#lindsey's 1k celebration

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

“I want to spend eons with you, Clarke Griffin.”

Hades and Persephone Bellarke!AU Moodboard for @queen-of-the-wallflowers15

[theaudacitytowrite]

1k Follower celebration!

So, I hit that milestone a while ago when I didn’t feel so well and had a major writing block. But now I want to make up for it.

Since my last request is written (and currently in the last editing stages) I re-opened my requests again:) 

As a special drabble request I’d like to use this prompt list by @maehemthemisfit for my 1k Follower Celebration 😊

So pick 2 or more sentences/numbers and if you want it to be fluffy or angsty:)

Taglist:  @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @darkacademicfrom2021  @lostgreekgod @tendertalesmain @donttouchmylaevateinn @asgardianprincess1050 @msturi2u @high-functioning-lokipath @elius-learns-to-write @plainlo-inthemorning @kokinu09 @midnights-ramblings @donaweasley @itsreallyjustmeh @sititran  @lindsey-laufeyson @ethanshide @delaber  @anonymousfiction211 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @iamalinarose @xorpsbane @vbecker10 @limiworld @ilovefanfictions  @crazzycrackers04 @tinctureofmaddness @marvelfanfn2187a113 @cosplayingwitch @sylvies4ever @tanushreeg27 @kellatron55 @loveshineslikethesky @scram1326 @camerons-specialinterest @mooncat163 @leucoratia @acefeather2002  @mochie85 @usagishira @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr @lokidbadguy @ozymdias  @lokisasgardianvampirequeen

[theconservativebrief]

The website Refinery29 published an article earlier in July documenting a 21-year-old college student’s weekly spending under the headline “A Week in New York City on $25/Hour.” However, the article quickly revealed that the subject does not actually live on her $25-per-hour marketing internship wages: She also receives $1,100 in allowance from her family each month, and her parents pay her $2,100 monthly rent while footing her tuition, phone, and health insurance bills.

Lots of people got very, very mad.

The article has 1,703 comments to date. A tweet by writer Tessa Bahoosh declaring “YOU SHOULD NOT BE WRITING ABOUT MONEY” racked up more than 31,000 retweets and 109,540 likes. It inspired responses from the New Republic and the New Yorker.

“A Week in New York City on $25/Hour” is part of a Refinery29 series called Money Diaries, which has been around and pissing people off since 2016. As the New Yorker’s Carrie Battan wrote in November 2017, it is a space where “no amount of honesty goes unpunished,” where commenters “quickly established themselves as financial, and moral, adjudicators.”

So why did it hit such a nerve this time?

It comes in the middle of a larger conversation about privilege relating to socioeconomic status, race, and gender, which often determines whether you can go to Starbucks for a business meeting without getting arrested or pursue a career without being sexually harassed.

“A Week in New York City on $25/Hour” presented people with an opportunity to air their frustrations with an economic system that grants a massive leg up to a small fraction of the population — allowing a young woman like the author to focus her energies on getting acai bowls with her boyfriend and picking up wine for a Hamptons trip instead of worrying about student loans or making rent.

Though some onlookers noted that there’s nothing inherently wrong with the author taking her parents money — and that she’s far more honest about her wealth than many young people living in New York — it was a lack of self-awareness about her advantages that incensed readers.

In the money diary, the author recounts that in the course of a week, she sits around doing nothing at work, uses her expensive Equinox gym membership for hot yoga classes, and takes a weekend trip to a friend’s Hamptons house, where a private chef prepares their meals. The privilege of this anonymous young woman’s situation — compounded with a blithe attitude toward it (after detailing her allowance, she tosses out a seemingly unironic “#blessed”) — incited wave after wave of backlash.

The first bout of responses came on Twitter. Some people expressed shock at learning that the story wasn’t satire; others were outraged at this young woman’s obliviousness toward her economic advantages. Numerous people called out Refinery29 for publishing a misleading headline implying that she lives on $25 per hour. The website wound up amending the headline (“A Week in New York City on $25/Hour and $1K Monthly Allowance”), though that still didn’t satisfy some critics.

Many people did come to the author’s defense. In a thread on Twitter, Elite Daily editor Alexandra Svokos contended that, as a series, Money Diaries is meant to illustrate the diversity of women’s economic experiences. “To not have someone privileged talk about how they spend would be to ignore that privilege exists,” Svokos wrote.

The conversation soon moved off Twitter. A Salon headline read, “The joys of hate-reading the rich: Why raging over a wealthy intern’s money diary feels so good.” Josephine Livingstone at the New Republic used the Money Diaries kerfuffle as a jumping off point for an indictment of feminist-y websites like Refinery29 that traffic in barely concealed branded content and clickbait, concisely titled “Women’s Media Is a Scam.”

Refinery29 itself published a follow-up article, “About That Money Diary: Why We Love to Judge the Way Women Spend,” noting that commenters always find a way to shame Money Diaries contributors for their spending habits, whether they’re making $38,500 a year as their family’s sole breadwinner or living it up as a debt-free intern. It’s yet another symptom of the impossibility of existing as a woman in the world.

“You have to be a near perfect human to not face any backlash in the comments,” writes Lindsey Stanberry, Refinery29’s Work & Money director. “(We joke at Refinery29 that you have to be self-made, make a good salary, but not too good. You can’t be too young, receive any parental support, rely on a man, or buy too many coffees. Bonus points if you are good to your pets.)”

The Refinery29 response piece and other defenders of “A Week in New York City on $25/Hour” miss a key point, though. People got mad at this intern not simply because she has a significant allowance and a free ride to college — they were mad because neither the author herself nor the editors did enough work to acknowledge these advantages.

Yes, there was the problem of the headline claiming she was living on $25 an hour. But there were issues within the article, too.

As Jia Tolentino points out in the New Yorker, instead of recognizing her privilege, the author engages in “reflexive attempts to disown” it. At one point, she implies that spending $6.99 on cold brew at Whole Foods is a frugal choice because “it’s the easiest way for me to not spend too much on coffee.” And rather than marvel at her own good fortune, she points to others who have even more than she does, as in this aside during her Hamptons trip: “My friend’s chef (?! I know) prepares vegan tacos.”

“There is a fluency around the idea of privilege now,” says Anna Sale, the host of WNYC Radio’s Death, Sex & Money. “I’ve heard the word for years and years, but it used to be in workshop settings. Now, if you’re a young person in America who is in any way following the public conversation, you’re aware of the concept of privilege.”

The problem with “A Week In New York City on $25/Hour” was that it was missing the fluency that’s expected in conversations around money in 2018. Examinations of the role of privilege in American life are everywhere, from major, award-winning magazine cover stories to celebrity social media posts. This information is out there. People are expected to understand and make use of it.

“In this era of world-historical inequality—and in this country, which is psychologically addicted to the idea of bootstrapping—it is not ‘cool’ to be blindly privileged, to have lived your life on the soft velvet cushion of family wealth,” writes Tolentino.

And so the anger directed at the Money Diaries intern isn’t really just about the Money Diaries intern. It’s the same frustration that was directed at Forbes last week for stating that Kylie Jenner, the youngest sister of the Kardashian-Jenner clan, is “set to be the youngest-ever self-made billionaire.” With a stupendously popular cosmetics line and brand endorsements with Puma and PacSun, Jenner is undeniably, massively wealthy. But she’s not self-made. One parent an Olympian, the other a reality TV matriarch, Jenner grew up with a powerful platform.

