#bellarke ff

[cvldbones]

you were never not mine

Summary:

Everyone they meet assumes that Bellamy and Clarke are dating. And, really - they're not.

There are so many things she does not understand about Clarke at sixteen. It feels like overnight her daughter turned into someone new, someone she didn’t understand, and Abby woke up in this new version of her life without an instruction manual.

So, yes, there are so many days that Abby Griffin feels a bit adrift, when it comes to parenting this new version of Clarke.

Until she meets Bellamy Blake.

Clarke joined the debate team when she started high school, at Abby’s probing; she needed extracurriculars for her college applications, and her daughter’s stubbornness was a weapon she could wield very effectively in a debate setting. Bellamy was an older student, a junior to Clarke’s freshman, and Abby had met his mother a handful of times through her clinic’s doors. So that first year, his name features in her stories just like her other friends, and Abby thinks little of it.

Her daughter’s sophomore year, though, something changes. Clarke is partnered with Bellamy for their debates that year, and the two of them seem to have become the de facto leaders of the small group. He starts showing up around their house, staying for dinners, picking Clarke up on the weekends for non-debate things. When Clarke talks about him, her voice has gone warm, rather than tinged with irritation as it had been.

Abby Griffin may not understand her daughter as well anymore, but she remembers being sixteen, too.

Read more on AO3!

[truthofherdreams]

children of the apocalypse (3)

also on ao3

Clarke spends the next couple of days tending to Wells and Jasper and dealing with minor cuts and scratches the other teenagers get around camp. Bellamy’s ban on weapons seems to be working somehow, for everyone is a little more peaceful with each other as routine settles in. Teams are created for hunting, building of tents and a wall, and other chores around the dropship. It’s not perfect, and fights break out more often than not, but it is definitely an improvement on the chaos of their first moments on Earth.

She’s cleaning Jasper’s wound – now relocated to the ground floor with the rest of them so he and Monty can chat away while Monty works on their comm system – when Finn enters the dropship. He makes his way toward Wells, and the two of them lean over the table to look at something.

Clarke frowns.

“I think that’s enough, Clarke,” Jasper tells her.

She looks down at his wound, realises she’s been rubbing it a bit too forcefully – the redness of his skin less about the fever now, and definitely about her lack of bedside manners. She mumbles an apology before she grabs another piece of cloth that she wraps around his torso.

She pats his arm without really looking, before she stands up and moves toward the other two boys.

“Whatcha talking about?” she asks cheerily, startling them both.

They offer her twin looks of surprise, too focused on their discussion to notice her coming. That’s when Clarke sees what they were discussing, the old map she had used on their very first day to find her way to Mount Weather. Only now a bunch more scribbles are added to the paper. She frowns.

“Nothing much…” Finn starts, leaning back with his hands in his pockets.

Wells is not that slick. “Looking for a better place to settle.”

Clarke blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

He points to the map, the big dot that represents the dropship, the slithering lines that make up the newly formed rivers, the most dangerous parts of the forest. She knew Finn had made a habit of sneaking out of camp already, but now it makes sense – they were updating the map, one landmark at a time.

“Our location isn’t exactly the best in the long run,” Wells explains. “If we want to build a proper settlement, the ground here is too uneven. We’re too far from fresh water too, which would be bad for agriculture, according to Monty. And we want some clearing, so we can establish a proper… town, I guess? Village?”

Clarke looks down at the map again, frowning slightly. She hadn’t thought that far, but of course Wells did. And it does make sense. They’re only sticking to the dropship because it’s easier than moving a whole bunch of rowdy teenagers to a new place and starting from scratch.

Wells takes her silence as an invitation to continue, “We think closer to the river, to the south, would be better. The ground is more even there, so better for the foundations of buildings.”

“Monroe’s dad works in Factory Station,” Finn chimes in. “She says she can help with basic architectural foundations.”

Wells points at him in agreement, and adds, “If we can get even basic cabins, that will help us with weather conditions. Climate is okay for now, but once winter comes, who knows what to expect. No to mention storage, cooking, or even just protection from those acid fogs.”

They both look at her expectantly, as if waiting for her approval. But Clarke is dumbfounded, blinking between Wells and the map in front of her. While she was trying her hardest to keep them all alive, they planned an entire exodus, buildings, and even fields? Together?

Is she that oblivious of the world around her?

“Who’s to say the Grounders won’t shoot us on sight if we move?” comes from behind her.

Clarke is startled by Bellamy’s proximity, only a few inches behind her as he looks at the map over her shoulder. She didn’t even hear him coming and yet here he is, so close she can smell the smoke of the fire and the sap of trees on him. He stands with hands on his hips, leather jacket discarded for once. The gun pokes out from under his shirt, a not-so-friendly reminder.

“They shot Jasper the moment he crossed some kind of border, yeah?” he asks. When Finn simply nods, he adds, “So how do you know this isn’t their territory too?”

“Well, hm,” is all Finn replies.

Clarke hates that Bellamy has a point, if only because he doesn’t need to be smug about yet another thing. But he does have a point – the Grounders are nothing more than shadows and tales in the dark at this point, and who’s to say they will not attack again if the opportunity comes? Maybe they just got lucky with their landing spot, some No Man’s Land they now get to claim as their own.

“Bellamy’s right,” she admits. Wells immediately shoots her a look of what can only be described as betrayal. “We’re safe here for now. Moving could be more dangerous than it’s worth it.”

