#lwm

- baz just wants to take care of simon in his slump. he’d do anything to make him happy, which includes going on that shitty roadtrip just to see him smile. the same way simon thinks that letting him go will be better for him, baz thinks that simon thrives in america, and he’d be willing to do that to make him happy.

- they both find each other beautiful.

- “why can’t you see that i wouldn’t be happy anywhere without you?” & “the crucible gave me you” show just how much simon means to baz. the way he was his reason, his support when things were difficult. and just how much that still means, even though simon’s not holding him up anymore. the way that simon still supports him, just by existing. 

- the whole “we’re always fighting” / “or not” interaction is so important. because even though simon can’t always say exactly what he feels or means, he’s adamant that they don’t have to fight. he’s trying to help baz unlearn that narrative of what they were taught growing up, because he doesn’t believe it anymore. 

- both of them thought that after their first kiss, nothing else would happen. baz was ready to just go back to the way things were, and simon thought that if he didn’t go back to him, he’d forget about it. instead, they made the active choice not to ignore it. this says a lot about baz, who loves simon so much that he was willing to go with whatever simon wanted, and a lot about simon, who refused to let baz play it off as nothing. 

- baz shows how much he wants simon by letting him take the lead - suggesting their relationship in the first place, continuing to maintain it, letting him decide how to handle things. simon shows how much he wants baz by pushing his own boundaries - diving into unfamiliar territory with his sexuality just to keep baz, actively going behind his beliefs to ensure that baz gets justice. 

and finally... 

-i’d tie our hearts together, chamber by chamber,” is simon’s confession. it’s ‘sorry i can’t be normal, sorry i can’t touch you the way i used to, sorry i can’t be what you need.’ it’s him admitting how deep the love goes, unable to express it. it’s him wanting to be as close as possible, closer than that, bypassing all the physicality and the pain. all his love broken down to the barest, rawest form of it.

that is how much he loves him. that is how much he’s unable to show.

 thank you for (almost) 500 followers !

Suddenly, Clarke stirred next to him and faced him with tired eyes. In that moment, he knew she hadn’t gotten an ounce of sleep either, that she was buried with the same burdens as he was.

Knowing that they weren’t alone in all of this gave them both a ridiculous amount of comfort.

“Can’t sleep?” he muttered softly, his voice even hoarser than usual in his efforts to make as little sound as possible.

She shook her head slightly and let out a sigh.

It was ridiculous, really. There had been no movement from either side for hours, but the anxious part of her mind still managed to get the better of her. There was simply too much to think about—her friends in Mount Weather, the grounders, Finn’s death. She asked herself a series of countless ‘what ifs’ that always kept sleep out of reach.

A moment of easy silence passed between the two of them. They simply laid there, their eyes occasionally darting off to the trees or the stars before slowly gravitating back to the other’s face.

Bellamy cleared his throat, carefully considering what he was about to say before realizing how stupid his hesitance was. It wasn’t like they were actually going to do anything, and if other people wanted to act like idiots about it, screw them. His relationship—friendship, he corrected himself—with Clarke was no one else’s business but their own.

“Lay with me for a while?” he asked, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile in response.

She was instantly brought back to the day in the tent, when she had been the one to propose that question. She remembered the feel his arms around her and his warm breath hitting the top of her head, the beat of his steady heart against her ear. She recalled how good lying with him had made her feel.

She moved over to him slowly, tentatively, afraid that she would wake someone. But, as usual, Bellamy had other plans. He caught her wrist in his hand and pulled her to him quickly, enveloping her in his strong arms and resting his hands on the small of her back. She settled herself against him so that her head was resting on his chest, just below the crook of his neck, and her arms reached around his back and drew him even closer. They were in the same position as they were what felt like eons ago.

He had to let out a breath because of how good it felt to have his arms around her.

Everywhere he went he was thought of as a bringer of chaos and death, but he was never that to Clarke. No, never to her. For some unknown reason, she had decided that he was good, decided that he wasn’t a monster or a murderer or any of the other terrible things he saw in himself. To her, he was a man that—while certainly problematic and infuriating at times—would do anything to protect those he loved. She looked over the rough, hard walls that he put up for himself and peered right into his soul. She chose to see the good in him and ignore all the rest.

He looked up at the stars and smiled, his hands mindlessly combing through her long blonde hair. It was moments like these that he could pretend to be half the man she perceived him as.

He imagined himself in a time of peace, when there weren’t any wars to win or people to save, and it was all so vivid.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He could see a house on top of a hill that was surrounded by trees and meadows and rivers. He could smell the scent of fresh pine and the musk of a campfire burning in the distance. He could hear birds chirping sweet, happy songs. He could feel a soft breeze and the warm sun on the back of his neck.

He took a step closer to the house, then another, then another. He started to notice the color of the front door, a dark green that matched the color of fir trees. He began to hear the clatter of metal and realized that the sound was coming from windchimes on the porch. He could smell something sweet coming from what he could only assume was the kitchen, and his mouth started to water at the thought of what it could be.

He made his way onto the porch and the wood creaked under his boots, but he found the sound oddly comforting, as if he were actually coming home. He grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pushing it forward so that the door was popped open.