It’s the same frustration people feel toward Donald Trump, who claims to have built his real estate empire from a “small loan” of a million dollars from his dad.

Examples of people who don’t understand their own privilege abound. The public is just less and less willing to let them slide.

The question remains, though, whether this anonymous intern was a fair target for people’s rage. As yet another response piece on Refinery29 put it, “If the aim is to punch up, why not aim higher? A college student and intern is not the pinnacle of society’s power elite.”

Railing on a single college student’s “brattiness” is easier and more fun than talking about systemic inequality, the author writes, but it’s not the conversation we most need to be having. In a phone conversation, Sale made a similar point.

“Of all the people we’re going to focus our class and inequality ire on, a 21-year-old intern who’s a college student is not really the problem,” Sale says. “I think there are structural things that are happening here.”

Original Source -> How an intern’s “money diary” became the latest flashpoint in the conversation about privilege

via The Conservative Brief

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Hi! Love your writing, you're my favorite 100 blog/author! I don't know if you're doing prompts or snippets but there's this idea I just can't shake. We know there's bleed over between Clarke and Josie, and I see excellent opportunities for body horror angst fics, but the idea I keep having is Clarke slipping into Josie's mannerisms, vocabulary/languages, mentality even after the separation because of the damage, and her struggle with her sense of self (plus Bellarke comfort)

Oh my goodness, thank you so much! This is so sweet and means so much to me! I apologize for how long it took me to get there, @ruffledphoenixfeathers! Thank you so much for your kind words, love - I hope you enjoy!

The first time it happens, Bellamy thinks he’s living a nightmare. That they didn’t actually defeat Josephine, but that she waited to pull one last trick on everyone. That she learned enough about Clarke to make them all believe that Clarke was back.

Clarke is standing at the edge of a table, and her hand goes up to her hair and she grabs a piece, twisting it in her fingers. Bellamy stares, eyes wide. He catches Miller’s eye and the man stiffens at the sight. Before either of them can do anything, Clarke freezes. She brings her hands out in front of her.

For a moment, she simply stares.

Bellamy can see her fingers trembling from where he is. Clarke brings her arms straight to her side and he sees her flex her hands as she stiffens.

The second time it happens, they’re in a meeting. Clarke is explaining how the new reservoir system will work, when her voice goes an octave higher than normal. “If we do it correctly, it’ll be the most spectacular thing we could create—”

Then she stops.

Clarke frowns. Blinking a few times, her eyes water. “I-I’m sorry.” She stammers, looking at the ground. “Um, Raven, can you take over please? I’m just going to—” Then she leaves.

Though, it isn’t until the third time it happens, Bellamy steps in.

Even though they’ve had peace for quite some time, Bellamy hasn’t felt safe. His restlessness makes it so he can’t sleep, so he finds himself one night wandering under the stars and listening to the sounds of no war.

Then he hears screams.

It’s a sound he’s familiar with, but one he hates.

Sprinting towards it, he finds himself in front of a familiar cabin. He swings the door open to see Madi in the corner, covering her ears with red eyes, while Clarke clutches the blanket wrapped around her body and writhes in the bed. “What’s going on?” Bellamy asks Madi, panicked.

“This happens.” Is the reply.

Those two words break his heart.

Bellamy doesn’t wait. He climbs into the bed and grabs Clarke’s arms, doing his best to quell the flailing. She fights him, despite his best efforts, she manages to break free from his grasp. So he sits with his back against the wall, pulls her against his chest, and wraps his arms around him. “Clarke,” he tries to fight against it, but she’s strong for someone so small. He’s so afraid of hurting her, she manages to break free two more times. “Clarke!” He exclaims.

She stills and swings her head back against his chest, all but knocking the air out of his lungs. “B-Bellamy?”

“Clarke,” he breathes. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me.”

She actually does what she’s told, which is rare. Madi remains in the corner, watching the two intently.

They stay like that until Clarke’s breathing evens out. “Hey, hey,” he whispers in her ear. He presses his face close to hers so that they’re touching. He can feel the cold sweat against her cheek, but he doesn’t care. “I got you,” he whispers. “I got you.”

“I can’t shake her off of me.” She says, her words cracking. “I keep on thinking I’m going to go to sleep and I’m back in my mind. That she’s still in control.”

“She’s not, Clarke.”

“But I feel her on me.” She continues, her voice hollow. “I find myself doing things I’d never do, saying things I’d never say. It’s like I don’t have control of my body still. I’m… not… in control, Bellamy.”

“That’s all in your head, Clarke.”

“Isn’t that the problem?”

Bellamy runs his thumb up and down her arm as soothingly as he can. “Clarke, you’re safe. You’re back.”

“But I’m not me,” Clarke says, squeezing her eyes shut so a few tears leak out. “T-This isn’t my body anymore. I can’t help but feel like I’m wearing my shoes on the wrong feet. Everything is… off.”

“Listen,” Bellamy says, holding her tight, even though she’s not fighting anymore. “I will tell you every day, if I need to. You are safe. You are alive. And you are you.”

Clarke reaches out and grabs his forearm. “What if I’m not?”

“Trust me.” Bellamy says earnestly. He takes a chance, reaching under her chin and lifting her face so that she can see him. “If you don’t trust yourself, trust me. I know you, Clarke. I know you better than anyone. And I knew when you weren’t you. Trust me when I say that you are you. And I will convince you every day if I have to. Do you trust me?”

Clarke blinks a few tears away, her eyes red. She stares in his eyes with an intensity he thought he’d never see again.

“I trust you.”

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

I saw that you started posting fics on here (I loved them all) and if you're still in a writing mood could you do a hypothetical S^ funeral for Clarke? Complete with lots of angst and crying and speeches. Thank you so much and lots of love!

Oh my goodness, thanks love! Yes, I started doing small drabbles on here because it keeps me writing without the long commitment for the long WIPs I currently have in progress, as well as helps me keep writing different things while I work through my Big Bang. You are so sweet, here you go, love! <3

The funeral happens the next day.

It’s a typical day in the Sanctum, the suns beating down on Bellamy’s back as he stands off to the side, taking everything in. He knows they can’t bury her because there’s nothing to bury. Her body remains with them, a walking sign of how he’s failed her once more.

Thankfully, Josephine is nowhere to be seen, as is Russell. Even the morality of body snatchers gave them this kindness. Bellamy stands a few paces away from everyone, listening to the small cries and the watching the tears. There’s a part of him that feels the rage from the events of the past few days curl up in his chest, listening to those who had been spitting words of vitrol only days before now mourning her.

He supposes he should be grateful that she is being mourned the way he thinks she deserves.

It doesn’t do anything to quell the fire in the pit of his stomach as he tries to wrestle with the fact that there’s nothing he could do. He was too late. He always wanted to protect people, but they managed to slip through his fingers like sand, pouring out onto the ground and being blown away like the wind.

“I’d like to say something,” Bellamy croaks out after a while.  A few people startle at this, as if they forgot he was even there. That they were drowning in their own pool of grief that they forgot to come up for air.

Pushing past a few people, Bellamy stands next to where Madi is, her arms wrapped around her chest as she tries to hug herself. Bellamy kneels down so they’re eye-level. “That is, if you are alright with it.”

