Just Another Blog

my random ramblings about crafts, writing, books and kids

Archive for the category “fanfiction”

The 100 fic: Unstoppable

unstoppable

[Octavia]
Octavia doesn’t need anyone to tell her who she is–she already knows.
523 words | rating: PG-13


I am a warrior. I am powerful. I am unstoppable. They see a scared little girl. Hah! They aren’t going to live long enough to understand their mistake.

Octavia dives into the battle, sword swinging. She takes out the first grounder with a foot to the knee. He collapses in a heap, eyes wide with shock before she slits his throat with the knife in her other hand. Hot blood sprays her face, but she does nothing to wipe it away.

I am a warrior.

She spins at the sound of someone approaching, catching the next grounder off guard with a sword to his gut. She makes sure to keep eye contact as he goes down.

Let him know my power.

She takes out two more with slashes to their chests and abdomens. Her arms are growing weary already, but the battle rages on. She will not falter. She drops to her knees as another grounder charges her. She slams her shoulder into him and flips him. She misses with her knife, allowing the much larger man to roll to his feet. He laughs.

They think I’m weak because I’m small. Because I’m a girl. Because I’m Skaikru.

She fakes a little jab with the knife to test his reflexes. He smacks her sword away with his own, a smug look on his face. When he lunges, she’s ready. She does a spin move as she drops, taking his leg out from under him. He stumbles, landing awkwardly on one knee but doesn’t go down completely. Not a problem for Octavia. She easily hops to her feet and kicks him in the backside. He falls face first onto the ground.

What they don’t know is that I’m not Skaikru. And I’m not a grounder. I’m Octavia-fucking-Blake. And they are the ones who should be afraid.

The grounder turns with a growl and runs at her full speed. Octavia takes a lancing blow to her side but manages to dart away. Before the grounder can recover, she drives her sword deep into his back. She’s done playing games. She kicks the dead man free of her sword, swinging it to dislodge his blood then looks for her next target.

She’s not alone in this battle. The staccato pops of gunfire mix with clanking swords. The grunts and screams echo in the valley. Indra isn’t far away, her blade moving so fast, it’s hard to track. Clarke is holding her own with a knife—Miller covering her. And somewhere, Bellamy is picking off anyone he can that gets too close to them.

She ignores all of that as the next grounder moves in. He stops in front of her, head cocked. Octavia swings her sword again then stands in the ready position. “Bring it, asshole.”

I am powerful.

The grounder charges at the same time Octavia runs at him. At the last second, she drops into a slide. Right between his legs. He looks around in surprise and spins just in time to get a knife to his chest.

She turns her face to the sky and howls. “I am a warrior!”

And I am unstoppable.

The 100 fic: Wash Away the Pain

blood

Clarke has too much blood on her hands, but Bellamy is there to help wash it away.
1272 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke staggers through the trees towards the rush of water she hears in the distance. Her right hand presses against a growing pain in her side. Her left hangs limply, knife dangling from her fingertips. The noise of the river drowns out the echoing screams of death in her head.

She falls to her knees on the bank, retching until the bile erases the bitter taste of copper that stings the back of her throat.

So much blood.

It’s everywhere—staining her clothes, caking her hair, dripping from her eyelashes. She stares at her hands—sticky with red—until they blur behind a curtain of tears. She thrusts her hands into the freezing water, scrubbing her skin raw, but the red isn’t going away.
Her chest seizes up as another sob wracks her.

It’s not my blood.

“Clarke?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or terrified that it’s Bellamy that followed her. She goes back to scrubbing the blood from her hands. Bellamy squats next to her, pulling her hands from the water to hold between his. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and wipes a line of blood trickling from her temple.

“What do I do?” she whispers. “I can’t get it off.”

He looks down at her hands. “They’re clean, Clarke.”

She doesn’t believe him, but she’s afraid to look again. He watches her a moment longer then stands up, pulling her up with him. “Come on.”

He unties his boots, kicking them to the side. He tosses his jacket to the side and peels out of his t-shirt. Clarke swallows, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think about how perfect he looks without a shirt on or how he does have a smattering of freckles across his shoulders. It’s both adorable and sexy. And completely inappropriate.

Bellamy leans over and dips his shirt in the water then starts wiping her face. He’s gentle, starting at the top and working his way down. Despite the cold, she feels the heat rolling off of his bare skin.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

With my life, she wants to tell him, but the words catch in her throat. Instead she nods. Without saying another word, he carefully pulls off her shoes and socks. The rocks dig into her blistered feet, but she doesn’t complain.