“Maybe we can send Charlotte as our scout,” Finn replies, voice dripping in sarcasm. He raises his hands in defence when the three of them immediately glare at him and voice their discontent. “Joking, guys… Even though I’m sure she’d enjoy the change of pace.”

Three days she’s been locked upstairs, three days of Bellamy feeding her breakfast and dinner and not allowing anyone else to see her. Three days that must feel like an eternity up there, and yet Clarke cannot find even half an ounce of sympathy for her. Back on the Ark, she would have been floated on sight, minor or not.

“We stay here and that’s final,” Bellamy states.

Even if Wells or Finn wanted to argue, it would be a lost cause. Those delinquents outside only answer to Bellamy, and even barely. They would never follow them to a different location without his approval, even if it made sense.

Still, never put it past Wells to try and win an argument, and he’s halfway through a reply when a whooping sound gets their attention. All four of them turn toward Monty’s corner of the dropship to find him doing a mini dance, before he stops and stares back at them.

“Oh please do keep fighting. I only just managed to repair the comms, if any of you are interested.”

Clarke shares a quick glance with Wells before the two of them hurry to Monty’s side, Bellamy and Finn following close. Monty shows them the different cables connecting various pieces of the dropship’s tech and Clarke’s old wristband.

“Once we connect this cable to the cuff, we should be able to communicate with them. Morse code, one way only.”

“Better than nothing,” Clarke replies, with a pat on his shoulder. 

He’s been working relentlessly on this for the past few days, only taking breaks for food and short cat naps. The bags under his eyes are so dark they turn purple in the low lights of the dropship. He deserves at least a whole week of sleep for the effort he’s put into this.

He shows Jasper how to connect one cable to the wristband, so he can do them the honours.

It doesn’t exactly go as planned.

Bellamy disappears back outside without a word.

…

The first real fight breaks out at dusk, about four days later than Clarke expected. It starts as a low rumble of voices, and turns into cheers and screams and chants within seconds. Clarke shares a glance with Wells, the two of them moving as one to make their way outside.

Unsurprisingly, Murphy is in the middle of the fight, with a dark-skinned boy twice as large. The other boy is very obviously smoking Murphy, punch after punch hitting his jaw and the side of his face, as the other teenagers cheer them on and yell words of encouragement.

“Someone needs to stop them,” Clarke tells Wells.

And she has no doubt Wells would do exactly that, were it not for the stitches on his neck Octavia had to fix twice already. He would put himself between them, take a few hits of his own maybe, but he would stop them. Only he can’t.

Bellamy is nowhere to be seen. Of course.

Another guy from Murphy’s gang grabs the dark-skinned boy from behind, holding his arms to his side and giving Murphy the perfect opportunity to punch back without taking a hit. He goes for the nose with a loud crunch of bones against bones, then for the ribs, and a kick to the side. The other boy grunts in pain, struggling to escape and fight back.

Wells grabs Monroe and pulls her toward them. “What’s happening?”

She looks a little wild-eyed, her tight braid coming undone, her clothes a mess. Her eyes travel between Wells and the fight, like she really wants to explain but also doesn’t want to miss the fight. She winces when the boy finally escapes and punches Murphy right back in the cheek.

“Murphy’s been bullying everyone at camp,” Monroe explains, then stops to cheer on the boy – Connor, apparently – before she glances back at Wells. “Ration water for no reason, force people to work, just straight up dickhead. Was only a matter of time before someone lashes back.” She cheers for Connor to kick Murphy in the dick. “Murphy took a piss on Connor after Connor asked for water so, ya know…”

“Yeah, this needs to stop.”

By the time Clarke actually manages to push her way through the crowd and toward the two boys, the fight has gone much, much worse. Three other teenagers are holding Murphy, pinning him so he can’t move, as Connor punches him relentlessly.

One girl yells “Float him!” and it immediately becomes a chant, louder and louder and louder, drowning out everything else. They push and pull and kick Murphy out of camp, Clarke following as she yells helplessly for them to stop, to listen, to not, please don’t, what are you doing, stop, stop.

Bellamy shoves past her, in time to stop a boy from slipping a nose around Murphy’s neck.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” he screams, and it’s enough to stop them all in their tracks, enough for all of them to fall silent and turn toward him. Enough for Connor to let go of Murphy, who spits blood and saliva on the ground.

“Right on time,” Murphy grins.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bellamy glares at the other boys, the only thing he needs to do for them to step away from Murphy, who slumps against the nearest tree. Bellamy ignores him as he turns toward the crowd. “If we kill him, we’re no better than the Ark. Is that what you want? To become your oppressors?”

The same teenagers who, only moments ago, were screaming for murder and blood, now all grumble in agreement with Bellamy. Eyes cast down, neck in shoulders, as if being scolded by a father figure. Clarke looks at each and everyone of them, the way they avoid his eyes and stand still, listening to his every word.

Only Connor is brave, or perhaps foolish, enough to reply. “So what do you propose we do? He’s been bullying half the camp for days now!”

Bellamy glares at him, for a second too long, before his eyes find herself in the crowd. Incertitude flashes through his eyes before he smooths his features again, but Clarke knows. She understands the silent cry for help. She steps forward.

“We banish him,” she states, loud enough to be heard by all. “If he refuses to be part of our society, then he’s gone. Simple as that.”

Murphy stands up, one hand on the trunk of the tree, and wipes the blood off his mouth. “And who put her in charge?” 

