I thought I was going to hate Bellamy calling Clarke princess again. I thought it would feel like fanservice or ancient history.

I was so wrong. That line was delivered with such self-awareness; Bellamy knows they’re not the Princess and the King anymore. They’re not two kids in over their heads. They’re not at the dropship anymore. But they do still have each other by their sides against the oncoming storm, and something about that is comfortingly familiar. So that nickname just feels like a reminder, like saying, “we’ve done this before and we can do this again.” Like saying, “when we’re together, nothing is impossible.”

So princess, what now?

We survive.

Clarke broke because every decision like this she’s made has been WITH Bellamy.

She closed the dropship door knowing he wanted her to.

She pulled the lever in mt weather with him by her side.

She pulled the lever in the COL thinking about him and that gave her the strength she needed.

Bellamy looking at her and saying this ISN’T the same as those and this time I’m NOT with you, she couldn’t do it. She’s never been able to do it without him.

  • Tracer: (Presenting a dropship to the new members of the Overwatch team) Well folks, here she is, the Orca!
  • Symmetra: Why’s it called that?
  • Tracer: Well, because it’s big and kind of round?
  • Symmetra: But it looks nothing like an Orca. Orca are not white and they don’t fly.
  • Lucio: Really it ought to be named after a bird.
  • D.VA: Yeah, if anything it’s more like a pelican. They’re big and white.
  • Tracer: We can’t call the dropship a pelican, there are laws! And it looks nothing like one!
  • Symmetra: Against calling a dropship a pelican?
  • D.VA: Pretty sure those copyrights have expired by now.
  • Tracer: Look, it’s not a pelican, okay? It’s an Orca!
  • Symmetra: It still doesn’t look like an Orca.
  • D.VA: And that was copyrighted too, by the way.
  • Tracer: It's not a pelican!
  • Reaper: What are they doing?
  • Widowmaker: They’re having an argument, in front of a dropship. It’s big and white.
  • Reaper: Like a pelican?
  • Widowmaker: Yes, exactly.
  • Submitted by ask-honey-blossom

do you ever get sad thinking about how bellamy blake had exactly zero people on the ark that were there for him, and the only thing in his life was taking care of his sister. he spent his entire time protecting her, but no one was ever protecting him. no one cared what happened to him or where he ended up.

and then he came down to earth. and then clarke griffin happened. clarke griffin who tried to keep the dropship door open because she needed him to make it inside. clarke griffin who didn’t want him to go on a rescue mission into mount weather at first because she didn’t want to lose him. clarke griffin who cried and begged roan to let him live and she would willingly go with roan to what she believed to be her death, because she wanted him to live. clarke griffin who flat out told him he would be in that bunker. clarke griffin who wrote his name on that list. clarke griffin who time after time comforted him. clarke griffin who told him he has a good heart. clarke griffin who saw him and loved him.

because sometimes I think about that and get sad.

100 reasons to watch The 100

1. That BC scenery

2. Seeing people experience rain for the first time it’s so cute

3. Octavia’s goddess-like hair in the first season

4. Bellamy Blake’s half smile

5. Monty’s expert clap backs

6. They all get high off hallucinogenic nuts


8. trees and mountains and nature

9. Badass women

10. Raven saving the day, agin , again, and again

11. Monty putting up with people’s shit


13. Miller. Just Miller in general

14. Murphy’s sarcastic comments

15. P.A.I.N

16. Long speeches about survival

17. “Nothing like a little pain to remind you you’re alive”

18. Watch Raven save everybody and continue to be the most badass woman while getting fucked over by everyone and by Jrat again and again and again

19. “I can make it go boom”

20. Clarke’s pretty drawings

21. Bellamy’s character development

22. The Blakes.

23. Wells.

24. Monty’s wink

25. Monty and Jasper’s high five

26. You’ll go damn when Anya and Clarke jump off a dam

27. Bellarke development

28. “Together”

29. “I can’t lose you too”

30. “Love is weakness”

31. Clexa

32. Clexa (cus they were fucking amazing)

33. Finn pulling Clarke into the water

34. “I am become death, destroyer of worlds”

35. Everybody gets super sick

36. Murphy you creepy mother fucker

37. Murphy you amazing mother fucker

38. Uh oh Finn gone crazy

39. Pew pew! Bang bang!

40. A series of misunderstandings between grounders and sky people


42. “Who we are, and who we need to be to survive, are very different things”

43. ALIE’s mansion

44. Murphy dancing around and drinking such a babe

45. Fuck jaha

46. “You always did what you had to do to protect your sister, that’s who you are!”



