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Archive for the tag “genre: angst”

The 100 fic: A Hero Without a Sunset to Ride Into

aheroThe war may be over, but the battles never end. Bellamy contemplates the consequences of war. Post-season 2 finale.
608 words | [PG-13]


The history books never tell you that the end of the war is just the beginning. It’s the start of cleaning up. Of healing wounds. Of returning to life. Or starting a new one.

Now that the war is over, Bellamy’s finding this part to be the hardest. As far as he can tell, they won, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. He’s exhausted—physically and emotionally. He feels like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together, but the seams don’t quite match up. His world has tilted into something unrecognizable. The color drained, sounds muffled. He wades through pain and swims in a fog so thick he can’t breathe without drowning.

He’s killed more people than he cares to count. His hands aren’t just covered in blood, he’s bathed in it. He hates the things he’s done. Hates the things he’s seen. He hates himself and the world and God if there is one. The war may be over, but the echoed screams of a murdered generation haunt his dreams. They wrench him from restless sleep—sweat-soaked and tear-stained. Only there’s no escape this time because he’s the monster in this nightmare.

Bellamy settles at a table in the mess hall but has neither strength nor motivation to eat. He stares blindly at the food, pushing it around on his plate. He thinks it might be pot roast. The mess is filled with people just like him—adrift in a stupor of heartache and misery. Personal hells of their own making. He’s never been more alone than in this crowded room.

He forces a smile on his face as his friends sit down, ignoring the empty spaces between them. They don’t talk about the missing. They don’t talk about anything really. Like Bellamy, they fake their smiles and chit-chat about the weather. And when they’re done, they’ll all go back to their quarters and weep for the people they once were.

This is the part they forget to tell you—that you don’t just mourn the dead. You mourn what used to be and what could have been. You mourn the spark of life that has fizzled out inside of you. You mourn the innocence you can never get back.

War is a one-way street—no U-turns allowed. Or maybe it’s like a raging river, tossing you in rapids until you are bruised and battered against the rocks only to throw you over the precipice of a waterfall that has no end yet you drown in it all the same.

The panic wells up out of nowhere. Bellamy’s world tilts a little more. He grips the table to ground himself and manages to breathe through the terror without anyone noticing. They’re all far too consumed by their own nightmares to notice his screams anyway.

Peace comes with a price. Surprise!—you fought for a future you no longer deserve. The blood on the fields will dry. The dead can be buried. Wounds heal and the sun rises, but a shattered soul can never be made whole. In his head and in his heart, Bellamy knows he’s broken—a fractured reflection of himself. His sins require absolution he cannot give.

So he eats with his friends and laughs at their jokes. He breathes in and out. In the mornings, he goes to work, and every night the Devil returns to chase him to the brink of his sanity. He’s afraid one day he might jump. It would be a lot easier.

Because the books don’t tell you how to make peace with your demons.

They don’t tell you how to start over again.

They don’t tell you it’s the beginning of the end.

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The 100 fic: Us Against Everything

usagainsteverything.jpg

[Bellamy/Clarke]
Canon divergent. With a brutal winter ahead, Bellamy realizes there might be more than friendship growing between him and Clarke. Written for April Camp NaNoWriMo: breathe.
1539 words | [PG]


Bellamy gets back to camp late. It’s hard to tell the exact time with it getting dark so early, but he figures it must be after nine. The sun went down long ago, and it’s abysmally cold. He blows into his hands, trying to warm his numb fingers. Two fires are burning, but the space around them is empty of their usual laughing kids.

Sterling and two of the other guys he’s with make a beeline for the fire, practically holding their hands in the flames. The other three high-tail it into the dropship. Raven and Monty are still working to get the heat going, but eighty-something bodies crammed into a tin can keeps them warm enough for now. It’s better than being outside anyway.

It’d taken all day, but they’d finally buried the three they lost last night–Edith, Jerome, and Bennett. Edith was only fourteen and down here for talking back to a teacher. He shakes his head. He still can’t believe what they did to these kids. Sure, some of them were hardened criminals. There were killers and rapists among them, but most of the kids were arrested for petty stuff—shoplifting, fist fights, hoarding. It’s almost as if they knew they needed the bodies to fill the dropship so they arrested the kids for anything. Bastards.

