#. rel . bellamy ›› the head and the heart.

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

"This isn't quite how our wedding started last time. All this ritual feels silly."

Abe grasped onto his husband's arm as they led themselves towards their waiting son. They'd been supplied formal robes for the ceremony as well as the same head adornments they'd been given years ago. Which made sense when Abe thought about it. This wasn't a regular wedding where fashions changed over time. This ritual had been in practice for centuries, millenia even. Very little changed when it came to deep magic.

His previous worries seemed to lift while he was holding onto Roman. This wasn't too different from a typical wedding so far, and Roman seemed confident enough.

Theo was waiting for them between a maze of magic circles and lines. His face looked nervous, just like it did before an important exam, and Roman fought the urge to break the ritual and tell him that he was doing a great job so far. His heart swelled with pride, seeing how far Theo had come with his studies. This was what Theo had been made to do and he was doing it flawlessly.

"Roman Bellamy. Abraham Helios, second of that name. Sorry- Romanus Bellamy. Abraham Helios, second of that name," Theo began, his nerves getting the better of him. There were a few important words that had to be said just right and messing up their true names was failing the easy parts of his role. "You come to be joined together in the ways of our ancestors?"

Both of his parents said yes, allowing Theo to move on.

From a side room, the sovereign and another demon that neither Roman or Abe recognized entered the room, taking places on either side of Theo. The two demons began chanting in Latin, bowing rhythmically in tune. The magic circles that stood nearest to them lit up in unison and the grooms noticed the air around them grow thicker as magic crackled between them.

Theo uttered some mangled Latin, while the two demons behind him continued their chanting and bowing.

"Do you pledge to pool your magic together for the rest of all time?" Two more yeses followed. "Do you pledge to remove half of your heart as sacrifice to the other?"

Theo's parents looked worriedly at their son, unsure if they were allowed to speak to question whether that pledge was going to be literal. Theo shook his head quickly, completely understanding their reluctance. It wasn't like they had been allowed to hold a practice session before the Bellamys had arrived.

"Yes," Roman and Abe said in unison, still looking uncomfortable with the vow.

"Will you forever share one heart and one soul, forsaking all others under exteme demonic penalty?"

"Yes."

Abe wasn't sure about what penalty he was agreeing to, but stopping the ritual to ask for clarification didn't seem to be an option. From his history with demonic contracts, Abe figured that it was probably something horrible. He'd have to ask his lawyer discreetly at their next family gathering.

Roman made the vow without hesitation. His future was with Abe. Mistakes like Ulyssa would never happen again; it hurt too much to even consider causing the heartbreak he'd seen on Abe's face when he found out about the affair. Even still, Roman doubted that mere adultery could trigger this penalty. So far, the ceremony seemed to be geared towards the sharing of power and hearts, not a bed.

"Then stand on your individual circles and prepare to become one."

Theo gestured towards two circles drawn on the floor, and his parents obediently complied.

Theo closed his eyes and began to summon the power he needed to complete the ritual. Each of his parents' energies was familiar to him; combining them together seemed like basic magic. Beyond basic even. Outside of memorizing the correct words, Theo probably could have bound his parents together as a child.

But that was when his magic had been relatively stable. These days, it lashed out in every direction, refusing to stay bound to Theo. In addition to that, Theo could feel the powerful hum of energy pour through him from the sovereign and her companion. Their chanting had only grown louder, and Theo fumbled slightly, trying to process such overwhelming power while balancing his own power. It would have been easy for Saren to skim power from a ceremony like this when Theo was too young to know the difference. Perhaps she had arrived today to help, hoping that she could still sneak some while monitoring Theo's abilities, but Theo had studied for years to repel would be attackers. Whatever she was gaining from this ceremony, it wasn't worth the effort she was investing.

A sharp pain brought Theo to his knees. The candles surrounding him began to flicker wildly.

"Dammit!" Another stab of pain struck as control slipped through Theo's fingers. It was nothing malicious from the sovereign like he'd expect. No, this problem was all on him.

The crystal in the ring on his finger flashed weakly, calling out to the warlock Theo had accidentally bound himself to. It was futile, of course, since none of Theo's magic had ever been able to reach Adam from this place. It still called all the same, looking for the balance and stability he needed, but finding nothing.

Both Roman and Abe collapsed onto the floor, completely unresponsive. It was just like watching Adam crumple to the ground at school all over again.

Blood pooled between his parents, though Theo couldn't pinpoint whose it was or where it had come from. Were his parents in danger? Could someone intervene and stop Theo like Evren and Master Maricourt had before? Theo couldn't imagine facing his siblings or grandmother and having to confess to killing his parents because he couldn't control his own abilities.

Why was he even sent to this school? Why did he ever think that he could lead a normal life? Nothing ever changed. At least being this isolated from Adam probably meant that he would be protected from Theo's latest screw up. Theo could never go home if there was a possibility of him hurting Adam again with his carelessness. He could never go home if he had to bury his parents. If he couldn't get control of himself, he would never go home again. He didn't deserve to put the lives of his loved ones at risk.

Theodosius. Let go. Let go of this power.

Theo recognized the voice as the sovereign's, but he couldn't do as she asked. Power built inside of him as he tried to keep control over his parents' energy while also attempting to merge them. It was only when it was too late that Theo realized the flaw in this plan. His broken curse was tied to his parents. By their shared blood, the curse rebounded inside of him, building power infinitely until Theo nearly burst. He had always been a dangerous choice to complete the ceremony and now they were suffering because of his lack of foresight.

Let go. Give your burden to me.

Theo could feel tendrils of power creep into his mind, urging him again to release this immense power for the sovereign to deal with. That wasn't going to happen. Had the sovereign appeared today just to take control of some of the immense energy Theo was processing, or had she come innocently enough to support her protégé and was only trying to help him with her demand? It didn't matter either way. Theo would happily explode before he gave away anything of his parents.

The sovereign was surprisingly easy to ignore. She was throwing a large amount of energy into the ceremony, but it felt weak. Just like a school project that Theo had forgotten about and slapped together in a hurry. This couldn't be her full strength. If it was, she was barely stronger than some of his teachers at school. Was this the level of power it took to be sovereign? If so, Theo could match it without breaking a sweat. No wonder she kept such a careful eye on him.

"Sometimes I hate being right. God damned demons and their pride. Never ask a demon to do a god's work. They're going to turn this place into a smoking crater in five minutes."

Lukas scowled at the scene before them, completely validated for making the trip. Death had said to give the demons the benefit of the doubt, but he was retired, and clearly his instincts were becoming dulled.

They looked at the poor little hybrid, who was now contorted with pain, about to lose control over himself, potentially shattering his parents' spirits when he did.

"They should just make me sovereign at this point," Lukas grumbled to themselves. "Let's clean up more demonic messes, I guess. No one else will."

[thebellamybarnesarchive]

The young vampire nodded her head softly. "Relatively easy to not personally be a dick but hard business wise because most of the advice you can find is from arseholes, I just mostly try and communicate as much with the people I employee as possible and then find ways I can invest to help other people expand because hoarding money really doesn't offer a whole lot, you know? In Opulence it's especially unique because we all have such specific perspectives, I mean, I got to work on something with the guy who owns The Cage last year, we worked out a contract to work together and he had this idea that is obviously really only possible in a town like this," Bellamy continued, looking down a little because she was passionate about it all but she also felt sort of…awkward because it was easy to say but obviously hard to do. "I hope I didn't just say all that and you're like a working some job you hate.

Ex-wife. Damn. That stung. No wonder he wanted her cookies. "Aww, that's like Mum goals, that's the sort of Mum I want to be. In the kitchen making something so good it warms there hearts, she beamed. "What's your favourite thing to make that you learnt from her?" Bellamy asked, focused on what presumably Hispanic dish he would have enjoyed made by her.

"I uh - I drank a lot as a human, it numbed me from a lot of things because that's what I wanted it to do, she admitted, aware she was still drinking, and the truth was she hadn't exactly got the habit under control, it just couldn't affect her like it once did. People could notice it in moments, the way she shopped, the way she fell in love, the way she could be overcome by blood, but the drinking no one really knew until she mentioned. "Immortality is definitely scary, I wouldn't recommend it but also I think the people most suited to vampirism tend to be those that don't want it. If immortality and power seems appealing to someone you can almost guarantee that person is a dick. So you'd probably make a lovely vampire, you're handsome enough for it."

Listening to Bellamy’s story, he couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, not by her nature but about her success, he always dreamed that it was important to like her own things. Yes, he did own one thing, something he had worked hard to own, but he had always wanted to be as important as her, be rich and successful. JD smiled “Try not to be dick about it, it is very important and hard, is it?” 

He walked to the kitchen admiring, the work that has been done, and what it soon would be “I think anyone with a kitchen like this would love to cook” He chuckled “But I love it too, I’m used to cooked around my house, my ex wife hated cooking, and I loved my mother cooking, so when I moved away I focus on learning how to cook, once I mastered a dish I moved to the other and so on, my specialty is mostly Hispanic and Italian dish, but from time to time I do things like this…” He showed what they were eating that day “So things are more vivid now? I always have the idea that it was the other way around, but it makes sense that everything intensifies once you stop being human. Gotta say sometimes I envy creatures like you, but the idea of immortality scars me more than death itself.”

[brekkersbane]

I Told You You’d Cry—Jasper Jordan

Pairing: Jasper Jordan x genderneutral!reader 

Trigger warning: Injured Jasper, near death 

Fandom: The 100

Genre: Bit of fluff, mostly angst 

Requested: No

Word count: 

Summary: Y/n hasn’t slept for a week, too worried about her injured best friend, cursing herself because he was right all along. She would cry if he died. 

*Gif not mine*

Italics = memory

“Y/n do something!” “Would you shut up for a second, Monty? Clarke, find me a wash cloth.” You said, eyes glued to Jasper’s injury engulfed body. A cough wracked his fragile form, and your brow furrowed. Clarke sprinted quick as quicksilver out of the tower your were huddled in with Monty and a barely breathing Jasper Jordan. 

“You better wake up goggle boy.” Your voice shook a little as you spoke, he was right after all. You would cry if he died. You’d more than cry, you’d yell, kick, and scream as insanity engulfed you very essence. 

“Oh come on, you would. You love me too much not too.” Jasper teased. You threw a small rock at his head, and he swooped left just in time. “Great shot, not as great as me though.” He winked, you laughed. 

“Well if you don’t die, we’ll never have to find out, goggle boy.” 

You had debated this topic with your best friend innumerable times over the years you’d known each other. He’d do something dumb and potentially life threatening, and tease you about how much you’d cry if he died, you’d deny such things and tell him the you’d never have to find out. Now here he is before you again, about to try and get to Mount Weather with a few other outlaws, doing just the same. 

“But what would you do if I did?” Amusement sparkled in his whiskey coloured eyes, always enjoying your reaction to his taunts. 

“Just don’t die, okay?” You groaned. He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping firmly around your waist, chin resting on top of your head. His hand moved gently through your hair, another thing he always did when the laughter died out, and his emotions were vulnerable. 

“All teasing aside though, I wouldn’t leave you like that.” he murmured against you hair. He pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, his way of showing he was sincere. Out of everything so far, this was the riskiest yet. You were back on the ground, exploring completely unknown territory, like the Lewis and Clark expedition on steroids. 

“I should hope not.” You smiled gently at him, and he leaned slightly closer to you, forehead bumping yours.

“Could you guys do that after we’ve gotten back from Mount Weather? Come on, Jasper.” Monty rolled his eyes, appearing next to Jasper, trapping his foot impatiently. 

“See you soon?”

“See you soon.”

It had been a week. Or maybe less. Or more. You didn’t know what time it was, or whether it was day or night, or how many days or weeks it had been since Bellamy and Clarke had dragged him into the camp. When they’d come back without him the first time, Finn had to lock you in the tower so you wouldn’t go bolting out of the camp, and as it turns out they found your a attachment to Jasper a liability and didn’t let you out until they came back. At least they were letting you treat him now. 

Plenty of your time was spent sending Clarke or Octavia into the forest to get plants and test them out on yourself to see if they were poisonous or not. A few had made you seriously ill, and you’d gone outside briefly so you didn’t infect Jasper, but no plants had been fatal, and most had proven relatively helpful. The others told you every day “you need to hurry, someday Bellamy’s going to take the snap” and he would, you were sure, but you would buy yourself as much time as you could muster to keep Jasper alive. 

You hadn’t cried yet, you wouldn’t let yourself, that would mean admitting he had died. If you started to get chocked up, you’d snapped your eyes shut and force fond memories of your best friend into you mind, blocking out the version of him that was sitting with a dying pulse on the metal floor in front of you. 

It was miraculous frankly that you hadn’t swallowed your own tongue yet, with only about an hour and a half of sleep each day, anyone else would have, but anyone else was not you. You had a better reason to stay awake than they did, you only wish Jasper did too. 

Peeking open eyes, you gazed at his face. His face was pinched like he was having a nightmare, and he let out occasional groans of pain, and mumbles of nonsense, though you occasionally caught your name. It shattered your heart, and your hand quickly tangled itself with his. 

This time when the tears started to prick your eyes, you let them come. You let them pour down your cheeks like the spray of a geyser. Nothing was stopping you now, and your body quaked with sobs. And then a hand squeezed yours. 

Your head snapped up, gazing at the now very much conscious Jasper. Your free hand covered your mouth, jaw hanging slack. 

“I told you you’d cry.” he rasped, a small grin tugging at his chapped lips. 

“Oh my god.” you whispered, curling you knees into you chest, and gently brushing his hair out of his face. 

“That’s my job.” he protested meekly, narrowing his eyes in protest, clearly yearning to swat your hand away. 