49. Two headed dear


51. Linctavia being amazing

52. Bellarke flirting

53. They’re so busy fighting and surviving to take two minutes to wash their faces

54. Jasper’s goggles

55. Anya’s badass dead stare

56. “What happened?” “I happened”

57. Raven experiencing earth for the first time

58. Every mention of princess

59. “Maybe you’re forgetting the last time you were saving us, I WAS SAVING YOU!”

60. Richard Harmons acting

61. You get to watch the blooper reels at the end of every season

62. “Maybe life should be about more than just surviving

63. So many beautiful people

64. Bellarke shit

65. Revisiting the dropship seasons later

66. drunk Jasper

67. Those few times clarke ever smiles

68. Lexa twirling her knife

69. The Kane and Indra friendship

70. Bellamy Blake and his guns

71. Bellamy Blake and his GUNS (y'all know what I’m talking about)

72. “What’s wrong with a little chaos?”

73. Every bellarke hug

74. Monty and Jasper eating chocolate cake for the first time

75. Maya showing Jasper paintings

76. Emori shutting up those shitheads in the city of light when they told her she could fix her deformities, and she’s like “I’d fixed something if there was anything wrong with me”


78. Bellamy Blake adopting every child he sees

79. Lindsey Morgan

80. Candles somehow being lit at romantic times??

90. How does Clarke keep saving the world with her hair down like that??

91. Bellamy’s hair flips

92. Indra is a goddess. The goddess.

93. The delinquents listening to music as they drive around

94. Clarke somehow knowing how to drive the rover despite never being around when it was in use??

95. “If I’m on that list, you’re on that list”

96. Kane’s dad talks

97. Anya biting the fucking chip out of her fucking arm like the biggest badass to ever live

98. “I give myself to the miracle of the sea”

99. Luna is the miracle of the sea

100. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground… May we meet again.”

anonymous asked:

I don't know why I'm having such a hard time finding this one. It's S1 Dropship Post-Murphy-Banishment and Murphy starts sneaking back into the camp at night to steal and/or threaten Clarke, so Bellamy insists she stay in his tent with him.


Thanks to the anon that found this fic! :)

Second Chances//The 100

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

fem!Reader x Bellamy Blake (eventually, maybe)

Words: 894

Fandom: The 100

Disclaimer: I own no one or anything

        You sat in your cell block, on your tiny twin bed, separated from the rest of the Ark by metal bars. Your hands held on to an old, old book. It was so old that it was hand written, dating back to the 1950s. It was the oldest book on the ark, and it was yours.

        The elegant handwriting that was scribbled across the pages held stories and poems from a man by the name “James.” There was no last name, so you only knew him as James, a seemingly average man, a nobody. 

        You hadn’t finished it, it was maybe the largest notebook you had ever seen. As if he was trying to fit decades and decades of stories in the now faded book that you treasured. You did memorize what you had read, in case the guards ever took it from you for some reason.

        The guards let you keep it because it was just a piece of trash to the Ark. There was no significance to it, just that it was old. But it held all of the more significance to you. You often said,”What is one mans trash, is another girl’s treasure.” 

        One day as you continued to read the journal, a guard came to your cell block and snatched it from your small hands. You screamed for him to give it back, but all he did was throw it, causing a bang to ring throughout the cell as the book hit the wall before falling to the ground. You tried to reach the book, but the guard grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the precious journal.

Keep reading

Okay, a bit more on the violent, semi-pessimistic, more stereotypically Orcish side of things. Possible triggers. Graphic. R-word.