He bites his lip—his eyes catching hers. He holds her gaze as he carefully removes her jacket. His fingers trail down her arms, sending a shiver up her spine.

He grips the hem of her shirt. “Still with me?”

She nods again, closing her eyes as he lifts the shirt off of her. She’s not sure she can look at him now. He casually undoes her pants, and she steps out of them, shivering. But he’s not done. She hears the zipper of his pants—the fabric pooling at his feet. He grips her hand tightly and guides her into the river.

The water is like a thousand tiny daggers hitting her all at once. She gasps and nearly sucks in a lungful of water. Bellamy wraps his arms around her waist—their chests pressed together—to keep her from sinking.

Bellamy carefully leans her head back and washes her hair, threading his fingers through the knots. Then he wipes her cheeks with his thumbs. His hands glide down her arms, pulling her hands between them. He rubs at her finger nails until the dark stains are gone.

When she looks up at him, his face is blurred behind tears. She blinks them away. He gives her that shy, sad smile he reserves just for her. She knows the emotions behind it. The way she keeps breaking his heart. The way he just accepts it. Because that’s who he is. She loves him for that.

She swallows down the lump. She might be in love with him.

Before she can think better of it, she reaches up and wipes a smudge of dirt from his temple. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her as she returns his favor—cleaning his face and hair. Even when she’s done, she can’t stop running her fingers through his curls. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer until their bodies are completely flush. His nose brushes hers, and she lets out a little sigh.

“Clarke,” he says, voice rough. He pushes her hair from her face, letting his fingers skim her chilled cheeks. Everywhere he touches heats up. He leans in closer until their lips are barely touching. But something stops him. He pulls back ever so slightly, and she thinks she might die from the anticipation. He clears his throat. “Clarke, we-”

“Please,” she whispers. “Can we just forget about everything else. Just this once. Can it be just you and me. No Ark, no Earth, no grounders, no war.”

“No Lexa?”

She shakes her head. “Lexa’s gone.”

“Clarke, I don’t want you to forget her.”

“I’m not. But-” She runs her fingers over his lips. They’re chapped but soft. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my chance.”

He chuckles softly. “With me?” He waits for her to look up. “Never, Clarke. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Whenever that is.” He slips his fingers into her hair and pulls her face closer, planting soft kisses on her forehead. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I love you, Clarke.”

Every molecule in her body hums alive at his words. She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He doesn’t question her breakdown; he just holds her tighter. When she finally gets control, she pulls back just far enough to see his face. The sun is setting behind him, casting him in shadows, but his eyes are wide, tracking her movements. She places a hand on either side of his face. The blood is finally gone—her skin shining white in the waning sun.

Slowly she leans forward, letting their lips touch softly. He doesn’t react at first, but she presses, knowing he just needs a sure confirmation. And then he groans. His arms tighten in a bear hug as he deepens the kiss. It’s like he can’t get enough. And damn, Clarke doesn’t want this to end. Some small part of her mind starts to compare this with her first kiss with Lexa, but she shoves it away—surprised at how easily she boxes up the memories. It’s been over a year; she has to move on eventually. And Bellamy’s been waiting this whole time.

When she pulls away again, his eyes are slightly unfocused but with a hint of fear like he thinks maybe she changed her mind. “Bellamy.”

He tenses, obviously waiting for it all to fall apart. Her heart aches for him. She did this to him. She left him over and over. Chose someone else at every turn. And he’s still here. At her side every day without question. Her lip trembles. And not from the cold. “I love you,” she whispers. And to erase any questions he might have, she adds, “I’m in love with you, Bellamy, and I have been for a long time.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his body completely still. She meets his gaze as tears gather in the corners of his eyes. She tilts his face closer, kissing each tear away before returning to his lips.

“God, Clarke,” he moans into her mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out what I wanted.”

He kisses her softly. “You’re worth the wait.”

She smiles against his lips. “So are you.”

The 100 fic: Forty Days to Gone

40days

Bellamy contemplates the first forty days on the ground with Clarke.
462 words | rating: PG


Forty days. That’s all it’s been. It seems longer. A lifetime.

Only forty days?

Bellamy watches Clarke from the corner of his eye as they march back to Tondc for what feels like the hundredth time this week. She’s been quiet. Withdrawn since Finn’s death. Bellamy gets that. They were friends. She cared about Finn. Loved him, maybe. And she had to kill him. That takes a toll on anyone. And Clarke’s emotions run pretty near the surface.