“I don’t care, all I care about is you right now, okay? I’m never letting you go anywhere without me ever again, I’m going to make sure this never happens to you more than once, it shouldn’t have happened at all! God, what if you really had died? There’s no one more important to me, and I’m sorry I never told you, but I’m in love with you, I have been for years, and what if you’d died and I never got to—”

“Shh,” Jasper whispered, his expression softened even more if that was possible, hand shakily battling its way towards you to cup your cheek, thumb weakly wiping away the new wave of tears that had begun to fall. “It’s okay, I love you too you know.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [61]

iii. sleeping giants

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: violence, bleeding, injuries, explosions, torture.

Summary: You, Clarke, and Madi finally get the chance to confront your enemies, and you quickly learn that you’re up against more than you bargained for.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You, Clarke, and Madi are crouched low along the ridgeline, and you and Clarke each have your rifles propped up on the large rocks in front of you, focused on the man you trapped in the clearing. He’s still crying out in pain, and you can see the blood on his clothes, bright red against his tan jumpsuit. Madi has watched on in silence since you arrived, but she finally breaks now, looking over at you and Clarke, clearly upset. “This isn't right.”

Clarke looks away from her scope to look at Madi, sympathetic. “Madi, I know, but this is our home, your home.”

“And they want to take it from us.”

Clarke nods, “That's right.”

She’s quiet for a second before she asks, “But he doesn't have to suffer. We can kill him now, right?”

Clarke’s expression hardens, her jaw sets, and she turns back to her weapon, peering down at the man again. “Not yet.”

You follow suit, the conversation seemingly over, watching as the man screams out again. Suddenly, there’s movement in the trees around the clearing, and seconds later prisoners start to creep out towards the man, led by the woman you saw earlier. She motions for the group to stop and watch, but a few of the men around her ignore her, walking past her and right into the kill zone you and Clarke established. You whisper, “I’ve got left.”

“I’ve got right.”

You and Clarke each fire off a shot, one immediately after the next, killing the two closest men. Everyone else in the group drops down, looking around for you, and you and Clarke reload before peering through the scope again. Unfortunately, you set your sights on the group just in time to see one of the men stand up, a large weapon in his hand, pointed right at you. You and Clarke see it at the same time, letting out a soft gasp, unable to do anything else before the blast hits the ridgeline in front of you. 

The blast knocks all three of you away, and you hear Madi let out a scream before your body lands on the ground with a hard thud. You groan in pain, a high pitched ringing in your ears, and you hear Clarke’s muffled voice calling your name through the haze in your head. You look up, meeting her eyes, and she grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We have to run!”

You nod your head, crouching low and following her and Madi from the ridgeline and into the trees. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and the cotton in your head to clear, but when it finally does, you feel a rush of anxiety, aware of the danger the three of you now face. Your anxiety only grows when you realize Clarke is gasping, quietly fighting back pain. You pull her to a stop, and Madi whispers, “We can make it to the north cave, come on!”

You ignore her and search Clarke over, pulling her hand away from her ribs and staring down at the black blood covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”

A look of fear passes over Clarke’s face and she turns to Madi, “We have to hide you.”

She looks around until she finds a cut out in a tree nearby, and she starts to urge Madi towards it. “You need to get in here.”

“Not without you.”

You glare at Clarke, blood still dripping from beneath her shirt. “Clarke, you can’t go on like this.”

“I have to keep Madi safe!”

You grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at you, “But who will keep you safe?”

You push both of them towards the hole, just large enough to hide Clarke and Madi. “You both need to hide, I’ll lead them away.”

“But-”

“Clarke there’s no time to argue about this! Get in here, stay hidden.” They both climb into the hole, looking up at you in fear, both reluctant to let you go. You smile down at them and Clarke whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you both.” You pass Madi your knife, wrapping her fingers around it. “Stay safe.”

And then you grab trees and branches from nearby, covering them both up, tucking them out of sight. You turn and run off, leading them away from your family, making sure to be loud enough that they follow you instead. You can hear the prisoners in the woods behind you, yelling updates to each other every time they catch a glimpse of you, and it only pushes you faster, trying to put as much distance as you can between you and the prisoners at your back. Unfortunately, you don't expect them to shoot at you, and you hear the sound of gunshot pop through the air seconds before a bullet tears through your left shoulder. You let out a cry of pain, the injury surprising you and knocking you off your feet. You stumble and roll down a small hill, groaning as you reach the bottom.  You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and you start to jump to your feet when you feel a boot press down into your back, pinning you in place. 

You try to fight against them until you feel a hand press into the bullethole, making you scream out in pain, choked and broken. You hear a radio to your left, the voice of a woman coming through. “McCreary, we heard gunfire, report. I said report, McCreary.”

“Relax, Colonel. I told you we'd get her, and we did.” Someone grabs your hair, using it to tug your head up and back, and you sneer at the man who drops onto his knees in front of you. He reaches up to stroke a finger down your face, and you rear back and spit at him, watching the blob land in his beard near his mouth. He smacks you across the face, hard, snapping your head to the side, the movement tugging at your hair, and you bite back your sound of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He lifts his radio again and adds, “She's a feisty one. Pretty, too.”

“Good work. Bring her to me, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

You are yanked to your feet by the man, McCreary, and he holds you tight by the shirt around your neck, limiting your movement. He half drags, half pushes you the whole way back to the village, and you try to keep an eye on your surroundings as you move, looking for any sight of Madi or Clarke. You’re relieved when you don’t see them in the village, still out there, still free, but your relief is short lived when you are shoved into the center of the village, surrounded by prisoners on all sides. The woman from before calls out, “Let me see her face.”

Your head is again yanked back by your hair, and you hold back a grunt of pain as your eyes land on the woman in front of you. You're surprised to see that she’s young. Definitely older than you, but also younger than your mother, her face relatively smooth of any lines or signs of aging. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, giving you a small view of the jagged scar that runs across the front of her neck. You shudder at the sight of it, not sure you want to know how she got it and survived, and you move your eyes from her to the man at her side. He’s younger than her, closer in age to you, and he’s handsome. His eyes seem kinder than the others, and he’s dressed differently, his clothes all black instead of tan. He looks at you suspiciously, before his eyes fall on McCreary behind you. “You only caught one?”

“We only saw one.” McCreary lets go of your hair, pushing your head down and into the grass. You pull yourself to your knees and then look up at the people surrounding you, watching as the handsome guy whispers, “I highly doubt she was alone.”

“How many others in the woods?”

You look up at the woman, mind running through what to do, until you remember Lincoln. Silent, steady, warrior with a heart, who didn't say a word the entire time he was in your camp. None of you even knew he spoke English until Octavia told you later. You quietly decide to say nothing, hide your reactions, and you make your face blank and set your jaw as you look up at them, silent. The woman looks at McCreary, who smacks you across the face for a second time, the skin on your right cheek throbbing in pain. He drops down in front of you, and grinds out, “Answer the question.”

You stare up at him, still silent, and he lifts his arm and grabs your head before raising his fist, ready to punch you. You flinch a little, waiting for the blow, but the woman stops him in his tracks. “Not yet. First we pray.”

McCreary pulls you to your feet and drags you to the church, as the woman yells to the other prisoners, “Secure the perimeter. Her people will come for her, be ready!”

You are led straight inside of your home, and your lip curls up in disgust when you see that the prisoners have already made themselves at home. McCreary grabs a chair and tosses you into it, before snatching up a bit of rope and securing you in place. When he finishes, he stares at you for a long second, and you glare back, not letting him intimidate you. He glares back at you, before rising to his full height and punching you across the face. You grunt in pain, his hit landing in the same place as his last two, and you’re sure a bruise is already forming along your right cheek and eye.

The handsome man from before runs over and grabs McCreary before he can hit you again, yelling, “Hey, hey, stop! We need her.”

They both grab each other, McCreary hands reaching for the man’s neck, and the woman runs over to break up the spat. “Hey! Enough!”

“He's not one of us. We lose four men, and he doesn't even care.”

The woman glares at McCreary, snapping back, “He is one of us. None of us is here without Shaw.”

Shaw. The handsome man is Shaw, the man all too eager to hit you is McCreary. Shaw is different from the others, evident by McCreary’s “not one of us” comments, but you still aren’t sure how he’s different. You tuck all of the information away for later, in case you need it. The two men release each other as McCreary counters, “None of us is here without me, either. You remember that.”

The woman glares at him, grabbing him by the front of his uniform, her voice low and threatening. “We all have a role to play, and we're all upset about the loss of our men. Take a team and sweep the woods for her friends.”

She releases him and he stares at her for a long second, before he nods and walks away, bumping Shaw on the way out. Shaw turns to glare at him, but makes no move towards him, and the woman walks closer to you, eyes scanning you. You see her gaze drop to the floor, onto a puddle of black blood near your feet, dripping from the bullethole in your shoulder. She turns to Shaw, pointing at the puddle. “You see this?”

He walks over to your chair and runs his finger through your blood, rubbing it between his fingers as he peers down at it. “Blood alteration like they had on the Eligius III. Two suns, no sunscreen needed.”

Two suns? Eligius III? Though the comment confuses you, you are careful to keep your expression blank, adding the information to the list of things that might be useful to you later.

“Must be how they survived down here.” The woman lifts her radio and mutters, “Bring me a med kit. Over.”

The request sends some hope, some relief through you, because captors rarely bandage up their prisoners if they’re just going to kill them in the end. For now, your survival seems likely, meaning you're still useful to them. Something you can work with. The woman pulls up a chair across from you, sitting down into it, threading her fingers together. “We got off on the wrong foot, you and I. We had no idea that there was anyone alive down here. How could we have? We were just trying to get back home. Imagine our surprise when we found that there was no home to get back to, and then your people started killing mine. Surely you can understand why I'm upset, just like you were upset when we took your village. I don't blame you. When a fascist government tried to take my home, I wanted blood, too. And I got it. Nobody else has to die today, just tell me what I need to know, and we can come up with an arrangement that works for all of us. Sound like a plan?”

You sift through the information she’s given you, filing parts of it away for later, careful to keep your expression neutral and unreadable. Shaw, convinced by your show, muses, “Maybe she doesn't speak English.”

The woman doesn't get to answer, because the door to your home suddenly bursts open, and a large man drags someone inside. “Colonel Diyoza, we found this one lurking in the woods outside.”

Your stomach drops as your eyes land on a head full of blonde hair, streaked with red, and she looks up and meets your eyes, looking worried. You see her eyes scan your face, landing on the forming bruise, before she takes notice of the blood dripping from your shoulder onto the ground. You see her worry deepen, but you send her a silent message with your eyes, letting her know you’re okay. You scan her body for additional injuries, relieved to find none as the woman, Diyoza, stands from the chair she was sitting in and slides it next to you, motioning towards it. “Tie her up next to the other one.”

As soon as Clarke is pushed down into the chair beside you, you turn her way and whisper, “No gonasleng. Weron deimeka?”

No English. Where’s the sun? She nods, understanding your command and your question. “Klir. Kamp daun oso sontam honen graun.”

Safe. Near our summer hunting grounds. You nod before you look away, Clarke now tied up beside you. When you do, your eyes land on Shaw and Diyoza, who clearly heard your whispered conversation. Shaw turns to Diyoza, “So, no English then.”

The radio at Diyoza’s side crackles to life with McCreary’s voice, updating everyone on their search. You see Clarke perk up from the corner of your eye, and Diyoza must see it too, because she smirks as she pulls up another chair. “They speak English, they just want us to think they don’t so we'll speak freely and reveal something they can use against us.”

The radio crackles with another update, Clarke clearly listening in, and you resist the urge to shake your head, wondering how someone so careful is now so obvious, her mama bear instincts overriding her warrior instincts. “Every time the patrol checks in this one looks at this. She's tracking our movements, that's all she cares about.”

Clarke freezes, not meaning to give either of you up, and Diyoza looks over to you, seeing if you're going to change your mind and answer any of her earlier inquiries. When you make no move to, she leans back in her chair, appraising you both. “You don't want to talk, that's fine, don't talk. But we'll see how you feel when we find whoever it is you're protecting.”

She lifts her radio, her eyes never leaving Clarke as she delivers the news. “Change of plans, ladies and gentlemen. No more prisoners, shoot to kill.”

Your blood runs cold, and you and Clarke share a look, but she manages to keep her cool, though you know she’s eager to kill everyone in this room and get back to Madi. Diyoza stands, watching you both, waiting for you to react, and when you don’t she sighs and puts the radio down on the table beside her. She grabs the medkit and walks over to you, but you shake your head, nodding over at Clarke. Her brows pull together but she moves to your twin instead, finding the injury they gave her when they blasted the three of you on the ridgeline. As she works, she calls out, “Shaw, they’re both bleeding, gimme a hand.”

She passes some supplies to Shaw before he walks over to you, searching your body for an injury. He finally finds the bullethole in your shoulder, and when he checks the front of your body, he sighs when he doesn't see an exit wound. “The bullet is still in your shoulder, I’m going to have to free one of your hands so I can get your jacket off to get a better look. Are you going to behave?”

You stare at him, trying to decide what to do, before ultimately you give him a single nod, knowing that Clarke already alerted them about your ability to understand, and that bleeding out as a prisoner is not how you want to go out. Shaw frees your left hand and then helps you shrug out of the arm of your jacket before he tugs down the neck of your shirt to get a better look. As he does, you feel his finger pass over the jagged scar on your shoulder, the one Clarke gave you when she cauterized your arrow wound on Luna’s rig. His face pops back into view again, giving you a strange look before he reaches for a pair of surgical pliers. “This is going to hurt.”

You give him no reaction and he takes that as a sign to continue, digging the pliers into the hole in your shoulder, searching for the bullet. Your jaw clenches, biting back a scream of pain, trying to keep up your show of strength. He digs around for an agonizingly long second before you feel the pliers slide out of the wound. A second later he grabs your hand and drops the bullet into it, glinting in the light beneath your black blood. He grabs a suture kit and stitches you up, your mind distracted from the pain as you roll the bullet around in your hand. Shaw finishes quickly, bandages your wound, and helps you back into your jacket before he restrains your hand again and steps away from you. You tuck the bullet into your pocket, a reminder to you on what you’re dealing with here. Diyoza finishes up on Clarke, both of you now bandaged, and the two of them walk away from you and your twin, leaving you to contemplate the mess you’re in.