Bellamy pushes him back, hard, and Murphy falls back against the tree. “I did,” he says, with the kind of confidence that only Bellamy can muster. He turns back toward the others. “Anyone has a problem with Clarke, they have a problem with me.”

Clarke blinks at him, unable to find words to express the way she feels at the moment. Wells is at her side, fingers against her elbow, but she can’t find it in her to look at him when she’s so puzzled by Bellamy in front of her. Not after what he said, not after he looked at her for – was it guidance? She can’t even tell. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. Bellamy doesn’t make sense.

She watches, troubled by her own thoughts, as Murphy is given a knife and a warning, as he’s pushed away from camp, as teenagers scatter back to their duties with hushed whispers and hurried steps. She watches, as Bellamy ensures Murphy is gone, before he turns back and walks toward her and Wells.

“What was that?” Wells asks for both of them.

Bellamy ignores him, only has eyes for Clarke. “My sister trusts you. Believes in you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Clarke frowns, before she swallows back a few chosen words for him. Instead, she says, “People will start asking about Charlotte. They’ll think it’s not fair.”

“Let me worry about Charlotte,” Bellamy replies. “And help me keep everyone else alive.”

“Since when are you a team player?”

He smiles – his first real smile, not the usual smirk and scoff – at her, looking at her through his long lashes. A lopsided smile that Clarke pretends is perfectly normal and not – yeah, perfectly normal. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to be in charge, princess.”

And then he’s gone, strutting his way back to camp without even a glance back at her. Clarke watches him go, watches him disappear behind the fence, before she looks back at Wells. She doesn’t know if she wants to be relieved or concerned that he looks as lost as she feels right now.

“I think he likes you,” Wells says flatly.

Clarke shoves his good shoulder away. “Shut up. Not Bellamy Blake.”

But Wells gives her that look, the one that says he definitely knows better and she’s being clueless, and Clarke huffs, annoyed. Her best friend knows better than to poke at it. Instead, he says, “Maybe you can convince him to move…”

“Not now. Not when we don’t know what’s out there.” She pauses, and sighs. “Anything else, though, I’ll need your help with.”

Wells grabs her hand, squeezes her fingers. “Always.”

[alannacouture]

So, for reasons unknown to me, Ao3 wouldn’t let me upload this w my Bellarke Valentine’s Day fic. So I’m sharing it here in hope you’ll go visit my story (it’s very fluffy, I promise). ❤️❤️❤️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44920405

[pendragaryen]

+ bettsfic, verbaepulchellae, april7739, pawprinterfanfic, grumpybell, eyessharpweaponshot, bellamyblake, sometimesrosy.....

Hall of Fame baby

[cathloves]

As a bellarke veteran, I would like to remind everyone that show runners will say shit, actors will say shit, other fans will say shit and the media will say shit about the pairings you love all the time that you disagree with and honestly you should ignore all of it and just believe what you see on the screen. Fuck the rest. Art is subjective and shows do this all the time to keep the audience guessing. They probably don't even know what's going to happen.

It was only after the 100 ended that we all found out that bellarke was supposed to happen but didn't because the showrunner decided that he would ruin the show out of spite towards one of the leading actors and their fans.

Always believe what you see on the screen, not even subtext. Literally what's been intentionally written, shot and edited by the show. That's all you can go off.

It's true that it may not end the way you want it to or whoever you ship might not get together but that's not what matters. The truth is that what's already been shown is there for all to see and they can't take it back.

Honestly the whole 'shippers aren't as intelligent as other viewers and this is more than about ships, go find another show' thing gets on my nerves because people can do what they want for one and its completely normal to see chemistry and potential in two characters. It also doesn't mean that we don't see all the other amazing things this show has to offer. It just means we see chemistry. That's literally it. It's not that deep.

They don't even have to get together but anyone saying that shipping as a whole is bad is a bit ridiculous, it's never that serious.

ITS FUN FFS

It all jumps back to the whole idea that anything that's enjoyed by mostly women (shipping) is seen as less important.

[cs-and-bellarke]

Bellarke- Love isn't weakness

Ao3, FF

Prev / Next Part

Chapter 12

Bellamy's P.O.V

“What are you writing princess?” I ask when I see her put her book down.

“The story of my life” she tells me.

“Is it for school”

“No, it’s too sad for that, but some of the things Murphy doesn’t even know about so…”

“Would you let me read it?”

“Maybe one day, I have to get home...I’ll see you later”she says and gets up to leave.

“Yeah I’ll see you later” I say as she leaves.

Something is going on with her and I want her to be able to come to me when she needs to talk to someone, I know she has been hurt by so many people in her life and I just want to be the one to hold her and make her believe that everything will be okay. I have deep feelings for Clarke and when O said that she didn’t mind if me and Clarke dated, I was happy and yet nothing has happened because I know if I asked her out she will say she is not ready to be in a relationship and to be honest neither am I. Of course I have feelings for her but only one person who knows is O and she just wants me to be happy, I was on the couch and the only thing that is on my mind is Clarke writing in that damn book. I’ve noticed that she takes that book everywhere she goes and she is always writing. I know it’s not a diary but it’s some kind of journal maybe about her life. 

Clarke’s P.O.V

Bellamy keeps wanting to know what I have been writing in my book but if he knew what I was writing I think he would give me pity then hate me because I talked about him being a player and how I don’t want to get my heart broken. I do have feelings for Bellamy but I have to listen to Lexa and somehow make up how I treated her before she died, Love is weakness and I have to stick by having only one love in my life and that is the love I have for Murphy and only him. 