Bellamy’s learning to hide his better. There’s too much to lose. His heart is one of those things. So he keeps a lid on his feelings. Keeps them close and himself distant. Or he tries. Sometimes Clarke makes it so damn hard. She brings out an overprotective instinct in him. He hates seeing her so withdrawn. Hates seeing her hurting.

He doesn’t know what to say, though. Nothing will make it better.

Forty days. At least he thinks it’s been forty days. He’s lost track. It could be thirty or sixty or a hundred. Who knows. It seems like forever. But forty days is a short while. He shouldn’t feel this way for her so soon. Shouldn’t want to be at her side always. Shouldn’t need her. His world doesn’t make sense without Clarke next to him.

It took forty days for him to fall for her.

No, that’s not true. He fell for her a long time ago. He’s not exactly sure when. Sometime between landing and killing Dax. He wouldn’t have fought back if Clarke hadn’t been there. But he couldn’t let her get hurt.

It took forty days for him to realize he fell for her.

That’s not true, either. He realized it right around the time they all almost died of the plague. He expected to worry about Octavia. He hadn’t expected the terror at the thought of Clarke getting sick. Of losing her.

It took forty days for him to admit to himself he fell for her.

Also not true. He admitted it a while ago. That day she threw herself into his arms. That day he realized she’d survived the battle at the dropship. He knew it the moment he held her tight and never wanted to let go.

No, it took forty days for him to accept that he was in love with Clarke.

And there is no changing that. They’ve been through so much, and he’d follow her to Hell and back if she asked. This fight with Mt. Weather is looking pretty close to being Hell. God help him—he’s already gone.

Forty days is all it took for him to lose his mind. And walking next to her along the dusty road, contemplating their next war, he knows he wouldn’t change a thing.

Red Vs. Blue fic: Rockets Red Glare

If you have a cracked sense of humor and you’ve never watched the webshow, Red Vs. Blue, you are missing out on some ridiculous laughs. Their episodes are on YouTube, but the six-minute episodes are combined into two-hour seasons on Netflix–thirteen of them. It starts out slow, but later seasons actually work around some major story arcs. For something that started so silly, this show actually made me cry. The animation–created from the Halo games–improves drastically over the course of the series, so don’t let that turn you off. Just be aware that the language and many of the jokes are crude. The show is hilarious, though. I’ve watched through it two or three times already.


 

The one where the DVD collection is a mess and Caboose thinks it’s the 4th of July.
WARNING: language
639 words | rating: R


“No, no. Those go there and these go here,” shouted Church.

“But I thought we were going to put these there,” said Tucker.

Church growled. “Now why the hell would we do that?”

“I don’t know it just makes sense.”

“In what world does putting these over there make sense?”

Tucker shrugged, stepping out of the way as Caboose ran through the room. “Because they’re all red. And those are blue. And these are green.”

“WHAT? You organized them by color?”

“Yeah, of course.” Tucker looked up at Church. “Why? How do you organize them?”

Church fought the urge to throttle Tucker. “Oh, I don’t know—how about in alphabetical order!”

“Geesh, calm down, man. It’s just a stupid DVD collection for Christ’s sake.”

Tucker started sorting the DVDs again as Caboose ran past in the other direction. Church watched over his shoulder to make sure he did it right this time.

“F comes before G, dipshit.”

“Whatever,” Tucker muttered, and when Church turned to watch Caboose skip through the room, he tossed the copy of Four Weddings and a Funeral into the trash. “There,” he said a minute later.

Church checked the shelves. “Do you even know what alphabetical means?”

“Hey, fuck you. You know how hard it is to do anything with you breathing down my neck.”

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” yelled Caboose as he bounded back through the room with a sparkler in each hand.

“And what the fuck is with Caboose?”

Church started rearranging the DVDs. “I don’t know. I find it easier to just ignore him.”

“Yeah, but that’s when he gets in the most trouble.”

Church glanced at Tucker for a moment. “Good point.”

The two followed the sound of Caboose’s laugher to the roof of the base. Caboose had sparklers taped to every surface while he wrote his name in the air with the ones in his hands.

“Caboose,” Church shouted. “What are you doing?”

“It’s the Fourth of July!”

“No, it’s not,” said Tucker. “Actually, I think it’s November.”

Caboose danced around them as the sparklers petered out. “Oh, yeah. If it’s not the Fourth of July, then how come the Reds are having a fireworks display? Huh?”