Hours pass, and slowly day turns to night as your captivity continues. The sporadic updates from McCreary leave you and Clarke with hope, no mention of them finding Madi, leaving at least one of you safe. Sometime after dark, Shaw grabs a canteen and offers Clarke and then you a sip of water, before he settles into the seat across from you, his voice soft and pleading. “Come on, what harm can come from telling me your name?”

He watches you, waiting for you to answer, but when you don’t he leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, believe it or not, this is the best conversation I've had in over a hundred years. I was an altar boy in a church just like this. Saginaw, about two hours outside Detroit. On my Harley, I'd make it in one. God, I miss that bike...more than I miss most of the people.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but McCreary’s voice comes through the radio, sounding excited. “Someone just ran out of that cave. Harris, Falk, watch your six. Fast little thing, we can cut her off at the lake. Go west. Wait, scratch that. She's turning North, I got a shot.”

You and Clarke exchange a look of fear, and she immediately breaks her silence. “No! She's just a child.”

Diyoza turns to face her, surprised. “She speaks.”

“Please.”

She stalks towards Clarke, her voice hard. “How many others are in the woods?”

“None. It's just the three of us. I am begging you, tell him not to shoot!”

“Fire at will.”

Clarke looks over at you, terrified at the thought of losing Madi, her daughter, her family, and you look at Diyoza. “I know where they are, over near our summer hunting grounds. She's leading them into a trap. If they don't stop right now, those men will die.”

Diyoza looks at you, unconvinced, but Shaw turns to her, looking sincere. “I believe her.”

You silently thank the kind hearted man as Clarke backs you up, “It's the truth. If you let her go, we'll tell you everything.”

Diyoza stares at you both, considering this offer, before she lifts the radio again. “All units: stand down. Falk, if McCreary disobeys, shoot him in the leg. Harris, if Falk disobeys, shoot him in the head. There may be traps near your position. Check it out and report back, over.”

It only takes a minute for them to come back on the radio, sounding shocked. “Son of a bitch, another bear trap. Almost stepped right in it.”

“Report to base camp. Over and out.”

Clarke looks up at the woman, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling the truth. As long as you keep doing that, your friend in the woods will stay alive, and so will the two of you. Do we understand each other?”

You and Clarke both answer, “Yes.”

“Good, then let's begin. Start with how the world ended.”

You and Clarke share a knowing look, before you lean back in your chair, your voice serious, “Which time?”

“There was more than one?”

“Two, actually.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Clarke takes over, beginning the history lesson, as McCreary and a few others step inside your home, listening in. “On the Ark, they taught us that the war started as a Chinese first strike, but they were wrong. It was started by an AI called Alie. Her intention was to reduce the popu-”

She’s cut off by someone’s voice coming in over the radio. “Colonel, we have five more hostiles. At least one is armed, are we still playing nice?”

Everyone in the room cuts a glare over at you and Clarke, but the two of you share a look, utterly and completely bewildered. There’s no way. Diyoza grabs her radio, “Stand by.” 

She points to the others in the room. “Find out where they are and reinforce their position. Not you, McCreary.”

She comes to stand in front of you and Clarke, absolutely fuming. “What did I tell you would happen if you lied to me?”

“We didn’t-”

“Everyone else is locked-”

Diyoza cuts you both off, hitting Clarke across the face, and then you. You bite back a yell of pain, sure that your cheek is bruised at this point. “Take them outside. Use the collar.”

Your eyes widen in alarm, not liking the sound of that, and the reactions of the two men around you only increase your worry. McCreary grins, already walking towards you. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Shaw stands from his seat, looking worried. “Colonel...they’re cooperating.”

“Which is why they’ll live. Their friends, on the other hand…” She lifts the radio, finally deciding on her plans. “Four of ours are dead. It's time to even the score.”

McCreary snaps a thick collar around your neck as another prisoner puts one on Clarke, and you are both pulled to your feet and dragged to the door, fighting the entire time. McCreary tosses you down the stairs, and you roll, hitting your shoulder on the way down. You hold back your scream, letting out a quiet groan of pain as Clarke is tossed down beside you. You pull yourself to your knees, your hands desperately clutching at the collar, and McCreary comes down the stairs and stops in front of you, two remotes in his hand. He tsks, “I wouldn't do that if I was you, you might burn your fingers.”

You pull your fingers away just in time, because seconds later a pulse of electricity moves from the collar, through your body. Little sounds of pain slip past your lips as you convulse, the shock worse than anything you’ve ever felt from the batons, and you can hear Clarke somewhere nearby, making similar sounds of pain. All around you prisoners start to cheer, gathering in a circle to watch, and you start to crawl away, hoping that you can outrun the pain that radiates through your body. Clarke groans out, “Please, we weren’t lying!”

“Hit them again.”

He hits you both again, both of you crying out in pain as the shock electrifies every cell in your body, tearing you apart, piece by piece. When the pain finally stops, you convulse for a second, your body trying to shake the pain off, and McCreary drops down in front of you, grinning. You weakly mutter, “We don't know who that was.”

“I guess you made your point.”

You’re grateful for Shaw, still trying to defend you and your twin, but Diyoza is less impressed. “You might be right. But just in case, hit them again.”

He electrifies you again, your whole body shaking from the force of it, and you can feel yourself growing weaker as the pulse moves through you. The pain stops abruptly, but it takes a second for your senses to return, and when you do, you realize you and Clarke are side by side, sitting in the path of a bright light. Diyoza yells, “Hold, and fire on my command.”

You and Clarke crawl towards each other, staring at the rover in front of you, as Clarke whispers, “Madi, no.”

Diyoza yells, “Come out with your hands high!”

You hear the rover door open and close, and you peer towards it, blinded by the bright lights. A figure approaches slowly, much taller than Madi, and your stomach drops, not sure what you’re seeing. Before their face comes into view, you hear their voice, washing over you and leaving you shocked. “I’m unarmed. Just want to talk.”

He comes closer, stepping into the path of the light, his face now coming into view. 

Bellamy. 

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, falling down your cheeks at the sight of him. He’s older, but he looks good, really good, facial hair now covering the lower half of his face. His hair is still long, curls bouncing around his face. You have to resist every cell in your body, screaming at you to run to him and jump in his arms. Instead, you pull yourself to your knees, your eyes locked on him, watching as he looks at all the prisoners pointing a gun his way. 

“Talk. Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.”

Bellamy’s voice is full of leadership as he looks at Diyoza, “How about I give you 283? That's how many of your people are gonna die if you and I can't make a deal.”

He holds up a cup in his hand, and it must mean something to Diyoza because she freezes in place, an unreadable expression passing over her face. She nods, and Bellamy holds up a hand, signaling for the rover to back up and drive away. You hear Clarke sigh beside you, relieved that Madi is still safe. Diyoza glances back at you and your twin, before turning her focus on Bellamy. “283 lives for two. They must be pretty important to you.”

For the first time, Bellamy’s eyes finally find yours, surprised to see you on the ground, clearly in pain. Clarke is now on her knees beside you, looking at Bellamy in shock, and you see a look of pain pass over Bellamy’s face as he looks you over, taking in your appearance. He answers Diyoza, his eyes locked solely on you. “They are.”

You feel a rush of tears fall down your face again, fully crying as you look at the love of your life, back on Earth, standing in front of you. You can feel your muscles tense, wanting to run to him, but the collar shifts on your neck, reminding you of its presence, so you don’t. You just sit there, eyes locked on Bellamy, his eyes locked on yours, reminding you of all the love, memories, and history that the two of you share. 

Diyoza turns to Shaw, her expression serious. “Assemble a team and head back to the transport, check on our people.”

Shaw starts to walk away, but Diyoza grabs him. “Take the girls with you. Anything goes wrong, kill them both.”

Shaw nods once, and McCreary pulls you to your feet while someone else grabs Clarke. They start to pull you away, away from Bellamy, and any self restraint you held onto goes out the window, threatened with the thought of never seeing Bellamy again. You start to fight, pulling against McCreary’s hold on you, wiggling in his grip. You call out for Bellamy, finally getting yourself free from your captor, and you take off towards him, Bellamy’s arms already opening, ready to grab you in a hug. You smile, overcome with relief, but you never make it to him. Halfway across the space someone activates your collar, sending electricity pulsing through you, more powerful than before. You hit the ground, convulsing and twitching, your body focused on nothing other than the shockwaves that pulse through you. You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to think of anything other than the electricity that invades your body and destroys you.

You’re relieved when the pain finally stops, but your body is exhausted, unable to handle the last hit of electricity, and you feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness. You hear Shaw yelling at someone, and Bellamy saying your name, and you try to fight the darkness that engulfs you, wanting to get back to him, but it’s too strong. It grabs your body, wrapping you up, before the darkness takes the plunge, bringing you with it. 

-

next chapter

[bellamyblake]

"#also my hc is that he has a vague recollection of his dad#and he hates ppl who are not him calling him skn" WHY IS THIS MAKING ME SO SOFT FOR HIM AND HIS DAD sndhsdf

also, everyone else that called him son probably took advantage of him and his mom

Nonnie don’t you even START me on the subject of Bell and his dad cause I have about 1000 headcanons that I’ve shared with only a few people randomly making them sick of me but YES, absolutely YES. He hates people calling him that. You know why? 

Because in my HCs he has a vague recollection of his papa. And he wasn’t randomly conceived like i guess the writers were trying to make it out to be like with O/ctavia. No. In my head Aurora fell for his dad hard when they were young, they were school rivals, enemies to friends to lovers of sorts, and Aurora was a sharp, beautiful girl who didn’t take anyone’s shit especially boys in her class who were a little cocky, thinking they were too good for anyone else or at least that was her first impression of his dad (In my head called Nate). 

They rivalled constantly in school and she beat him at every contest, the best and brightest of her class. 

Nate was a promising young man who came from Factory as well but had a sharp mind and would try to shoot for being an engineer.

They first got closer when they had an Earth class project together and she realized that he was one giant dork who had knowledge on more than fifty percent of the books in the library. He had memorized them since he couldn’t own them and would retell her stories of stars and ancient myths that she later passed onto Bell and Octavia. 

Then in their final year Aurora’s dad passed away and she had to drop out of school to work as a seamstress and support herself and her mom who was ill. 

Nate would come by her place every day, bring her school work or books and soon she started inviting him in. Their parents approved of their relationship cause they were both good kids and Aurora challenged Nate, she was a force he could rarely reckon with but he was smitten and she wasn’t so hard and collected then, still pragmatic she had let her heart out in the open for Nate who loved her dearly, honestly, truly.

They married when he graduated and moved into their own little cabin. At first Aurora didn’t get pregnant right away and that got her sad and a little depressed. Nate was at his wits end how to bring the smile on his good girl back but soon enough a year and a half into their new life, he came home and found her sobbing on their little cot.

He rushed to her, kneeled down and took her hands-Rory, what is it? Are you hurt? In pain?

And she simply shook her head and smiled-Nate, I’m pregnant-she had whispered as if she was afraid to say it out loud, it was so surreal.

Nate picked her up laughed and kissed her. He had only been happier on the day Bell was born.

Her pregnancy was hard, though, she had to stop working when she was six months in cause she had really high blood pressure and Nate was going nuts how to provide everything they needed for their little baby that would soon join them. He took extra shifts, came home late but even if Aurora was already asleep, working from home on her bed, stitching clothes together, he’d lay next to her and kiss her bump, talk to the baby and she’d wake up to him stupidly crying cause he was so emotional.

Despite the pregnancy being hard, giving birth happened fast and relatively easy. Nate held Bellamy in his hands and weeped next to a tired Aurora who had to stay a week in the hospital due to her still high blood pressure and presistent fever that left her weak for months after.

But they were happy, oh god they were so happy.

And Bell when he cried it was so quiet Nate wasn’t sure he really heard it and panicked at first-as if he didn’t want to bother them with his presense. He was a quiet good baby that eat a lot. Aurora had to nurse him constantly and soon he was all chubby cheeks and big bright eyes.

Nate marvelled at him, spent every waking minute with him and sometimes sat by his crib and just stared at him while he slept. 

“My brave boy-” he would always say when he held him though Bellamy wasn’t doing anything but drooling all over his shirt and blabbing in his baby tongue “My little wolf cub.” that was his nickname for him.

So Aurora knit them matching hats with little wolf ears on.

Bellamy was a smart blubbering child who cheekishly learned early how to escape the confinments of his crib and fall directly into his mom and dad’s bed, waking them in the middle of the night and curling up between them.

He was fast to crawl but not fast to walk and they worried. Had to take him to a doctor who said he has calcium deficience and prescribed more vitamins and a special formula.

The day he walked Ante was washing his onsies in the kitchen sink and talking to him, telling him a story after he placed him on the little blanket with his few tosy to play with.

Out of nowhere he heard Bellamy’s giggle and his tiny hands wrapping around Nate’s legs. He turned around and gasped, dropping everything, hands soaped, he laughed and picked him up.

“My brave, brave boy!” he rubbed his nose against Bell’s “I love you so much, my son!”

Okay I’m stopping here cause i licherally have a 43k story about bell as a kid on the ark and his parents but I wont bore anyone anymore with this LOL. 

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Hi everyone! I know this is random, but I accidentally plotted an entire S7 canon divergent ending, which included Cadogan and Clarke + disciples doing the “test” and Cadogan inadvertently killing all his people through the desire for power (not Bellamy – Clarke traded herself), Clarke returning and everyone thinking she killed them all, lots of healing and forgiveness, a thriving city and finally Bellarke, cozy domestic Bellarke, and then the Anomaly takes Clarke away because everyone has to pass the ‘test’ and she already did, so they’re separated for 3 years while the rest of the people earn their place (takes a while because they all collectively share *one brain cell* and Clarke usually holds it), then Clarke returns when they pass and Bellarke is back to being cozy, but excited to be reunited. Which is why Clarke is a little lighter and Bellamy is, well, more Bellamy. Don’t ask, lol. I had this thought of a beautiful, domestic day between the two of them and I had to write it down. Please forgive me, but I needed to write this fluff and angst.