Madi’s eyes are red and swollen. He can only imagine the night she’s had, alone in her bed where she and Clarke used to sleep. The first time in six years the child has slept alone. “Yes,” she says, her voice cracking. “She always loved you the most.”

Bellamy tries his best not to break under her words. He doesn’t know what to do with that – especially now – with Clarke gone away. “I believe that spot was all yours, Madi. You were her family.”

“You were her family too.” Madi chokes out. “She always said so.”

Bellamy has to close his eyes to keep himself from crumbling right there. Instead, he manages to stand up, his feet questionable underneath him.

Turning around, he faces the people he’s called family for years. People he never thought would be in his life, but somehow have rooted into his chest and taken home there, to where he can’t imagine his life without any of them. Raven stands a few yards away, her arms cross and expression hard, but eyes filled with tears. Murphy and Emori are further left. He can’t help but feel a rush of anger when he looks at Murphy, to the point where he determinedly does not look at the man.

Jordan moves up a few paces so he’s next to Madi, placing an arm around her. She leans into it in a way that she doesn’t with most people. Bellamy thinks that she understands the love he had for her mother, in a way she didn’t see with those around there. His gaze falls to the ground, where there’s no cross. No body. Nothing more than a few sketchbooks and a watch that somehow managed to survive pace and two ends of the world.

“Clarke wasn’t what I expected,” Bellamy states, doing his best to hold himself together. “The first words she ever said was an argument. Arguing with me about opening the dropship door. I was there, I was a stowaway and had a gun, and yet here was this privileged princess yelling at me about toxic air. You know, I never met Clarke on the Ark, but I knew who she was. Everyone heard about the princess daughter of Jake and Abby Griffin. About how she helped in the med bay and loved her family. I remember thinking ‘of course. Of course someone with the perfect life would have the perfect family.’ And then she was… there. Charged as a criminal, locked in isolation. And for what?”

Bellamy blinks away a few tears. “For wanting to tell the people on the Ark the truth about the failing systems. For trying to do what was right. And she was locked in a room for it. I’ll admit, she was nothing what I expected. I expected someone who wanted us to do all the work, who would tell us what to do and be done with it. I mean, Clarke definitely told us what to do,” there’s a few huffs and Bellamy sneaks a look to see a few members unable to hide a smile. “But she always tried to do what was best for us.

“It’s sad, in a way. Most of you only got her in her moments of power. Wanheda. Leader of Skaikru.” Bellamy lets out a hollow laugh. “It wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t what she wanted. She was quiet, thoughtful, and wanted nothing more than to have peace. And no one ever allowed her to have it.” Bellamy pauses, a part of him unable to continue.

Except Madi’s looking at him as though she’s hanging onto every word. Every word from stories that Clarke didn’t tell her, stories where she was the hero. Stories of who she truly is.

So he goes on.

“I never told her how much she meant to me. We didn’t say things like that. Well, I didn’t say things like that.” Bellamy sniffs, wiping away a tear. “She was always saying these things to me. That I was special, that I was going to save everyone, that I was important. She said them over and over again. I kept asking her not to, trying to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t. She would stop saying them. And I never knew how to say anything back.

“People didn’t say things like that to me. I was nothing more than a janitor on the Ark. With a sister hidden under the floor and a floated mom. And for some reason, Clarke Griffin, the princess of the Alpha Station, wouldn’t stop telling me how much I meant to her.”

Bellamy closes his eyes.

“I was always too late.” Bellamy says, losing it a little. “Too late in Praimfaya, too late here. So Clarke, I know I’m late again, but I have to say this anyway.” Sucking in a breath, Bellamy fidgets with his hands. “You said that leaving me in Polis was your biggest sin. Of everything you carried with you, that one was what you wanted to repent from. That you forgot that I was your family, that you lost sight of it. I told you my sins were too great for lanterns. I still think that’s true.”

He reaches into his pocket, unfolding the paper he’d tucked in there. He pulls the wires up so the lantern is created, sticking a small candle in it.

“I don’t think this will take my sins against you away, Clarke,” he says, lighting the candle. “But I have to tell you: I knew what I was doing in Polis. I knew what the Flame meant to you. And time after time, you chose your people over your own life. But I was the person who was supposed to look after you. I was the person that was supposed to have your back. And now… y-you’re gone.” His word cracks, and so does he.

Closing his eyes, lantern in hand, Bellamy feels someone. Madi stands next to him, tears streaming down her face, hands under the lantern. “Together?” She asks.

Bellamy’s eyes widen.

Together?

That’s what it was supposed to be. It was always supposed to be together.

Now, there was no more.

“Together.” He says, his words rough, broken, and crumbling.

The two lift their hands up and the lantern floats, gently raising up in the sky. It goes higher and higher.

Just like Clarke, it goes where they cannot follow.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Congrats on hitting 1k love! I was wondering if possible if you could write an angsty yet soft clurphy reunion?

Oh my gosh, hi love! I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this @biconicclarkeyg, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. So much love!

So here’s the thing: Murphy knows he’s made some… questionable choices.

It’s a part of his charm. Everyone likes the quirky, slightly-murdery friend who keeps you on your toes, right? He’s done things that’s he’s not proud of – and done things he’s absolutely proud of. But most of all, all of his choices have kept him alive. So he can’t bring himself to regret any of it.

Except.

Clarke is across the Sanctum field with Madi at her side, the kid looking as haunted and traumatized as any of them. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that he kinda wishes that if he ignores it long enough, it’ll go away. Usually it does. Murders someone? Well, they usually were trying to murder him too, so easy to ignore. Betrays a friend? Probably why he’s still alive.

But he’s never had to face his betrayal quite like this. Clarke is standing there – alive and in full control, which he never expected. When Josephine approached him, a part of him was mildly offended. That he would be the one that would be the target for betrayal. Well, he gets it. But still.

Rude.

Murphy knew Clarke was tough and had an ability to stay alive – maybe even better than him. But he never truly believed that she would be able to beat the human hurricane that was Josephine and the entire Sanctum people. Except somehow she did, and she’s standing only a few paces away.

“Aw, hell,” he groans and stands up, dragging himself over to where the two are. Clarke’s bent down by Madi, whispering something in her ear. When he approaches the two, Madi looks up to him with those haunted eyes that makes him feel like he’s died again. “Hey, uh, you two.”

Madi glares at him. He knows that it will be quite some time until the hobbit stops plotting his own murder, but he supposes he’ll just have to accept that. Clarke is startled by his approach, which he gets. It’s not like he’s been wanting to talk to her at all. “Clarke, I was wondering, uh, if you’d have a drink with me tonight.”

Clarke blinks. He thinks for a quick moment that she’s going to reject him on principle, which he would also get. But then, with a small amount of suspicion, she says, “Sure.”

Hard part’s over.

Except it isn’t the hard part. The hard part is when they’re actually sitting down at a table, drinks in hand, with Clarke staring at him. She sits across from him, taking a sip and looking around, waiting for him to start. Why does he have to start?

Because he invited her, right.

“So,” he starts, licking his lips. “I, uh, have been wanting to talk to you for a while.” Clarke doesn’t respond, but she looks at him, her eyes bright. “Ah, fuck, I’m just gonna ask, how much did you see?”

Clarke flinches. That’s when Murphy realizes of everything that she expected from him, this wasn’t it. “Are you asking so you can determine what you need to feel bad about?” She asks.

