jennickels: (100: bellamy)

The 100 | PG-13

Canon divergent. With the Apocalypse banging at their door, the Arkadians and what's left of Trikru take refuge in the remains of Alpha Station and hope for the best.

Over 500 souls crammed into a tin can, but there's only one that has Bellamy wrapped around her little fingers.


jennickels: (100: meet again)
I originally wrote this story in 2016. It was one of my first The 100 fics I wrote, and originally was supposed to be part of a series of five stories about Clarke and Bellamy meeting on the Ark as they grew up. Unfortunately, I only ever finished two of the stories. They've lingered on my hard drive for nearly six years. It's been long enough to know I'll probably never finish the series, so I'm posting this story and its counterpart, Spunky, to get them out in the world.

 

Eleven-year-old Bellamy Blake is on a desperate mission, but there’s one little girl standing in the way of his success. Or maybe she’s the help he’s really needing.

3130 words | [G]


Bellamy was in a hurry. The trading post would close in ten minutes, and he had to be there. He hurried through the quiet halls, his footsteps clopping loudly against the metal decking. The closer he got to the trading post, the more people in the halls. He had to slow down to weave in and out of them. A few older women gave him disapproving glares, but he ignored them. He was in a hurry—couldn’t they see that?

Finally, he pushed through the door. Many of the tables were already being folded up, traders packing their things. His heart raced. Maybe he was too late. He bit his lip as he wandered between the stands looking at the things people had to trade—bits of cloth, buttons, disassembled electronics, wire sculptures, books, tools. Lots of practical things, but not what Bellamy was looking for.

He was about to give up when he saw one last stand in the corner. A little girl dressed in a threadbare gray dress stood on tip-toes looking at the wares. She had short blond hair pulled into pigtails tied with pink ribbons. She looked to be Octavia’s age—around seven. Bellamy was eleven and knew a little about girls. They were a royal pain. He approached cautiously, eyes darting back and forth between the girl and the table.

He had lucked out. The old woman sitting behind the table smiled at him as he stared at the little trinkets and dolls. Things girls would like.

“Can I help you find anything?”

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)
Bellamy and Clarke share a quiet moment after the events in the City of Light.
1,397 words | [PG]


I wrote this story back in 2016--one of the first The 100 fics I ever wrote, but I was never satisfied with it. In an effort this year to post old, mostly-finished stories, I edited this, and I'm putting it out there as is. It's not the greatest quality, but it's finished and out in the world now. Also, not sure the title relates to the story much, but it's what I named it back then so I'm just sticking with it. I think I planned for this to be much more, but it is what it is.

 
Cleaning up is going to be hard, Bellamy thinks, looking around the throne room as confused and wounded Arkadians and Grounders alike come out of their chip-induced stupor. The blood can be washed away; wounds can be stitched, but their souls have been shattered by the things they were made to do. None of them will ever be the same. They all have demons lurking, haunting their dreams. Some more than others.

He watches Clarke leave. She said she wanted some time alone. To think. To process what had just happened. He wants to be the friend that gives her space, but he’s worried. About more than just her and what happened in the City of Light. He’s worried about how her experience will affect everyone. Honestly, he’s afraid she’ll leave again. He hates that he feels this way—that he’s scared of her walking out the door. She said they’d do things together from now on, but... And he hates that he can’t trust her the way she trusts him. Is it really so wrong that he needs some kind of reassurance after Mount Weather?

He works his way through the room, avoiding the fallen and the mourning and the devastated. In one corner, Miller is leaning against the wall, Bryan curled in his lap as Miller runs his fingers through his hair. He’s not looking very well. Bellamy’s eyes dart over to Abby, but she’s got her own mess to clean up. Kane is so wracked with guilt and whatever emotions are running through his head that he can’t move.

All around the room similar scenes repeat themselves as people recover.ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)
I originally wrote this back in April 2017 and started editing it in June 2018. Not sure why I never got around to finishing the edit or posting it.


Canon-divergent with the Ark never coming down, leaving the 100 on their own through the winter. Bellamy is on a mission, and Clarke isn’t totally sure she can trust his motives. But she knows she can trust him with her life so that has to be enough. At least, that’s what her heart is telling her.
3,834 words | [PG-13]


Clarke digs her fingers through the newly upturned earth, picking out rocks and other debris. They have onions and potatoes to plant. Across from her, Finn smiles, but then his expression darkens as a shadow passes over her.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, “I need your help with something.”

“Help with what?” she asks without so much as a glance at him.

