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Chapter 1: Know Joy |
Josephine couldn't be far behind her. Clarke makes a sharp, right turn, entering another set of iron-welded doors that materialize for her. She comes to a standstill in the middle of the room, awestruck, gaping at the throne room of Polis. The room is filled with brightly lit windows, tapestries made of fur and sheer, purple material, and dirt-flecked floors. A man crouches on the stair-dais leading up to the Commander's throne, gazing up at it purposefully and broodingly, drumming his fingers against his outer leg. |
"Bellamy?" Clarke speaks up, bemused, as he leaps up, grinning in her direction. Bellamy's expression softens. "You made it," he says, short-winded from relief. His beard, dark and scratchy, presses against Clarke's skin when Bellamy hugs her, tucking his chin into her shoulder. The warmth coming off him is dizzying. "Thought I'd be waiting here forever." |
Clarke separates from him, glancing over his buckled, black, and ratty clothing, and frowning. It's all from Sanctum. "Stop. This isn't real," she says. Bellamy chuckles, low and rumbling, his thumb swiping over the edge of Clarke's jaw. "Is that really what you want to talk about?" he asks, humored and impish. "How about 'I'm so glad I'm not dead, Bellamy'? Or 'I'm so glad you're not dead, Bellamy'?" |
Her stomach gives a gentle, knowing somersault, and Clarke's pulse quickens. "I need to go…" she insists, turning for a door, any door. But instead, a woman with long, braided hair approaches and blocks the way, regal and upright. Lexa's hairline and temples are scrubbed clean of her war-paint, and dried blood is caked over her sternum. "Hello, Klark," she says. |
"No… …" Clarke's voice leaves her in a gasping, high sob. She shakes her head wildly, trembling so hard that Bellamy's hand steadies her lower back. Clarke's blue, tear-filled eyes squeeze shut. "Please… please, don't do this to me…" she begs. "*Shhh*…" Lexa whispers, calmly wrapping one of her arms around her. Her lips quirking up slowly. Clarke feels Lexa's palm cradling the back of her skull, urging them to close the distance, touching their foreheads. She's so solid, real, and so, so real. And Clarke doesn't know what to do but to hiccup-sob against Lexa's neck. "It's alright. You're safe now," Lexa says. |
It's all happening in Clarke's head, tormenting her. Clarke rules her own mind-space, and she somehow cannot get it together long enough to… … "Listen to me, Clarke," Bellamy interrupts firmly, drawing her attention. "You don't have to run away from this. We said we would find a home together, for all of us…" Clarke stares helplessly, between Lexa's searching, secretive look and Bellamy, tightly clutching onto her hand, rubbing consolingly to the top of her shoulder. "Don't you want that too…?" he asks. |
"Bellamy…" Clarke says. "*Ai laik kom yu*," Lexa murmurs, her words falling over Clarke like a gentle breeze, full of admiration. "*Yu laik kom me gon hogeda aiBIamBradцуз với sonraun*," Lexa continues, placing her mouth to Clarke's lips, over and over. |
Clarke wants to kiss her back, releasing a quivery breath and feeling cool, harsh air on her flesh. She stands between Lexa and Bellamy, naked as their sins, as their own warm, dizzying flesh. Bellamy's grime-smudged fingers wipe off her tears. She heard the word 'queer' described as wrong, strange, and offensive. But it is who she is… she loves both women and men… she always will. |
"*Beja nou bants… ai hod yu in*," she begs, shutting her eyes again when Lexa and Bellamy whisper Clarke's name in unison. Clarke feels herself going to her knees, panting against Bellamy's opening mouth, and then Lexa's front, bestowing spit-sticky kisses to one of her breasts. She chokes out deliriously when a moaning, perspiring Bellamy wrings a hand roughly to Clarke's frail and pale neck. The blinding, heightened sensation nearly whites out her vision. Lexa observes her, smirking, no longer covered in her own nightblood, running her hands over Clarke's hips teasingly and along the insides of Clarke's thighs. |
"Never," they answer Clarke's pleas, like a reprieve, like a curse and a prayer-soaked omen. |
The 100 isn't mine. I know this is a fairly controversial ship to toy around with, but believe me, I wouldn't want it to be canon. I'm not going to express my preference for what I actually want, and I'm going to leave this at... I hope you all enjoy. Any curious wanderer or the people who ship Bellarke/Clexa equally. |
This is not a threesome. Lexa is a lesbian and she does not want Bellamy, who is a cisgendered man. You are looking more at a poly vee-relationship with Clarke as the focal point. |
It is 30 Days of NSFW but LGBT+ Pride edition, where every single day is a LGBT+ identity that a character embodies or a relationship does, using the focus/perspective of the story. It's either going to be canon or fanon. It is Day 24, which is "Queer," and yeah, Clarke is. She is canon bisexual. |
Along with this from the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, this is also Day 24, which is "breathplay," and this is a prompt table I'm using for June. |
If you enjoyed reading this, I would love to hear any comments or thoughts you had. Also, are you LGBT+ too? How are you celebrating Pride Month this year? |
And when she opens her eyes, Clarke kneels by herself, dressed in her prison clothes and sobbing, among her memory-drawings. |
Genre: tv |
100 |
Long Chain of Iron |
CHAPTER 1: Long Chain of Iron |
As always, I don't own anything. Please enjoy and review. |
"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day." – Charles Dickens |