It was beautiful inside.

The first room was a simple foyer, with a staircase leading to the second floor and doors allowing access to the rooms on the first. He took a left and found the kitchen, a fresh-baked pie laying on the white countertop. If his mouth wasn’t watering when he was outside, it certainly was now. The pie was made from apples, his favorite.

After tearing himself out of the kitchen, the pie left mostly uneaten, he headed across the hall. His jaw dropped at what he saw next.

It was a library, with books and shelves as far as the eye could see. He smiled at the titles he noticed, immediately brought back to his childhood. He had read every one more times than he could possibly count. There was a wooden desk in the center, covered with papers and note cards and writing utensils of all sorts. To the north wall, there was an easel with a canvas. It was empty, aside from a few sketch marks. He stepped toward it and narrowed his eyes, trying to see if he could make out the image the artist had in mind…

A sound came from the back of the house, and Bellamy stirred when he heard it. He wasn’t afraid per se, only curious. It was impossible to be afraid when he was here, when he was home.

He left the library and marched down the hall until he’d reached the back door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it toward him, finding that it opened to another deck. He heard the sound again, registering it as the cheerful laughs and screams of children as they played in the backyard. He scanned the yard with his eyes. He couldn’t help but smile.

There were trees, tall oaks that had probably been there for half a century at the least. There were flowers of all sorts everywhere, as far as the eyes could see. There was a wooden playset, a handmade jungle gym of sorts, a tire tied to a tree. There were three children. Two girls and a boy, no more than a few years apart.

The oldest had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, with glasses and freckles and a smile that was brighter than the sun. She was obviously in charge of the other two, explaining the games they would play and clapping her hands together at the start.

The second was a boy, around seven or eight, who clearly didn’t appreciate his sister’s mandative attitude. Bellamy chuckled to himself as he watched the boy kick the dirt and cross his arms. “If you keep bossing us around, I’m telling Mom,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in protest and looking at his sister with dark eyes. She merely shrugged in response and waved him forward to play with them. He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest, and soon he was halfway across the yard chasing them.

The youngest was another girl. She was only three or four and clearly didn’t understand half of the games her siblings came up with, but laughed and played along nonetheless. Her dark brown pigtails flowed behind her as she ran across the yard. “Come and get meee!” she called out in between giggles.

He sat there and watched them for a moment, his grin growing wider and wider. He watched as the boy caught her in his arms and tickled her senseless. “Tag! You’re it!” he exclaimed, before setting her on the ground and taking off in the opposite direction.

He watched as the eldest slowed her pace to give her little sister the advantage, and saw the toddler pat her on the back of her knee. “Darn it!” the blonde exclaimed in feigned surprise. “Well, I guess I’m it now!”

They went on like that for a while, just running back and forth and tapping each other on the arm or the leg or the foot and giggling all the while. The youngest fell flat on her face and let out a cry, but got to her feet and brushed herself off seconds later. Her siblings gave her a minute to catch her breath, and she spent it searching for a possible escape route. Instead, she clasped her eyes on him.

“Daddy?” she called, stepping toward the porch in sheer curiosity and smiling when she saw it was him. “Mommy, Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

She ran toward him immediately. The other two weren’t far behind, and soon Bellamy found himself enveloped in a tight group hug. The littlest one clung to his leg, the boy to his hip, and the eldest just below his ribcage.

“Bellamy?” a voice around the corner asked.

His jaw dropped when he saw her, awestruck by how beautiful she was. He didn’t think that it was possible for her to be more gorgeous than she was in her prime, but he should have known that she would prove him wrong. She always did. Her blonde hair had been trimmed just above her shoulders and her cerulean eyes glistened with more wisdom than he’d ever seen. Her clothes were simple, just a pale pink t-shirt and cropped jeans, but they were in pristine condition. There was no blood or dirt, no evidence of the pain or heartache that she had gone through. Only beauty remained. Beauty, and love.

She smiled at him and marched up the steps of the porch, joining in their little embrace. Her arms clasped around his neck and pressed her soft lips to his cheek, resulting in a snide remark from their son and giggles from their two girls.

The family stood there for what seemed like seconds and eons all in one. Bellamy didn’t think he had been happier in his entire life.

Clarke stood on her tiptoes so that her lips were near his right ear. “It’s good to have you home, Bellamy…” she whispered.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Bellamy…”

He heard Clarke’s voice again, but this time it was much clearer. It felt closer, more real. He felt an elbow hit him just above the ribs and his brown eyes opened to a dark sky, to their hellish reality. It wasn’t morning yet, but it would be soon.

Clarke was still nestled on top of him, but she had rolled onto her stomach so that she could look at him when she spoke. Her hair was disheveled and the corner of her mouth was crusted with drool and she had clearly no idea how cute she looked. “People will be up soon,” she told him, trying to maneuver herself out of his arms. “I’m going to lay down over there.”

His grip around her tightened and he looked up at her with sad, sleepy eyes. He wasn’t ready to give up his fantasy just yet—he wasn’t sure he ever would be—and he silently prayed that she wasn’t either. “Please,” he begged, his voice still coarse from peaceful sleep, “just a little while longer.”