*in Clarke’s journal*

Back to the fact of my feelings for Bellamy Blake and how I want to have him be with me and no one else. And I want to be able to tell him about my past and for him to understand that I am the way I am because of how I grew up, but I don’t want his pity and if he knows and doesn’t give me pity then maybe I can see a future with him. 

That will never happen but I wish it would...he’s a good friend and if he wasn’t a player then maybe he would be a good person for me to be with...just maybe. Being around him makes me happy and safe for some reason, having him around keeps me sane I guess you could say. Bellamy Blake is so sweet and kind to me and it makes me feel even more for him then I already do, I don’t know why he is sweet to me and kind and I just can’t be sure he won’t just want me because he thinks I can give him a good time. 

He can have anyone he wants and yet he is being so sweet to me and I didn’t even do anything to him for him to be nice or anything like that. Sometimes he confuses me as to what he wants or why he does some of the things he does, maybe I should talk to Octavia about it or maybe even Murphy because Murphy and Bellamy are like best friends. Bellamy is probably wondering why Murphy is so protective of me but there’s a reason why people don’t know Murphy is my brother, people don’t know because Murphy is not the best person so when it comes to the law so as to prevent people thinking I’ll do the same thing we didn’t tell people we were related. 

So when people see Murphy protecting me they think we are either together or sleeping together which is disgusting because he is MY BROTHER of all people...and I bet Bellamy thinks the same thing knowing him. Sitting alone at home gets people thinking that maybe there is more to life than what high school shows us and teaches us over the years...life is more about what they put in movies and what they say and teaches us in school no matter what grade you are in. 

I’m hoping that Bellamy will change within this last year of high school.

*End of the writing*

After writing what I’ve been feeling I chose to take a nap because writing made me tired, after about an hour and half of sleeping I got up and looked at my phone. I had 2 texts from Bellamy and 6 from Octavia.

(B=Bellamy, O=Octavia, C=Clarke)

B- hey I was wondering what you were up to.

B- tonight?

O- Clarke, Bellamy is being mean and won't tell me what's wrong with him

O- can you ask him what’s wrong with him?

O- Please.

O- CLARKE ANSWER ME PLZ.

O- I’m sorry for texting so much but Bell is pissing me off

O- help me.

After reading all of O’s texts I decided to call Bellamy to see why he was wondering what I was doing tonight. I have nothing to do like always so why not go somewhere with the one person I like hanging out with the most other than Octavia, don’t get me wrong I love hanging out with O but sometimes she is a little too much for me to handle within one week. 

[deliahscrush2003]

Hello, I don't know if you are still alive or if you still use this account

I would like to know if you plan to continue the FF into the anomaly on ao3? I hope so, it's difficult to find good time travel fix it themed fics but this one is more than incredible, I love your way of writing I really hope to read you again soon, goodbye

P.S: English is not my language, sorry for any grammar or spelling errors

Hi there !! Sorry for the late reply !! I've answered a similar ask from another eager reader wanting a continuation and I would like to reassure you that I do plan to continue the series. It's NOT dead. Just...sleeping.

Right now, I'm focusing on my WIP Teen Wolf fic series, Breathe for Me which is the project I'm most passionate about right now. Into the Anomaly will have her time again but while we're waiting, I've encouraged other writers to take inspiration from the general premise to spin their own takes and fics from it.

I have noticed the shortage of Time-Travel Fix-Its for the fandom [which is surprising considering how Season 6/7 introduced canonical time manipulation/differences], but I have noticed a few Clexa writers take a similar spin, but not really for Bellarke.

I am aiming to compile a fic rec for Bellarke/the 100 fics tho if anyone is interested but until I'm done with Breathe for Me, Into the Anomaly will remain on hiatus, sorry to say.

But if you have questions or ideas or feedback about the fic or the show in the meantime, please feel free to drop another ask! I love talking to you guys, swapping ideas, learning different headcanons and interpretations ( mourning Bellarke :(( ) so you're welcome anytime!

Keep an eye out on my blog @deliahscrush2003 for updates and announcements, and hope to hear from you again sometime!

[me: trying to revive my brain when it comes to Into the Anomaly]

[me: THE READERS NEED YOU! I NEED YOU!]

[beebahbah]

I got into FF again last year. Started with Dramione, Percabeth, Bellarke then Jonsa. I've read so many it feels like a whole lifetime has passed but nope it's only been 18 months.

Side note recently got into Kathantony😭❤️‍🔥

[cvldbones]

guess it was a lawless land

Summary:

“You’ll come get me, right?” she asks, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he swears she’s blushing a little bit. “When you find someone good. I want in, too.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course I will.” She clinks her empty beer bottle against his own, and it feels like a vow. So, when he hears about the Marcus Kane campaign, his very first call is to Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy gets into politics because he likes being right.

It’s a perfectly reasonable decision, as far as he’s concerned; he has great opinions, and a lot of them. If he were probed to give another, albeit far more vulnerable answer, he’d say that he got into politics because he wanted to be able to make a difference. It sounds corny even in his own head, though, so he’d probably never admit that aloud, but the point remains.

The world has not been kind to him – his mother didn’t get the proper medical care she needed because she couldn’t afford health insurance, the foster system nearly bankrupted him and almost ruined his relationship with his sister, and the process of not only applying to but also attending college as a first-generation nontraditional student had felt like it might kill him. It would be nice, he thinks, to change some of that. Maybe not all of it, maybe not all at once, but – baby steps.