“I found what looks like a cache of medical supplies. But I’m not sure if any of it is worth bringing back.”

That gets her attention. She cocks her head, the sun behind him, blinding her. “The stuff would be well over a hundred years old.”

He shrugs. “It was sealed up pretty tight.”

Clarke pushes a strand of hair off of her face. If the cache was sealed like the Art Supply bunker, the stuff inside could still be good. And even if the meds have gone bad, there might be other salvageable items or equipment. The hair falls back into her face, and she tries to blow it away. Unsuccessfully.

“How far away is it?”

“It’s a bit of a walk. We probably won’t get back until after dark.”

She stands up, wiping her hands on her dirty pants. “You think it’s worth it?”

He nods. “We barely made it through winter. We need all the help we can get.”

Of course, he’s right. It’s pretty much what they argued about all day yesterday—she wanted more help with planting; he wanted more help securing the fence. “Okay,” she says, wiping the strand of hair away again. “I’ll grab my bag.”

She’s filling bottles of water when Finn finds her a moment later. “You can’t seriously be going with him?”

“Why not?”

“Because yesterday he was talking about burying you with the potatoes.”

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

 
Clarke has too much blood on her hands, but Bellamy is there to help wash it away.

(This story was originally written in 2017 and has been updated for composition and clarity in 2020.)

1,280 words | [PG-13]


Clarke staggers through the trees towards the rush of water she hears in the distance. Her right hand presses against a growing pain in her side. Her left hangs limply, knife dangling from her fingertips. The noise of the river drowns out the echoing screams of death in her head.

She falls to her knees on the bank, retching until the bile erases the bitter taste of copper that stings the back of her throat.

So much blood.

It’s everywhere—staining her clothes, caking her hair, dripping from her eyelashes. She stares at her hands—sticky with red—until they blur behind a curtain of tears. She thrusts her hands into the freezing water, scrubbing her skin raw, but the red isn’t going away.
Her chest seizes up as another sob wracks her.

It’s not my blood.

“Clarke?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or terrified that it’s Bellamy that followed her. She goes back to scrubbing the blood from her hands. Bellamy squats next to her, pulling her hands from the water to hold between his. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and wipes a line of blood trickling from her temple.

“What do I do?” she whispers. “I can’t get it off.”

He looks down at her hands. “They’re clean, Clarke.”

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)
Canon divergent. After a year on the ground, Bellamy and Clarke are finally ready to confront their feelings. As long as Bellamy doesn’t break his neck first.

(This story was originally written in 2017 and has been updated for composition and clarity in 2020.)

1,461 words | [PG]

By Clarke’s calculations, they’ve been on the ground for around 380 days. It’s the end of September. Or maybe it’s early October. It’s hard to tell. The chill of autumn has chased away the sweltering heat of July and August, but summer is making a last stand. The sun that filters through the treetops tickles her skin, leaving little goosebumps down her arms. She glances to her side—those might be from another reason, though.

Next to her, Bellamy’s hair flutters around his head in the warm breeze. He repeatedly shoves it out of his eyes with a huff, but it does no good. Watching him try makes her grin.

“You need a haircut.”

He snorts. “Thinking of making a career change to hairstylist, princess?” he asks without any of his usual derision. He shoots her a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and releases a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Clarke looks away before he can see her blush. She’d never hear the end of it. If there was one thing Bellamy was good at it was teasing her. He knew how to push all of her buttons. Which, she has to admit, isn’t always a bad thing. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him still smiling. It looks good on him. She wishes he would do it more often. “Why are you in such a good mood?

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t believe his innocent act for a second. And she’s not going to fall for his charm. Not much anyway. She narrows her eyes at him, hoping she looks more stern and less like he has her insides doing gymnastics. “You’re acting weird. What are you up to?”

“Are you always this suspicious?”

“When it comes to you—yes.”

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)


Bellamy gets more than he bargained for during a hail storm. Like a wet, angry, sobbing Clarke in his tent.

(This story was originally written in 2017 and has been updated for composition and clarity in 2020.)

1,817 words | [PG]



The rain came out of nowhere—the kind that drowns out all other sound and pulverizes the ground into a muddy mess in seconds. And to think, Bellamy used to like the rain. Thought it was magical and refreshing that first night on the ground. Now he just feels wet. He throws open the flap to his tent, grumbling about rain and mud and anything else he can think to curse. 

They’ve been on the ground less than two weeks and have already endured a hurricane and countless other storms. He’s tired of being cold and wet all of the time. His jacket catches on his arms when he tries to take it off. He slams it onto the ground in frustration when he finally gets unstuck then runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes with a sigh. He really, really hates being wet.

