bottle.
Bound To You by Jocelyn Alice (Kaidro Remix) reminds me of Bellarke. "I've got a part, I've got a piece, I've got a heart, permanently bound to you". Give it a listen 😊
Okay so I read this anon (PS thank you, nonny, for this amazing song rec), and I just had to write a thing. So here it is, 1400 words of solid angst with a slight touch of a happy ending. As always, shoutout to the always lovely @bellamylovedlincoln for the beta and emotional support.
harbor your someone
I should have fallen out of love with you by nowBut I’ve got part, I’ve got a piece,I’ve got a heart permanently bound to youShould have forgotten what I felt for you by now
He knows that he shouldn’t still think about her. He knows it only hurts, that it’s over, that there is nothing to be done. He knows it only hurts him and distracts him from the task at hand, and he fights to push it aside to manage the days that stretch into nothingness. But in the moments when things still, when the air is quiet but for the hum of machinery that mocks the constant humming in his head, she is there. He knows he shouldn’t still think about her.
But he does.
He shouldn’t still think about the way the moonlight glinted off her hair as they allowed themselves that one moment outside the bunker, how even though he knew they should be getting back to the dropship, he couldn’t make himself give up those few extra moments with her. The silence of the woods was soft on their skin, like a blanket that shielded them from the harshness of the world they’d been plunged into. It was an illusion, of course, but out here, when the earth was soft beneath his boots and she radiated silver, he could almost forget. It was here that she’d forgiven him for the first time, had seen him, had showed him what he truly was and everything he could be.
He shouldn’t think about the first time he’d felt it, the first time he’d known what it was that had bloomed in his chest. He tries not to picture the glow of the firelight off of her skin, her face soft in sleep despite the weight of leadership that pulled her down in the daylight. It had to be done, he’d told her. The ferocity with which she protected her people, their people, was an intrinsic part of who she was. It was because of that fire inside her eyes that she’d made the impossible choice, the only choice. She needed forgiveness and he’d given it to her, because really, there was nothing to forgive. Sometimes at night, when it’s quiet and he finds himself alone, he finds himself asking for hers, a soft whisper that still manages to echo off the walls that seem to close in around him. No one ever answers.
He shouldn’t think about the way her hand had fit beneath his on that lever, a perfect fit like the final puzzle piece that revealed a gruesome image. That massacre had scarred her more than any of the dozens they had committed on behalf of their people, had settled into the lines of her form until she was nothing but a shadow of the girl that first set foot on Earth. He remembers the ache that took up residence in his chest after she left Arkadia, left him. Remembers the spiteful anger he felt when she refused to return. Remembers the weight lifted from his shoulders when she finally did. But mostly, he remembers how, even as the world quite literally was crumbling around them, he felt better as a dead man by her side than a soldier with a life miles from hers.
He shouldn’t think about that last day with her, the way her arms encircled him like the hope she radiated, the hope she refused to let him lose. Her tears had been damp against the skin of his neck as she clung to him like a lifeline. How ironic, he thinks, that he had been the one to leave her to die.
He shouldn’t think about the soft gaze she had bestowed upon him as they talked of semantic impossibilities, how she had leaned into his touch, how he’d wanted nothing more than to be hers to lean on for as long as she’d let him. He shouldn’t think about the way she’d seen right through him then, just as she always had. She knew who Bellamy was before anyone, before he had known himself. Clarke had a way of seeing straight to his heart, had known that it would be his downfall if she didn’t leave her mark on his soul. She’d showed him what it meant to feel so deeply it nearly smothers you. But she’d also showed him what it meant to survive.
He shouldn’t still think about what it felt like to fall in love with her. But he does.
If loving Clarke Griffin was like a breath of air into burning lungs, then killing her is like drowning, like a weight that drags him to the darkest depths until the light at the surface is no more than a memory. He’d left her behind. No matter how much he’d wished for those doors to open at the last moment, how much he’d tried to force her presence by sheer will alone, it didn’t matter. Clarke was gone.
He feels the guilt like a chain around his ankles. It weighs down his steps, makes them echo a little louder off the metal walls of the Ark. He feels it like the oxygen generators on the Ark have malfunctioned, leaving his chest so empty it burns as he tries to breathe, to keep existing, to feel something, anything but the suffocating pain of her absence. Clarke is gone, until one day she isn’t.
He still feels it even when they finally make it to the ground, even when she’s standing right there in front of him, and especially when she clings to him like a lifeline, like if she lets go he’ll disappear again. She is there and she is alive and for the first time in six years, Bellamy feels the chains break from his being.
He feels it that night as they make their way back to her camp, her home, when he notices the way the moonlight glints off her hair. He’s taken back to a time when the world had already ended, but it hadn’t, to a time when the simplest things felt like the most complicated. The silver halo that had convinced him to stay, to fight, to be better, is still there, still shining for him. He smiles when he finally notices the red that peeks from beneath it.
He feels it as the fire that glows in the center of her camp flickers against the earth, warms him in his makeshift bedroll she promises to make more permanent when daylight comes. Her smile is genuine to the point of delirium, and he feels it tugging at the corners of his own lips. They talk about everything, about the day she found Madi, about algae salads and recycled water, about how the Ark had felt as cold as the Earth had scorching. They talk about everything but the one thing that keeps the burning in his chest from leaving entirely.
He feels it when he sees the flicker of the familiar fire in her eyes, intent on keeping them all alive at all costs. And then one day she is determined to stay, determined to wait for Monty and Raven’s return as the rest of the group advances to safety, and suddenly the drowning tears from his lips like a bullet from an accidental trigger. I can’t leave you behind again, said with a voice that breaks at the same time his heart does. And then she is pressed to his chest, and she is whispering words into his chest, but the only ones he hears over the sounds of both of their sobs are only choice.
But when she pulls away, she meets his eye, and though they are red and stained by grief and lamentation over lost time, they are sure as she says, it had to be done. When her lips meet his, they taste like forgiveness and saltwater, and for the first time in a long time, Bellamy doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore.
When Madi tells him about the radio a few days later, about the routine that salvaged Clarke’s sanity, his breath catches. When he sees Clarke in front of the campfire that night, sees the way her face lightens and the smile that creeps across her face, he understands. She doesn’t need to say the words—neither of them ever do. One look at her, and he knows what kept her alive, what kept her hopeful. He understands now that for every moment he has been hers, she has been his, has always been his.
He shouldn’t know what it feels like to be loved by Clarke Griffin.
