crooked-queen:

au ark; prisoner!clarke & guard!bellamy

Her fingers are bleeding. 

Not blood, but ink. Bellamy clutches his weapon to his chest, pretends not to watch through the girl’s cell window as she slides the point of a half-bent pen up and down the wall. He watches as the lines becomes shadows, the shadows become faces, and the faces fade into starry nights, eyes like lost planets, and freckles like constellations.

Bellamy frowns, loosens him grip on the gun and leans closer. Her eyes are concentrated, her brows are furrowed, but she hums under her breath while she draws. So loudly that she cannot hear when Bellamy swipes his key to step inside.

“Got you on destruction of the Ark, princess,” he gruffs. Bellamy quietly locks the cell behind him, stands out of view.

Clarke glares at him a moment, not even making a slight effort to hide her drawings. She sounds irritated and a little tired when she says, “So float me.”

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