“What?” Church and Tucker said at the same time.

As if on cue, there was a bang from the Red base across the canyon. Sparks flew into the sky.

“See, fireworks. That means it’s the Fourth of July.”

“All that means,” said Tucker, “is that you’re an idiot. They could be shooting fireworks off for any reason.”

“Uh-” said Church.

“It could be someone’s birthday. It could be someone’s anniversary. It could be they had extra gunpowder lying around-”

“Guys-”

“It could be they just like pretty, sparkly things like you, dumbass. Hell, it could mean the Cubs finally won the World Series after five hundred years. Who the fuck knows.”

Church backed away. “I don’t think those are fireworks.”

“What?” Tucker turned to look where Church was staring. “Oh shit, man. Run.”

Caboose squealed. “Look they’re shooting them our way so we can join in the fun. Happy Fourth of July to you too, Reds.”

“Caboose,” Church yelled, “those aren’t fireworks. They’re rockets.”

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,” sang Caboose, hand against his forehead in a salute.

“Caboose!”

Tucker leaped from the base, running for cover. Church dove at Caboose, tackling him over the side just as the rocket hit the roof. Chunks of concrete and red sparks rained down on them.

“So pretty,” cooed Caboose.

Church rolled onto his back, gasping for air. The sky was lit by the fire now consuming their base. It made the air waver, distorting the stars above. He let his head fall back with a long sigh. “You’re right, Caboose. It is pretty.”

Stargate SG-1 fic: Home Improvement

[Sam & Jack friendship]
Sam gets a surprise visit from the colonel and his tools.
341 words | rating: G


Sam woke on a Saturday to a loud crash that rattled the walls of her house. She shot out of bed, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. It took her a few seconds to relax and remember she was at home, not off-world. There was another smaller crash then a lot of banging. What the hell?

She padded down the hall into the kitchen. More noise came from the backyard. She really considered finding that gun when a large shadow passed the door. Wait a minute. Sam cocked her head—that was a shadow she recognized. In her barefeet and pajamas, she opened the back door, finding her porch in pieces

“Sir?” Sam said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame. “What are you doing?”

The colonel started, dropping a hammer. He looked up at her, three nails hanging from his lips. He mumbled something around the nails then pulled them from his mouth. “Hey, Carter. I just-” He looked around at the mess. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s oh-seven-thirty, sir.”

“So I woke you.”

She glared at him. Then at the mess.

He cleared his throat. “I just noticed that your deck was looking a little worn. I mean, the last time we were here for team night. It’s a little battered. But the frame is still good. I just thought I’d spruce it up-”

His rambling was kind of adorable. She forced her mind away from those dangerous thoughts and put a hand up to stop him. “I appreciate the thought, sir, but this is a rental. I’m not sure what my landlady will think of your home improvements.”

“Oh.” He ducked his head, a blush creeping up his neck. Very adorable.

Bad Sam.

Sam bit her lips to keep from smiling while the colonel stood there looking awkward as hell. When she thought he’d suffered enough, she shook her head. “Well, since you’re here—you want some coffee? There might be donuts, too.” She went back in the house, knowing without a doubt that he’d follow.

Stargate SG-1 fic: When I’m Gone

Just a little team miscommunication courtesy or Jack’s twisted sense of humor.

190 words | rating: G


“Remember me when I’m gone,” Jack said, appearing at the door of Sam’s lab. Sam and Daniel looked up from the plan they were working on.

“Why?” asked Daniel. “What’s wrong?

“Are you sick, sir?”

Jack sat heavily on one of the stools. He didn’t even spin. “Yes, sick.”

“Oh, god. What is it? Cancer? Poisoning? What was that alien thing SG-9 caught last week-”

Sam interrupted him. “Sir, is it serious?”

“Very.”

Daniel looked panicked. “What can we do, Jack? Is there a treatment?”

Jack sighed. “Unfortunately, no.”

“No,” Daniel yelled, “this isn’t right. You can’t die. We’ll talk to the Tok’ra. They owe us.”

“Who said anything about dying?”

Sam and Daniel exchanged looks. “You did,” they said at the same time

“No, I didn’t. I said to remember me when I’m gone. Hammond just told me I’m being sent to Washington for the week. This is serious business. There’s no treatment for boredom by politician.”

Sam rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Sir-”

Jack just smiled.

“Sometimes I hate you,” said Daniel.

“Well, my work here is done,” Jack said with a clap. “See you next week.”