When he finds that once he’s finished his history degree at GW, he isn’t ready to stop going to school yet, he’s not horribly surprised. He worked so hard to get to this point, and so he lets himself think, for the first time, of what he wants to do with his life, and he decides to embrace the more optimistic part of him. Lets himself latch onto the idea of making real, tangible change.

So, he stays, and he gets his master’s in political science, and he starts interning on campaigns. And the second he’s there, he realizes that this is it. The thing he’s meant to do. His voice is important, in those rooms; they take him seriously, not because he’s someone’s kid or nephew, but because he’s good at this. He keeps being referred up, further and further, and so his first real, full-time gig outside of grad school is on the Jaha campaign.

Even though he starts off in more of the volunteer coordination side, Cartwig – Jaha’s Chief of Staff – realizes he has a natural aptitude for the writing. He starts working with their communications team, mostly on speeches, shadowing the Communications Director, and learning as he goes.

That’s where he meets Clarke Griffin.

Read more on AO3!

[truthofherdreams]

children of the apocalypse (4)

Later that day, Clarke is cleaning Wells’ wound – the scarring is pretty bad but at least he seems to be recovering quickly – when Sterling enters the dropship. He squints at the semi-darkness of the interior before his eyes fall on Clarke and, with a nod to himself, he walks toward her.

Clarke puts the bandages aside and turns around to face him with a raised eyebrow. He looks young, and shy, and Clarke wonders what someone such as him could have possibly done to be thrown into the Sky Box.

“Bellamy is asking if you want your own tent, or if you prefer to stay in the dropship,” he tells her.

Only then does Clarke notice Sterling is holding a pillow and a blanket. For her. Because she’s in charge alongside Bellamy now, so she deserves nice things. The thought alone annoys her more than it should. They all deserve a blanket and a pillow for the night, but only a few privileged ones actually do have access to the luxury – all of them handpicked by Bellamy, of course. Clarke has to try hard not to roll her eyes at the poor boy in front of her. He’s only the messenger, she reminds herself.

“Bellamy wants you to be comfy,” Wells sing-songs.

Mental note: add more alcohol to his wound. 

To fight back the infection, obviously.

continue reading on ao3

[alannacouture]

Sooo…funny story: I actually wasn’t going to write a Bellarke 4th of July holiday story since it’s strictly an American holiday & it felt a little weird. But then the amazingly wonderful @kateschechterxthorwasmyfirstotp wrote a comment on my Bellarke Father’s Day story that we really needed a Part 3 where we finally see Bellamy & Clarke confront Abby & Kane over how they should spend the holidays with their daughter. So I got inspired! I started writing…and I hated it. So I started over, wrote an entire story, and…I hated it. It was almost complete angst & if I’m writing a holiday story, it’s going to be fluffy, damn it! So I went back to the drawing board & realized what the problem was. The 4th of July isn’t just a holiday…it’s a party. And suddenly it was clear: you can’t have a Bellarke story about a party without including the Delinquents! So please, please, please come read my sorta 4th of July but mostly Bellarke Takes The Delinquents On Vacation & Hijinks and Surprises Ensue Holiday Story! (It’s really fun, I promise 🎆 🎇 )

[welllpthisishappening]

Clarke Griffin is not a violent person, by nature. The Hippocratic Oath frowns on that sort of thing. Only, well—it’s hockey. So, it feels sort of outside the realms of natural law and ancient oaths and the guy sitting next to her is a grade-A jerk. Which means it’s only reasonable to do what she does. Defends her boyfriend’s on-ice honor. 

Words: just under 2k Rating: fluff Part of Connecting on the Wraparound, my The 100 Rangers AU

I have done the thing! Written words! Not a lot of words, but words all the same! This is very exciting news! A few days ago, I reblogged this post and asked for numbers and some very nice people — including @NORTHERNSHIRO who asked for No. 4 — sent numbers and now I’ve written this! If you want to send more numbers so I will write more words, feel free. I think you’re all delightful. 

“I’m here, aren’t I? Like, I’m physically standing right here?”

Glancing around with enough force to make several things in her neck crack, Clarke somehow manages to keep her hands plastered to her side—but only just. Her fingers itch to bunch, to shake wildly in the air directly surrounding her for no less than seventeen straight seconds. And, well, maybe, if she possibly elbows the jersey-wearing bastard with an accent that sounds eerily similar to John Travolta’s in Hairspray, then that’s neither here nor there. 

“That can’t be his real voice, can it?” Murphy’s lips disappear behind his teeth. 

His shoulders shake, though. Somehow that makes it feel as if they're even. Although Clarke’s not entirely sure what the competition is, honestly. So the concept of equality is moot. She flinches when someone hits the boards in front of them. At some point she’s cautiously optimistic she’ll stop doing that. 

Not-John Travolta yells again. With vowels that sound almost correct, until the obvious emotion takes over and the accent sharpens and Clarke’s fingernails dig roughly into her palm. Her jaw cracks, too. She’s made of rice crispy treats and anxiety. 

“I hate him.” “He has no idea who you are.”

“I could not possibly be more obvious about this.”

Scientifically speaking, her jersey does not get heavier. The letters on her back that form a name she’s not entirely in possession of yet, but is also kind of waiting to be partially hers, do not, in fact, tug on either one of her shoulder blades. 

Clarke went to med school. 

Multiple diplomas hang on her office wall back home. She’s smart. She knows. 