It isn’t angry. It isn’t judgmental. It’s clinical and infuriating how much he can’t read her. “Excuse me?”

“Out of everything that has happened, why is that what you want to know?”

He can’t help but feel a flash of anger himself. He takes a settling breath to calm himself before he yells.

That’s when it hits Murphy.

“You saw everything.”

When Clarke doesn’t respond, he leans back in the chair, unable to stop his eyes from watering up a bit. “My deal with Josephine, everything I did to make sure she kept your body. My fight with Bellamy. My pact with her after I found out you were still alive. You saw it all?”

Clarke’s eyes grow red and she looks to the side, wiping her cheek quickly. “Yes.”

“How?” Murphy exclaims. “Josephine said you wouldn’t—”

“I didn’t see it in real time.” Clarke says quietly, placing her hands on the cup in front of her and running her fingers around the edge. “Josephine was trying to convince me to give up. To give up my body and stop fighting. She wanted me to see how people truly felt about me.”

Murphy can’t help but freeze. His eyes go wide and he leans back in his chair, unsure of what to do. For the first time in ages, he doesn’t want to drink. His mouth tastes like ash.

Clarke Griffin didn’t survive because of him.

Clarke Griffin survived despite him.

“Clarke,” he starts, the words getting caught in his throat. “I—”

She puts her hands up.

Then doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she brings the cup to her lips, wipes away a few errant tears, and then clears her throat.

“I thought about this a lot,” Clarke says, her lower lip trembling. “Of what I’d say to you, if I was given the opportunity. Of how I would…” She shuts her eyes.

Murphy braces himself. He braces himself for the yelling. The angry and frustration and betrayal.

Instead, he feels her hand reach out to his. “I wanted to say I understand.”

Of all the things that he expected her to say, it wasn’t it. His eyes flit up to hers and he doesn’t see any deceit in them. “What?”

“I get how the world is too heavy sometimes. And the fear of the unknown makes you do things that you would regret later. That the decisions we make shape who we are on the inside. But let me tell you, Murphy.” She says and grips his hand. “You are a good man. With a kind heart. Who fights for the people you love. I know that I haven’t been on that list in a while. But you’re always on mine. Because I do love you, Murphy. So I need you to know, I understand.”

Murphy isn’t sure how it happened.

He came to apologize and make her feel better, but tears start to well in his eyes. “How? How can you just forgive me?”

Clarke chuckles. “I’ve said this to Bellamy once, and I’ll say it to you. If you need forgiveness? Fine, I’ll give it to you. You’re forgiven. We need to start over, Murphy. And we can’t do that by clutching to the past.”

Murphy places his free hand on top of hers and there’s a part of him and heals. Stitches up something he didn’t realize was an open wound. Sure, he isn’t sure what the future holds. What hell waits for him. But in this moment, he thinks things may be alright.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

⌨️ Earthkru + "You took Clarke away from us. Now we're going to take everything from you too."

Oh my gosh, I LOVE this prompt! Because that means I get to write heart!Bellamy. And givememyfuckingwifeyoubastards!Bellamy. I mean, what more can I ask for?

They’re tied to a chair.

It’s not enough. It is not. Enough.

Bellamy paces back and forth, unable to look them in the eye. Fortunately Miller stands in front of them, his arms crossed, and glaring at them in that way that even makes Bellamy feel a little shaken. He’s grateful for the man in a way he never expected. After the events in the valley, Bellamy never thought they’d repair what was lost. Now? Now he can’t imagine anyone else being there.

“You can’t keep us here forever.”

The voice grates against his ears and he can’t look at her. Miller makes a disgusted noise. “You’ll be here as long as we want. And I don’t think you are in a place to be making any requests.”

“It’s not a request.” Josephine says, her voice taunting. “And I don’t think you are in a place to be making any requests. Because once they realize we’re missing? You’re all dead.”

Bellamy huffs. He can’t help it.

“Are you laughing?” Russell asks, no longer struggling against his bindings. He sits in his chair next to Simone, his eyes pensive.

Bellamy gives a wry smile. “Why?” Bellamy asks, his words dark. “Does that offend you?”

Russell’s eyes narrow. “I don’t see how you can find this amusing. Laughter is not appropriate.”

Bellamy feels himself cracking. His entire life, he’s been nothing more than a rock on the beach, waves chipping away at pieces of him until he was the person standing in this room. Then they took Clarke. And suddenly the waves were too powerful, and he cracked in half.

Losing Clarke made him crack in half.

And now he’s slightly broken. Chipped. Only part of the person he knew himself to be. So he’s giving Russell a hollow laugh because he knows how much it will infuriate the man. Also because it’s not funny.

So he laughs.

“I offend you.” Bellamy says, shaking his head. He catches Miller’s eye and the man has his hands in his pockets. Bellamy wonders if Miller snuck a weapon in here.

Again, he’s so glad he decided to bring Miller along.

“I. Offend. You?” Bellamy shakes his head. “I offend you. You offend me.” He says, his entire body trembling.

“Bellamy—” Miller says warningly, finally turning around.

“No.” Bellamy snaps. “I find this entire world offensive. They think that they can steal death. That they can take it for their own gain and make people give them it? That is not how life works!” Bellamy shouts at Miller.

“Bellamy, I know—”

“I know you know, but they do not know! They’re using their own people to harvest. It’s like they’re Mount Weather, except they’re using their own people. And telling them it’s an honor! I’m offended!”

Russell sucks in a breath. “That is not fair.”

“Is it?” Bellamy shouts. “Is it not fair? What about to Delilah? What about to every person you stole a body from to atone for a crime that you committed hundreds of years ago?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No you don’t understand!” Bellamy shouts, lunging toward him. “You don’t know what it’s like to find the body of your girlfriend when she was where you told her to be. You don’t understand what it’s like to be in a car, while acid rain falls down, and know you can do nothing about it. I find you offensive.”

Miller steps next to him and places a hand on his shoulder. “Bellamy…”

“They don’t appreciate it.” Bellamy says, blinking away a sheen of water in his eyes. “They don’t appreciate life because what does it matter? If they die, they’ll steal another body and be brought back. But, it’s disrespectful to life, Miller. Not just to… Clarke.” He shuts his eyes and sucks in a breath. “It’s disrespectful to your dad.”

Miller’s jaw clenches and his eyes grow red.

“To my mom. To Bryan. To Gina. To every last person we lost. They offend me. They killed Clarke and they’re making us look at her! They—” He has to stop talking, because his words crack. “They killed her, Miller. They say that they made a sanctuary. Hell, they call this a Sanctum. And it’s built on murder and manipulation. I want to burn it to the ground.”

Miller doesn’t respond for a moment. His eyes flit to the three tied to the chairs and then back to Bellamy. They’re red and his jaw twitches. Swallowing, Miller straightens. “I will bring the matches.”

Bellamy lets out one, final hollow laugh. Moving close, he leans towards Josephine. The woman’s face doesn’t flinch, her expression amused. He gives her a wry smile.

"You took Clarke away from us. Now we're going to take everything from you too."

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Don’t know if you’re doing prompts anymore but here goes nothing! Out of the blue I just thought of an idea for a prompt basically where Bellamy and Clarke start to talk about everything that’s happened between them but then they have to start to line up for war against the primes with everyone behind them. Then Bellamy would just say the iconic line “lookin to you princess” before it starts! It’s not much but if you want to try then do it however you feel like! 💕💕

Hi love! I’m so sorry this took so long, but than you so much for the prompt! You are so lovely!