The 100 fanfic: Handle with Care

handlewithcare[Bellamy/Clarke]
Set not long after s1e10 (I Am Become Death). Clarke is left to clean up the dropship on her own, but Bellamy thinks there’s something more important that she should be doing.

886 words | rating: PG


Bellamy finds Clarke inside the dropship. She kneels next to the last two sick kids and helps them sip some water. Less than twelve hours ago that was him lying on the floor near death. A tremor works through him at the memory. He’d never been so scared in his life.

When the kids have had their fill, she makes them comfortable, wiping blood from their faces and whispering comforting words. Then she picks up a bucket and starts scrubbing at the floor. He looks down at the dark stain by his feet. The floor is covered in them, and the smell of death hangs heavy in the air.

He notices for the first time that no one has stayed to help her clean up. Anger burns in the pit of his stomach. It’s just wrong on so many levels. When Clarke sits back on her heels with a tired sigh and rubs at a spot on her shoulder, Bellamy’s had enough.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps inside. “Hey, Clarke, can I talk to you a minute. Outside.”

She glances over her shoulder then back at her patients.

“I’ll get someone to watch them. I need your help with something.”

She nods and gets slowly to her feat, dropping the rag into a bucket of filthy water. Bellamy grabs the first three kids he sees and tells them to go clean up the dropship or he’ll have them digging the next latrine. They grumble as they pass Clarke.

“Volunteers,” he tells her with a crooked grin.

“I’m sure.” She crosses her arms over her chest, watching him warily. “What do you need?”

He flinches at her tone. It didn’t used to bother him as much when she got this standoffish. He jerks his head to the side and starts walking, knowing she’ll follow out of curiosity, if nothing else. He leads her over to his tent and holds the flap back. She stops, a brow arched. “What is this about?”

“I swear it’s nothing bad.”

“You know what they’re going to think if I go in there?”

Bellamy laughs. “Since when do you care what other people think?”

Her eyes narrow, but she seems to take his words as a personal challenge, turning and marching inside. She looks around, eyes catching on the pile of blankets in the middle of the tent. Bellamy pulls a crate over and pushes her down onto it.

“What-”

Then he places a plate of food in front of her. “You need to eat something before you fall over.”

She stares at the plate. “I didn’t ask for your food.”

“I know you didn’t ask. I know you never would. That’s why I’m offering. Actually, I’m insisting.” He squats down and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Clarke, you do so much for us, and we repay you with whining and complaining and making you clean up that mess on your own. You deserve better than that.”

She shakes her head, pushing the plate away.

Bellamy holds it on her lap. “It’s time you let someone take care of you for a change.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Bellamy, I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, voice shaky.

He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but when she looks at him, tears trailing down her cheeks and lip quivering, he doesn’t regret it. He meant every word. And she needed to hear it.

He swallows hard, forcing down the sudden lump caught in his throat. “You don’t say anything. You just eat.” When she still doesn’t move, he taps her knee. “Come on, don’t make me feed it to you.”

That gets a laugh. “That won’t be necessary.”

Bellamy’s relieved when she finally starts eating. He pulls over another crate and swipes a piece of food from her plate. “I said I’d share, not give it to you.”

She laughs again then ducks her head. “Thank you.”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes when she looks up. He’s happy to see it’s no longer tears making her eyes shine. He shrugs. “You’d do the same for me.”

Her hand lands softly on his arm, sending a spark of electricity coursing through his entire body. “You scared me, you know. When you got sick.”

He forces himself to meet her gaze. “You scared me, too.” The air in the tent has gotten too hot and too charged with static for his comfort. Especially considering that it’s Clarke sitting across from him. He looks away. “I mean, I can’t run this place without you.”

Clarke tears apart a piece of meat. “Is that the only reason?”

Bellamy licks his lips, all sorts of thoughts and emotions swirling in his head. He’s not sure what his reasons are, so he decides to go with what he knows best—deflection. With a crooked grin, he takes the chunk of meat right out of her hand and pops it into his mouth. “Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

Clarke shakes her head and laughs, the tension easing. They finish the plate in amicable silence. And when Clarke looks up at him with a thankful smile, setting butterflies loose in his stomach, Bellamy knows for sure there are other reasons. But that’s something to share another day.

The 100 (tv) fanfic: Always & Forever

always[Bellamy & Octavia]
Just a little snapshot of a cold night on the Ark for young Bellamy and Octavia.
673 words | rating: G


Bellamy was half asleep when a small hand rocked his shoulder.

“Bell?” Octavia said softly.