She understands. 

And yet. 

She wants to yank her arms away from her side and toss propriety to the metaphorical winds and throttle the guy standing next to her. For shouting at the ice like that. For shouting at Bellamy like that. 

Some of his insults are really creative, honestly.  

Throttle is a very old-sounding word. 

“Awfully self-important,” Murphy murmurs, barely audible over the din of the crowd. Clarke’s body is a medical marvel tonight. Truly, it’s incredible. Supersonic hearing and a stomach made of titanium lining because somehow that stomach has not simply disintegrated or melded with her spleen while watching her boyfriend slam into glass that’s really more plastic than congealed particles of sand. 

Is that the only way to make glass? Her familiarity with the production of glass stems almost entirely from Sweet Home Alabama. So, it’s entirely possible she’s not an expert. 

“Do you want people to know who you are?”

Well, there it is. The million-dollar question. Almost literally—because Bellamy signed that extension and the money isn’t Clarke’s, but some of it’s going into a trust for Maddie and she’s sort of glad Maddie isn’t here because it’s probably not the best version of parenting to be plotting covert murder in the middle of a sold-out arena. They’re too close to the ice, anyway. 

All those TV cameras would totally spot her. 

Murphy hums the JEOPARDY theme song. He’s not wearing a jersey. Blake, or otherwise. Clarke briefly considered painting the number 10 on her cheeks like she was a sophomore in high school and going to Saturday’s homecoming game instead of Thursday night’s playoff-berth clincher. 

“You have all the subtlety of an 18-wheeler.”

“Oddly specific.” Clarke lets out a breath. Through her nose. She’s got to stop holding her breath. And bouncing her knee. She’s never bounced her knee before. Not even when she spent 16 hours in the ER during the first weekend of her residency. So, that’s a fun new quirk to discover. About herself. 

Not-John Travolta is making up words now. There’s no other explanation. She’s never heard half of the things he’s saying—although that may be because the words are growing indistinguishable from their separate syllables, and she pretends not to notice how Murphy sits up straighter. 

The Rangers are winning. 

Have been for almost the whole third period, since Miller’s wrister rang off the in-goal camera. Clarke is perfectly aware of what a wrister is now. 

Which is good. Great, even. Proper terminology is important in medicine and sports and those worlds aren’t mixing for her anymore. They have been mixed, past-tense. There’s no separating them now. Not that she wants to or has even thought about. Not when she’s thinking about other things and letters in names and hyphens and dollar signs and possibility and—

Liquid sloshes over not-John Travolta’s hand as he lets his arms do whatever they want, Clarke recoiling with an instinct that immediately makes her snarl. 

Energy bunches in her calf muscles. The desire to run a full marathon has never been stronger. In that, it is the first time in her personal history that she’s ever felt like that. So, it automatically skyrockets to the top of the recently-formed list. Only one of her lungs feels as if it’s collapsing. That can’t bode well for her potential mile time. 

“How do they track your pace during a marathon?” To his credit, Murphy’s eyes don’t leave the ice when he replies, “Probably by the mile. Slow and steady. Winning the race.” “Tell me more platitudes, please.” “Idioms, really.” “What do you know about idioms?” “I went to college, too.” Clarke’s lips tip. Up. In something akin to happiness and anticipation. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her lips don’t move. Her lungs don’t collapse. The energy in her calves moves toward her knees and her hips, neither of which entirely appreciate the distinctly non-ergonomic chairs at Capital One Arena. 

And they weren’t hiding. 

She texts Monroe with a regularity that felt like legitimate friendship. Three months ago, Casino Night photos littered more social media platforms than Clarke was aware even existed. Maddie mocked that realization for sixteen days straight. Bellamy counted. She’d met other girlfriends and… other relationship titles. That was the wrong order. No one called them GAWs, and that was probably for the best because that made Clarke think of seagulls and PIXAR movies and single parents and her mind did not prepare her body to twist with that amount of force. 

Snap, crackle, pop goes her sanity. 

“What the hell is your problem, man?”

Murphy had tears in his eyes by the time the final buzzer sounded. The Rangers won by two goals. Playoff-bound. Again. 

“So, uh,” Bellamy says, hair still damp from his post-game shower, and Clarke has to stop herself from blatantly smelling him. In the middle of the hallway. There are other people around them, for God’s sake. She can almost hear Murphy still laughing at her. Tonight has been an exercise in stopping herself, really. That she has been only marginally successful at. 

Pushing up on her toes, her nose grazes the underside of Bellamy’s chin and the side of his neck. Six-dollar ocean-scented body wash from CVS is her favorite smell in the world.  “Uh?” “Did he appropriately cower before you, Princess?” Her heels drop. 

Loudly. Or maybe that’s just the ringing in her ears. 

Bellamy smirks at her. The bastard. Absolute ass. The smirk becomes a full-blown grin, and Clarke has to blink against the force of it. 

“How did you—” “If you think I’m not always,” his head moves, “constantly,” his mouth finds the shell of her ear, “perpetually,” she shivers, he chuckles, “frustratingly aware of—” Clarke shoves at his chest. “Frustratingly!” “You’re real pretty when you’re yelling at random dudes in the stands, y’know.” “There is no possible way for you to know that I was yelling.” “The tips of your ears get red. Little signal fires. The beacons of Gondor are lit.”