When he wakes up, his arm reaches across the bed and finds no one there. Bellamy’s first reaction is to panic, sitting straight up in the bed. Except one of the pillows had a dent in it, so someone was there, they just aren’t there anymore. He presses his hand against the sheets of the bed and they’re cold, the person long since left.

Sighing, Bellamy takes off the covers and shivers when his toes hit the farmhouse floor. The world is still relatively dark, the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance. He notices a pot of coffee in the kitchen, making his way to the house.

She’s where he thought he’d find her.

On the porch is a suspended love seat that swings back and forth, a figure covered in a blanket with a cup in their hands. The sun is pouring the world in color and light, and it hits her face in a way that makes her look like magic and fills his chest up with a contentment he never thought he’d have. He never understood visual art the way Clarke did, the colors and lines something he’d never tire of hearing about from her, but he’d never understand.

Then again, he’s looking at Clarke now and maybe he does.

Walking over to her, Bellamy opens the blanket and slides to her side, Clarke not even flinching. Of course she knew he was there, turning her head to smile at him in that way that made his heart flip. Sometimes Bellamy has to remind himself that she’s still her, that it isn’t a dream. He’s often dreamt of Clarke through their various separations, but he never thought he’d have an ending as gentle as this.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Clarke beams at him, resting her head on his shoulder and offering him her drink. He takes a sip of the coffee, the taste bitter and harsh, waking him up a bit. “I fell asleep fine, I’m just not entirely used to how quiet it is here.”

Bellamy frowns at that. “You were on Earth by yourself for three years. Wasn’t it quiet?”

“Well, not in the way you’re thinking.” She offers, Clarke’s honestly for her life more astounding every day. Something happened in that separation that crumbled her walls, and she offered thoughts and stories freely. Bellamy could spend the rest of his life listening to them, and marvels at the idea that he may just get that. “The earth was still healing, so it was very loud. The wind, the earthquakes. I got used to it after a month or so. It’s very strange to come here when it’s so quiet.”

He tries not to be upset listening to it, but it was a fact of life, he supposes. “You’ll get used to this too,” he saying, giving her the cup back and wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

Looking up at him, her eyes shine in the sunlight. “Promise?”

She’s sitting there and the wind is in her hair. The world is drenched in purples and blues and pinks, and everything is quiet. Dipping his head down, he presses her lips against his and thinks I promise, I promise, I promise.

***

“So when was it for you?”

Bellamy startles, shaking his wet curls after they’d showered – together, then apart, then together again. Running a towel through his hair, he peeks out of the bathroom. “What do you mean?”

Clarke’s in the middle of the room in her underwear, pulling her jeans up, the scars from her time alone present and shimmering. He plans on asking her about every single one, hearing every story, learning the lines of her body until he could speak it from memory. She grins at him when she notices him staring at her, lifting her eyebrows. He laughs and shakes his head.

“I mean,” Clarke continues, rummaging around the room until she finds a shirt. “When did you start having feelings for me?”

Bellamy recoils a bit. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about it, but because he’s spent his whole life loving Clarke. Or, at least, it felt that way. Frowning, Bellamy offers, “Attracted to or in love with?”

“Both, sounds fun.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was pretty attracted to you the entire time, to be honest.” He muses, hard to think of the dropship days without reminding himself of everyone they lost. “You yelled at me and I was done.”

Snorting, Clarke walks over to where he is and presses herself against his back and wraps her arms around his chest. “Such a romantic.”

“I can’t help it,” He says pressing a kiss against her forearm. “I realized I started to have actual feelings for you after you said that if I needed forgiveness, you’d give it to me. I didn’t realize… I needed to hear that. And I had no idea it would come from you.”

Clarke rests her face against his back and he can feel her smile. “And when I realized I loved you – when you killed Atom for me.”

Turning around, Bellamy faces her. Placing his hand under her chin, he tilts her head up to him. “First time you bore it, so someone didn’t have to. I was done.”

“Well, that’s annoying.”

Whatever he expected her to say, that wasn’t it. Barking a laugh, he repeats, “Annoying?”

“We could’ve been together for so much longer, had you ever said anying?”

He laughs, free and easy, placing his hands against her face and planting a kiss. “Alright you, what was your time?”

Clarke giggles and pulls herself out of his embrace. “Way later than that.”

“Oh my god—”

She laughs at him and he isn’t sure he could ever tire of hearing it. “I was attracted to you when I asked if you had a gun?”

Bellamy fixes her a look. “Really? That did it?”

“Please, like you weren’t trying to turn everyone with a pulse on.”

He supposes he has to give her that.

“Love,” Clarke’s face falls a bit. “I-I don’t think I precisely knew when I started loving you, but I remember when I realized it.”

Bellamy stills, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

“When we reunited after the dropship. I thought you were dead and that I killed you, then suddenly you were there. It felt like I could breathe for the first time, and I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath. When I hugged you, I don’t know… everything fell into place.”

She’s sitting on the bed, hair wet, shirt in her hands. Joining her, Bellamy takes her hand and brings it into her lap. “Yeah, I get that.”

Clarke leans into him, squeezing his hand. Pressing a kiss in her hair, she smells of soap and possibilities. “I really get that.”

***

“Platonic love of my life!”

When Clarke shouts, Bellamy startles, still not entirely used to how open she is. She’d been holding his hand and pressing kisses against his arm and he thinks he’s never felt so loved. Bellamy never knew how much he needed physical affection, but it was like Clarke knew and she was willing to drown him in it. It all felt very safe, which scares him more than he can say.

But when she shouts at a figure, he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Clarke jumps and they catch her, swinging her around in a hug. Jackson walks up to Bellamy, pretending to be aghast. “Oh look, my husband found his girlfriend.”

Bellamy snorts. “My girlfriend found her boyfriend.”

Clarke and Miller laugh, the woman kissing him on the cheek and Miller grabbing her arm fondly. The two link arms and Bellamy shakes his head, filling with fondness and family. “Actually, we were going to get some lunch at the bakery, do you want to join?” He asks Jackson.

“Did you say lunch at the bakery?” Miller calls from a few yards away. “Hell yeah!”

Bellamy rolls his eyes as Jackson says with as much love as a person can hold. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.” He snorts. “Yeah man, gotta give the two of them time to make us question our relationships.”

Bellamy isn’t sure when Clarke and Miller became so close, but he knows it directly has to do with him. His time as a disciple sent cracks in all his relationships, none more so than Miller. He came back to the man a stranger. He found him standing next to Clarke, as protective as a person can be, angry and hurt. It took a while to repair their relationship, and again when Clarke was taken from them.

But as they sit in the bakery, sandwiches placed before him, Bellamy can’t help but be grateful for the man, and everything he’s given both of them.

“We were reminiscing about how Bellamy was such a manwhore in the early days.” Clarke offers, picking at her sandwich. Bellamy frowns at that, her appetite quite sad after being alone for such a long time.

Miller barks a laugh, tilting his head back. The two of them are sitting on the same side of the booth, their loves forced to watch from across the table with exasperation and fondness. “Man, you did a U-turn into nerd real quick.”

Clarke picks off a piece of bread and plays with it. “He’s been a nerd the whole time. He was trying to compensate for it.”

“You know, I’m not sure if I’m loving this friendship.” Bellamy says dryly.

“We don’t care.” Is the communal response.

Bellamy shares a look with Jackson.

“Well, you’re one to talk, Clarke. You have your share of annoying history.” Miller offers, taking a drink of water. “When you were gone, you know how many times this one offered to sacrifice herself? I swear to god, I thought I was watching a puppy.”

Bellamy’s surprised. Miller doesn’t often offer up details from that time, but Clarke laughing at him and he’s smiling and something seems to slot back together.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long, man.” Miller says, biting his sandwich. Through bites, he says, “I felt like I was losing it. I needed to know how to stop it.”

“If only I had that power.”

Clarke chuckles at both of them.

“You know,” Jackson says. “I never really knew how you two became close.”

“Yeah,” Miller offers. “I got the impression you didn’t really like me in the beginning.”

“I didn’t.” Clarke says and Miller elbows her. With a loud laugh, she continues, “It was actually because of him.” Clarke states, pointing to Bellamy. “He said if anything ever happened to him, to keep you close. I didn’t know he was planning on running from the Chancellor since he shot him at that time, but he said he trusted you. That was enough for me.”

Bellamy catches Miller’s eye. He still sees the anger and betrayal there, but the love is more. The respect is back, having clawed his way up.

“How did you ever get acquitted of that?” Jackson asks through bites. “No one really knew – we all thought you’d be executed and then it just… didn’t happen.”

Bellamy turns to Clarke. She smiles at him softly, the way she did all those years ago. Nodding at her, Bellamy takes a bite of his own sandwich. She smiles and he feels warm and whole, something he never thought he’d be.

***

They’re standing in a field of flowers and Clarke is laughing.

It sounds like sunlight and she looks like stardrops and everything is beautiful.

“I just can’t believe this is really happening.” He finds himself saying aloud, unable to stop it. “That you’re here, we’re together, and there’s nothing to fight.”

Clarke stops wading through the flowers and turns to him. Marching over to where he is, she places a hand against his cheek. “Together.”

He covers his hand with hers and holds it there, thinking that if there’s a moment he’d like to relive for the rest of his life, he would gladly have today.

***

There’s a single restaurant in Sanctum, started by a few original citizens and Murphy. Bellamy had put on the nicest clothes he owned and sucked in a breath when he saw Clarke step out in a flowing blue dress, a handful of daisies in her hair. The two of them sit in the restaurant and it all feels very simple and normal – two words he never thought would describe the two of them.

Someone pours wine, another person brings food, and the two of them sit, looking out at Sanctum, their new home. When he sees her, he thinks his heart will explode, his skin still burns from her touch, and he thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning her.

“I have a favor to ask.” He says when the room quiets. Reaching out, he grabs her hand. “Did you know?”

Clarke looks at him, confused. “Know what?”

“Did you know the Anomaly was going to take you?”

Clarke frowns. It’s the one thing she really doesn’t like to talk about, but he can’t help but think it is all fragile, their life. “Not really, but,” she says distantly. “I knew something was going to happen. It wasn’t until it was actually happening did all the pieces come together. I knew… that story wasn’t over, I just felt it.”

Bellamy figured as much. He remembers the day she was taken, her resolve. It reminded him a lot of the day before the Death Wave – her resolute ending. “If you ever feel something like that, would you mind letting me know? I don’t think I could bare another three years without you.”

Clarke smiles and his chest fills and the world settles in a peace he longs to fill his lungs. “I have no intention of leaving.” She says.

“Good, because you’re in this with me, Griffin. Until the very end.”

She leans across the table and catches his lips. He doesn’t care people are watching, he doesn’t care about any of it. All he knows is he has her, his world is safe because she is his world.

They will have one normal day after another normal day, until they string together into a lifetime. Maybe that’s the true art, he muses. Not tragedy, not the epic stories. But a tapestry of quiet and safety, until the end of time.

[wonderful-writer]

08 - Hallucinations

Summary: As Y/n, Bellamy, and Clarke embark on a day mission to visit an aid depot, tensions run high when Clarke attempts to talk with Bellamy about the exodus ship and Jaha. As Y/n and the others hallucinate, she talks with someone she hasn’t seen in a very long time.

Word Count: 3.80k

Based Off: 01x08 “Day Trip”

You were healed enough to start walking around, but Bellamy made sure that you knew you couldn’t do any heavy lifting. So you were on food duty with Jasper and Monty, who kept eating the Jobi nuts as a snack while they worked.

“You know, if you did your job instead of eating our supply, we might get this done quicker.” You commented with a raised brow.

Clarke came to check up on you for the second time that day as Monty and Jasper talked about the grounder, leading you into your tent. “How are you feeling?”

“Bored out of my mind.” You admitted. “Bellamy won’t let me do anything besides pack away and sort through the food and I’m dying to do literally anything else.”

Clarke laughed at your words as she wiped down your wound and replaced the bandage. “Well, I won’t be in camp today, and neither will Bellamy. Get Jasper to clean around the wound before you go to sleep if I’m not back, okay?”

“You’re leaving camp? Where are you going?” You asked, hopeful that you could tag along.

“They gave us coordinates to an aid depot that could keep us safe throughout the winter.”

“Can I come?” You asked and Clarke immediately protested.

“No, you’re not healed enough.” You begged her even though she kept saying no.

“Look, you’ll be able to check my wound and replace the bandages while we’re there, and you can help if anything happens to me. I promise I won’t carry anything too heavy, I can bring the food and medical supplies so you won’t have to.” She sighed at your words but nodded anyway.

“Fine. But if you rip your stitches, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. From both me and Bellamy.” You hugged your friend in thanks and started to stand up with her help.

Just then, Bellamy poked his head through your tent’s flap as you let go of one another.

“Clarke, let’s go.” He pulled his head out of the tent and you grabbed your pack, heading over to the food as Clarke stalled.

“Why are you taking the food?” Monty asked.

“I’m going out with Clarke and Bellamy,” You replied simply, taking a small sac of Jobi nuts and showing them into your bag.

“No you’re not.” Jasper cut in protectively.

“Don’t worry, Jasper. Clarke is gonna be with me the whole time, and if anything happens she can help me. I’ll be fine.” You assured him. You grasped his hand tightly before letting go and walking over to Clarke and Bellamy.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Bellamy asked defensively.

“With you and Clarke.” You said casually, strolling along until Bellamy caught your arm.

“No, you’re not. It’s dangerous and you haven’t fully healed yet.” He bore holes in your face with his eyes, but you ignored it.