“Hmm?” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

She didn’t say anything.

He counted to ten in his head. He had a test in the morning in physics, and he needed a good grade or he’d be stuck cleaning toilets the rest of his life. “What do you want, Octavia?” he mumbled.

“I’m cold.”

“So?”

She made an exaggerated shiver. He popped one eye open to look at his ten-year-old sister. She wore only her nightgown which was just one of his extra shirts that was way too big on her. Captain Wigglebottom, her stuffed bunny, was tucked tight to her chest. She shifted from foot to foot as if to prove how cold the ground was.

“Bellamy-”

He propped himself up on his arm. “What?”

“It’s cold in here.”

“It is. You should put on some warmer clothes.”

She crossed her arms, pouting. “I only have one outfit and Mom is washing it.”

His face flushed. “Oh.” He glanced over to the empty bed Octavia usually shared with their mom. She’d gotten into the habit of disappearing at night. Bellamy didn’t ask a lot of questions because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers.

Octavia bit her lip, waiting. Part of him wanted to tell her to get lost. She had her own blanket, and he needed to get some sleep. But she looked at him with big, watery eyes and a quivering lip. Whenever he got frustrated with her, he tried to remember that she had no one else. Her entire existence was this room. Him and their mom—that’s all she knew. As socially awkward as Bellamy was thanks to his circumstances, at least he could say he had friends. He’d even had a girlfriend or two. Octavia had nobody. And never would. He was her only friend.

He sighed then scooted over, lifting the blanket. She dove in next to him and curled up to his warm body. He yelped when her ice-cold feet touched his legs as she squirmed around, looking for a comfortable position. Sliding his arm under her neck, Bellamy pulled her close to keep her still as much as to warm her. Soon her breathing evened out, and he could tell she was falling asleep.

Bellamy laid back and stared up at the ceiling of his bunk—the little seven by three foot space he could call his own. The bed wasn’t made for two, and even with Octavia’s tiny frame, it was a tight fit. But he didn’t complain.

For one, he was a lot warmer with her in the bed with him. And two, he had to admit he kind of liked having her close. They shared a bed when they were little until around the time he turned twelve, and well, his body started changing. He demanded privacy. At six, she didn’t understand why he kicked her from the bed. Now he regretted it because he always slept better with her near. That way he knew she was safe.

He covered his eyes with his free arm and tried to fall back asleep.

“Bellamy?” Octavia mumbled into his chest.

“What?”

“You’re the best.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “No, you’re the best. Just next time, don’t leave your feet outside of your blanket until they go numb before coming over here. You’re not fooling anyone.” He jabbed a finger into her ribs. She giggled and tried to touch his leg again.

“Okay, time to go to sleep,” he said with a yawn. “Or you’re going back to your own bed.”

“Would you do that?” Her voice sounded tiny.

Bellamy stared at her for a long time. He couldn’t believe she thought he was serious? Octavia looked back at him, eyes wide, her lip caught between her teeth. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her softly on the forehead. “No. I’ll always let you stay, cold feet and all. Always, O.”

And he meant it.

The 100 (tv) fic: Mid-morning Interlude

interlude Bellamy/Clarke (sort of)

They’ve been on the ground a week, and Clarke has had enough of the whining. She needs a break. Too bad Bellamy can’t seem to leave her alone. Too bad she sort of likes that about him.

1570 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke has had about enough of camp. Of kids whining about splinters and complaining about blisters. They come to her about every little injury or ailment. Not that she can do much to help any of them. They don’t get that, though. They see that she healed Jasper, so she’ll fix them as well.

But I’m not a doctor.

She’s done dealing with them. At least for today. Jasper is out of the woods, and only a girl named Melissa is sick with what might be chicken pox—Clarke’s not sure. Unless someone cuts off an arm, she doesn’t want to hear about it. Of course, they will never leave her alone if she stays in camp.

I’ll just go down to the river and collect some samples. Anything to get away.

She grabs her bag and a bottle of water then sneaks out the gate. Or what will be a gate eventually. It looks like a bunch of junk right now.

Nobody bothers her for fifteen minutes. She sighs in relief. At least she got away without being noticed. Of course that’s exactly when someone steps out in front of her. Clarke yelps in surprise. But it’s only Bellamy. Sometimes she really wants to punch that smug look off his face.

“What do you want?” she says, shoving past him.

“Going for a walk, princess?”

Clarke grits her teeth. “None of your business and quit calling me that.”