Peeling off his soaked t-shirt, he leaves it in the pile with his jacket. The tent flap suddenly catches in the wind, letting in a blast of freezing rain just as something plinks against the roof. The sound turns harder. Like a thrumming. Hail, he realizes. Terrific. He’s a foot from closing the flap when something slams into him. Something solid, wet, and with golden hair.

Bellamy looks down at Clarke plastered to his front. He’s not quite sure what to do about this. His body has a few ideas that he’s trying to ignore, though. He steps back.

Clarke’s gaze drifts up slowly, taking in his exposed abs and chest. She’s totally checking him out—her expression going from bewilderment to curiosity to mortification. He smirks when her eyes finally meet his. Her cheeks are scarlet. So are the tips of her ears that peek through the stringy wet mess of hair. She opens and closes her mouth like a little fish. It’s adorable.

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)



Three years after settling on New Earth, Bellamy and Octavia finally find themselves at ease with life and looking forward to the future. 

1079 words | [G]


The little cabin sat on a hill surrounded by fields of wild grass and towering trees. It was small—only three rooms with a wide front porch and a vegetable garden out back. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Bellamy. It was more than he’d ever had in his entire life.


He reclined on the porch swing—his newest addition to the house—swaying lazily while he watched the sun set over the town below. A lot had changed in the last three years, mostly for the good, and they’d finally started to settle down. Started to accept New Earth as home.

The door creaked open. “I made lemonade,” Clarke said. “Or what passes for lemonade. Are those things even lemons if they’re purple?”

Bellamy laughed and accepted the cup of violet sugar water. Clarke eased down next to him, her belly pulling at her ill-fitting clothes. Any day now, they’d be adding a new addition. He kissed the side of her head. “If you want to call them lemons then they’re called lemons.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You’re the princess so you get to name everything.”

Clarke leaned away to see his face better. “So we’re going with Hope if it’s a girl then?” she said with a smirk.

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

 

A year after waking up light years from Earth, Bellamy and Clarke have a quiet moment and make some decisions.
545 words | [G]



“Penny for your thoughts, princess?”

Clarke started, nearly falling from her perch on the irrationally large boulder. Bellamy easily hauled himself up to sit next to her. They stared out into the valley below that the four hundred ten survivors were slowly converting to a real community. A lot had changed in the year since they arrived at New Earth. Clarke glanced at Bellamy, her heart fluttering. And some things hadn’t changed at all.

“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” she finally answered.

“When don’t you?”

Clarke ignored his dig. “Raven says she should have the generators repaired by tonight so lights. Diyoza and her gang are clearing the north pasture tomorrow. That Kennedy guy loves his explosions so it shouldn’t take long. My mom said-”

“I didn’t come up here to talk business, Clarke,” Bellamy said softly. “I get enough of that headache down there. I came up here to-” He trailed off.

“Think?” she said with a knowing smirk.

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

When Bellamy and Clarke get stuck in the mud, it's finally time to have a conversation that's been brewing far too long.
2585 words | PG-13



Bellamy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He leaned forward, scowling at the pounding rain. The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up, making it almost impossible to see. Next to him, Clarke stared out her window like she didn’t have a care in the world. This was her fault. He told her coming out here was a mistake. They should have waited until the clouds passed. But she insisted they needed to go now. So here he was, driving through a freaking monsoon. Because Clarke always got what Clarke wanted.

“We need to stop,” he said, not looking at her.

“What? No, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not going to make it in one piece in this storm. I can’t see where I’m going.”

She craned her neck to see out the front window. “Just stay on the road.”

“What road?” His voice raised an octave. “There’s no road, Clarke. Just mud.”

“We can’t go back. We’re so close.”

Bellamy ground his teeth. “I didn’t say go back. I said we need to stop and wait out the storm.”

She glared out her window, arms crossed defensively over her chest. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was pouting. She was obviously pissed.

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)



An accident takes something from Bellamy that he can never get back, but he has Clarke to get him through.

1597 words | [PG]



It hurts. Everywhere. Bellamy’s vision blurs. Sound is muffled by the fog in his head. He tries to roll, but it sends a stab of pain across his chest.

Ribs broken then.

He moans, getting the attention of whoever is with him.

“Don’t try to move.”

“Clarke?” he croaks. “What-”

Her hands press his shoulders down gently, but he’s too weak to fight her anyway. “Just stay calm and don’t move.”