They’re here again. Bellamy isn’t sure how it happened, but they’re here again.

He’s so tired of fighting.

Maybe they all are. Everyone lines up, looking at the shield before Sanctum. Bellamy is grateful they managed to reach Raven without Clarke having to go behind enemy lines. All they had to do now was wait for the shield to go down.

Clarke stands next to him, her eyes trained on the shield. He’s still at a place where he’s simply happy she’s right here next to him. He can’t believe that she’s here next to him. After everything – thinking she’s dead, thinking she’s unsavable – Clarke Griffin stands next to him. As if she can read his thoughts, she turns to him and gives him that small comforting smile that only Clarke can give.

He returns it, unable to mask the softness and kinship he feels for this woman. It’s an intimacy and bond he never could explain. Something more than friendship, something more than romance. He spent his entire life dancing around it, but here he thought he lost her again. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and I.” He says, his voice catching and words echoing the conversation they had all those years ago.

Bellamy was slightly worried she wouldn’t get it, but he should’ve known better than to question the memory of Clarke Griffin. She smiles at him and nods, shutting her eyes. “We have.”

Licking his lips, Bellamy ponders what he should say. Then he realizes something.

There were so many times in his life when he wanted to tell Clarke Griffin the truth. How he felt about her, how much she means to him. And circumstance always got in the way. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he thought the two would have five years on the Ring. A part of him convinced himself that he could wait to tell her because they would have five years. And who knew what would happen in five years.

Then she died.

Then they moved to another moon.

She died again.

Fuck waiting.

“Clarke,” he starts, taking a prepatory breath. “I need to say something to you.”

“Bellamy,” she says, her words hesitant. “We can’t go into this thinking that this will be it. This is not the last time we’ll see each other.”

“We always say that, Clarke.” He insists. “And then Praimfaya happens. Josephine happens. Clarke, I need to say something because I don’t know what the next five minutes holds. But we have five minutes. And I need it.”

Clarke turns to face him. She looks up at his face and there’s the touch of vulnerability that no one else gets to see. “Okay,” she says, but he can hear the fear in her voice.

Because this is the moment. This is the moment everything changes.

“Okay. Let’s have this five minutes.”

“We get this five minutes.” Bellamy agrees. “And this time it’s my turn. You tried to say something to me because you knew you were convinced you weren’t going to make it on the rocket and I shut you down. It’s my turn to try and tell you something.”

Clarke nods.

“Clarke Griffin, you are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met.” Bellamy starts and she lets out a surprised laugh and it’s beautiful. In a kinder world, he would spend all his time trying to earn that sound. “Our very first conversation was a fight. And second, and third.”

“A few after too, if I remember correctly.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I think you remember correctly. But, I was always in awe of you. I never met anyone who cared so much. About everything. About everyone. It was exhausting.” Clarke snorts. “I wanted to best you. Then… I just wanted to be by you.” Bellamy looks down. “We’ve fought wars together. We’ve bled together. We’ve cried together. And I never thought I would have someone so… integral to my life.”

Bellamy bites his lip, wondering how far he should go. How much he should reveal.

How transparent he should be.

“When I thought I lost you again, I…” Bellamy looks down, the pain of it almost overwhelming. He reminds himself that she’s standing right here. As if she can read his mind, Clarke reaches out and grabs his hand and squeezes. It grounds him. “I lost my mind, Clarke. I-I can’t even pretend I didn’t. Everything Monty and Harper left for us. Everything they asked us to do, I forgot. I wanted to kill them. I wanted to burn it all to the ground.”

Clarke squeezes harder.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Clarke. I lose all my senses with you. I know that there’s a lot that I have to square away, but I need you to know.” Bellamy says, finding himself choking up a little bit. “I come from a part of the ark that was viewed as lesser. I lost my job as a guard and I thought I would have to live my life as a janitor, having made a mistake that took away my sister and killed my mother. I thought my life was going to be nothing more than mediocre.

“Then we came to the Ground and I met you. And you’ve made my life extraordinary. And after losing you twice, I’ve realized… I don’t want to have a life without you. You make my life extraordinary, and I can’t settle for anything less than that anymore. I need you.”

Clarke’s eyes water. She opens her mouth, but a sizzle noise cuts her off and the two of them watch as the shield slowly dissolves.

So instead, she squeezes his hand one last time and the two of them face Sanctum to fight one. Final. War.

Bellamy sucks in a breath, the nerves from his words filtering through his system. With a smile, he turns to her.

“Looking to you, Princess.”

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Prompt: Clarke finally tells everyone off for blaming everything on her. And they have to try and make her forgive them. Especially Raven. Raven is just being the absolute worst.

I am SO SORRY this is so late, love @trippingonmolly! I know the season’s over, but I totally agree - I struggled SO much with Raven this season. I genuinely thought they were working toward Raven realizing how horrible she’d been, but... ah well. So I’m so sorry this is so late, but I hope you like it!

The worst days are the days after.

The day after the Dropship. The day after Mount Weather. The day after Praimfaya.

Clarke had endless days after. She made it through every single day after, but this was one she wasn’t prepared for: the day after her mother died.

Clarke finds herself sitting along in the dining hall, not out of necessity, but choice. Madi was off with Gaia somewhere and the remaining members of the 100 were sitting together and chatting as if this was the most normal day in the world. Clarke knows for the first time, if she joined them, she wouldn’t be turned away like before. She could sit and be in their presence, and maybe find something that would be a semblance of normal.

Except she can’t. She can’t because too many things have happened in the past few days and she needs time to process what’s happening. She wanted nothing more than to find peace and have a quiet life. She wanted to stop having to make the hard decisions, only to have them thrown in her face immediately after.

So she sits alone, in her hands a single drink that she’s been working on for the better part of an hour. It burns down her throat and she wipes a tear away, thinking not for the first time that she feels completely, and utterly alone. Clarke even feels like a stranger in her own body, the remnants of Josephine still rattling around in her mind.

“They’re talking about making a council. Which means, we’re going to have Clarke Griffin at the helm again.”

Somehow, her name breaks through her grief and she looks up from her cup.

“Sure, we’re all still alive, but I think we can all agree that’s not how we want to start a new world. Seeing as she ended our last one.”

It’s an interesting thing, how grief and anger are so close together. The emotions are like brothers, holding each other’s hands, waiting for one to trip.

Clarke’s up on her feet before she realizes what’s happening.

“How dare you?” She cries, accidentally knocking over a chair, but not acknowledging it. The group jumps and turns to where she’s stalking over to them.

She’s feeling too much. It’s all.

So.

Much.

It’s as if her brain is on fire – not her own. Everything is loud and bright and she’s feeling things that she hasn’t been allowing herself to feel for days. Clarke’s vaguely aware that there are tears rolling down her cheeks, but she doesn’t care.

“Do you hate me this much?” She asks, her words breaking at the end.

The group of them startles when she’s in their faces, but she doesn’t care. “Clarke, we all understand, but you have to agree that—”

“No,” She says, her words breaking. “You don’t understand. You will never understand. What is it you called it, Raven? Clarke Griffin and her Impossible Choices? But you made me make them anyway. I let you treat me like garbage because I truly thought I deserved everything you said about me, but I realize now, I can make any choice and you will hate me!” She cries. “I just lost my m-mom, and you’re here, still saying the same bullshit?”

