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im not afraid of new perfume (and in fact my dear im fucking terrified)

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Bellamy Blake is not an omega. 


No, as far as the Ark is concerned, Bellamy Blake is a beta. 


Having learnt everything he could about statuses in Old Earth culture when he was just on the cusp of presenting, Bellamy is no stranger to the ins and outs of the prejudice-based hierarchy. He knows that alphas are supposed to be the leaders and the protectors and the dominant. He knows that they are painted as aggressive beasts incapable of self-control, through which they could plead innocent for their moral wrongdoings, because God forbid an alpha of all people be held accountable for their actions, when really , it was the omega’s fault for smelling like that. Or really the omega had it coming, acting like that, because omegas are considered not quite people, but rather things–possessions. They are the servants, the breeders, the submissives. And Bellamy is a little too intimately aware of the way omegas are portrayed as nothing but a mere fetish to be used by those who do not and will not ever truly understand what being an omega is. 


Bellamy knows that that is all bullshit. The way he smells has no more bearing over his disposition than does his hair or skin color. Yet, even with this knowledge, Bellamy cannot explain the shame he feels bubbling underneath his skin, or the need to serve and to submit lurking on the outskirts of his mind. 


It’s a little ironic, he thinks, how the Ark was established in order to carry mankind into the future, when the leaders who preach progress will then condemn the poor, the disabled, and the omegas within the very same breath. Figures, that the only people rich enough to go into space to escape a nuclear apocalypse would be the ones to cling to such outdated prejudices. So much for being the so-called “future of humanity”. 


A small part of him wants to hold a grudge against his mother for making this choice for him, to have to masquerade around for the rest of his life, but when considering the alternative...well, Bellamy can’t bring himself to be mad about it. His mother had the right idea. Betas are just another drop in the ocean. Betas are common. Normal. Overlooked . Neither revered nor shamed. He’d take that over being an omega at the drop of a hat. Anyways, what’s one more little secret amongst the giant pile of secrets that is his life? 


And so Bellamy takes his pills with no questions asked. He hasn’t questioned it since the very first time his mother came home, just before curfew, with rumpled clothes and a rattling bottle of pills tucked into her sleeve. Not that he needed to ask very many. To him, it was obvious what his mother was trying to achieve. Only alphas and betas were allowed to be in the Guard. This was for his sister.

“Nobody can know,” she had said to him in a hushed voice as he obediently swallowed the little white tablet. “You can’t tell anybody, Bellamy.” He doesn’t.


 (But he does get a lingering sense of deja vu.) 


He still does not say anything when his mother goes to register him as a beta the very next day. He does not speak up when he overhears his classmates gossiping about how they were so certain he’d be an alpha , not a beta, and he does not hesitate to circle the β on his application to the cadet program. 


The Ark’s Guard, as it turns out, is everything Bellamy thought it would be, which isn’t saying much. Factory Station is filled to the brim with horror stories of corrupt Guardsmen abusing their status and leaving behind unresolved injustices. As a child, Bellamy would’ve balked at the thought of joining the Guard, but alas, here he is in the belly of the beast.


His daily dose of blockers does little to dull his senses. The stench of alphas looking for a power trip fills his nostrils and clogs his throat and he can’t help but be overwhelmed by a guttural instinct to cower and hide. 

He glances at the few other betas in the room, searching their expressions for any hint of what he’s feeling but no, of course they wouldn’t. They’re betas; they do not lose their minds over some goddamn alpha pheromones, and neither does Bellamy, so he swallows the lump in his throat and squares his shoulders as any other beta would do. 


And if he spends too long in the shower scrubbing himself raw to rid of the stink staining his skin? Well, then, only he has to know.



Much to his mother’s chagrin, at the age of fourteen, the same age he was, Octavia takes a pill. 


It does make sense that Octavia would present as such, for she was born with a storm thrumming through her veins. Ever since she could walk, or even crawl, she’s been a force too big to be contained in their tiny apartment. She practically runs up and down the walls, bouncing off the furniture. It’s strange to consider the fact that his own sister, who just yesterday begged him to give her a piggyback ride even though she was getting too big for them, is of the same breed as those that he despises in the Guard. A sense of dread crawls its way up his throat, at the thought of Octavia potentially becoming like them, but he quickly pushes it back down. That’s nonsense. O wouldn’t; she’s still his little sister, regardless of presentation. Not that it matters, anyways.


