12 days of ficmas, day 4: Strong Arms, Rated T, The 100
On the fourth day of Ficmas, jaq tried a new fandom, but this ficlet was all that came to be :D
Title: Strong arms
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: The 100
Characters/Pairing: Bellamy Blake, Raven Reyes
Rating: T
Wordcount: 420w
Summary: “It's ridiculously intimate, he finds himself thinking.” Raven and Bellamy in the immediate wake of Finn's death.
A/N: My first tilt at The 100, written to bea2me's prompt for some Raven/Bellamy. I'm not really solid on the characterisation yet, and couldn't avoid writing about THAT moment, given how powerful it was, so any shippiness might have to wait :D
Clarke enfolds Finn in her arms, and Bellamy has to close his eyes. He can feel Raven stiffen beside him, puzzled, fixated, but still not willing to give up hope. It's Clarke. She specialises in miracles.
Not this time, he wants to say, but knows the truth will slaughter them soon enough. He steps closer to Raven, eyes on her face as he waits for the carnage.
It's ridiculously intimate, he finds himself thinking. He knows the musk of her body, the taste of her tongue, the little ah-ah-ah-ah she made when he tipped her over the edge, but those sordid, physical things are nothing next to the responsibility of waiting for her to break.
Who made him responsible, anyway?
The answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth, because there's no one to blame for the things you do to yourself. He'd called it power until the first kid died, and then had nightmares about what it actually meant. They were his, now.
His to bleed for.
His to care for.
His to hold together, when Finn slumps against the post, and Clarke turns away, eyes blind. Raven's screams are hoarse, helpless splutters and horrified disbelief before her anger arrives in an explosion of arms and legs and mangled threats. It's all he can do to hold her to him, and try to soak it all up, her particular brand of howling, furious sorrow.
He'll fail, of course he'll fail, because he doesn't know what it is to grieve like that. How can he? He was six years old when his mother died, and his last memory is her begging him to take care of Octavia. He'd cried, and said he couldn't, he wouldn't. He didn't know how.
“You're the only one that does,” she had smiled. “You're a big brother.”
And he doesn't know this prickly, mouthy engineer girl, doesn't love her, but Octavia has taught him what she needs. Strong arms. Wise counsel.
He can offer at least one of those, and for the rest, he has Clarke.
fin
Title: Strong arms
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: The 100
Characters/Pairing: Bellamy Blake, Raven Reyes
Rating: T
Wordcount: 420w
Summary: “It's ridiculously intimate, he finds himself thinking.” Raven and Bellamy in the immediate wake of Finn's death.
A/N: My first tilt at The 100, written to bea2me's prompt for some Raven/Bellamy. I'm not really solid on the characterisation yet, and couldn't avoid writing about THAT moment, given how powerful it was, so any shippiness might have to wait :D
Clarke enfolds Finn in her arms, and Bellamy has to close his eyes. He can feel Raven stiffen beside him, puzzled, fixated, but still not willing to give up hope. It's Clarke. She specialises in miracles.
Not this time, he wants to say, but knows the truth will slaughter them soon enough. He steps closer to Raven, eyes on her face as he waits for the carnage.
It's ridiculously intimate, he finds himself thinking. He knows the musk of her body, the taste of her tongue, the little ah-ah-ah-ah she made when he tipped her over the edge, but those sordid, physical things are nothing next to the responsibility of waiting for her to break.
Who made him responsible, anyway?
The answer leaves a sour taste in his mouth, because there's no one to blame for the things you do to yourself. He'd called it power until the first kid died, and then had nightmares about what it actually meant. They were his, now.
His to bleed for.
His to care for.
His to hold together, when Finn slumps against the post, and Clarke turns away, eyes blind. Raven's screams are hoarse, helpless splutters and horrified disbelief before her anger arrives in an explosion of arms and legs and mangled threats. It's all he can do to hold her to him, and try to soak it all up, her particular brand of howling, furious sorrow.
He'll fail, of course he'll fail, because he doesn't know what it is to grieve like that. How can he? He was six years old when his mother died, and his last memory is her begging him to take care of Octavia. He'd cried, and said he couldn't, he wouldn't. He didn't know how.
“You're the only one that does,” she had smiled. “You're a big brother.”
And he doesn't know this prickly, mouthy engineer girl, doesn't love her, but Octavia has taught him what she needs. Strong arms. Wise counsel.
He can offer at least one of those, and for the rest, he has Clarke.
fin