“I asked Clarke and she said it was okay, so I’m going. I have medical supplies in my bag in case anything happens, and I promised I wouldn’t do anything that could rip my stitches.” You pulled your arm from his grip and walked with Clarke as he sighed and trailed behind.

You made your trek in silence, snacking on the Jobi nuts you packed with you, until Clarke spoke up.

“You know, the first dropship is gonna come down soon.” She said, swallowing a jobi nut. “Pretty sure you can’t avoid Jaha forever.”

“I can try.” Bellamy snipped, ducking to avoid a branch. 

Clarke pulled out a map as you looked at the wasteland of what looked like a part of a city. You tucked your nuts back into your bag as Clarke said that the depot was supposed to be in the area.

“There’s gotta be a door.” Bellamy guessed.

“Maybe he’ll be lenient.” Clarke suggested.

“Look, I shot the man, Clarke.” Bellamy snapped, fed up with her talk of Jaha. “He’s not just gonna forgive and forget.”

“Let’s just split up, cover more ground. Stay within shouting distance.”

As Clarke moved down the hill and Bellamy moved in the opposite direction, you caught his arm. He turned to look at you, his expression tired. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked, tone genuine.

He sighed, but answered with a hesitant, “Yeah.” Before walking off again, leaving you to turn and explore the other side of the hill.

Not long after, Clarke called out to you and Bellamy. “Over here! I found a door.”

You slid down the hill and walked over to where they were to find Clarke trying to pull on the handle. “I think it’s rusted shut.” 

Bellamy broke the lock with his axe as they pulled the heavy door open. You went down after Bellamy, Clarke handing you and him flashlights.

“Do you really believe this place hasn’t been touched since the war?” Bellamy asked.

“You never know,” You responded honestly. You trudged through the insanely dark aid depot in relative silence, aside from a sigh and the sound of footsteps. As you went down the stairs, Clarke caught sight of a skeleton.

“Hell of a place to die.” Bellamy commented. You said nothing, but quickly brushed past the body.

“So much for living down here, this place is disgusting.” Clarke stated. You nodded your head, knowing that she couldn’t see you.

“Anything left down here is ruined.” You said, taking note of the water damage.

“They must have distributed most of the supplies before the last bombs went off.” Clarke said. You all opened different containers, Bellamy’s had glow sticks and Clarke found some blankets.

When you opened yours, there wasn’t much in it. Just a few empty ration packets and a sword. It caught your attention, so you picked it up. You unsheathed it, the sound catching Bellamy and Clarke’s attention. You smiled at the weapon, shiny and in pristine condition.

You looped the sheath around your belt, just above where your daggers still rested on your thighs. Bellamy tossed the glow sticks down the hall to help light the way as Clarke told him that at least it was something.

“Well how about a canteen or-or a medkit or a decent fricking tent?” Bellamy raged. He slammed his hand down on an oil barrel, noticing the sound it made had indicated that it wasn’t empty. He opened it and saw that it was full of some liquid that he hoped could be water for us to drink, but upon sticking his fingers in it he realised it was grease.

Angry, he kicked over the barrel, hearing something fall out of it. You all turned your attention to it, Bellamy shone his light on it to reveal a shit ton of guns. The three of you took the guns out of the water and cleaned them off, making sure none were damaged. Bellamy painted an x on one of the blankets and hung it from the ceiling as a makeshift target.

“This changes everything. No more running from spears.” Bellamy said as he made his way back to you and Clarke. “Ready to be a badass, Clarke?”

“Look, I’m not gonna fight you on bringing guns back to camp. I know we need them but don’t expect me to like it.” She told the man.

“We’re lucky the rifles were packed in grease. The fact that they survived means we’re not sitting ducks anymore. You need to learn how to do this.”

You sighed and picked up a gun. “I mean it is pretty cool. I, for one, like the protection of a gun. Beats getting stabbed at close range.” You joked with a smirk, and Bellamy turned to you, taking the gun from your hands with a stern look on his face.

“You aren’t going anywhere near a gun until you’re healed. Understand?” 

You scoffed at his words and moved to the side, leaning up against the container of blankets. You felt upset at the fact that he was keeping you from learning how to properly learn how to shoot a gun and let Clarke have one even if she didn’t want it.

You didn’t see a problem with having a gun before you were healed, but apparently Bellamy did. You watched him and Clarke as he got really close to her, and it unnerved you. 

“I’m gonna get some air, this place is stuffy.” You told them, walking away and ignoring their weird looks.

You grabbed your bag and walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway, back up the main staircase and into the fresh air. You walked deeper into the woods than you probably should have, but you didn’t care. You didn’t understand anything anymore.

One minute you were in the woods and the next, you were in darkness. You couldn’t comprehend anything, reaching blindly out into the void. “Bellamy?! Clarke?!”

You ran around, panicked, until a spotlight came down on you, and then someone you thought you’d never see again. “Mom?”

She smiled at you and held her arms out for a hug. “Hi, honey.”

You ran to her, but as you tried to hug her, she vanished. You turned again and there she was.

“You’re not actually here,” You concluded. She nodded sadly and walked closer.

“You’ve grown so big,” She noticed, small tears glistening in her eyes. You nodded at her sentence before she spoke up again.

“Listen to me, Y/n. I don’t have a lot of time.” She warned.

“But I’ve been watching over you. And I know you’re upset at your father, and you have every right to be. But he’s worried for you. He heard about your wound and he’s scared.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but let her continue.

“Y/n, don’t blame him for what happened to you, please. He loves you with his whole heart. He didn’t trust himself to take care of you after I was gone, he couldn’t. He loved you and he didn’t want to screw up.” You felt her hands on your cheeks, even if she wasn’t there.

“And that boy that you’re friends with, Bellamy? Do you trust him?” You nodded at her.

“I trust Bellamy with my life, mom.”

“Good. He’s good for you. And you’re good for him, I can see it.” She gave a big smile.

Tears leaked out of your eyes and she began to speak again. “Bellamy is a great man, stay with him. You need each other more than you think.”

There was a knowing look in her eyes and you nodded again. You felt her start to fade away as she told you one last thing. “I love you, bug.”

“Mom?!” You called as she faded with a smile. “Mom, come back! Mom! Please!” You fell to your knees and let the tears fall.

You closed your eyes and when you opened them back up, you were in the forest again. It was much darker than before, the sun completely set. You heard talking nearby, and you assumed it was Bellamy and Clarke. “Bellamy?”

You stood up and made your way to where you heard the voice, still a little bit loopy from the vision you just had. When you made it to the clearing you saw Bellamy lying on the ground and Dax standing over him with a gun to his head. He attempted to shoot Bellamy but his gun clicked. Bellamy reached for something you couldn’t see, but when he held his hand up, there was nothing there.

You noticed Clarke standing a few feet behind Dax with a gun of her own, and got her attention quietly, then signalled for her to wait. You then ran as fast as you could, picking up speed as you went, then running into Dax’s body as hard as you were able and sent him toppling to the side. You straddled him as he put his hands out to push you off, but you managed to fight them off and punch him twice in the face.

It was then that Dax got the advantage and rolled over, so that he was now on top of you, with a knee to your chest. He grabbed the discarded gun and stood up, kicking you in your left side before moving over to Clarke. She tried to shoot him as he explained that Shumway said no witnesses, and you held onto your wound as you struggled to stand up. 

Your hands were wet with your blood as Bellamy attacked Dax and fought him off, but Dax had the upper hand and hit Bellamy with the butt of his gun before attempting to choke him with it. Clarke ran up to Dax and tried to get him away from Bellamy, but Dax kicked her down before she could try anything.

As Dax did so, Bellamy had a window of opportunity and grabbed the bullet that fell from Dax’s gun and shoved it into the side of his neck, effectively killing him. Bellamy panted at his actions and went over to you, hoisting you up by your shoulders and dragging you to the tree Clarke rested herself on to recover from being winded.

You were sitting between the two of them and were reminded of their actions, but didn’t think about it much as you remembered that you ripped your stitches. Groaning in pain, Clarke turned her attention to you, even though she still needed a few minutes to recover herself.

“Stop, Clarke, I’m okay.” You protested, but didn’t move when she lifted your shirt.

“You’re okay, Bellamy.” You told your friend, but the look on his face said otherwise.

“No, I’m not.” He disagreed. “My mother… If she knew what I've done, who I am- she raised me to be better, to be good…”

“Bellamy-”

“And all I do is hurt people.” He cut you off. “I’m a monster.”

“Bellamy, look at me.” Your hand reached up to his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “You are not a monster. The things that you’ve done, Bellamy, you did to protect the people you love. And I understand that. You were willing to do whatever it took to find Octavia and to keep her safe.”

“You brought a grounder into camp and if you hadn’t done so, I would have died. Bellamy, you know that the chancellor survived and because of all that you’ve done for the camp, he might help you. And I can make sure of it.”

“How?” Bellamy asked tiredly.

You moved to pull yourself up, but Bellamy helped you instead. “My father can help, if I talk to him. I know, I hate him, but if it gets you out of being killed, I think it’s worth it.” You gave him a small smile as he asked who your father was.

You looked down at your wound as Clarke began to sew it up again, wincing. “My father is Marcus Kane. He can help -- that is, if he doesn’t hate me.”

“I doubt it.” Clarke cut in softly. “As soon as the radio was working he asked for you, if you were okay.”

You nodded and absorbed this information, thinking back to your mother's words. ‘He loves you with his whole heart.’

Clarke finished up your wound and replaced the bandages as Bellamy looked back up to the sky. His arm was still around your torso to support you, but you didn’t mind it. Once you all found the strength, you carried all the weapons you could find, along with blankets and whatever else was salvageable back to camp.

You only carried the blankets as Bellamy and Clarke dragged the guns. When you got back to camp, everyone was in a panic because the grounder escaped. 

“Let the grounders come,” Bellamy interjected. “We’ve been afraid of them for far too long, and why? Because of their knives and spears. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being afraid.”

You smiled at Bellamy’s words. You knew that he was talking about something entirely different, and you were happy that he was going to face Jaha instead of running from him. Clarke and Bellamy shared a look as they revealed the many guns they found to the camp, while the delinquents gasped in astonishment.

“These are weapons, okay? Not toys.” Clarke told the camp. “And we have to be prepared to give them up to the guard when the dropships come. But until then, they’re gonna help keep us safe.”

“And there are plenty more where these came from.” Bellamy resumed. “And tomorrow, we start training. And if the grounders come, we’re gonna be ready to fight.”

Later that night, you had Clarke set up a meeting for you and Bellamy with Jaha. She tried to protest and ask if you were okay with her going in instead, but you were persistent. “If push comes to shove, I’ll talk to my father. I won’t like it, but I’ll have to face him eventually, and if it keeps Bellamy alive and with the camp, then it’s worth it.”

She only nodded and went to go get him for you. You took a deep breath and wiped your palms on your pants, until Bellamy came up to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

“I should be asking you that question.” You laughed, before heading into the tent.

“Mr. Blake.” Jaha addressed as you sat down and put your headsets on. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for quite some time now.”

“Before you do,” You spoke up. “I’d like to say something. When you sent us down here, you sent us to die. But miraculously, most of us are still alive. And a large part of that is because of him. Because of Bellamy.”

You looked over at him with a small smile before continuing. “He saved my life, among the many others here. He’s one of us, and he deserves to be pardoned of his crimes just like the rest of us.”

“Y/n, I appreciate your point of view, but it’s not that simple.” The counsellor said.

“It is.” Bellamy spoke. “If you want to know who on the Ark wants you dead.”

Jaha looked up from his hands and into the camera before speaking. “Bellamy Blake, you’re pardoned for your crimes.”

As the words left Jaha’s mouth, a dam of relief flowed through you. He wasn’t going to be killed. You got to keep your best friend.

“Now, tell me who gave you the gun.”

“Commander Shumway, sir.” Hearing the name gave you flashbacks, one you didn’t want to have. These kinds of flashbacks induced panic in you, and all you could see was his face. You whimpered in fear, the image of him beating you as his friends laughed striking fear in your heart.  

You felt a hand on your wrist and in your panic, you screamed and shook it off, falling out of the stool you were in. Your breathing picked up and you felt a weight on your chest, causing you to start hyperventilating. There were hands on your cheeks and you didn’t fight them, you couldn’t focus enough to do so.

Everything in sight was blurry, memories of the Ark blending with your sights of the tent you were in. You felt a pull and then your face was pressed against something, but you still couldn’t tell what it was until Jasper’s voice filtered into your ears.

“You’re okay, Y/n. You’re okay. You’re on Earth, remember? You’re not up there anymore, he can’t hurt you. Just breathe with me and you’ll be fine.” You copied the movements of his chest and soon enough you were back on Earth, in Jasper's arms, with a panicked Bellamy in front of you.

“S-sorry.” You smiled awkwardly.

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, and you looked up to meet his eyes.

“I’m fine now, Jasp. Thanks for helping me out. I haven’t had a panic attack in years.” You patted his arm and he released you, so you got up and hugged him before he left the tent.

Bellamy’s eyes were still locked on you and you tried to comfort him, but counsellor Jaha cut in. “I apologise, but there’s someone here to speak to Y/n.”

“Who?” You asked as you turned to the camera.

“Your grandmother.” Your heart swelled at the thought of speaking to your grandmother again, and Bellamy left the tent to give you some privacy. You slipped the headset back on and sat on the stool as your grandmother came on screen.

Tears welled in your eyes as she smiled warmly at you. “Hi, Nana.”

“Hi, darling,” She greeted. “How’s Earth?”

“It’s fun down here, Nana. It’s so green and smells fresh, you can plant the tree down here and it’ll grow nicely. The rain feels amazing, too.” You raved. Her laugh filtered through the headset and you almost cried. You missed your grandmother more than anyone else.

“I  miss you, Nana.”

“I miss you, too. But soon I’ll be on Earth with you and we can plant the tree together, okay?” She proposed. You nodded gratefully and wiped the happy tears from your face as there was a comfortable pause.