Because she cannot be an alpha, nor can she be a beta, or even an omega. Octavia Blake cannot be anything at all. 


He reasons with himself that that’s why the party is a good idea. There are about a thousand things that could go wrong, he’s thought about them all. But, she deserves to have this. Octavia cannot be anything, but in a room full of masks, everybody is nothing and what Octavia can be is a normal teenage girl. At least for one night. That’s what makes it worth it.


And for a moment, Bellamy lets himself get swept up in the fantasy of it all. He imagines that he isn’t a beta, and Octavia isn’t illegal, and they are really just two completely mundane siblings at a party. 


It’s not long before reality comes crashing back down upon his shoulders in the form of a solar flare. 


In retrospect, it was a plan that only a fool could think of. After all, his mother had always said he listens to his heart too much for his own good, but in a way, so did she. It was a decision made with too much heart to hold onto her daughter, and though he did not realize it at the time, it was with too much heart that she tried to save him from his designation. The benefits of the Guard were just an added bonus. Truly, Aurora Blake simply could not stand to witness her son bear the sorry life of an omega. 


In the end, the amount of love that went into it is neither here nor there. Just as his had been, it was nothing but another set of foolish plans. Like mother, like son. 


The Blake family has been on a collision course heading for damnation since the very day Aurora Blake decided that she simply could not get rid of her second child. Perhaps even before that. 


Still, that does not stop him from blaming himself when his mother gets executed and his little sister gets locked up. 


Bellamy Blake is not an omega, but as he stands alone in an empty corridor with a mop in his hand, it sure does feel that way. 


Strangely enough, he almost finds himself missing the complete sensory overload of the Guard. At least it had been something , as opposed to the nothingness that accompanied being a lowly janitor. Nowadays, his senses are consumed by the almost intoxicating smell of bleach. It surrounds him at work, follows him around as he near-begs for his pills, and even seeps into his dreary quarters at night. 


Although, maybe it’s a good thing, that he can’t make much of the world aside from the chemicals. This way, he doesn’t have to be reminded of the worst day of his life every time he so much as catches a whiff of his mother’s lingering scent on what little belongings he has. Or, whenever he’s called into the Sky Box to clean up the blood of whatever poor kid had decided to end it early, he does not stop to consider if who he’s smelling could just possibly be O. Her scent blockers will have long worn out by now. 


It’s stupid of him to feel a little bitter about the fact that the other kids in lockup are coming to familiarize themselves with Octavia’s true scent before him, her own brother. She’s been taking the pills since before she could ever really grow into herself. He finds it a little disconcerting that he’d be unable to identify her at a moment’s notice. It’s even more upsetting that he may never be able to. 


Come to think of it, though, Bellamy isn’t quite sure that he knows his own scent either. Not really. Just like his sister, he’s been dutifully taking his blockers since the very day he presented. 


Octavia wouldn’t know him either. He wishes that one day, that won’t be the case, but there’s no use wishing and hoping when he already knows he’s doomed to live a solitary life until the day he dies. Or Octavia, whichever one of them comes first. 




When he is approached with a gun and a promise, he does not feel like an omega, or an alpha, or anything in between. Bellamy Blake is nothing but a desperate man on a suicide mission. 


He comes to realize this is yet another foolish plan, but he cannot bring himself to care. A small shred of hope is better than none at all, and he takes the weapon from Shumway with a firm grip.


For once, Bellamy is the one spilling blood rather than washing it away. And to his surprise, it is not his own. 




Clarke Griffin is an alpha and, Bellamy notes, a pain in the fucking ass.

Something deep inside him howls at him to obey. To take his hand off the lever and bow down before her. But of course, that’s not who he is. He is not someone who will be at the princess of Alpha Station’s every beck and call. 


He ignores his instincts, opens the dropship doors, and jumps down onto the solid ground.


Soon enough, Bellamy finds that he doesn’t mind being in charge for once. He thinks he likes it, even. 


Bellamy knows that he is not an omega, but the ground is different. There are no rules on the ground, and his mother is long gone, and so Bellamy does not have to be a beta, or even a fucking sorry ass janitor from shitty ‘ol Factory Station.