She’s using her stern doctor voice. It’s a step away from her I’m-going-to-shoot-you-in-the-head-if-you-don’t-listen voice. He rests his head back as everything spins.

“You’re doing great,” she says—softly this time. “Real good.”

He’s so confused. “Is that a surprise?”

She blinks at him. “Do you remember what happened?”

He searches his memory for something. Anything. It’s all blank. He shakes his head slightly, sending waves of pain down his neck. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion.” She leans over him so he can see her face without moving. “You were hurt by the flying debris.”

“I don’t remember-”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

Now she’s scaring him. “Clarke-”

“Just stay still.”

“Why?”

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jennickels: (100: wink)
 
1780 words | [PG]

Things would run a lot smoother in camp if people would just get their heads out of their asses and listen to Clarke. And by “people” she means Bellamy.
Takes place in the first weeks on the ground but without them ever contacting the Ark.


The sun breaks through the canopy of leaves, dappling the ground in pools of light and shadow, and a warm breeze flutters Clarke’s hair as she strolls down the ramp of the dropship. She’s been making rounds all morning—checking on the other kids to see if anyone needs anything—and there’s just one name left on her list.

Clarke finds Bellamy a few minutes later, following the sound of thwacking she hears in the distance. She watches him from the cover of the trees as he uses his hatchet to carve a little wedge out of one side of a tree. He pauses long enough to pull off his shirt, dabbing at his sweaty face, before he goes to work on the other side of the trunk.

She tries not to stare, but she’s suddenly overly fascinated with the way his muscles move under his skin. Her heart rate kicks up a notch. Not something she wants. This is Bellamy after all.

He spins the hatchet in his hand, glaring at the tree. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he says suddenly.

Clarke jumps—embarrassed at being caught. He shoots her a satisfied smirk then slams the hatchet into the tree once more. A good kick sends it toppling. When he doesn’t say anything else, Clarke clears her throat, coming a few steps closer.

Bellamy picks up his bottle of water and sucks it dry. “What do you want? Besides to ogle me?”“Don’t flatter yourself,” she mutters, but she’s sure her flaming face gives her away. She didn’t come to get into a fight, though. “I was just checking on you.”

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jennickels: (100: meet again)
 638 words | [PG]

The morning before Bellamy and Lincoln make their daring attempt to infiltrate Mt. Weather, Bellamy has a quiet moment with Clarke. He doesn't know what to say to her anymore, but he's tired of pretending he doesn't care. 


Bellamy pulls the worn shirt over his head. The fabric stretches across his chest. He’s not sure where they found these clothes, but half are too small, and the other half are too big. He looks ridiculous, but it’s the best plan they have. As much as he pushed to go on this mission, he has to admit he’s terrified. He’s not sure what scares him more—the Reapers or the Mountain Men. Either way, he’s sure this is going to get messy.

The flap to the tent opens behind him. Clarke. He cocks his head to let her know it’s okay to come in while he tugs on the Grounder boots. Too big. He feels like a clown. Clarke’s gaze burns into his neck, but he continues to tie his shoes as slowly as possible. He’s not sure what to say to her. Things have been so crazy the last few days, and his emotions are all over the place with this mission coming up. He wishes he could read her mind so they could skip the inevitable awkward conversation.

Finally, he can’t stall any longer. He looks up at her, and damn, if she doesn’t look small. Like a kid. He doesn’t like thinking of her that way. She’s too strong, but right now she looks tiny and frightened.

“Clarke?”

ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

The 100 | 590 words | PG
Things are running smoother on the ground thanks to Clarke's effect on Bellamy.



They've been on the ground two weeks. Despite the constant threat of grounder attack, Bellamy thinks things are running a lot smoother. Working with Clarke instead of against her probably helps the most. He went from avoiding her to seeking her out for her opinion on just about everything. She always makes him see things from a different perspective. Which is a good thing because his brain seems to only want to see things a certain way. His way.

He's man enough to admit that the first few days on the ground were a disaster. Looking back, he's surprised more kids didn't die. The thought chills him. They've already lost so many. Too many. But with Clarke's help, they finally have things under control. Mostly.

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest and watches the two boys hammer out some difference. With their fists. Henry and Justin. Both fifteen. He has a feeling this fight has been brewing since long before they landed on the ground. He's tired of playing referee with these kids so he stands back and does nothing.

ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)
The 100 | 1454 words | [PG]
Canon divergent. After a year on the ground, Bellamy and Clarke are finally ready to confront their feelings. As long as Bellamy doesn’t break his neck first.