“So, who’s the boy?”

“Nana!” You called. “There is no boy! I’m too busy running a camp full of teenage criminals to have any boys in my life, besides Jasper and Bellamy.”

A smile grew on her face as she looked at you knowingly. “Ah, so his name is Bellamy.”

“Nana, it’s nothing like that!” You spluttered. “Bellamy also runs the camp, and he’s just my friend.”

“Okay, okay,” She raised her hands in mock defense. “I’ll see for myself when I get there, bug. But it sounds to me like there’s a little more that’s going on than what you think.”

“There’s nothing to see, Nana. He’s my best friend, and he helps lead camp, that’s all.” You explained.

“I know there’s more to it than that.” Vera prodded.

“Okay, so he saved my life a few times, what’s the big deal?” You admitted casually.

“I knew there was more to it, there always is. A grandmother can always tell.” Vera smirked and you laughed.

“There isn’t anything more to it, Nana.  Like I said, he’s my best friend.” You shrugged.

“I’m sure he is, sweetheart. They’re telling me I have to go now. Would you like to talk with your father?” Your eyes cast downwards at the mention of your dad, but you looked up to meet your grandmother.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll see him when he gets here, and I’ll see you then, too, okay?” You told her, and she nodded.

“Bye, sweetheart.” She blew you a small kiss and you returned it, seeing her small smile once more before she got up and left.

Taglist: @soullessbabee | @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis | @dummythiccwitch | @sireddobrev | @gxvrielle

[laynemorgan]

These past few weeks -- this past presidency really -- have been wildly eye opening for me. As a liberal white person, I’ve spent the better part of the last few years learning and unlearning, checking myself, checking my peers, etc. But these last few weeks it has been even more so. Unsure of what to do with my voice in the din of twitter, and preferring to elevate voices of people of color around me, I wound up taking to facebook, spending the better part of the last months sharing political posts that I had died off on posting after Trmp’s election, confronting relatives and family friends that i had, a few years ago, decided i’d need to just come to terms with. Through all of it, I have seen a lot of grace. I’ve seen a lot of learning. And I’ve scene a lot of stubborn refusal to learn. And I’ve been those people. I’ve been learning but I’ve also refused to. I’m hoping to change that now. 

A few months ago, a girl on twitter approached me. She was angry. She confronted me flat out about how I felt that it was okay for me to preach equality and social issues as someone who had been so bad at confronting and apologizing for my own missteps in the past. As someone who had hurt people without consequence. She was right. I told her that. She told me that my previous apologies had been shitty and selfish. And she was right. I promised her I’d write a new one. 

And then I never did. 

When our world erupted into protests and marches and major social movement this last month, I became immediately embarrassed. The words I had promised had never made it out. I prioritized a million other things in my life instead of the people I had hurt. I regret that. So so so much. I regret not immediately writing an apology that I truly meant when it was pointed out to me how much I had let it all fall off my radar. I regret only thanking that one girl on twitter for her time and education and not the many, many other voices who had been trying to reach me over the years. I should have done that right away. I should have done that even before, without it having to be brought to my attention. I thought that because I had learned and knew better, because I personally knew where I had gone wrong and wouldn’t do it again, that it was over. But the truth is, that was a lesson I hadn’t been ready to learn either. That the people we’ve hurt don’t go away, that shitty apologies don’t make up for pain, that having selfish things to do with our time doesn’t excuse not prioritizing growth and reflection and acknowledgement. So for starters, I am sorry for that. I am sorry that it took me four years to say anywhere on the internet that i KNEW that apology I wrote was shitty. I’m sorry it took me four years to acknowledge to anyone how wrong it was that I was constantly requiring them to push me toward change. I am so sorry it has still taken me a months since that twitter exchange this year, and a full month since I realize I’d STILL forgotten about it to be here. And writing this. I’ve been selfish. I’ve shoved all of your important words and experiences and thoughts and lessons to a place where I could look at them when it was convenient for me. And that was fucking selfish. And ignorant. 

To now skip all of that intro and go into more detail, this whole story begins in my fandom days. When I loved and adored The 100 and was a very active member of that fandom. The reveal of Clarke’s bisexuality, the introduction of their Lesbian character, Lexa were important to me. In making that clear, I said in a tweet that another character, Bellamy (portrayed by Filipino actor Bob Morley) was less important and received preferential treatment by the fans due to his ability to be seen as a “hot white guy.” In short, I entirely erased Bob’s lived experience as a non-white man, I erased the visibility that Bellamy created for men like him, and when it was pointed out to me, I doubled down. I defended my stance, I fumbled to explain myself over and over. I thought that because my intent was not to harm that it excused me from the impact of what I had said. And it didn’t. What I said was wrong. It was erasure, it was ignorant and came from my own unchecked racism. I know that now. I didn’t then. I was embarrassed and upset that people thought the worst of me. When what I should have been was humble and willing to listen. And THAT is what is truly embarrassing. 

Then came the apology, several years later. I had spent time arguing about a cause that effected me personally and suddenly, was moved to more properly address what I had done. But again, my apology was about me. It came on my time, a day late and a dollar short. It wasn’t an apology at all. It was an explanation, a plea for understanding, laden with white fragility that I hadn’t yet examined. It was an apology that had learned how to fix what went wrong but hadn’t actually learned what was wrong about what I’d said and done. It stepped over the voices of the people who had been fighting to teach me. It re-centered myself, my experience, my emotions. And again, it was selfish. 

To be explicitly clear: the way I behaved toward the people who corrected me and tried to educate me in both of those instances was shameful. My inability to listen something I am actively working on as much as I can. I am so so sorry to those people especially, to Bob whether he knew about this incident or not, and to the entire fandom community at large for setting such a shitty example. 

This apology isn’t only about that moment, though. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting lately, and I wanted to make sure to talk about other stuff too. Other stuff that no one has been publicly calling me out for, but that is still bad. Whether it’s pointed out to me or not. Because I think growth is important and I think it’s important to humble ourselves to know when we were wrong, to look back on our actions once we have learned better and pull out the bad parts, show people, teach others. In my years in fandom, I made a thousand missteps. I was quick to get upset, when someone said a show or character I loved was racist or had done something racist. I was the person always shouting that not everything is racist. I was a fucking ignorant. I dug my heels in simply to defend things, without taking time to listen, without understanding the history of pain that people of color face when it comes to stories and representation. I thought I was smarter than I was. 

I didn’t listen when I was told that you can’t dreamcast a next gen character of a mixed race couple with just one of those races. I didn’t listen when white washing was explained to me. I was too stubbornly wrapped up in the things I wanted and my own perceived kindness and correctness to think that I could get something wrong, that I could need to put in a modicum of effort to change my ways. “There just aren’t that many mixed actors,” I’d say. But because I couldn’t name any off the top of my head didn’t mean they didn’t exist. And frankly, the fact that I couldn’t name any was shameful too. I know now, how important racial representation is. Again, I am sorry for not listening. I am sorry for whitewashing and for thinking that simply dubbing myself a good person and good ally didn’t make it so. I was too proud to learn. I’m working on dismantling that fragility too. 

I work in television now. I work in television because I want nothing more than to tell stories about everyone. This year I got my first script. And that same girl who called me on twitter a few months ago told me she didn’t want to support the show I worked on because she didn’t trust a project that I worked on. That fucking devastated me. I wanted to proudly wave the expectational diverse show I loved over my head and say “but look what we did!!” And when that instinct hit me, this time, for the first time, I checked myself. Because what I did didn’t matter without fixing what I had done. Without earning that trust back, without making it abundantly clear where my head and my heart are now. Something that felt “so long ago” to me was fresh and painful for other people. Being able to shove it away was a privilege I had and didn’t see. I had sat in the writers’ room on that show and advocated for our representation and felt proud of the stories we told. But none of that matters if I haven’t checked myself, and fixed the hurt that I’ve caused, personally first. 

I am truly sorry. I’m sorry for the mistakes I inevitably forgot about making that did not make this post. I’m sorry for the ignorance that made them less important to me than they are still to the people of color who witnessed them and the things I perpetuated. I’m sorry for not understanding that I can contribute to the problem, that I can BE the problem. I’m sorry for talking over you, for not listening to you, for letting you be the villain in my head and my heart and out here on my public profile for so long. I’m ashamed of my past, but I don’t want to keep letting time go without talking about. I want to bring my selfishness and my ignorance into the light and talk about it. I don’t want to cause anyone hurt for any longer than I need to, and I’m so sorry for never giving anyone closure on any of this before, even when I thought I had gotten it for myself. Thank you for reading this. Thank you for trying so hard to explain shit to me that I just didn’t hear. I know I’m inclined to wordy bullshit. I want you all to know that I’m listening. I’m late. But I’m listening. And again, I am sorry for having hurt you in the first place. I was wrong. I will likely be wrong again. But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to never, ever be as unwilling as I have been to learn. I am educating myself all the time now, in hopes that you won’t ever have to educate me again. But should that day come, I promise to meet you with the grace, humility, and open mind that I should have a long time ago. 

[buckys-estrella]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆

Forge of the Heart

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: The year is 1774 and Sargent James Buchannan Barnes of the British army has been sent to Boston, Massachusetts in the thirteen colonies. The Quartering Act has just been put in place and he along with two other soldiers will be staying in the house of a colonist. He expected resistance but he never thought that he would find the eldest daughter of the household to be so intriguing. 

Warnings: Enemies to lovers/slow burn(?), events leading up to the revolutionary war, talks of violence/actually violence, (more to come as the story progresses). No real warnings for this chapter.

   The ship was just setting into port as Sargent Barnes came up to the deck. The town of Boston was shrouded in fog during the early morning hours. Not many colonists were up and about at the time, but those who were stared at the incoming British ship with disdain. When it finally docked, James was approached by the two men he’d be staying with; Captain Steven Grant Rogers and Private First-Class Samuel Thomas Wilson. They were all relatively close, however more so with Steve, given that they’ve been friends since childhood. 

   “The address Colonel Pierce gave us was 17 Hanover St.” Sam spoke up as he grabbed his trunk and motioned for them to get theirs as well. “Might as well head there now and get settled down.

  They arrived at the house shortly after they left the docks. Steve took the lead and placed two hard knocks on the door. The men could hear some shuffling on the other side, and the door slowly opened to reveal a beautiful young woman. You gave them all a once over and a hard stare before finally speaking. 

   “So, you’re the ones assigned to our house,” with faux delight, you added, “great, more mouths to feed!”

   You opened the door fully and ushered them in while introductions were made. You led them to the kitchen where she had been preparing breakfast. It looked to be oatmeal with toast and jam. 

   “I had only made enough for my family; we were not expecting you for another day. Let me wake up my siblings, and I’ll come back and make more. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable at the table.” 

   The three sat down at the table as you left and began to discuss amongst themselves. It wasn’t long before you returned with two kids trailing behind you and taking their seats at the table. After the sleep was rubbed from their eyes, they stared at the men warily. The younger girl spoke up first, introducing herself as Charlotte. Her introduction prompted that of her older brother, whose name was Benjamin. When their formalities were done, they proceeded to act as if the soldiers were invisible and continued on with their morning. You were in the kitchen preparing some more oats when you declared to Benjamin that he needed to finish up soon if he were to make it to school on time. 

   “As for you three,” you said more pointedly, “your food is nearly done. Is there something you want to drink as well?”

   Steve was the first to speak up, “Some tea would be nice.” 

   You turned around, staring daggers at him. Your voice held aggression in it when you said, “I’m sorry, but tea is out of the question. If we weren’t taxed so heavily for it, then maybe that could’ve been an option. Now I’ll ask again, is there something you’d three would like to drink?” 

   They stayed silent for a moment before Bucky mentioned, “I’m not much of a tea person anyways. If it doesn’t trouble you, I’d like some coffee.”

   You stared at him incredulously before saying, “What type of redcoat doesn’t like tea?”

   He gave a shrug saying it made his stomach feel upset. You gave a small laugh at that before turning back to the breakfast you were preparing. About a minute later, both Benjamin and Charlotte finished their breakfast, and the boy got up to rush out the door with a chalkboard and books in hand. Charlotte proceeded to pick up the dishes and bring them to the sink to be washed. Watching both of them move about in the kitchen was peaceful, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. 

   “Breakfast is ready for the second time this morning. The coffee is almost done boiling, feel free to pour yourself a cup when it’s done. I have some laundry to attend to outside, and Charlotte will finish setting up David’s and my room for you to put away your items. Do me a favor, and don’t leave the kitchen until one of us are done.”

   Your sister was already gone down the hall, to where they assumed the rooms are located before you finished speaking. You were soon gone too through the back door with a basket at your hip. Bucky couldn’t help but watch you, there was something graceful in the way that you moved. You was mesmerizing to look at. It didn’t take long for Sam to catch on. 

   “Well, someone sure looks smitten.” His lips quirked up into a smirk before adding, “I don’t blame you; she looks simply ravishing.” Before Buck got the chance to, Steve smacked him upside the head.

   “We aren’t here to fraternize with the locals, so both of you: knock it off.”

   With that statement hanging in the air, they ate their breakfast in silence. Sometime later, Charlotte came back, informing them that the rooms were ready and leading the men down the hall. 

   “We only have two rooms available, so two of you will have to share.”

   “Sam and I will share; Steve’s our captain, he should have a room to himself.”

   “Buck, I don’t need- “ 

   “Don’t argue with me on this Rogers, just take the room.”

   Charlotte butted in saying that Steve would take David’s room while Sam and Bucky take your room. A small surge of excitement went through him at the thought of being in your room, but Bucky pushed it down before Steve could tell. He’d probably scold him and give Barnes a talking-to about how he shouldn’t get involved with the locals. Easy for him to say when he has a gal back at home who loves him. 