Bellamy Blake can be an alpha.


He is an alpha, in fact, and not a single soul questions it.



John Murphy is an omega. Bellamy remembers his arrest fairly well; he was quite the talk amongst the Guard for a few weeks. It’s not every day that a kid sets fire to an Officer’s quarters and is taken into lockup hissing and spitting all the way there. They had called him “feral”; an out of control flame that needed to be tamped down. His skin crawls at the memory, overhearing just what they’d do to tame the omega.

Bellamy isn’t sure whether or not he’s glad that now, on the ground, it seems like John Murphy’s still got a bit of spark to him. Three years in the Sky Box, and he has yet to be extinguished. 

He can’t help but think that maybe, if things were different, he would be like Murphy. Angry at everyone, the world, himself.


So sue him, if he decides to fan the flame a bit. 


It goes all swimmingly for a while. Say what you will about loyal betas, but for the kind of camp Bellamy’s going for, a feral omega does just as good.


That is, until Clarke fucking Griffin screws it all up. 


Before Bellamy can even blink, any semblance of order amongst the delinquents is lost. Kids are shouting, rocks are being thrown, and suddenly, John Murphy is being hoisted up into the air by his neck. 


Leave it to the omega to be the one attacked and gasping for breath as belt straps cut into his skin.


As it so happens, Bellamy himself is not an omega. Bellamy Blake is an alpha. So he kicks the bucket and John Murphy the omega chokes.




Life and death situations, apparently, make for quite the icebreaker. 

Bellamy and Clarke sit side by side propped up against a tree trunk, both heaving and covered in dirt and blood. It’s almost funny, the entirety of it all. Who would’ve thought that he’d be here on Earth, with Alpha Station’s princess and the dead body of a man they had just killed? Certainly not Bellamy, that’s for sure. Confessing to shooting the father of her deceased friend is also certainly not planned, but here he is. The ground throws all kinds of curveballs, and this is one of them


“I’m an omega,” he admits too, because something about those jobi nuts has turned this into a fucking confessional or whatever. Or maybe it’s something about Clarke Griffin makes him want to rip open his chest and bare his soul to her. Damn alphas. 

Guilt, shame, and sorrow spills out of the gaping hole, mingling with Dax’s blood on the forest floor, until there is nothing left and he is hollow inside. All his inner truths and secrets laid out for Clarke Griffin to bear witness. 


He half expects her to snarl in disgust at the admission. But, casting a sideways glance at her, he sees that her brows are instead furrowed in thought, a question on the tip of her tongue. How?  

Before she can ask, Bellamy cuts her off. “Scentblockers. I’ve been taking them for years. Octavia too, until the Sky Box.”

“You still are?” He nods. “How many do you have left?”

“A week’s worth, give or take. Only had a month of ‘em when I left.”

Clarke makes the connection herself. “You were running because of…” 

“Yeah, and Jaha too, but…” 

“That wouldn’t change anything.” Bellamy scoffs at the absurdity of such a statement. He’s come to accept that Clarke’s no idiot, but really, that is just the pinnacle of stupidity. Are alphas really that naive? 

“Look at Murphy,” he sighs. “Murphy got strung up like a puppet for a crime he didn’t even commit. Everyone was willing to jump him just ‘cause he’s an omega. Hell, we banished him. What I’ve done...When they find out what I am? Nothing’s stopping them from throwing me under the bus too. Especially not when the Ark comes down.”

“Well, I’m stopping it.”
“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? They’ve got more guns, more people, more...everything.” 

“I’ll figure it out. It still doesn’t matter, Bellamy. You know it doesn’t,” she turns to look at him with a fierce intensity in her eyes. “Whether you’re an omega, or an alpha, or whatever. You saved me, I need you. We all need you. Nothing’ll change.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do know that. If we’re going to survive down here, we need your help. You’re their leader, Bellamy. They look up to you. And they still will. I promise you.”

And well, shit. Bellamy still isn’t one to follow orders from some Alpha but this time, he thinks he might be so inclined to believe her. Bellamy Blake is an omega. 


He’s an omega, and he’s the leader of the delinquents, and he’s not running any time soon.