When Clarke Griffin woke up, she instantly knew something was different. She just couldn't put her finger on what exactly. Was it the way her body suddenly felt taller as she stretched her arms above her head? Or the way that her face felt much rougher to touch, as she sleepily scratched her chin? It was only when Clarke opened her eyes and glanced down at her suddenly enormous, olive-toned hands that she fully realised the extent of the change that had seemingly occurred overnight. Those definitely were NOT her hands. And whose clothes was she wearing? A pair of black trousers covered her legs, and a loose grey t-shirt showed off her suddenly muscular arms. Clarke examined her now bulging biceps, running her fingers in disbelief along the blue veins that protruded from under her skin. Wait a second… she recognised those arms! She'd stared at them long enough around camp, particularly when the owner of those arms would stroll around shirtless for no apparent reason. Without waiting a second longer, Clarke sprung out of bed, landed awkwardly on her monstrous feet and fell smack on her side.
"Fuck," she whispered angrily, before trying to rise gracefully from the ground but failing. She felt like Frankenstein's monster coming to life and having to grapple with basic body movements for the first time.
Clarke huffed angrily as she ran her hand over her head, and was yet again shocked to find her golden locks had vanished, replaced by a mass of short hair. She tugged a piece down in front of her eyes to find that it was very dark brown, if not black, and tried to refrain from screaming. There were no mirrors on Earth to prove her theory correct, but if Clarke was right, then she seemed to have somehow turned into Bellamy overnight.
Finally have a proper look at her current location, Clarke stopped still and held her breath. She looked at the clothes strewn around the floor, spotted the gun lying beside a pair of black boxers. Not only was Clarke not in her own body. She wasn't in her own tent. She was in Bellamy's.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Clarke whispered, pacing anxiously around Bellamy's tent.
Questions flew wildly around Clarke's mind. How was it scientifically possible to just turn into somebody else? Why had it happened? Where was her own body? Where was the real Bellamy now? What was she going to do?
"Bellamy!" a familiar female voice shouted out from the other side of the tent's entrance. It was Octavia. "Don't forget we're going hunting this morning!"
Clarke swore again but immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. Her voice hadn't changed!
"Just a minute!" Clarke replied, tilting her chin down as she spoke in an attempt to sound as masculine and Bellamy-like as possible.
"You okay, Bell?" Octavia called out. "You sound really weird."
"I'm fine, I have a sore throat that's all."
"Oh and Bell, I invited some others last night, I hope that's all right with you?"
"Uhh… sure, no problem." Clarke paused, awkwardly trying to zip up a black jacket she had pulled off the floor and slipped on over the cotton shirt she was wearing already. "Who did you invite?"
"Just Raven, Finn and Clarke. I'm gonna get some breakfast now, before Murphy eats all the good stuff. See you in a bit."
Clarke bit her lip. Or Bellamy's lip. Whatever.
"Octavia, wait!" she called out. "Is Clarke up yet?"
"No, I don't think so. Shall I go wake her?" Octavia offered.
"No, no, it's fine, I'll go," Clarke said, once again lowering her voice in a way that sounded nothing like Bellamy's voice which was like melted chocolate, but she hoped it was believable all the same.
Clarke didn't hear Octavia's reply. Something had distracted her. Something she had only just considered. Was she all Bellamy? Her hand hovered curiously over the zipper on her trousers. She couldn't. Could she? Clarke lowered her hand with a sigh as her morals got the better of her. She knew she wouldn't want anyone to look at her naked body without her permission. But then, would she ever get this chance again? Probably not. Clarke finally decided to satisfy some of her sinful curiosity by inquisitively feeling her own ass, which turned out to be pleasantly firm.
She slipped on a pair of black boots which looked enormous at first glance but turned out to be a perfect fit for her now enormous pair of feet, and tied the laces with a double knot as she'd often seen Bellamy do.
With one last glance around the tent, Clarke grabbed the gun, slipped it into her waistband and then marched out of the tent. Time to go find herself.