“None of my business? You traipsing around the forest alone and unarmed is what my business is all about.”

“Go away, Bellamy. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now.”

He doesn’t go away. Instead, he falls into step next to her. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” He hates it when she doesn’t let him boss her around.

Bellamy huffs at her nonresponse. She expects him to turn around. Or start pestering her for more details about her destination. What she doesn’t expect is him grabbing her arm to stop her. His usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow and tight lips. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke cocks her head. Is he serious? She tries to pull free, but he tightens his grip until she glares at him. In that moment she thinks she’s capable of murder. Why does he have to be such an ass all of the time?

“Clarke, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting-”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I just want to be alone. Okay. I can’t take the bickering and whining and bullying.” She emphasizes the last word then jerks free, turning on her heel. She’s not surprised that he follows again.

“Who’s been bothering you?”

She wonders if she’s imagining the concern in his voice.

“Nobody. Everybody. You.”

He snorts. “Wanna talk about it?”

She stops to stare. “You cannot be serious. Maybe I should be asking what’s wrong with you. Did you hit your head or something?”

Bellamy faces her, crossing his arms. “Why is it so surprising that I’m concerned?”

“Because you’re you. You don’t care about anyone besides yourself. And maybe Octavia.” She walks away again, slipping and sliding her way down a steep hill. She hears rocks falling behind her and knows he’s still following her.

She trips at the bottom, but Bellamy catches her. He gently sets her on her feet again, his hand lingering at her back. Clarke’s heart skips at his touch. She’s not sure what to make of that, but knows she doesn’t like it.

Liar.

“That’s not true,” Bellamy says as they start walking again. “I care.”

She frowns, frantically trying to clamp down on those unwanted feelings. “Really? Should we go over your resume of actions since we landed? Where would we even start? ‘Whatever the hell we want.’ Encouraging Murphy to get into a knife fight with Wells. Oh, threatening Wells with a gun. Letting Murphy bully everyone into taking off their wristbands-”

“Okay, okay, I get your point. You can stop now.”

When Clarke glances up at him, his face is tinted pink and he’s frowning. They walk in silence. The longer they go without Bellamy saying anything, the worse she feels. I shouldn’t care. He’s a jerk and deserves it. And yet her stomach coils into a knot like it knows she did something wrong. But I didn’t do anything wrong—I just told him the truth.

She sighs in relief when she hears the rush of the river ahead. It drowns out her swirling thoughts. Bellamy wanders down the bank, watching the woods for trouble. And brooding. She’s scraping moss from a rock when he returns, his shadow blocking her light. She watches him warily as she stands and shoves the sodden mess into her bag.

“I do care what happens to you, Clarke,” he says suddenly. “I know I don’t always show it, but I do.”

Clarke blinks, shocked by his confession. He looks anywhere but at her, body tense, one hand resting on his hatchet. She’s never seen him so uncomfortable. It’s kind of charming.

She wipes her hands on her pants, trying to put all the facts together in her head. He followed her out here to make sure she was safe. He stayed even after she told him to leave. He still hasn’t left. Would he do that for anyone else? Maybe.

The knot tightens, forcing a lump into her throat. “I care what happens to you, too, you know. You make it really difficult sometimes.”

Bellamy ducks his head. Clarke’s sure she sees him blush, but when his gaze meets hers again, he has his trademark smirk on his face. She waits for him to say something snarky, but he only smiles. “You ready to head back?”

Clarke sighs, looking around for anything else to do, but she’s already taken samples of everything. “Yeah, I guess.”

They scramble up the embankment, Bellamy pulling Clarke up by the hand. He holds it several seconds longer than needed. At least it feels longer. The knot in her stomach morphs into a pack of fluttering butterflies sending shivers up and down her spine. She hates that she kind of likes it.

“So, did you find everything you were looking for, princess?” he asks, interrupting her scattered and confusing thoughts.

She takes a deep breath to get herself under control. “Why do you have to keep calling me that? I’m not a princess.”

He chuckles. “Because it annoys you.”

“Of course you would do that,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

Forget what I said about charming.

“Come on, Clarke, lighten up a bit.” When she doesn’t say anything, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll stop. Okay?”

She’s not sure if he’s being serious. The look he’s giving her is intense and makes her body tingle all over. “It does bother me.”

“Okay.”

“You’re really going to stop? Just like that?”

Bellamy shrugs and starts walking again. “Why not? I can control my mouth when I want to.”