Bellamy could define his life by a 'before' and an 'after'. There was a time before, before the dance, Octavia's imprisonment, and his mother's floating, where he had been happy. Even at seven, he withdrew from all friendships, all too aware that if people became interested in his life, it could have disastrous consequences for his family. |
When he became older – and more comfortable with lying – he still withdrew from his peers. This had more to do with Octavia than any adversity to dishonesty – it had never seemed fair that he should stay away from home longer than necessary when she had never even been allowed to leave. |
After, he couldn't stand the silence and spent his first paycheck as a janitor on moonshine. He found the locations of the underground dens – often ironically labeled 'speakeasies', in honor of some older Earth tradition. That's when he discovered he was considered attractive to others. |
He knew he was in good physical condition – continuing the fitness training he did as a guard kept him from returning to the empty room – apparently, this and his looks made him approachable to others. He learned to smile, to charm, to woo, and his first sexual experience was lost to a haze of alcohol and fumbling hands. |
He did his best to return to his room either too tired to think, blind drunk, or busy tugging the shirt off another human body. It never made him feel much in particular, but that was the point – if he had energy to think, he could easily picture his mother's corpse, floating in space, or imagine Octavia, locked away once again. |
He'd been considering the best way to get drunk when he came back to his room – not home anymore – on the day that would turn out to be his final one on the Ark. He was momentarily caught off guard, remembering a time when the room was full of life and quiet laughter, before Shumway offered his deal, and before Bellamy could even consider the ramifications, he was shooting the Chancellor and on his way to Earth. |
His life changed to a new 'before' and 'after', divided by the moment he failed his family. He considered Earth a second chance to protect Octavia, to fulfill his responsibilities, and to do this, he needed to be alive. He needed to stop the Arkers from coming. Self-preservation and his goals were suddenly aligned. |
On the ground, he did things he never thought he could. When he questioned, he doubted, he thought of Octavia, and how he already murdered a Chancellor, he accepted the path that he was on. But the doubts still lingered in the quiet of the night, so when Earth's trials hadn't exhausted him, he used another body to help him forget, to stay on course. |
It also helped that for the first time in his life, Bellamy felt like he was doing something he was meant to. He found he liked to lead, to have others look up to him and follow him. It was intoxicating. |
His reasoning, reassurances for his actions fell apart quickly. Learning that he had not killed Jaha caused the doubt to rise again, enamored by the idea he wasn't as terrible as he thought. Then Octavia dismissed him, claiming she had never asked for his help. |
Tying Atom to the tree, kicking the chair out from under Murphy, stealing the radio, it had seemed almost noble when he rationalized it. *It was for Octavia.* He was almost like a hero in a story, doing all he could for his family. Shooting the Chancellor had been the first step, and he had considered that there was no turning back after then. |
Without the excuses, what was he? Without his sister, who was Bellamy Blake? Suddenly he was seven years old again, lost and confused with no answer in sight. |
*I'm a monster.* |
The conclusion was easy. And horrifying. Monsters and men should not mix, of all the stories he'd heard, that only ended in tragedy. |
*I need you.* |
Maybe he could be something more, a leader, maybe even good. And Bellamy tried. |
He tried to lead his people to safety, to make the right call, no matter how hard the choice might be. Again and again, he was confronted by another one of his people dead, and he almost wished the next body to drop would be his, so he would be no longer crushed under the weight of responsibility. |
He pushed himself every day in the hope that some time in the future, it might all seem worth it. Bellamy Blake was nothing if not stubborn, and he knew very well that this may be his last chance to do something good with his life, to get his name in the history books for something other than 'whatever the hell we want'. |
His life had a new before and after, and his path was harder than anything he'd previously done. But Bellamy never looked back. |
Genre: tv |
100 |
Merry Christmas, Clexa! |
*Chapter 1: Merry Christmas, Clexa!* |
When Lexa arrived at Camp Jaha one day, she was met with a large tree in the center. It had been cut down and carefully placed there, and Lexa thought the Sky People silly for thinking a tree could still grow after being ripped from its roots. She thought of telling Clarke, but when she spotted her, her eyes glowed with such joy and a beautiful smile spread across her face as she looked up at the tree. Lexa could not break her spirit. A few Sky People surrounded the tree, some even climbing up and placing strange artifacts on the branches. Lexa tilted her head in both confusion and amusement. |
"Lexa!" Clarke called out excitedly when she saw the Commander. |
"Hello, Clarke," Lexa greeted her softly, a small smile on her lips. |
"Are you here on business or pleasure?" Clarke wondered, secretly hoping it would be the latter. |
"All business with you is pleasure," Lexa replied cleverly, making Clarke's eyes light up. "May I ask you something, Clarke?" The question came out serious, almost nervous. |
"Of course," Clarke replied, leaning in with a worried expression. Was something wrong? |
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