His body aches, but he still goes down the line, checking the tents to make sure everyone has moved inside. As he nears the dropship, he hears something in the darkness. His hand drops instinctively to the hatchet at his waist. He approaches slowly. Someone gasps then goes quiet. Crying. He finds Clarke leaning against the dropship, wiping away the tears with her fingertips as if trying to erase the evidence. He’s not sure what he thinks about that.

Bellamy looks around, wishing one of her friends would suddenly appear. Monty or Raven or Octavia. Someone that isn’t him. They’ve been getting along okay the last few weeks, but that doesn’t mean he wants to listen to her blubber about whatever girl thing is bothering her. Of course, there’s no one in sight. He wants to leave her, but an instinctive force compels him forward.

He’ll probably regret this. “You okay, princess?” His voice sounds rougher than expected. Must be the cold.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, not looking at him.

Of course she is. He steps closer. “Then come inside; it’s cold out here.”

Clarke laughs flatly, her breath hanging in the air for a few seconds. “It’s cold in there, too. It’s cold everywhere.” She sniffles, covering her face with her hands.

Bellamy taps his finger against the hatchet. Definitely going to regret this. Joining her against the dropship, it’s obvious why Clarke picked this spot. He can’t even see camp from here. Their world is suddenly nothing more than trees and brush. And darkness. It’s comforting and intimidating. Vast yet intimate. He listens to Clarke cry softly. He thinks he understands. He’s just as frustrated. Just as scared. He worries about everyone constantly.

It used to be just Octavia. He came down to protect her—his sister, his responsibility—but instead, he gained ninety-eight other brothers and sisters. They’re down to eighty-two at last count, and every death weighs on his mind. Every grave dug takes a bit of his soul. The deaths seem nearly daily now which is why he ordered everyone inside tonight. Too little, too late. They’ll be lucky to make it through winter. They’ll be lucky to make it through the month. If the cold doesn’t kill them, they’ll starve to death soon enough. He leans his head back with a sigh. He doesn’t know what else he can do.

“I can’t save them,” Clarke whispers, mirroring his thoughts.

Bellamy looks over at her. Her arms are wrapped tight around her as she stares into the darkness. He doesn’t know what to tell to her because the weight of those eighty-two lives crushes him, too. “We’ll figure it out,” he finally murmurs. Because what else can he say?

“We’re going to die.” She sniffles again.

He hates seeing her cry almost as much as Octavia. He reaches for her without thinking but stops, hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. She looks up at him with desperate, watery eyes. Something cracks in his chest, letting a warmth rush in. He slips his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

He’s surprised when Clarke wraps her arms around his waist and settles her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out,” he whispers.

“How?”

He has no answer. “I don’t know, but the two of us together can do this.”

“But they keep dying. And I can’t save them.” She sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sob. Bellamy tucks her head under his chin, rubbing little circles on her back like he used to do for Octavia

“You’re not a doctor, Clarke. You’re doing the best you can. I should have made everyone move into the dropship days ago.” He swallows hard. “You warned me, and I didn’t listen. So if anything, it’s my fault.” He keeps making one mistake after another. He just buried three of them.

“It’s not going to be enough. There’s still no heat. Food and water are low which is making everyone edgy. The bullies are preying on the other kids-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And even then our chances are slim. All it will take is someone coming down with a virus. Everyone packed in close quarters is a recipe for disaster. Everyone will get sick and they’ll die.” The words tumble out.

He cups her face in his hands. “Clarke, breathe.”

She grabs his wrists, gasping for air as she fights to regain control. Bellamy finds it more than a little unsettling to see her like this. He’s come to rely on Clarke to be strong. He looks to her for guidance. If he sees that almost imperceptible nod of approval or the little twitch of her lips when she’s trying not to smile, he knows he’s on the right track. He needs Clarke. The thought blindsides him, but the moment he thinks it, he knows it’s true. A sudden lump in his throat threatens to choke him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against hers. “We’re going to get through this,” he tells her firmly, trying to convince himself as much as her. “You and me.” He’s not really sure what he means. His words are filled with more meaning than he’d intended.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks.