   Sam and Buck lugged their trunks into your room and tried to settle down. It was a simple room with some personal touches. You had a single shelf of books with their spines showing frequent use. It was apparent you liked to read; your father must’ve taught you because it wasn’t typical for women to be well versed in reading. You had paint and charcoal near your bed, where something was sticking out from underneath. Under closer inspection, he realized that you had drawings and paintings hidden. They quite nearly took his breath away, the talent you had for art was remarkable. 

   “Damn.” Sam was looking over Bucky's shoulder with awe in his eyes. “Do you think she made that?”

   “Right there, in the corner, it looks like she signed her name. I’d say she did make it.”

   “Wow, she could make some good money from that.” Sam had a point; a skill like this was a treasure that should be shared, but Barnes had the feeling that you hid them for a reason, and now it started to feel like an invasion of your privacy. 

   “I think I should put these back, she probably didn’t want us seeing them. Let’s finish settling down and then meet with Steve.”

   Not long into putting his things away, something caught his eye. More accurately, someone. The window of your room looked directly to the back of the house. He watched as you started taking the clothes off the line and into the basket. You looked beautiful but frustrated. You were muttering to yourself in what looked like a scolding manner. Maybe he made a sudden movement that attracted your attention, but you stopped and looked up. You two locked eyes for a moment before you turned away feeling flustered. Bucky couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. He started to think that maybe he’d enjoy his stay in the colonies after all.

A/N: Here's my entry for @daffodilsbucky 1k writing challenge! I'm actually really excited about this because I've had this idea for a long time but never had a reason to write it. Sorry that this isn't the most historically accurate, I did do research but there are still going to be parts that just aren't exact or correct. I had writer’s block for FIVE months and I finally got past it and cranked out the chapter. Anyways, I tried my somewhat best and I hope you guys enjoy it! 

Taglist: @daffodilsbucky // @seasaurusrrex // @sunmoonandbucky // @professionalreblogs // @fangeekkk // @ravennightingaleandavatempus// @piper-koko-barnes-rogers // @viarogers // @dianadov // @sunkissedbarnes // @simplyhemmings // @isabelcrichards // @kakakatey // @kiki5283 // @slytherinyourrpants // @thelostallycat // @spidizzlemizzle // @actualdpshuri // @https-bucky // @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog // @everything-is-awesomesauce // @cap-just-said-language // @deathofmissjackson // @darthseph // @deliciouslyenchantingpenguin // @nerdy-bookworm-1998 // @thirstyghostqueen // @thewackywriter // @binkysteebnpewter // @team-lads-ass // @everything-but-the-not-natural // @ollovae3 // @my-drowning-in-time // @nsfwfangirl // @thefridgeismybestie // @augustdearly // @inez-lannister-stark-martell // @clarinette07 // @oh-hey-janina // @sinner-as-saint // @wiensrsoldier // @iwillmakeyoucraveme  // @mypassionsarenysins // @bvcky-is-my-baby // @bonky-barnes // @jbbarnesgirl // @sexyvixen7​ // @peterpandco​ // @nimrodblackparade // @bellamys ​ // @asadmarveltrashbag //

I tagged people from To The Stars and mutuals who I thought might be interested, if you want on or off the taglist just let me know :) Also I know some people changed their user names so please just send me a message if you are on one of my taglists so I can fix it!

[girlobsessed21]

My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side.  Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone.  Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

[innotherlands]

This week has been a constant back and forth for me in regards to whether I think Bellarke will be canon/not canon, and I just don’t know what to think anymore.

I was feeling pretty negative up until the episode yesterday and then made a complete 180 back to believing in Bellarke endgame after I saw Echo’s Roan apparition. It appeared to me that what we have been saying about B/echo’s relationship this whole time, i.e. It is not equal and Echo sees Bellamy just as another master (and frankly, that Bellamy also does not value her opinion like he does other people’s *cough* Clarke *cough*) is finally being addressed and will hopefully lead to a breakup and result in E/cho finding an identity as an individual rather than a follower. I saw that and thought, okay here we go, they’re finally taking the necessary steps to get to Bellarke canon.

At least, that’s what it seemed until the second script to screen came out with low key romantic vibes between Clarke and G/aia. Lines such as (I’m paraphrasing) “more personal” “they moved apart” “and Indra senses” indicate that scene was trying (emphasis on trying) to portray a budding romance between the two. The thing is, when I watched that scene I saw nothing but friendship. I don’t know if I interpreted it wrong, they failed in translating what they really wanted to say from script to scene, or if it was just a weirdly worded way to say that they are developing a friendship and respect for each other. When I read that script my stomach sank, and so I went back to thinking that Bellarke isn’t happening.

At this point I honestly don’t know what to think. I was so sure before the season started (before the Bob/Bellamy drama) that Bellarke is going to be canon. The season premier just seemed to be communicating two different things at the same time.

Yet every time I think about it, I see Bellarke endgame as inevitable. It goes against the story that they have been telling for 6 seasons to end any other way, especially after the obvious romance in season 6. I was not at all confident in canon Bellarke post season five, but season six managed to completely change my mind. I just can’t see why they would write what would be interpreted as blantantly romantic scenes in any other couple and the foundations of a B/echo breakup if they weren’t intending to go there. Things like:

Clarke looking high key scared when Bellamy mentions the radio calls, and visibly relaxing when he reveals that Madi told him; what, pray tell did she say in those calls that she was so scared of Bellamy having heard? A love confession?

Paralleling Bellamy and Clarke with Gabriel and Josephine - they literally ended the season in their clothes

Bellamy dismissing every idea that E/cho suggests while championing Clarke as a leader/ agreeing with her suggestions

Emphasizing that E/cho doesn’t care about “doing better” like Bellamy and Clarke

Clarke listing “leaving Bellamy in Polis” as her biggest regret. She’s had to do so many terrible things, and that’s her biggest regret? Even though it all turned out okay? I see you girl.

Showing that B/echo don’t really know each other, even after spending 6 years together on the ring (although we don’t know how long they’ve actually been together, all we know is that he forgave her after 3 years; they read as a relatively new relationship to me) - Bellamy had to tell E/cho that Octavia got arrested at a party, which she should have known as it’s pivotal to his character. E/cho also has been lying about her past/identity (and I once again ask, how did he even forgive her if he didn’t know anything about why she was actually so loyal to Azgeda?)

The consistent blocking and framing of E/cho between Bellamy and Clarke. In the first episode Clarke even completely blocks E/cho from the camera’s view while Bellamy and Clarke gaze at one another

The absolutely adoring way that Clarke looked at Bellamy when he brought Madi back to her

Bellamy picking a fight with E/cho over not being emotional enough just after having an emotional and cathartic conversation with Clarke (and watching her dance with another dude)

Clarke understanding what Bellamy needs re: Octavia, juxtaposed with his obvious annoyance with E/cho’s attempts to get him to forigive her

Bellamy being the first one (and only one without help) to figure out that Clarke has been body snatched.

E/cho spending an entire episode worrying about Bellamy while he was - at the same time - ready to burn sanctum down over Clarke and forgo a peace deal without sparing a thought for E/cho (and the rest of his family)

“Don’t you remember what it’s like to lose someone you love?”- Russel talking to a Josephine about (presumably) Gabriel

Paralleling Russel and Simone to Bellamy and Clarke (remember when Simone said Russel uses his heart, implying that she uses her head? Or when Bellamy and Clarke exited the Sanctum bar the exact same way as Russel and Simone had moments before (if I had a gif I would use it, but believe me it’s obviously intentional when you look at it)

The camera moving from Lexa (her past love interest) to Bellamy (her current love interest) in Clarke’s mind space

Clarke’s unwillingness to face Bellamy in her mind space for fear that he hadn’t actually forgiven her for her actions

How Clarke gave up on herself when she thought that Bellamy had given up on her.

How Bellamy was the first person to realize that Clarke was still alive, through Morse code no less. How attentive to somebody do you have to be to notice something like that?

Bellamy abandoning everything at just the slightest chance that Clarke could be alive; he knew that taking Josephine!Clarke would anger Russel and likely lead to a perilous situation for his family and girlfriend, and yet he did it anyway. There are so many variables that could have lead to failure, i.e. running out of time before Clarke and Josephine merge, Josephine herself, the CoG, the location of Gabriel, whether or not Gabriel would actually help him, etc. Bellamy had everything to lose if he didn’t succeed, but he ultimately decided a loss of Clarke is worse than risking his entire family’s safety over the long shot of saving Clarke.

Bellamy staring angstly at Josephine!Clarke and waiting what felt like forever to say “I won’t let you die” (which we and likely Josephine took as “I love you”).

How Bellamy instinctively knew when Clarke had returned in the cave

“Clarke, you gotta run” “No, I’m not leaving you!”

The CPR scene. There are so many things here: Bellamy finally admitting he needs Clarke after denying it during the red sun, including himself and Madi as the people that need Clarke (not Abby?), the repeating of the head and the heart (the symbolic representation of their relationship) as almost a mantra, Bellamy’s words inspiring Clarke to fight back (we all know his crappy CPR didn’t do the trick), Bellamy beating Clarke’s heart for her - symbolically being her heart when she was stuck in her head, the way that everybody thought they were going to kiss after she woke up (we know our girl wanted to, but she’s not a cheater), the fact that Octavia tried to tell Bellamy that he should let Clarke go but he wouldn’t accept it, how Clarke literally nuzzles his shoulder after she wakes up.

Gabriel saying “I have to let you go now” and Bellamy later saying “I won’t let you go” - it’s a symbolic passing of the torch and proof of Bellamy’s devotion to Clarke

The music during the CPR scene being the same (albeit more emotional) as when Abby was doing CPR on Kane

The increase in intimacy the episode after Clarke was revived: Bellamy’s hand on Clarke’s thigh, the gazing into eachother’s eyes, the casual touching, Bellamy’s “I didn’t protect you” and obvious guilt over choosing to save Clarke over his family’s safety (not that he regrets saving her - his guilt is his acknowledgment that he chose Clarke over everybody), his adamant refusal to let Clarke go into danger even though it was the best way to save their friends, Gabriel’s intrisic knowledge that Bellamy wouldn’t want Clarke to be put in danger, the way they stared at each other after Clarke took off their gags, etc.

“E/cho’s in trouble too, I’ll do what I can for her” followed by a less than emotional stare and the stark realization that he actually has a girlfriend and her name isn’t Clarke

The absolutely lovestruck way that Clarke stared at Bellamy when he was giving his speech about the primes

The way E/cho and Bellamy reunited after he heard she was in danger and we Clarke’s bittersweet reaction to the hug but not E/cho’s face. Also, a pat on the back and no kiss? That’s funny.

The emotional Bellarke hug(s) at the end of the season where they are shrouded in golden light and are silhouetted with sun spots reaching over their entwined bodies - this is a tried an true romance trope and the director had to have known when shooting the scene

All of this happened in season 6, and that isn’t even mentioning the stuff from previous seasons like “a traitor who you love” “the hostage taker and his girlfriend,” the radio calls, “I’ve got you for that!”, “we can’t! lose! Clarke!”, etc. that just scream Bellarke romance. I look at all of it and just think that the story can’t possibly end any other way than Bellarke canon. There’s too much evidence supporting a Bellarke romance and B/echo breakup. E/cho could find herself away from Bellamy and Clarke will go to the ends of the earth to save him. But with the potential C/laia stuff now I am so anxious and stressed. This season could honestly go either way, and I wish I could skip forward to the ending so I could just know once and for all. These next months are going to feel like forever. For now I’m going to watch and hope for the best, trusting what my eyes have been telling me all these years to be true. I just hope Jason can follow through.

[yiangchen]

I know this is super basic to ask for the shipping then when it comes to Bellarke, but i REALLY need an answer for number 3 XD

Okay, I know you just asked for 3, but since the ask says I’m supposed to answer all three, I answered all three. Hope you don’t mind!

Send me a ship and I'll answer three questions based on if I ship it or not.

Ship It

1. What made you ship it? 

Honestly? I think tumblr??? For reasons unknown, I actually used to be a Fl.arke shipper. Yes, it’s horrifying, I know. How I ever thought they had chemistry is BEYOND me. I’ve talked about this before on my blog--not much though because it’s really fucking embarrassing lmao--but I actually considered not continuing with the show after Finn died. I don’t really remember why I stuck with it. All I remember is that I watched s1 and 2 without even knowing Bellarke was A Thing, and during the hiatus before s3, I discovered tumblr and was caught completely off guard by all the Finn/Fl.arke hate. Everyone (aside from the CLs obviously) were obsessed with Blarke, and I must have read some posts about them because by the time 3x02 came around, I was sold. At this point I was still a relatively casual viewer and from the moment Bellamy unnecessarily brushed his fingers down Clarke’s cheek while she looked at him like he was her whole entire world--let me tell you, I was freaking out and convinced they were gonna happen that season...Needless to say, it has been one hell of a journey.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

So many things, so I’ll just name a few...1. I absolutely adore enemies to friends to lovers ships, especially if they are slowburn. 2. The co-leader dynamic they had in s1 was incredible. 3. Not to be shallow, but they just look good together. They are an aesthetic, okay? 4. The head and the heart, which is probably one of the most misunderstood things about them. It’s not that Clarke doesn’t feel things and Bellamy does; it’s that they deal with emotions in different ways. While Clarke compartmentalizes, Bellamy wears his heart on his sleeve, at least in s1-4, I mean. 5. How soft they are with each other. 6. The trust and faith they have in each other. THE DEVOTION. 7. The way they forgive each other when no one else will. 8. Bob and Eliza’s chemistry is unmatched!!