Murphy looks at his hands while Raven opens her mouth, but Clarke waves anything she could say aside. “When I died by myself, alone, paralyzed, my body being stolen, I remember thinking, of course this is how it happens. I spent my entire life fighting for all of you to stay alive. I just thought if I could keep you alive, then all the horrible things that had happened had meaning. But it was the first time I realized I had no one fighting for me.”

“What’s going on?”

Clarke whirls around to see Bellamy enter the dining hall, his hands up in the way he does when he’s clearly trying to calm a situation. “Well, maybe that’s not entirely true.” She says, a weak smile on her lips. She returns her attention to the people in front of her. “But now I realize, there’s nothing I can do to ever make you care about me or put me in your list of people to give a shit about. Because this time? This time I did everything morally ‘right’ in your standards. I fought to keep all innocents alive. I fought to keep you alive. I fought to keep myself alive. And I still lost my mom. I almost lost my daughter because of that stupid piece of ancient technology you kidnapped her over and called me a monster for not wanting in her head. I fought, and I fought, and I fought, and I still lost. And you still speak about me like I’m nothing?”

“Woah, what the hell is going on?” Bellamy asks again, raising his voice.

“Nothing,” Clarke says, blinking away tears. “Nothing, Bellamy. Because I’ve realized something. I’ve spent my entire life fighting for all of you, only to have you detest me in such a way for making choices you would never even consider making. Not if Clarke Griffin will take the fall. I’ve wanted to have my friends back – my family back. But for the first time?” Clarke laughs. “I don’t need it. I spent so much energy caring about what you think and I finally realize, it matters what I think.

“I’ve spent all my life fighting for you. For the first time, I think I need to stop. Because why would I fight for people who would put me on front lines and then shoot me the moment my back’s turned?” Clarke closes her eyes. “I’m going to fight for me now. And the people who fight for me back.”

Clarke turns and places a hand on Bellamy’s face, which is something between confused and angry.

It’s not their time.

She knows it. He knows it. She’s clouded with grief and recovering, and his heart belongs to someone else. It’s alright, though.

For the first time ever, she knows there’s time to wait.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

CONGRATS ON 1K! You’re a gem, your blog is beautiful, your writing is stunning — you deserve 1000 and 1000 more 💞 / ⌨️ please! A Bellarke fic with the prompt competition or rivals to lovers. Thank you 💙

Oh my gosh, my love! I know this is disastrously late, but I love you so much @pawprinterfanfic​! I will admit, it was tricky for the 1K for 1K because I want to write SO MUCH MORE. But I hope this small snippet was enough for you love!

The chain of events goes like this: Bellamy is born. He goes to school. He becomes a history professor. He meets the art professor. He somehow gets wrangled into a prank war that is destroying his life.

He honestly isn’t sure where he went wrong.

“Bro, I honestly can’t hear you talk about the art teacher anymore.” Miller says one night when they meet up at a bar and he’s accidentally spent the last hour going on about how the professor started a mural in his lecture hall. He would never say it’s good – of course not. But he didn’t say it was okay and that was the point. Sure, when she was giving her students permission to show up to his class late, it was one thing. It was another when his office was filled with leftover art from the previous semester. But now? Now she’s crossed a line. “Just get her fired. If she’s defacing university property without permission, you probably would be able to do it pretty easy.”

Bellamy’s taken aback. “Get her fired?” He’s honestly never even considered it before. Even saying it out loud makes him uncomfortable. Sure, he finds her irritating, but getting her fired seems like a step too far. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t care. I just want out of this conversation.”

“Thanks for the support.” Bellamy grumbles, taking a sip of his beer. “The friendship is overwhelming.”

“Look man, I’ve been listening to you talk about Professor Griffin since you got the job. You are aware you’re a teacher of teenagers, right?”

“She is distracting. Her antics cause actual disruptions in my class! She disrupts my classes, she disrupts my office hours, and disrupts… my conversations.”

“Huh?”

 “Hey Clarke.”

When she walks in, her hair haphazardly thrown in a braid with paint streaked on her cheek, he tells himself she’s not attractive. She’s not, especially not with her Ramones t-shirt tied in a knot at her waist and definitely not with the ripped jean shorts riding low at her waist.

“Oh, okay,” Miller says knowingly. “I get why she’s distracting.”

“What does that mean – hey.”

“Hey there, Professor Blake.” Clarke says with a smirk. “Like my addition last night?”

“How are you even getting into my lecture hall? I lock it every night.” Bellamy grumbles.

“You should be nicer to people. You’d be surprised what they’ll do for you if you use a little kindness.” Clarke leans across the bar, waving at the bartender. “Whiskey, neat, please!” She turns to face them with a smile. “You’d be surprised what a little kindness in general would do.” She crinkles her nose to emphasize her point and Bellamy fails to not find it endearing.

“Hey, I’m Miller.” Miller says with a wave. “I don’t think Bellamy’s actually going to introduce me. I think he’s prefer staring at you.”

Bellamy elbows him in the chest so that he lets out a wheeze. “Sorry, I meant glaring. Glaring at you.”

He puts his head in his hands.

“Clarke,” she responds. “Has he told you I’m the bane of his existence?”

“Many times. But everyone is the bane of his existence.”

“Yeah, but I’m special.” Clarke says, brushing her hair out of her face with a flourish. “It was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you alone so that you can go back to ranting about me. See you on campus.”

“Why are you going out of your way to make my life harder, though?” Bellamy says, standing up. He hates that she’s being charming and hates even more that Miller is standing next to him with that smirk he gets when he’s going to do something stupid. “Why can’t we simply be professionals?”

Clarke’s smile falters. “I am a professional.”

“Really? Is it professional to prank your coworker? Fill their office with art? Release your students late? Paint in their lecture hall?”

Clarke clenches her jaw. Her lighthearted air evaporates and suddenly there’s something burning behind her eyes. Something like a force. “I’ll have you know every single time I’ve released my students late, it’s because something has happened on campus or in the news and they needed a safe space to discuss it.”

“You’re an art teacher—”

“And what is history if not through the art of its people?” Clarke shouts back at him, not backing down. In fact, she gets closer and jabs him in the chest. “And I filled your office with art because we had a bunch that hadn’t been picked up yet, and I already filled my own and the university was going to throw it out. And you were the only person I could think of who wouldn’t throw art away. I picked it up after. What do you think happened, it just magically disappeared?”

“Well, I—”

“And I’m painting a mural in your lecture hall because I overheard that the history department may experience some downsizing due to admission numbers. So I thought it would be cool to make your lecture hall more lively and I heard you liked the Iliad, so I was painting a mural of it in the room to get more people interested.”

A glass is set down next to her and Clarkes and yells, “Thank you!” at the bartender. Her cheeks flush and she shakes her head. “Sorry, thank you.” Picking it up, she sets herself. “I didn’t think I was such an annoyance. I thought that I was helping out a friend, but I’ll stop.”

With that, she turns on her heel and marches to the end of the bar where a group of people wave her over. Bellamy isn’t sure what to say. He stares where she once was, unable to put any words together.

“So…” Miller starts, a laugh hiding in his voice. “That’s Clarke?”

“Yeah, that’s Clarke.”