“I do. We can do anything together.”

When he opens his eyes, her penetrating gaze meets his, sending his heart racing. Damn, when did this happen? When did Clarke start having this effect on him? He’s not sure he likes it, but he can’t look away. She slowly licks her lips—his eyes tracking her tongue. Why is he thinking about kissing her now? This is not the time. No, there is never a time because it’s never going to happen.

Then why does she seem closer than she was a second ago? Did she just look at his mouth? He’s suddenly not very cold anymore. In fact, he feels sweat trickle down the back of his neck. Crap. He doesn’t want this. His life is complicated enough without falling for Clarke. They can barely stand to be around each other half the time.

Before he can do anything stupid like kiss her, he tugs her into another hug. Her arms wrap around his neck this time. He wishes he knew what she was thinking because his thoughts are bouncing all over the place. They keep landing back on how good it feels with her in his arms. How he never wants to let her go. How much he wants to kiss her. He shivers at the thought.

Clarke steps back with a sigh—almost reluctantly. She wipes her eyes and laughs. “I’m a mess.”

Bellamy bites back a smile. “We’re all a mess, Clarke,” he says, wiping his grimy hands on his even grimier shirt.

“I meant on the inside.”

“I know.” Her eyeroll settles his nerves. They’re going to be okay. They have to be because he’s not sure he can do this without her. He doesn’t tell her that, though. He bottles up all of the emotions—all the urges— raging through him then clears his throat. “We should get inside before we freeze to death.”

Clarke grabs his wrist. “Promise me, Bellamy,” she says, voice cracking. “Promise we’re going to make it.”

The lump is back, making it hard to breathe. Her hand slides down until their fingers tangle together. He can’t make that promise, and she knows it. But he nods anyway. “I promise.”

She gives him a weak smile then squeezes his hand once before letting it go. She squares her shoulders then marches out of the shadows and into the light of the fires glowing in front of the dropship. Bellamy follows her because he has no other choice. They’re in this together, and they will make it. Together.

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.

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.

The 100 (tv) fic: Every Time I Turn Around

turnaroundSince she came back, Clarke is always there whenever Bellamy turns around, even when he doesn’t know he needs her. Bellamy’s thoughts during his emotional conversation with Clarke in 3.13.

272 words | rating: PG


I don’t know how long I’ve stood out here, listening to the softly lapping waves. The sun’s gone down so it’s been a while. When I hear the crunching of rocks, I know it can only be one person. Octavia isn’t talking to me and Jasper would never come out here for a heart-to-heart so that leaves Clarke. I don’t need her sympathy right now. Or the way she can crawl under my skin and get right into my soul. I hate it. I want to hate her. To hate the world right now. But the only thing I hate is myself.

I last about five seconds before I confess every sin in my heart. I don’t know what it is about her. She doesn’t even have to say anything and I’m bearing my soul to her. And I’m crying. Goddammit. I wipe away the tears and try to look anywhere but at her, but her face keeps drawing me back—the gentleness of her eyes, the sadness in her lips.

She wants to know if I’ll ever forgive myself. I don’t see how I can. I remember sitting under that tree with her a lifetime ago. I thought I was a monster then, but that was nothing compared to this. My mother wouldn’t even recognize me. But Clarke always sees me. Even in the dark.

When she reaches for me, I can’t think of anything that I deserve less, and nothing I want more than to feel her arms around me. I don’t know how she forgives me, but maybe if she can do it, so can I. Maybe. Some day.

The 100 fic: Worn Around the Edges

worn

Bellamy tries to be the friend that Clarke needs while she deals with what happened in The City of Light even if it tears apart his heart.

3013 words | rating: PG


“So,” Bellamy says, leaning on the wall next to Clarke. It’s late; everyone not on watch is asleep. Of course Clarke is up. He’s not sure she sleeps anymore. Day or night, whenever he’s on patrol, she’s wandering around.