“God, you’re such a dweeb. How do you function with all that dweeb’ness coursing through you?” “You think I’m cute, too.” “Mostly because of your hair.” He hums, more teeth involved against her neck that time and it’s good and he knows it’s good and that’s one-hundred percent why he did it. Clarke can’t fault him for that. “Thanks for defending my honor.” “He wouldn’t shut up.” “What was the final decision, then? Pistols at dawn?” “I told him to go drown in the Potomac after he said your on-ice vision was average,” Clarke takes a deep breath, “at best!” Bellamy’s eyes lighten. His lips disappear, too. Just like Muprhy’s. In any other situation, that would be sort of funny in a known-each-other-forever type of way, but Clarke’s not interested in attacking Murphy’s lips the way she is with Bellamy’s. Adrenaline is a fascinating thing. Her hair feels like it’s buzzing. She might be levitating. The only thing keeping her on the ground is the hands resting heavily on her aching hips. “And that’s,” she continues, “just patently untrue and insane. Even your greatest enemy—” “Babe, I do not have enemies.” “—Would be forced to acknowledge the incredible dexterity of your wrists. Hey, hey, we should study your wrists. Get a grant and do some sports science on it and—” “You’d have to get ESPN to start that show again, and I don’t know if you have that sort of pull.” “—So I told him to go drown and that maybe then he’d look a little better, even if he resembled a rat,” Bellamy’s eyes bug. While simultaneously glowing. No, that’s not right. Eyes don’t glow. Science. Clarke is a doctor. With degrees. And bouncy knees and so much energy and not-John Travolta had been wholly unprepared for her. 

She has to take a deep breath before she finishes, “He asked if we were, and this is a direct quote, fucking married or something, so I told him about the bacteria count of the Potomac, Murphy glared, you scored the empty net and that was that. No pistols.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything. Turns into a statue, it seems. Muscles bunch with tension that Clarke doesn’t expect, only passably noticing through the haze of her adrenaline. Until it disappears just as quickly because he’s breathing far too rapidly for a statue and she doesn’t think they make many statues out of glass or plastic. He’d be marble, anyway. 

To honor his very good-looking face in perpetuity. 

The one that’s moving. Toward her and to her, and it had taken everything in Clarke’s soul to avoid saying not yet to the marriage question. 

Murphy didn’t hum the JEOPARDY theme song as they walked toward the friends and family station. He belted it. Let the sound bounce off walls and the tiled floors, seeping into Clarke until it times up with her heart. 

A marathon, not a sprint 

Bellamy’s tongue finds its way into her mouth. So, she stops thinking. Does the opposite of thinking. Pushes her fingers into water-soaked strands of hair and lets herself rest against the flat palm at her back, closing her eyes and breathing him in until all she can smell is six-dollar body wash. 

Everything settles. For half a moment. Another. A third. Because every time they pull away they fall back, twining limbs and sneakers that allow for upward movement on the tips of her toes. Clarke’s hips are getting much more attention than they should in a hockey arena that isn’t as empty as a moment like this demands. Canting up and rolling, and her hips don’t stumble, but she might, pushed against the nearest flat surface while her own tongue does a thorough inventory of a mouth she’s pretty intent on marrying. 

Eventually. 

Plus, like—the rest of him, too. She really is super attracted to Bellamy’s hair. 

“Stop staring at me when you’re supposed to be worried about faceoffs.” He doesn’t pull away, mumbling against her mouth, “Absolutely not.” “Ok, cool.” “Cool.”

He asks eventually. After a playoff run that’s different than the last, longer and better and Clarke kisses him before she answers. She figures that’s the answer. 

He smiles against her mouth. So, that helps. 

[saintbellamys]

Dust to Dust

a Bellarke AU by starsonfire

this is the story of how a band breaks up.

(it’s also a love story.)

read chapter 1 here

[marauders-groupie]

Caves That Once Were Rivers Do Not Forget

A Bellarke selkie AU

A selkie who wants to go back home. A witch's son that moonlights as a supernatural detective. And a curse.

AO3

Art by coffeeshopsandpaint

“Bellamy Blake, I would like to contract your services.”

Bellamy looks up from his book carefully, lazily. As a witch, he always knows who to fear, and the creature in front of him doesn’t seem like she means harm. But she is a creature.

“My services,” he repeats, wrapping his tongue around the vowels. “And which particular services are you looking to contract?”

When she meets his gaze, lightning flashes in her eyes.

“I want your help in finding something very dear to me.”

Read more on AO3

[fuckyeahbellarke]

Flowers, Chocolates, & Something Warm

[An alternate canon fluff with a Valentine's twist set in an alternate post-2.16 future where Maya survived. - This is an older work that I reedited & added to slightly.]

[On AO3]

The day started out normal enough, except for the flowers sitting outside her tent. She doesn’t pay them much attention as she picks them up and takes them to medical. They’re an important ingredient in a healing salve for burns, after all—someone probably found them and left them where she’d surely see them.

She takes them to medical and adds them to the inventory list. Before setting them down, she puts them to her nose, breathing in the subtle, earthy smells. She’s smiling when Harper comes in for her lesson that morning.

-x-

Later, she doesn’t find anything strange about Bellamy coming in after dark with some rations for the both of them. She often forgets to eat, and he often brings her food. They’ve done this enough times now that Clarke’s already getting their space cleared in the corner as soon as she sees him with the tray.

He tells her about his day. “Miller nearly blew up on Tanner for forgetting his shift this morning, and Jasper’s been nervous all day.”