By Clarke’s calculations, they’ve been on the ground for around 380 days. It’s the end of September. Or maybe it’s early October. It’s hard to tell. The chill of autumn has chased away the sweltering heat of July and August, but summer is making a last stand. The sun that filters through the treetops tickles her skin, leaving little goosebumps down her arms. She glances to her side—those might be from another reason, though.

Next to her, Bellamy’s hair flutters around his head in the warm breeze. He repeatedly shoves it out of his eyes with a huff, but it does no good. Watching him try makes her grin.

“You need a haircut.”

He snorts. “Thinking of making a career change to hair stylist, princess?” he asks without any of his usual derision. He shoots her a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and releases a swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

[Bellamy/Clarke]
Canon divergent. With a brutal winter ahead, Bellamy realizes there might be more than friendship growing between him and Clarke. 1539 words | [PG]


Bellamy gets back to camp late. It’s hard to tell the exact time with it getting dark so early, but he figures it must be after nine. The sun went down long ago, and it’s abysmally cold. He blows into his hands, trying to warm his numb fingers. Two fires are burning, but the space around them is empty of their usual laughing kids.

Sterling and two of the other guys he’s with make a beeline for the fire, practically holding their hands in the flames. The other three high-tail it into the dropship. Raven and Monty are still working to get the heat going, but eighty-something bodies crammed into a tin can keeps them warm enough for now. It’s better than being outside anyway.

It’d taken all day, but they’d finally buried the three they lost last night--Edith, Jerome, and Bennett. Edith was only fourteen and down here for talking back to a teacher. He shakes his head. He still can’t believe what they did to these kids. Sure, some of them were hardened criminals. There were killers and rapists among them, but most of the kids were arrested for petty stuff—shoplifting, fist fights, hoarding. It’s almost as if they knew they needed the bodies to fill the dropship so they arrested the kids for anything. Bastards.

 

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)





[Bellamy/Clarke]
An alternate scene in episode 1.07. Clarke and Bellamy disagree on how to handle the captured Lincoln. Because there’s no coming back once you cross that line.
690 words | rating: PG-13



“There are things you do, and things you don’t do,” Clarke said, voice full of righteous indignation. “And this crosses the line.”

Bellamy stepped into her space. She stumbled back—uncertainty replacing the disapproval on her face. “And who decides where that line is? You?”

Her eyes darted to the grounder tied up behind him. “This is wrong, and you know it.”

Bellamy lowered his voice so only she could hear. “All I know is that I have to protect this camp. That’s what everyone wants, right?”

“This isn’t the way to do it.”

“Then tell me what is the right way. What am I supposed to do here?”

ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)
Clarke has too much blood on her hands, but Bellamy is there to help wash it away.

1272 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke staggers through the trees towards the rush of water she hears in the distance. Her right hand presses against a growing pain in her side. Her left hangs limply, knife dangling from her fingertips. The noise of the river drowns out the echoing screams of death in her head.

She falls to her knees on the bank, retching until the bile erases the bitter taste of copper that stings the back of her throat.

So much blood.

It’s everywhere—staining her clothes, caking her hair, dripping from her eyelashes. She stares at her hands—sticky with red—until they blur behind a curtain of tears. She thrusts her hands into the freezing water, scrubbing her skin raw, but the red isn’t going away.

ExpandRead more... )
jennickels: (100: meet again)

Bellamy contemplates the first forty days on the ground with Clarke.
462 words | rating: PG


Forty days. That's all it's been. It seems longer. A lifetime.

Only forty days?

Bellamy watches Clarke from the corner of his eye as they march back to Tondc for what feels like the hundredth time this week. She's been quiet. Withdrawn since Finn's death. Bellamy gets that. They were friends. She cared about Finn. Loved him, maybe. And she had to kill him. That takes a toll on anyone. And Clarke's emotions run pretty near the surface.

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jennickels: (100: bellamy/clarke)

[Bellamy/Clarke]
Set not long after s1e10 (I Am Become Death). Clarke is left to clean up the dropship on her own, but Bellamy thinks there’s something more important that she should be doing. 

886 words | rating: PG

 



Bellamy finds Clarke inside the dropship. She kneels next to the last two sick kids and helps them sip some water. Less than twelve hours ago that was him lying on the floor near death. A tremor works through him at the memory. He’d never been so scared in his life.

When the kids have had their fill, she makes them comfortable, wiping blood from their faces and whispering comforting words. Then she picks up a bucket and starts scrubbing at the floor. He looks down at the dark stain by his feet. The floor is covered in them, and the smell of death hangs heavy in the air.

ExpandRead more... )

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