A bit of backstory to this little hypothesis: Humans figured out our differences somehow. Terrorism peaked, religions crumbled, and we had one REEEAAALLY big bad bloody war. Lots of people died. Man’s inhumanity to man. Rape, humiliation, genocide, slaughter of innocents, Armageddon, Ragnarök. That sort of thing. We vowed through accords and treaties, even in the colonization of other worlds and systems (and any conflicts that may result from such) we would seek to end things peacefully, because everyone’s just so tired. They don’t want to spill blood anymore. They vow to protect their societies and their children from such horrors ever again, and never visit such a low point ever again for the sake of humanity. Call it the Blooding Years. Makes the World Wars, Holocaust and the Crusades look tame.

Jump forward a few hundred or good thousand years.

Race really isnt a thing anymore, save for a few varied vestigal traits here and there. People are still spiritual and have faiths and superstitions, and we have made our peace with nature and spirituality, but organized religion itself is something mostly relegated to our bloody past. Although we put the Blooding Years behind us, something so profound is sure to leave some marring and scars on the general psyche of a people, even generations down the line. We are as peaceful as we can be, despite gallows humor and general mental maladjustment taking a spike in recent generations. So, in short, we’re just a bunch of vaguely beige space monkeys with twitchy temperaments trying to be peaceful and stuff.

We have spread to a few systems outside Sol. We’ve contacted a handful of species out in the stars. Xenophobia was a thing, but we’re getting over it. We have a few ‘hybrid’ systems where we coexist, a la [insert sci-fi title here] style. Aliens are learning to like us for our resilency and hard work, but having learned from our history (which was liberally gifted to those among them that would read it), they give us a wide berth, despite keeping steady trade and peaceful relations.

And then, as the old saying goes, shit happens.

A bunch of genocidal xenophobic maniacs come out of nowhere and decide “WE OWN THIS SHIT, AND YOU ARE AN AFFRONT TO GARGASCHMARGAL THE BLOODY! YOU MUST BE [insert evil villain endgame here] !!!” and essentially try to out-Space-Orc the Space Orcs. The Galactic Union, or whatever the assembly of alien races view themselves as (and with which we are allied with but decide not to unify with) launch an offensive! They fight! They clash! In the words of Willem Dafoe, “THERE WAS A FIRE FIGHT!”

Annnnd they lose. Horribly. Entire fleets are laid waste. Worlds fall. Star systems crumble. Trillions die.

And then, after their bloody campaign, having beaten back even the forces bolstered by humans, and after enslaving or euthanizing any other people that stood before them, they arrived at the doorstep to human space, and after a gorefest, essentially Hiroshima a garden world. Eden-in-the-Wind.

-cue the seriousness-

Word got back to Earth, Inner, and Outer Colonies. Eden-in-the-Wind is gone. Dust. Vids came back from the now-dead world. Women and children executed. People being eaten as they are simultaneously being used for sexual pleasure. An infant used as a soccer ball. Skulls with still-bleeding vertebra dangling from belts.

Mayhem bore its crown. The wolf stirred. And Hell reigned.

Those allied aliens that remained and sought refuge on human worlds watched in horror as formal governments dissolved, treaties were burnt, and every human down to the last howled into the winds. We embraced the ways of old. We broke hockey sticks for impromptu spears. We cannibalized vehicles for their precious metal, so that they could have blades to drink blood with. We melted down memorials, so that we could have bullets to slay foes with. We renamed our ships, which served as names of peace and progress and remembrance. They now beared the names of hatred, and death, and destruction; Sathanna, Gehena, Lucifer, Ragnarök, Deluge, Armageddon, Uziel, Uoke, Shiva.

What once was an organized military force was now a hodge-podge fleet of battleships, cargo ships, carriers, dreadnoughts, and even civilian transports. Children carried rifles. Mothers carried swords. Fathers carried axes. Brothers and sisters exchanged spears and pistols. Bitter neighbors mended fences in the name of vengeance. The wheel turned once more, and the wolf within no longer stirred, but ruthlessly hunted, awoken by the stench of blood and gore.

The ships more or less crash, stead of land. We find whatever worlds these bugs have taken, and fall upon it as a horde of foaming teeth.