“Well, I like her.” Miller says, finally not able to refrain from laughing any longer. “Anyone who can go toe-to-toe with you is someone I can get behind.”

Bellamy looks down. “I think I owe her an apology.”

“You think, dumbass?”

***

When Clarke gets to the University, she’s in a horrible mood. She drank too much the night before, her fight with Bellamy clouding her judgment of when to stop. The more she thought about it, the more she understood where he was coming from. From his perspective, she probably was that obnoxious art instructor, who seemed hell-bent on messing with him.

Well, it’s true, but not vindictively.

Opening her office, Clarke rubs her temples and moves to toss her keys on a small table in her office. But she stopped when she can barely get the door open. Squeezing through, she sees her entire office is filled to the brim with old books, barely even space for her to walk through.

She’s way too hungover for this.

Except in the center of the room is a single daisy and a note. Clarke grabs it and can’t stop the smile from stretching across her face.

Clarke,

I thought maybe you could store these books for me. The University was going to donate them, but I think they’re necessary, even though they’re never checked out. I figure since you’ve used my office, you’d understand.

-- Bellamy

P.S. I have some thoughts for the Iliad mural if you’re open for suggestions. Coffee?

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

hi! i've been a fan of your work for ages now, can't believe i've never stumbled into you on here! can i have a ⌨️ for murphy and bellamy on the ring please? angsty, happy, whatever you're feeling like! also, congratulations on 1k!! you deserve so much more ♡

Oh my gosh, thank you so much! You are so kind! <3 <3 <3 I love Murphamy! You gave ME a gift! I hope you enjoy love! 

“Once more with feeling.”

“Shut up, Murphy.”

“Come on, let’s forget our feelings and drink like men.”

“Murphy—”

“Stick it in your mouth and take it like a man!”

Bellamy looks at Murphy, his eyes hazy and he’s definitely seeing double. “Screw you, Murphy.”

“You love me.” Murphy says, tipping the bottle of whiskey on the table and some of the liquid goes into the glass.

Bellamy grabs the glass, some of the drink spilling on his hand. “Prove it.”

“Come of here and I’ll show you.”

“This is going to a place I think neither of us are prepared for.” Bellamy says, shooting his drink back.

“Yeah, Emori wouldn’t be okay with it. She doesn’t share.” He says with that smile on his face that means his mind has gone way more sexual than Bellamy ever wanted to hear.

Bellamy taps the edge of his glass, not caring that he’s seeing double.

It’s been one month since they left Earth.

He sees her everywhere.

He sees Clarke in the corners of the cold steel of the Ark. He sees her pass through the hallway, her golden hair flicking around the walls. He hears her in the vents, her cries, her whispers, her laughter. It resounds in his head and he wonders what’s real and what’s not real.

Clarke was real.

So is her death.

He doesn’t know how it can be okay.

Murphy’s staring at him, as if he knows where Bellamy’s mind has gone. He probably does. Bellamy’s never been good at hiding the way he feels. Flicking the side of his glass, Murphy narrows his eyes. “Do you know that Clarke could sing?”

Bellamy stills. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you know Clarke could sing? Like, actually pretty good. She had a decent voice. It kinda sounded like the first time I felt rain. Clear, clean. It was nice.”

“I did know,” Bellamy says, bringing the drink to his lips. “I heard it, once.”

He remembers the one time he heard it. The gentle, calming sound.

She took the knife from his hand. It was the first time she bore it, so someone else didn’t have to.

And it was for him.

He shoots the rest of his drink back.

Murphy makes a face. “I should’ve asked her to sing for me again. Just so I can remember it better.”

“I will always remember it.” Bellamy says distantly. “I hear it in my dreams.”

Murphy peers at him, tapping his fingers against the bottle of alcohol. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Bellamy looks up, the world spinning. “Say what?”

“You know what, Bellamy.” Murphy says, pouring the two of them another round. “How could you not know? After all this time?”

Bellamy looks at the drink in his hand. He knows. He knows exactly what he’s thinking of, but Bellamy has spent all his energy not asking himself that question. He sips once more.

“There was never the right moment—”

“Oh, forget that ‘right moment’ bullshit.” Murphy chuckles, rolling his eyes. “You of all people should know that we aren’t guaranteed anything other than the moments we’re in. You know that we don’t always get another day.”

“I know, Murphy.” Bellamy says.

“Do you?” Murphy asks. “Because you’ve been snapping at us every day since we got up here. I’m sorry!”

Bellamy recoils. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m sorry we’re not Clarke!”

Bellamy freezes. “What did you just say?” He murmurs, his voice verging on something dangerous.

“We aren’t Clarke.” Murphy huffs. “We’re not the person you made impossible decisions with. We’re not the person who understands you to your core. And you hate all of us for it.”

Bellamy tries not to crumble. His face screws up and his eyes water. “I don’t hate you.”

“You do—”

“I don’t.” Bellamy states, swiping the bottle from his hands. He brings it to his lips, taking a swig. “I don’t hate any of you. I-I—”

He tries to put it in words. He tries to put what he’s feeling in something understandable. Something comprehensible.

Then he realizes.

He can’t.

Because grief isn’t comprehensible.

It hurts.

And hurts.

And hurts.

Sometimes it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t teach you anything.

It merely is felt.

“I just miss her.”

It’s all he can think of. All he can say.

“I know.” Murphy states. “We all do.”

Bellamy nods. “I don’t know how to be someone when she’s not here.”

Murphy snatches the bottle back. “You never do.” He says, his eyes distant. “You never know how to move on when a part of you is missing. People become a part of you. But that’s the shitty part, you know?”

Bellamy closes his eyes. “What?”

“They can leave.”

Bellamy takes the bottle back. It’s almost empty. He wonders if they should ration it for later. But no. Today wasn’t a day for rationale.

Today was a day for drinking.

“That’s right, put it in your mouth.”

“Murphy.”

“You know you want it.”

“I would hate to kick your ass right when I was starting to like you.”

“You know you love me.” Murphy chuckles. Then he grows serious. “We’ll get through this.”

Bellamy opens his mouth, the word ‘together’ no his lips. He can’t bring himself to do it.

Instead, he brings his drink to his lips, the words he can’t say drowned in alcohol.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

From @braveprincess​ “if you’re still doing drabbles, my prompt is wellarke fluff, literally any context, let your imagination run wild!!!! im just a simple wellarke hoe’

The first night that Clarke approaches him after their reconciliation, Wells isn’t entirely sure what to do. She walks up to him, her golden hair drenched in moonlight and her expression weary, as if she’s afraid his forgiveness was of the moment and not something that he gave her ages ago. “Hey Wells,” Clarke says, her smile shy. “I had a thought.”

“Knowing you, Clarke, you have many.” He beams. “What one seems to be plaguing you tonight?”

Clarke laughs, the tension breaking right away. “You know, you and I used to talk all the time about what we would do once we got to the ground. And everything’s been so crazy and I was so busy being mad at you, you and I haven’t got a moment to enjoy it. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Wells can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. “Yes, I would like that.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can pretend he has any sort of cool. “Do you think it’s smart to go after dark?”

“It’s been quiet for a while. And honestly, what Bellamy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I’m more afraid that when he finds out, he’ll hurt us.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, offering her hand to help him to his feet. “He’s all talk. I doubt he’ll even notice we’re gone.”