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I’m not sure if this is unpopular, but I feel like prime time for Bellarke was s3, and at this point, even if they do happen, I don’t think Jason will do them justice. Of course I want them to just fucking kiss already and I want them to be endgame because we’ve waited so long, but part of me will always believe that they waited too long. The set up for romantic Bellarke was all there in s2, and then in s3, even though the Bellarke was good, they should have been canon that season. L never should have come back. Gina never should have been introduced as Bellamy’s (first) time jump girlfriend. Bellarke should have fucking happened in s3, and if not then, the next best time was s5. After 4x13, the buildup was all there for romantic Bellarke, and instead we got...well, you know what we got. Yet another time jump girlfriend for Bellamy, one he’s still with over two seasons later. It’s just really really really annoying. I can’t stand it when a show builds up a ship and then delays it happening to keep people watching until the end. It’s just not organic!! Prime time for Bellarke to happen was s3 or s5, and Jason blew it. At this point, I want them to get together just so I can actually see them kiss on screen, but it just won’t hit the same as s3 or s5 Bellarke kissing would have. It just won’t.

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[sometimesrosy]

Hey rosy, got a question. How would you personally rate each season based only on bellarke's dynamic?

I don’t know if I can simply do a rating for each one. But let’s try and see what happens.Season One. 6/10. enemies to friends to...crush. They pulled out before the lovers. Can stand on its own and still be a relatively satisfying story. Not really a love story though. If you take it as a “platonic” relationship, it’s 10/10. SO. 6/10 romance. 10/10 platonic partners. As the beginning of a love story, though it’s not bad. It’s got some good set up. I just can’t rate it for that until I get the end of the story in season 7.

Season Two. 9/10 the most addictive of seasons. This is the one that got me. TRAGIC ROMANCE. No Happy Ever After. They start out separate, are surprised about how overjoyed they are to get each other back, start feeling the feels. Oblique love confessions. Devotion. Love’s a weakness. She was being weak. A separation driven by the essential misunderstanding that was based on how she was protecting her heart from love and HE thought it meant she didn’t love him. KILL ME. Then Clarke’s OBSESSION with Bellamy and keeping him safe and having faith and the reunion where he says “Together” and takes part of the burden. Ending in her leaving. Had me falling to my knees. GREAT. HORRIBLE. HOW DARE THEY. THIS FINALE RUINED ME. 9/10 for romantic pain. No HEA. This story should not be like this but I signed up for it so.... i will suffer and I will like it.

Season Three. 7/10. they spend too much time apart even though the time they spend together is ALL romantic and/or heart breaking and/or powerfully significant. The love they feel for each other is PALPABLE and still tragic, with the trauma and grief getting in the way. Hakeldama itself rates as a 10/10. The finale is 8/10 because they are coming back together as a relationship. TOGETHER.

Season 4. 8/10 The romance here was actually pretty solid and serious and continuous. They continue to be afraid and doubtful, and they spent those episodes apart for no reason, or for plot reasons having nothing to do with the topic at hand. This loses points for lack of romantic and narrative tension. Sometimes it seemed like there was no reason for them not to be together. YOu see the reasons but they don’t seem that important in the face of the end of the world. They treated them as if they were a married couple already, without allowing them to take the next step, despite narrative declarations and attempts to move forward than one or the other of them stops in their tracks. And ending as it did with them separated, gosh darn it. You suck. HOWEVER they are redeemed some with that 2199 radio calls revealed in the end. It would be a lower score for lack of forward momentum except the finale had them *this* close to getting together, they both felt it, and then yoinked it away, only to replace it with 6 years of distance and Clarke canonically in love with him. 

Season 5. 9/10. In an unpopular judgment, I actually think season 5 was WAY romantic. It makes Bellarke the subject of the plot. Clarke is canon in love with Bellamy. Bellamy is living his life with Clarke INSIDE of his heart. The introduction of the C/B/E love triangle is, to me, confirmation that they are treating Bellarke as romantic, not platonic. The freaking JEALOUSY we see when Clarke catches them kissing? *chefs kiss.* The fandom hate for B/E obscures the romantic nature of the story. EVERYTHING is about reuniting Clarke and Bellamy (or the blakes) even the valley battle is about Clarke coming to terms with what she did, who she’s become and how she still loves Bellamy and can’t betray him. The Clecho scene is nearly as important as Hakeldama. And Clarke’s face when she realized Bellamy really was the hero she always thought him to be in those long 6 years? Still in love. He is her hero. She can’t have him, even though he was her imaginary boyfriend, but she’ll take him any way she can get him. And then to end the finale with half an episode TOTALLY about bellarke. *chefs kiss* again. Cementing their soulmate relationship. 9/10. 

Season 6. 10 out of fucking 10. HE BROUGHT HER BACK TO LIFE WITH HOW MUCH HE NEEDED HER. ok but that’s jumping ahead. Remember when we got the first two episodes leaked and we were all like OMG ITS SO ROMANTIC? Well those two episodes definitely not the most romantic of the season. They bonded all “non romantic” and Clarke was begging him to forgive her and they were back on the same team, yes, but Bellamy was holding back and then that straight up love triangle scene of Bellamy being jealous of Clarke with Cillian and then MAD that Echo wasn’t Clarke? Fanfiction. Total fanfiction. But there’s really nothing that we can compare to Bellamy deciding that he needed to go save Clarke, on his own. I was totally expecting her rescue to be a team thing, but it was most definitely not. It was about BELLAMY and his feelings for Clarke, again and again brought to the front by Josephine. Comparing their relationship to Josephine and Gabriel. Calling her back from death because he can’t lose her, the way she looks at him when she wakes up, how soft they are with each other afterwards, the care they give each other. And then after it’s all over, ending on that hug in the buttery light. Pure romance.  This is a 10/10 with no points off because it developed fantastic romantic tension and left us KNOWING that this story is not over yet and they are DEFINITELY together, but we are still wondering how the technicality of his other girlfriend will be resolved. So, like season 1 is a great start to romance that isn’t over yet, season 6 is a great opening of the RESOLUTION of the romance that is coming to a head. All the people who thought this season wasn’t romantic and JR hates Bellarke and us the fans, they are OUT OF THEIR MIND. S6 was a blatant love story, a romance story, romance genre in the apocalypse.  Clarke and Bellamy’s love for each other was THE MAIN STORY. 

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Bellarke, 28. 💖

MWAH! Of course love! Prompt is “Things you said in the dark.” Do you mean CONFESSIONS IN THE DARK?

It was a bad day.

A day where people died. A day of endless fighting. A day where the sky glowed red with the blood that was spilt during the day. Clarke looks at her own hands, covered in the blood of those she tried to save, of those she had to kill, and everything in between. They’ve taken refuge in the outskirts of the forest, people setting up their tents as the crying from the war calms down.

Clarke realizes that she has no one to share a tent with too late, and has resigned herself to sleep under the stars. She doesn’t mind, outside of the wind chill that takes residence in her bones. There may not be a lot of sleep involved, but at least she can have a quiet moment looking up at the stars.

“What are you doing out here?”

Clarke startles to see Bellamy trudging over to where she is, his gun hanging at his side after being thrown over his shoulder. There’s a cut on his face, blood dried and flecked against his cheek and he’s walking with a slight limp that has her frowning. “Everything okay?” She asks, nodding at his leg.

Bellamy instinctively looks down and gives her a sheepish grin. “I asked you first.”

Clarke can’t help but sigh at her own poor planning. “I don’t have a tent to sleep in tonight.”

“So the only plan you had was to freeze to death outside?”

“I’m not going to—”

“Come on, Princess, you’re with me.” Bellamy says, cocking his head to the side.

“No, I—”

“No arguing. What sort of soldier would I be if I let our Princess freeze to death outside?”

“I’m not going to freeze to death, Bellamy, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, you’re not, because you’re sleeping with me tonight.”

Clarke only argues for a few more seconds before he shoves her into his tent. It’s a tight fit, but there’s enough room for two people. Bellamy tosses his backpack aside and winces while he manages to sit down. “Okay, my turn to be a bully. Let me see your leg.”

“Clarke, it’s not a big—”

“If you tell me it’s not a big deal I’m going to hit you.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Bellamy says in that sly way he does when he’s being needlessly flirty. She wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it, or if it’s just a natural state with him. He leans back, rolling his pants leg up far enough to go over his knee, blood easily seen smeared across his thigh.

Clarke’s eyes widen. She wants to reprimand him, wants to yell at him, wants to do so much, but settles on, “You are such an idiot.”

“What did you expect me to do? Put my gun down and say, ‘oh, sorry. You seem to have stabbed me – can we press pause while I get medical attention?’”

“You can go to medical as soon as you could! Not do an entire watch shift and then try to hide it from people!”

“There are people much worse off than—”

“Shut up, shut up,” Clarke says, sucking in a breath. “You’re just going to annoy me more.”

“I didn’t realize you cared so much, Princess.”

“If you don’t know that by now, then you’re a complete moron.”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them and Bellamy stills. Fortunately, she has something she can focus on and chooses to ignore the looks that Bellamy’s giving her as she gently cleans out the wound. For as much of an idiot as he is, he’s a relatively good patient, barely moving and only whispering a stream of curse words under his breath.

It feels strangely intimate if Clarke thinks about it too intensely, so she does her best to ignore it. The two of them are close enough so that they’re touching in too many ways, and it makes her skin alight in ways she can’t explain.

“Okay, you’re done,” she says breathlessly and Bellamy nods, not looking in her eyes.

They don’t speak again, Bellamy blowing out the light in the tent until Clarke’s surrounded by darkness, nothing more than the wind hitting the tent to keep her company. Bellamy’s as far as he possibly can be in the tent and Clarke is as guilty for the space as he is, her hands hitting the fabric on the side.

After a while, there’s a deep breath and a steady movement next to her and Clarke whispers, “Bellamy? Bellamy, are you awake?”

Nothing more than the deep breath of a sound sleep is there to answer her.

Clarke bites her lip.

She knows it’s cheating, but she’s afraid. Afraid of the war, afraid of what her feelings mean. She’s been alive long enough to know that if you have something, there’s a good chance you can lose it. It can be taken from you. Perhaps that’s why she’s never been that forward with Bellamy, knowing there’s a part of her that wouldn’t be able to handle it if someone took him away.

But it’s bursting out of her – the need to say something. Maybe she’s a coward, sure. But she’s careful with her heart. And not ready to show it to him, quite yet.

“Please don’t ever do that again,” she whispers into the silence. “I-I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. Please don’t hide your pain from me anymore.”

Bellamy breathes next to her.

“Because, I-I—” she stumbles over her words, even when she knows he can’t hear her. Because she’s never said it out loud, she’s never been this vulnerable with anyone. To tell them what they mean to her, in a world where they could disappear. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you and I can’t lose you too.”

The wind howls outside.

Clarke looks at the top of the tent, her eyes watering. “One of these days, I’ll tell you. I’ll be brave enough to tell you to your face instead of your back. Maybe after this war, we could have a chance. Take care of yourself until then, won’t you? Please?”

Clarke turns to face her side of the tent once more, curling up on herself.

She doesn’t see Bellamy’s eyes open in the dark.

[pendragaryen]

10 Questions Tag game:

Rules: Answer 10 questions, ask 10, and tag 10 people to answer them.

I was tagged by @wolfheartgirl, thank you dear ❤️

1. What is a song that describes your life?

“Everytime i seem to fall in love - crash, boom, bang

Find a heart and then i hit the wall - crash, boom, bang

That’s the call

that’s the game

it has always been the same

That’s my real middle name

it has always been the same...”

I’m emo. So i go with “Crash, Boom, Bang” by Roxette. Yeah... that’s pretty much Me...

2. Dusk or dawn ?

Dusk

3. What is your secret talent?

I don’t know about “secret” talents when it comes to myself. I know that i’m pretty good at drawing. But that’s all already. I think other people (friends, relatives) could probably (hopefully?) say more to that

4. What is one thing you can’t live without?

The 100/Bellamy Blake and Bob Morley. (And no i don’t wanna talk about the end of The 100 now...)

5. Which would you choose: living on Earth alone, separated from your loved ones for 6 years, or living underground with your loved ones not knowing if you’ll ever get out?

Fml, what kind of question...?! Ouch, that’s hard... Although... it’s not. Not for me. I really wanna be/stay with my beloved ones. And if that means i have to go underground, than so be it. BUT... please... without a “blodreina”, if possible... ;)

6. What is the weirdest thing that has happened to you?

I had an accident with my first bicycle ever and fell head over heals into a road ditch filled with... um... cow dung... No kidding. I fell ill for a bout six months after this... I was... maybe 6 years old? It was HORRIBLE... My first memory ever, i think.

7. What is an interesting fact you learned recently?

Um... besides the corona virus/crisis and the research results concerning the matter? Dunno...

8. Is there a line from a book/film/TV show that has stayed with you and impacted you?

“Frodo: I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had  happened. Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”        ―        

The Lord of the Rings    

9. If you could live in any decade, which would you choose?

The 60s or 70s. Life seems so much slower those days back then. Not that business- and profit-oriented like nowadays.

10. What is the last thing that made you laugh? (if it’s a meme, add it 😁)

A weird talk with my mom about what kind of animal we would’ve been, if we were born as animals. I REALLY have no idea how we got to this anymore but... it was really funny. My sister... the gazelle... or rather... the antelope... or maybe... more like... a STRONG zebra... (I KNOW it’s weird! But it’s so hard to find things to laugh about these days. So... ;) )

~~~

My questions:

1. What’s your favourite time of day?

2. Early bird or night owl? (Getting up early or staying up late and sleeping in?)

3. Last tv series you binged?

4. Favourite food?

5. Feel good song/music?

6. Canon Bellarke at the end of S7 - but no happy ending in gerenal, or no canon Bellarke but they all live “happily” ever after?

7. A good advice you live by?

8. Your last dream (if you can recall it) or the weirdest dream you ever had while sleeping?

9. Do you have a tattoo?

10. Picture yourself when you’re old. How do you see yourself? With whom? And where?

Phew... This took me wayyy to long, guys. But i’m curious about your answers. ;) I tag @geekyogicheese, @carrieeve, @natassakar, @jasperjoordan, @wankadi, @clarkgriffon, @iwearplaids, @hostagetakerandhistraitor, @jeanie205, @katersann, @nvermindiseeyou and everyone who wants to do this! <3<3<3