“So.” She pushes her hands into the pockets of her jacket. He hadn’t noticed her trading in her Grounder leathers for standard Ark attire. Hadn’t realized how much he missed the familiar look until now.

He mimics her pose—hands in his jacket pockets. She lets out a soft sigh; he’s not sure if it’s just relieving stress or from agitation. He sighs in return. She leans her head back against the cool metal; he leans his head back. Finally she looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

Read more…

The 100 (TV) fic: I Found a Girl

hug_foundagirlI Found a Girl
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
The 100 (TV)
Bellamy/Clarke
495 words
rating: PG

Bellamy’s been walking all night, carrying the weight of the world and the lone survivor of Factory Station. His mission to find Clarke has failed miserably. And another member of the group died on his watch. He’s not looking forward to this homecoming, but Camp Jaha has a surprise waiting for him.

My take on the reunion scene in episode 2.05: Human Trials. I fudged the details just a little—call it poetic license. (Title: I Found a Girl by Jan and Dean.)

don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.


I hurt. Everywhere—inside and out. My arms ache, my feet are blistered, and my soul is splintered. We hobble into Camp Jaha, ragged with exhaustion. Abby runs up, and I try not to look as defeated as I feel. I’m not sure I can take her disappointment on top of my own.

I didn’t find Clarke.

But Abby barely glances at me—her concern concentrated on the girl I’m practically carrying. She listens to my pathetic report then guides Mel and Monroe away. Not a single question about Clarke.

I find out why a second later when Clarke launches herself at me before I can even process the sight of her. She’s here. In camp. In my arms. And I’m standing here like an idiot as she cries into my shoulder. I don’t know what this means, but I do know the weight inside me lifts. Suddenly I can breathe.

I throw my arms around her, holding tight. I’m afraid to let go because this might just all be a dream. I bury my face in the crook of her neck. She smells like sweat and dirt and the antiseptic used to clean her wounds. I fight back burning tears. Eventually her grip eases, and I have to let go.

Her eyes search my face. I wonder what she finds there. I take the chance to blatantly stare back. She looks horrible—her face a patchwork of cuts and bruises, blood and grime. If I could take away her pain, I would. Not that she’d ever let me.

She sniffles; I sniffle. She smiles; I smile. Is her heart racing like mine? She steps away to hug Octavia. My sister eyes me with the kind of look that always puts me on guard. Her smirk says, “I know your secret.”

I swallow hard. I have no problem admitting that I care about Clarke. We’ve been through too much together to deny that, but anything more seems dangerous. Love makes you do stupid things. Like take your illegal sister into public knowing your mother will be floated if anyone found out. Love weakens you. It opens whole new paths of pain. Of course, none of that changes the warm tickle in my chest when she’s around.

Clarke looks between Octavia and me, her smile fading. “Where’s Finn?”

It feels like an eternity before I can pull myself together and not sound like she shattered me into a thousand pieces with two words. I take a deep breath, rebuilding protective walls, then catch her gaze. “Looking for you.”

Her lips scowl at me, but her eyes are a million miles away, already searching for Finn. She’ll leave as soon as she can, and she won’t have to ask if I’ll go with because we both know I will. I’d follow her to the ends of the Earth. Even to look for the guy she’s in love with. At least then I’ll know where to find her.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic: All I Want for Christmas is You

buffyspikeAll I Want for Christmas is You
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Buffy/Spike
1322 words
rating: PG
WARNINGS:

Set in season six. Buffy’s back from the dead and still having a hard time dealing with life; Christmas is almost more than she can handle. While her friends take a break from the chaos that is their lives, Buffy sneaks out, only to find Spike doing his stalker routine. But things aren’t always as bad as they seem, and neither is Spike.

don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.


The door clicked softly behind Buffy. She pulled her sweater tighter around her as she sat on the back steps. Her breath hung in the cool December air. From inside, she could hear her friends singing carols, buzzed on too much spiked eggnog. She leaned her head into her hands; everything was so hard.

After a moment, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “What do you want, Spike?”

Spike chuckled. “You always seem to know where I am, love.”

“I could smell the smoke.” Read more…

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