Clarke smiles. “You’ve scheduled Miller on a lot of late night watches, he’s probably getting sick of the strange sleep schedule,” she comments.

Bellamy shrugs. “I think he likes the dark,” he says then adds with a small knowing smile, “and, anyways, Harper’s always keeping him company up there.” Clarke’s eyes widen as she stares at him. His smile widens as his small smile breaks into a wide grin. "Monty too. Together sometimes."

Clarke's more amused by Bellamy knowing this gossip. She shrugs at sips at the moonshine he brought her. “Is that why she was so tired during her lesson with me today?”

And so it continues. There still aren’t a lot of them at camp—a newly established settlement away from the Ark, back at the dropship site—after more than a year apart, so Clarke isn’t always treating patients in medical. She has, however, taken to giving lessons to their residents for most minor injuries and their remedies on hand so she isn’t inundated with the small things all of the time.

Similarly, Bellamy and Octavia (with Lincoln every now and then) have held individual training courses to make sure all of the camp residents can defend themselves.

-x-

After Bellamy leaves, it’s Octavia who gets Clarke wondering. “Apparently Bellamy’s been spreading stories of Old World traditions again,” she comments when she comes into medical with new rations gathered from her group’s scouting expedition. “Jasper’s been fretting all day about what to present Maya for Valentine’s Day, and Miller’s taken Harper who knows where, not to mention what Fox and Newt are up to behind the smokehouse.”

“Valentine’s Day? The love holiday from Before with all the hearts and flowers?” Clarke’s a little confused, even as Octavia nods.

They didn’t celebrate holidays on the Ark. Well, maybe they did at first, when there were gifts to be made and time to be spent on such things, but that only lasted about thirty years, then things changed. And from what Clarke’s been told, the Grounders don’t keep the Old World holidays. They have their own now.

Octavia shrugs. “Well, to be fair, he was speaking of some old Roman saint and the beginnings of the holiday, but you can probably guess what part the rest of them were more interested.” She twirls a yellow flower in her hands. “I think Lincoln heard enough of it to believe I want to be involved some how in this madness.”

Clarke’s grabbing paper and pencil and taking inventory of their new stock. “Well, do you?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Octavia replies. “I mean, I want him to tell me or show me that he loves me, but I don’t want it to be for some stupid Old World tradition based on a facts no one even remembers anymore except for my stupid brother who knows everything Roman.”

Clarke smiles fondly. She’s heard a lot of Bellamy’s stories, too, after all. “You could tell Lincoln that,” she says to Octavia, “or you could do something to show him how much he means to you—something all your own.”

“That’s a good idea, Clarke,” Octavia responds.

Clarke nods, focusing on the inventory in front of her, looking for the plant Octavia mentioned when she came in. “Now, where did you tell me the—” she cuts herself off as she turns around, noticing that she’s the only one in the room.

-x-

Much later, as most of the camp residents find their tents to sleep, she returns to her tent to retrieve one of her furs. Sitting amongst her bed furs lies one she does not recognize. Clarke walks over to it curiously and picks it up. It’s a shawl, she notes with a smile. As she inspects it more closely, she begins to recognize the animal it was made from. Bellamy’s prized kill the other week. A rather large big cat, they all thought at the time, with a strangely dark brown fur. No one could quite decide what animal from Before it was closest to.

She picks it up, wraps it around herself, and walks over to the large fire still burning outside. She smiles when she sees Harper, Miller, and Monty looking cozy together as well as Jasper and Maya off to the side curled into each other. Things must have turned out alright for them, she notes. She also can’t find Octavia anywhere, so that must be going well, too.

Clarke sits beside Bellamy, like she always does, and studies him closely. There's something more intimate in his eyes when he looks at her lately. His concentrated expression holds steady for over a minute before he smiles down at her. “Enjoying the warmth, Princess?” he asks loudly.

Clarke barely has to look around to see the smiles directed at the two of them. Perhaps she should have pieced it together long ago—the rest of camp seems to have figured it out long before her.

Finally, she nods as she leans against him. “How long have you been working on it?” she asks.

“’Bout a week now, ever since I told them the story of Valentinus. It got me thinking.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” Clarke murmurs.

“That was never my intention. I just wanted you to have this. You needed it, and this seemed like a good occasion—something for them all to look forward to.”

“And the flowers?” Clarke asks pointedly.

Bellamy shrugs. It’s dark enough that without the fire, she wouldn’t have been able to see the slight tinge on his face. “Thought you’d like them.”

Clarke nods. “I did. They were very beautiful.”

-x-

The next morning, she rolls over and stares at him. “What about lunch?” she asks.

“What about what?” He seems confused. Clarke figures it’s all the activity they participated in last night when they were alone.

She kisses him. “You took me lunch yesterday. How did that factor into your plan?”

“Who says it did? Maybe I just wanted to eat with you.”

Clarke stares down at him.

Finally, he cracks. “Monty was experimenting; there was cocoa in the moonshine.”

Clarke’s laugh can be heard by all.

(Original version can be found here.)

[doontpanic]

They are young, and helplessly in love with each other. But Clarke is a public person, and her relationship with Bellamy turns out to be harder than she intended it to be.

--

I want to love until my heart aches. Until each breath isn’t my own until the breaking of dawn becomes artwork to my eyes. I don’t want to become numb to the touch. I want to feel the beating of every heart that passes by, and I want to keep a hold of the special ones that stay. I want to fall for life and hopefully you in the process. - Late Night thoughts of falling for life.

Coming soon...