This is my first 100 story, and it's been a while since I've written (I advise you not to read my others until I can fix them up urg). As I said, I was inspired by a beautiful painting I saw and I'm going to try give it credit with this story. I don't know if my summary really conveyed my story, but it's a university AU with Clarke as a moody artist who doesn't want to be hurt by love, and then there is Bellamy.

This is going to be pretty short, hopefully only 2 or 3 chapters long. Have fun reading :)

If there was one thing that Clarke knew, it was that if you were going to love someone, you better start on a breastplate and gauntlets for your heart, because without armour you're in for one hell of a war.

Raven had always referred to this armour as freezing her sparkplug, which is why at every opportunity she attempted to get Clarke to open up and dance with more, but the pandora box that held Clarke's love remained closed. And hence Raven was off partying at the club with another man and Clarke was sitting in the back row of the uni theatre watching a cheap viewing of 'Clash of the Titans' and gorging herself on a value box of popcorn. She pretended to be engaged in the dramatic and frustratingly over-acted fight scenes, and secretly appreciated some of the filmic techniques used. Her semester doing film studies had ruined her ability to watch a movie without analysing it in her head.

When the credits finally started rolling Clarke stood and grabbed her bag, glancing back at her seat a minimum of three times to check that she hadn't forgotten anything, a habit she picked up after leaving her phone at a restaurant for the second time. Clarke made her way out of the theatre but was blocked as she attempted to leave by a congregation of chatting boys standing in the middle of the doorway.

"That was the coolest movie!" one of them exclaimed to his friends, as Clarke tried to push past them.

"Nah, Jackson," said a deep voice from the corner of the group, and as the rest of the group quieted to hear his argument Clarke edged around, getting closer to the voice.

"It was soo historically inaccurate," the voice continued, and his friends groaned. Apparently this type of complaint was common for the boy that Clarke was now getting a glimpse of. His longish darkish ragged hair reminded her of Finn, and she shuddered at the memory, but hot damn he was smokin'.

The dark hair boy extended his argument, "Those myths were incredibly erroneous," Wow, thought Clarke, who slips those kind of words into a sentence, "and don't even get me started on the fighting style. The way those supposedly Greek soldiers were swinging those swords was so wrong."

Just as Clarke was past the blockade, the history buff, as he obviously was, decided to demonstrate the correct style of warfare, and Clarke suddenly found herself acquainted with his hand as her drew it back and

THWACK

Bellamy looked at his hand in mortification at what he had done, and hurried to help up the victim of his super awesome but obviously slightly dangerous exposé of Greek sword fighting. The blonde on the floor looked dazed, undoubtedly in as much pain as his hand was.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," he stammered as he attempted to get her off the coke and popcorn stained carpet. Blue eyes glared at the offending hand as she pushed herself off the ground with her own strength.

"What the hell man?" The girl cursed, and if looks could kill those blue eyes would be stabbing him in the chest. His friends looked on in morbid fascination at the encounter, Jasper crunching on the remains of his movie snacks with glee from the sidelines. Bellamy flinched at her insistent scowl, and tried to ignore how cute it made her look as he tried once again to apologise.

"Are you okay?"

The blonde ignored his question as she busied herself wiping the crumbs from her paint splattered jeans and reached down to pick up her purse, lying forlorn where she had dropped it. Bellamy beat her to it though, and offered the handbag tenderly, worried that she was going to strike out like a feral cat (because those azure eyes were starting to go a little savage).

"I'm Bellamy by the way," he says as she grabs her bag, and offers his hand in greeting. He hopes that maybe this way he can get away from the incident with minimal scratches. Although Bellamy doesn't expect the girl to respond, she looks up at him through her hair, messed from the fall, and shakes his hand.

"Clarke. But don't think this is forgiven. Keep your flailing for more wide open spaces next time."

As Clarke turns and exits the theatre Jackson lets out a low whistle through his teeth.

"Damn man," he calls to Bellamy, punching him good-naturedly in the arm, "I'd call her drop-dead gorgeous, but it seems that may be a sore point."

Bellamy had to agree with his friend, the blonde had the vicious, uptight thing going for her. And those smokin' eyes. Man. Eye's like those were his weakness. They reminded him of a Diwata. A good comparison to the girl in many ways, it seemed.

So there is the first chapter, I hope it was okay. Don't be freaked out if it is extended on you, it's still in the works. Constructive criticism is always welcome and I may be in need of a Beta. Thank you so much for reading :) Those wondering, a Diwata is a Philippinene dryad.

- Hazmatilda