Clarke
Earth. That was the dream, right? Clear blue skies, soft green grass swaying to the pull of a gentle breeze, the ocean deep and nearly as fathomless as the dark universe they had fallen from. Yeah, earth was the dream. Until they got there. Then it was the nightmare they never knew they were afraid of. It held the monsters that had always stayed safe under the bed. Uninhabitable it was not. Spears through chests, the greeting no one expected. Painted faces with hands dripping blood, their blood, the blood of the hundred. Fog, mysterious in its own right, now had the power to burn, peel, and kill.
And in the midst of the newfound terror of an unforgiving home was Bellamy Blake. "What's wrong with a little chaos," he said, and the crowd breathed it in. "Whatever the hell we want," he cried, and they were no longer hungry. "We're stronger than they think," he called, and the fire in his voice kept the masses warm. A perfect anarchy. A perfect storm. Tearing at the seams of what could have been a community.
Clarke Griffin had only hated one person in her life before, but Bellamy Blake quickly and unhesitatingly became the second. She hated that his charisma outweighed her logic. She hated that his charm threatened her reason. She hated that when he caught her arm and called her Brave, she wanted to believe it. She hated that when he added Princess, disappointment caused her pride to falter. They were opposites in nearly every thought they had. Enemies wrapped in the guise of potential allies. And more than anything else about him, she hated that she wanted it to be different.
Bellamy
Earth. Fucking bane of his existence. Grounders, acid fog, panthers that jump at you from nowhere. Oh yeah, it was a fucking dream. Never had he thought he could miss the Ark. And to be honest he didn't, not really. But he sure as hell wasn't thrilled about the shit down here either. A spoiled, know-it-all, princess. A dead girl. The blood of a Chancellor. Shit, he wished he could get the feel of the recoil out of his head.
Everything Bellamy Blake had ever done for as long as he can remember was to keep his sister safe. And now because of that, he's convinced 90-something kids to kill their own families. Of course he didn't say it like that. No, he made it a celebration of freedom, a declaration of strength. He made it sound good. And if he didn't have Clarke-fucking-Griffin's voice in his head at night whispering about imminent death, he wouldn't even feel guilty about it. Probably.
Bellamy Blake has hated plenty of people in his life before. But, damn it all if Clarke Griffin isn't the most infuriating out of the lot. He hated that she held almost as much sway as he did. He hated that her rationale endangered his control. He hated that when she walked up to him and said "I'm here for you," his heart rate picked up. He hated that when she walked away after he wanted to pull her back. They were the same in so many ways if she could get her head out of her ass long enough to see it. Potential allies masked as unrepentant enemies. And more than anything else about her, he hated that he wished it were different.