“Maybe me,” Wells mutters and Clarke shoves him slightly. He stumbles for only a moment, but laughs and rights himself.

The two manage to get outside the wall without any issue. Clarke merely glares at the guards, as if challenging them to say something. When they don’t the two make their way in the woods with nothing more than the moon to guide them. “Wow, you’ve got that scary look down. Here I thought you would’ve been softened.”

“Me? Soften? Clearly you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Clarke scoffs. “If you look someone square in the eyes, they won’t make a fuss.”

“Ah, to have your confidence.”

“You could learn something from me, you know.” Clarke says. “Maybe Bellamy won’t scare you as much.”

“Bellamy does not scare me.” Wells says sheepishly and he knows that there’s no universe where it’s believable.

But he doesn’t care.

He’s here, he’s on the Ground, and Clarke is standing next to him, looking at him the way she used to. There’s nothing in this moment that can make him feel anything less than amazing.

“You know,” Clarke says softly, as if she’s afraid to say something. Which is odd, because he’s never known Clarke to be quiet when she has something on her mind. “I think our parents would really love it here.”

Wells shoots a sharp look in her direction, knowing that when she says ‘parents,’ she’s including one that will never join them. Without thinking too much of it, Wells reaches out and grabs her hand. Clarke startles at this and he tries not to be hurt by this.

“They would.” He says, giving her hand a squeeze. “They would love to see this. Which is why we’re going to get them down here. We can make that dream for anyone.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Clarke whispers. “I-I don’t know what I would do. Without a friend.”

Wells turns to her. “You’ll always have me, Clarke. I’m always here.”

Clarke’s eyes water, nodding slightly. “I know.”

He reaches out for her and wraps her in a hug, holding her tight. Wells never thought that he’d get to have this. He thought his time with Clarke was long since passed. But she’s here, in his arms, and happy. As is he. Puling away, he snorts. “Good. I was beginning to worry about your comprehension.”

“Wells!”

“I mean, I literally broke a branch of the tree for you. That’s some pretty not subtle solidarity.”

“Wells—”

“Good thing we weren’t surrounded by trees at the time. I don’t know if the message would’ve gotten across.”

“That’s it, I take it back. I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Wells laughs, wrapping an arm around Clarke and pulling her close. He puts a kiss in her hair as she holds him too as they walk, marveling at the world they never thought they’d see around them.

In this moment, he was at peace.

In this moment, he could die happy, knowing everything had been repaired.

In this moment, they were on the Ground.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

🍞

My love! I’m so sorry this has taken me so long to do this, @katkomskaikru! I hope you forgive me, love. 

I’ve given this a lot of thought because I’ve been trying to decide what baked good really spoke to me as your essence. And then I thought about something that I’ve been making for a while, and how much I love it and that it makes me think of you. You are humbow, and let me tell you why:

I grew up in Seattle and there’s this little bakery at Pike Place that makes humbow. I had my first one when I was middle school on a field trip and it literally changed my life. It’s honestly one of the best things I’ve ever eaten, and every time I go back to Washington, I fight the tourist trap that is Pike Place, specifically to get that amazing humbow. The first time I ever lived by myself, I was feeling lonely and homesick, and so I decided I would try to make humbow myself. I failed. But then I tried again and again until I managed to get the recipe as I remember eating it at Pike Place.

Humbow is a Chinese pastry filled with meat and sauce, and it honestly is like eating a hug. I’ll tell you why it reminds me of you: I like to use milk bread as my bread dough surrounding, which is a flakey, soft, and delicious bread on its own. It’s smooth and comforting, and it makes me think of you because - you were one of the first meta blogs I ever followed for the 100, and I remember just marveling at your insight and smoothness with your interpretation.

I like to fill it with a spiced meat and vegetable sauce, that has so many spices, my cabinets overflowing honestly. There’s so many flavors and spices, but it all comes together in this delicious taste - and I think of how intelligent you are, how your thoughts blend together like this beautiful sauce, so many ideas and perspectives forming into one.

When you take it out of the oven, it’s like biting into a hug. It’s warm and inviting, and I think of how you were one of the first people I met when I joined the fandom. You are wonderful and encapsulates this pastry that is rounded, warm, flavorful, and amazing. Just like you are amazing

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Congrats on 1K hon! That’s so exciting 🥳🥳🥳 please describe me as a baked good that sounds amazing 🍞

Oh my goodness, my love @little-oxford-st​! I’m so sorry this took so long, love!

As for your baked good, I’ve thought a lot about this, and you are a raspberry white chocolate cheesecake. Here’s why: You are such a warm, welcoming, sweet individual. White chocolate is one of those flavors that compliments others so well, because it’s an undercurrent of sweet in it. But the raspberry balances it out so well, because for a fruit, it has a sharp taste. That’s why I love them together and think of you: because there’s a sweetness, but also resolve and strength.

And all of this is held together by a graham cracker crust: together with butter and solid, keeping it all as one.

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

🍞 come on lindsey let's get this baked good 🍞

LET’S BAKE THIS BREAD

Oh man, Abby. My love. My woman. 

You are totally tiramisu. Let me tell you why. Tiramisu is all about layers. And everything has to be perfectly balanced. You have the layer of ladyfingers that holds the dessert together. They’re the substance. But it’s so easy to make them wrong. They have to be the base, but they have to also be light. The perfect balance. And that’s how I view your thoughts and meta - they have so much substance in them, but there’s a balance of thoughtfulness, intelligence, and (let’s be real) correctness. Then there’s the mascarpone custard - smooth, tasty, with a spot of rum. It’s your gifs, man. They’re always just so GORGEOUS. I can always tell when it’s you, I don’t even need to look at it for more than a second. You talent comes through and creates compositions that are so balanced. A literal FEAST. And then whipped cream on top with cocoa powder to create a whole layer: putting it all together to make a gorgeous dessert, filled with your talent, intelligence, thoughtfulness - with a hint of spice. I mean, rum is rum.

ILYSM <3 <3 <3

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Lindsey!! Many many congrats on 1k (though you deserve at least 6 million)! You are one of my all time favorite fic writers and I’m so glad to have you as a friend! I’m a slut for baked goods so I would love if you did the 🍞 thing for me 💕

Oh my LOVE @ravensluna ! I’m so sorry for the delay, you are just a gift and a treasure and I’ve been thinking a lot about this.

You are a blackberry and lemon scone with lemon glaze drizzled on top.

Okay, there’s a story with this one. I used to work at this coffee shop and this was one of our offerings and it was my FAVORITE thing. I don’t think I can truly express how much I love this scone. I’ve tried to recreate it because it was so good, and I discovered the trick recently - freeze the blackberries so they don’t melt into the dough!

Anyways (lol), this is why you remind me of this glorious scone, love. I have a love of blackberries because where I grew up, they grew wild and there was something about them that I would risk getting scratches for. They’re sweet and sharp and tenacious in their growing, which makes me think of you! You are such a sweet person, but you are also passionate and a force that makes the world better. And the lemon adds a crispness and freshness, that reminds me of your art, honestly. You have such beautiful graphic lines and bright colors, and I can tell you really focus on attention to detail in everything you do. 

When you bite into this scone, the sweetness of the glaze brings everything together - all the components, all the flavors. And that’s you - you’re filled with so much talent and light and fierceness and altogether talent and intelligence. You are a wonder.