Allied aliens deemed it appropriate to seek revenge alongside, but were appaled by the horror that humanity was so easy and ready to visit upon these foes. They partook in adrenaline shots and metabolized psilocybin. They drunk of alcohol distilled from the blood of these genocidal demons. They detonated bombs that had still-screaming enemies piled atop them beforehand. They sent crates full of heads back to hostile commanders. They glassed entire worlds from orbit. They beat these foes back to their homeworld, having ruthlessly dogged them to the edge of oblivion.

Eventually, there were no new bodies to crumple. Eventually, there was no fresh blood to spill. Eventually, all that was left of this enemy that had scourged this corner of the galaxy for 75 years was a whimpering, bloodied remnant of their hierarchy, and a dwindling few thousand left to their populace.

Their god-king laid beaten and bloody upon the crumbled remains of his golden throne. He asks to but a girl, no more than 14, that approaches him, sadistically grinning in the dim light of the royal chamber.

“Why? Why have you come here? Is your bloodlust not sated!? We conceded five of your cycles ago! We know what you are capable of! We fear you! Why?! Why do you still come?!”

The girl stops, close enough to smell the copper tang of the alien’s blood on its breath.

“Sic semper tyrannis,” she blurted out, in a dead tongue that the alien did not understand. She drew the knife in her belt and beheaded him, his gurgling screams resounding through the chamber.

She left through the front doors of the palace, the bronze sunset glinted off the golden palace buttresses and arches. She still clutched the god-king’s dripping head by his antennae, her purple-stained hand white-knuckled in victorious fury. A small congregation of aliens bowed and knelt before them, raising claws and feelers in terrified begs and prayers. She tossed the head down the steps, and watched it bump and roll the length down, halting with a wet thump at the base.

And as the congregation shuddered and yelped, completely catatonic at the realization that their god-king is dead, they turned their gaze to the humans, boarding their dropship, ascending into the clouds. They never returned.

Humanity drew back its severely-pruned numbers. They retreated to Earth, to serve a self-imposed penance. The remaining allied aliens, now repopulating their numbers, were gifted the colonies that humanity had once taken. They wondered why humanity was retreating to Earth.

Shexan, a member of the founding race of the Galactic Union, confronted his human friend, Jonathan, though keeping a healthy distance after what he had witnessed.

“Why do your people leave, Smith-Jonathan? You have won, why do your people not rule?” it inquired.

“We did not want to win. Because we knew what we needed to do to win. And we did not want to return to that.”

“To what, Smith-Jonathan?”

“To what we learned not to be.”


“The lessons of the past will be repeated until they are learned.”

Jonathan turned from his new friend, tears streaming down his ragged face, as he departed into the darkness of the transport, its heavy bulkhead doors clunking shut behind him. The transport lifted into the stars. In all the years since that Shexan lived on TRAPPIST-1-b, he did not see a single human return.

The Sol system was, at the behest of humanity itself, marked as an uninhabitable system, and was restricted from entry. And, so has it remained, since.

Submitted by: @bartwelchii 

Rewrite: "Lars' Head" Ending

*Steven returns home through Lion. He finds Greg pacing about. Greg notices him and starts crying.*
Greg: Steven! How on Earth did you get back?
*Before Steven can explain, the warp pad activates. Pearl, Amethyst, Garnet, Peridot, Connie, and Lapis are all on the warp pad. None of them notice Steven.
Peridot: It’s hopeless! By the time we get the dropship to work, the Diamonds will be sending us his shards!
Pearl: Lapis, you can fly, right?
Lapis: It took me months to get to Homeworld.
Connie: Not to mention, there’s no way the rest of us could follow her.
Peridot: See?!
Garnet: Peridot. Turn around.
*Everyone but Garnet does, noticing Steven.*
Amethyst: Ste-man! What happened?
Connie: How’d you escape the clutches of those awful tyrants?
Garnet: That’s not important right now. Lars is still there, along with a slew of other Gems who need our help.
Steven: It’s just awful, Garnet! Everyone’s either living in fear or just catering to the Diamonds. We have to stop them.
Greg: But how can we get there in time to free them?
Peridot: We’d need some more help… Someone we know is a quick builder.
Steven: I think I know a Gem.