This makes Clarke laugh. Okay, maybe he can be charming. Sometimes. When he lets himself. She wishes it were more often.

“Can I ask you something?” The look he gives her is skeptical, but he nods. “How come you try so hard to be a jerk when it’s obvious you’re a nice guy? The way Octavia talks about you, you’d think you were a saint or something.”

He looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, she’s my sister, so she has to say stuff like that.”

“I’m pretty sure there are no rules for siblings. She really means it.”

They can see the camp coming into view up ahead. He slows, Clarke matching his pace. “Let’s just say I do what I have to do to survive. You should do the same. Princess.” His eyes sparkle at her glare, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Last time, I swear.”

He walks away backwards, a disgustingly adorable grin on his stupid face then turns and swaggers through the gate. Clarke flushes—she can feel it from the ends of her toes to the tips of her ears.

And sometimes he can be too charming.

She really, really hates admitting that she gets a little thrill every time he calls her ‘princess.’ Especially with that hint of affection in his voice.

She takes a few seconds to pull herself together before entering the camp, hoping her face isn’t too red. Bellamy’s already barking orders at kids who are standing around. Clarke watches him a moment. She doesn’t get him most of the time, but she kind of understands where he’s coming from. He doesn’t have the luxury of being soft if he wants to maintain control. And it doesn’t bother her that he’s in control. He’s a good leader despite his faults. She admires that.

Not that I’d ever admit it.

Marley—the best friend of the girl with chicken pox—runs up in tears as soon as Clarke enters the camp, her face covered in little red dots. “Clarke, look at this. What is this?” She sounds frantic. There are three more waiting inside the drop ship. Clarke sighs. No rest for the weary, I guess.

Or the wicked.

She hears the last part in Bellamy’s voice, and it makes her smile. She follows Marley inside, confident the dim lighting will hide her blush this time. She’ll just have to ignore the butterflies.

 

The 100 (TV) fic: Every Time We Say Goodbye

everytime

Bellamy/Clarke

Saying good-bye gets harder and harder. Bellamy hopes this one isn’t forever. Episode tag for S02e16.

586 words | rating: PG


Every time we say goodbye, it gets harder and harder to let you go.

I want to tell her that. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but my pride stops me every time. Or fear. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being accepted. Fear of losing a part of me. I prefer the pride theory—it doesn’t sound as pathetic.

This goodbye just might kill me, though. My heart races when I realize she’s serious about leaving. Is she insane? Maybe there’s a tentative peace with the Grounders, but there are other dangers out there. And who knows how long the Grounders will honor the truce. Or if they all will. A lot of them dislike Clarke with a passion. She tends to have that effect on people. You either hate her or love her.

I know. Because I really hate the way her mouth keeps repeating, “I’m so sorry,” over and over. And I hate how defeated she looks. How defeated she makes me feel when she looks at me with those haunted eyes. I hate her for making me hurt this damn much.

“Clarke-”

She cuts me off, as she did the other four times I tried to talk some sense into her. “I just can’t, Bellamy. You have to understand.”

I’m trying. I really am, but panic is setting in and overriding whatever part of my brain is left for empathy. It’s selfish of me to want her to stay just for me, but I’m damn near close to begging her. The thought of her out in the forest alone scares me a lot more than losing my pride, but I bite my tongue and hold my breath.

My heart pounds in my head. I wonder how it got up there when it’s supposed to be in my chest. There’s probably no room left because I still haven’t let out that breath. She looks sadly over her shoulder at the camp. We worked so hard to get this started, I want to tell her. You can’t go now. Not yet. Not without me.

I’m ready to offer to go with her, but she catches me off guard when she leans up and kisses me softly on the cheek. It’s not my pride that keeps my mouth shut this time, but unbridled fear. Because I don’t know what that kiss means. I do know it’s not enough. The only thing keeping me from throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her back to camp is the fact that she’s carrying a knife and could carve my still-beating heart from my chest if she wanted.

That, and my unyielding respect for her. She walks away from me as I’m forced to swallow another breath, to keep pushing air in and out when it feels like the world is crushing me. She’s really doing it. And I’m letting her. And I think it might kill me, but what choice do I have?

If I told her the truth—that I needed her, that I didn’t think I could get through a day without her—would she change her mind? I almost died for her. I don’t ask, though, because it would hurt too much if she left anyway.

Maybe the next goodbye will be easier. If there is one. Because as I watch her disappear into the treeline, I vow there will never be a “next time” because I won’t let her go alone. Next time she won’t get rid of me as easily.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: