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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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City Mouse doesn’t like mice?

Ncis NOLA one-shot

Percy X Lasalle-Persalle

No warnings, just fluff <3

Word count: 392

Just a little one-shot that was rattling around in my head. Hope you guys like it :D

Chris knocked twice shifting on his feet as he waited. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door before Gregorio opened it while gripping her hair in on hand in an attempt to put it up. She gestured for him to come in and headed towards the kitchen raking her hands through it to smooth it back calling over her shoulder, “We’re running a little behind this morning. This case interrupted Saturday morning cartoons.” He grinned closing the door and followed, “Take your time. Pride hasn’t left the office yet.”

Tammy grabbed two coffee tumblers from the cabinet. Filling each, she dumped sugar in one and added soy milk to the other. Sipping from hers, she groaned, “God I love coffee.” Chris's smile widened as he declined her offer for a cup, “I’ve got mine in the truck.” She nodded before turning up her drink again.

The shower cut off down the hall and Gregorio disappeared into her room reappearing a moment later with her gear as she pulled her ponytail through an NCIS cap. Leaning on the counter casually, Chris asked, "She's takin' her time gettin' pretty ain't she?" Tammy was putting on her shoes and opened her mouth to quip back when a screech erupted from Sonja’s room followed by crashing and thumping. Chris and Tammy both started towards the door just as it was yanked open. Sonja bolted out and crashed right into Chris, took one look at him and jumped into his arms yelling, “There’s a rat!”

They all looked down as it scurried out and down the hall. Chris sidestepped and Gregorio dodged grimacing as she pulled out her phone, “I’m calling the land lord, now!” Chris looked at Sonja who was still clinging to him, with her legs around his waist, like a monkey, “City mouse doesn’t like mice?” She pinched his arm and squirmed griping, “You can put me down now.”

He chuckled striding into her room and dumped her onto the bed eliciting a shrill, “Hey!” His response was to tickle the bottom of her bare foot which made her thrash around and near fall off the bed. “Put some shoes on, we’re on the clock here,” Chris teased as he turned away. Gregorio was talking animatedly into her phone when he stepped back out into the hall. No doubt their landlord was getting an earful.

Sonja announced, “Ready!”, as she came out shouldering her bag and grabbed the coffee Tammy held out. Chris got a playful shove on one side and another pinch on the other as he herded them towards the door saying, “Come on ladies, can we get to work now?”

#ncis new orleans #ncis nola #persalle #sonja percy #chris lasalle #tammy gregorio #ncis nola fanfic #ladyreneeboulanger92 #ncis new orleans fanfic #ncis nola fanfiction #ncis new orleans fanfiction #chrisxsonja #percyxlasalle

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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Writers be like:

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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*heart eyes*

Keep Me Warm

Sherlock Holmes was freezing. Wondering around a small backwater town in Eastern Europe, in the middle of January, in a homeless mans disguise wasn’t the best of ideas; even if it was necessary.

Sherlock shivered in the helicopter as it made its way to the secret government hanger where a small plane would transfer him back to London for the night. Mycroft arranged a briefing in the morning to let him know where he was to go next. After ten months of undercover work, Sherlock was satisfied with the way Moriarty’s network was starting to crumble.

“Coming up on the hangar, Mr. Holmes! The plane is ready for take off as soon as you get there! Should be less than an hours flight until you are back in London!” The pilot said loudly into his mouthpiece, making Sherlock wince at the sudden loudness coming through his own headset.

He nodded to the pilot, clenching his jaw against the cold that was still threatening to creep deep into his bones. A headache was starting to press behind his eyes; the kind of headache that builds in the sinuses and could only be caused by prolonged exposure to the cold air. Sherlock flexed his long musicians fingers against his thighs as the helicopter started its descent towards the helipad.

One thought was on Sherlock’s mind as the pilot expertly landed the helicopter: getting to the only place in England where he could get warm. Because there was only one place in Europe where he knew he would be welcomed with open arms and no questions.

Molly Hooper’s.

Sherlock kept the thought of Molly Hooper’s tiny warm flat in his mind as he boarded the small plane and buckled himself in. He thought of a decent hot meal and a whole pot of his favorite tea, thought of sitting on Molly’s small broken down sofa with her, organizing his mind palace while she lost herself in mindless television.

True to the pilots word, the flight only took forty-two minutes to get from the hangar back to London. Nodding to the small planes pilot as he made his way down the short flight of steps to the Tarmac, Sherlock pulled his dingy windbreaker tighter around him and started making his way towards Molly’s street.

Sherlock walked for over an hour, sticking to alleys and side roads to avoid being seen. 8:30 in the evening didn’t leave the main streets empty enough for him to make it to Molly’s as quickly as he would’ve like, especially in the freezing rain that began to pour from the clouds. When he finally walked out of an alley a block from her complex, he threw caution to the wind and hurried down the street, pulling his wool cap down more securely over his ears.

Molly Hopper was sitting on her sofa, in her most comfortable pajamas, glasses perched on her nose, and a bowl of mango sorbet in her lap.

It had been a long day at the morgue; a fire at a retirement home had ensured that. Molly, along with three other morgue technicians, had spent the long sixteen hour shift performing autopsies on over thirty elderly bodies. Every time she would finish with a body, an orderly would wheel another one in.

Molly had just settled on a rerun of her favorite television program when she heard the unmistakable sound of the lock on her door being picked. Glancing at the clock and realizing it was almost ten o'clock at night, Molly started to get worried. Grabbing her mobile and the cricket bat she kept next to the sofa, Molly waited with her thumb hovering over the emergency number on her phone.

As the door swung open, Molly raised her cricket bat just as the raggedy man in the doorway raised his hands.

“A cricket bat? Really, Molly?”

The unmistakable smooth baritone voice of Sherlock Holmes greeted her ears like a favorite song.

“Sherlock!” She exclaimed, dropping the bat and her mobile on the armchair. “I gave you a key! Why didn’t you just use it instead of picking my lock? And when you are wearing a disguise! I could’ve bashed your brains in!”

“Not likely, Molly.” He said, a ghost of a grin quirking up one corner of his mouth. “With your size, plus the size and weight of the cricket bat, in comparison to a person of my size and weight, I say it would’ve been easy enough to overpower you in seconds. Especially since you would’ve been coming straight for me with no element of surprise.”

He was fully grinning now, looking down at her, his eyes twinkling. Molly tried her best scowl at him, but the edge of her mouth betrayed her, fighting to curl into a smile.

“May I come in?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh! Of course! Yes come in!” Molly said, rushing to grab the door and shut it behind him. Sherlock stepped into the short hallway and pulled the damp wool hat off of his dark curls, running his hands through them. Molly noticed his shivering and swept her gaze over him; he was soaked to the bone and shivering.

“How long have you been walking around in the rain?” She asked, frowning as she watched him stuff the wool cap into the pocket of his dingy windbreaker.

“About and hour,” Sherlock replied, wiping at his wet face with the cuff of his jacket.

“Why don’t you go take a hot shower and I’ll make you something to eat. Maybe a spot of tea as well?” She asked gently, smiling at him. He just looked at her curiously for a moment, before he nodded and removed his jacket. Underneath he was wearing a jumper riddled with holes and pair of dark jeans in much the same shape. He kicked off his muddy trainers and handed Molly his sodden jacket.

“Do I still have spare clothes in your bedroom?” He asked, pulling the jumper over his head an handing that to her as well.

Molly nodded and balled up the wet clothes she was handed. “I’ll just pitch these in the bin and start something to eat, then.” She said, gently giving Sherlock a nudge on the arm to get him moving towards the bathroom. He just nodded again and stifled a yawn, heading towards the back hallway.

Molly watched him enter her room and emerge a few moments later with a stack of fresh clothes. Sherlock smiled at her agin as he disappeared in the bathroom. Molly smiled back and then pushed through the swinging door of her kitchen, dropping the wet clothes into the bin on her way to the fridge.

Sherlock stood underneath the hot spray of water, letting the heat work its way into his sore and cold muscles. Seeing Molly Hooper’s face had done more to warm him up than any amount of time spent in the hot shower did.

Realizing his feelings for Molly had been something of a surprise to him. At first, Sherlock put it down to the fact that she was the one person besides Mycroft who knew that he was alive and well when everyone else in the country believed him to be dead. Molly was his one normal connection to his beloved London; so of course he thought of her often. She was forbidden to contact him in any form while he was out of the country, but Sherlock would occasionally send her short texts from a burner phone when he was stuck during the case, using her as a sounding board, or (he was embarrassed to admit) when he was lonely.

The texts soon morphed from the occasional Interesting mould in this motel, I will get a sample so you can analyze it for me. to You would enjoy the morgue I just broke into, they have the most interesting display of diseased organs. to I read the headline about the accident on the M5 as I was passing a news vendor. You should treat yourself to a hot bath tonight. I suggest the lavender bath salts to help you relax.

As always, Molly came up with a clever solution to the problem of the one sided conversation. She started to keep a journal, writing the date she received the text from Sherlock, copying the text itself into the journal, and then writing her response underneath it in a different color of ink. When Sherlock would show up at her door, either freezing, bleeding, or starving, Molly would push him towards the shower, patch him up, or place a plate full of food in front of him. Once he was taken care of, she would hand him the journal, bid him goodnight, and go quietly to bed.

Sherlock looked forward to his brief visits to the pathologist’s small flat, just so he could read her responses to his texts, or (if she didn’t hear from him for a couple of days) the account of her day at work. She would include precise details about interesting autopsies, or make her observations on some experiment he had asked her to preform at the lab.

As the water started to cool, Sherlock scrubbed his hair and body before turning the water off and grabbing a towel. As he rubbed the towel over his hair, the smell of food and the sound of Molly’s quiet singing came seeping under the door. Sherlock smiled and pulled on his fresh clothes, his stomach rumbling and his heart beating fast.

Molly just finished loading a plate with pasta and placing it on the kitchen table when Sherlock walked into the kitchen wearing trousers and a dark green dress shirt.

“You know you could always wear jeans and a jumper when you’re here, you don’t have to dress up just for me.” Molly teased, smiling cheekily at him.

“Your jokes still haven’t gotten any better, I see.” Sherlock commented, rolling his eyes but grinning at her so she knew he was joking.

He sat down and tucked into his pasta, Molly was at the sink washing up the few dishes that had accumulated there throughout the day, humming softly to herself. The whole scene was so domestic that Sherlock almost cringed. Or he would have if he wasn’t so content.

He was content to be back in London, even if it was only for twenty four hours. He was content to be in clean clothes, in a warm flat with a hot meal in his stomach. He was content to be at Molly Hoppers cramped kitchen table, watching her wash dishes in her atrocious flannel pajama pants with hearts all over them. How many times had he wished for this very thing while he was kneeling in a flooded ditch, wearing week-old clothes trying his best to avoid Moriarty’s goons.

Once Sherlock had finished his pasta, he took his plate to the sink, picking up a dish towel and drying the finished dishes, placed them in the correct cupboards. Molly dried her hands and picked up the text journal off the counter.

“I’m off to bed. I made the bed in the guest room up with fresh linens while you were in the shower.” She said, handing Sherlock the journal.

He looked down at the small leather notebook in his hands and thought for a moment.

“Would you be going to bed so early if I wasn’t here?” He asked.

“Well, no. I planned on having some cocoa and reading the new science journal that came out today before I headed to bed.” Molly answered, cocking her head to the side.

“Would you….would you like to sit on the sofa with me while you read?” Sherlock asked, barely meeting her gaze. He held up the journal. “I would like to catch up on some reading myself.”

Molly’s smile could’ve melted the whole of Antarctica. She nodded, grabbing his hand and leading him into the sitting room.

“Give me just a mo to get the cocoa and I’ll be right back!” She said, smiling again. Sherlock couldn’t help but smiling as well, watching her practically skip to the kitchen to get the mugs of hot cocoa.

Two hours later found Molly asleep, curled up next to Sherlock with her head on his chest. Sherlock had finished catching up on Molly’s responses in the text journal around the same time Molly had dozed off. He lay the journal on the coffee table, pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa. Wrapping the blanket around Molly, he draped his arm across her shoulders, content to have spent his time with the warm pathologist. Letting her sunny disposition sink into his bones, Sherlock Holmes smiled, warm and content.

@bluegreyme asked for a cute fluffy sherlolly fic complete with hot cocoa in the winter. Buuuuut….this fic kind of got away from me. It’s still a bit fluffy, and I hope you enjoy it blue :) (This fic has not been beta read, so any and all mistakes are my own)

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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The five stages of writing:

I am a genius.

All of this is a huge pile of crap.

Okay, but it’s not that bad.

It is, it really is that bad.

Screw it. No one will read this anyway so I may as well write the damn thing how I want.

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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tips for writing Star Wars fanfic/Star Wars roleplay things

it’s not concrete; it’s duracrete

viewports are the windows on ships

not a plane; ship or speeder

it’s not steel; it’s durasteel

books are rare; holorecords or datapads

it’s not a glass pane it’s transparisteel

caf is the equivalent of coffee

it’s not paper it’s a flimsi

medcenter is a hospital

Star Wars can be very similar to things we’re already used to, but getting familiar with some of these terms can make your writing really fit in with the universe

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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THINGS WHICH MAKE WRITERS ANXIOUS:

not writing

writing

people reading their stories

people not reading their stories

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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“Books are meant to renew hope, restore courage, and refill your desire to conquer life.”

—

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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Being a writer is changing out of last night’s pyjamas into a fresh pair of pyjamas which you will then wear for a full 24 hours until you change into yet another set of pyjamas.

It’s just a week long pyjama party with tea and snacks except only my characters are invited.

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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😁😊😍

lay your head on me

One minute, he’s ensconced in fond memories of his childhood, of him and his mother trying to get Octavia–who had always been stubborn and headstrong, even as a child–to eat her share of their rations.

When he thinks about those days, Bellamy never remembers the constant undercurrent of fear that they’d be found out, or the hollow ache in his own stomach because a growing boy didn’t have enough food of his own. All he remembers is his family in tact. The private jokes they’d come up with between the three of them, made all the more precious with the knowledge that even when he didn’t have as much as his classmates did, he had something they were sorely missing out on: a sibling.

The next minute, his sister is gasping for breath in his arms, fighting him (always fighting him) with fading strength. His own traitorous hand is smothering her cries for help, his heart shattering into pieces as the blazing fury in her eyes dims and she slips away from the world.

He thought it would look like she was sleeping, but her eyes stay open, glazed over and unseeing, but brimming with betrayal nonetheless. I thought you loved me, they seem to say. They pin him where he kneels beside her, and suddenly he’s the one who can’t breathe.

Claws sink into his chest, ripping, shredding him open from the inside out–

He wakes with a start, gasping for breath and thrashing, tangled in the sheets. He pushes himself to sit up, shaking and sweating and still seeing his sister’s hurt, unforgiving eyes every time he closes his own.

Air doesn’t make it to his lungs as he remembers it’s not a nightmare. It’s a memory. One long behind him, but never far away…

A warm weight on his back soothes him as her hand strokes up and down his spine.

Clarke isn’t, and never has been, a morning person. Bellamy has known it since the dropship, when he’d learned to plan their strategy meetings at lunchtime or later, or put his head at risk of being snapped off. Yet every time his nightmares wake him up, she sits right there with him, calming him down until he can get back to sleep, or lying awake with him until it’s time for them to start the day.

Bellamy soul aches with how much he loves her in these twilight hours. He takes a few shuddering breaths through his nose and reaches back to place his hand over hers, to hold it to his shoulder and lace their fingers together.

Her lips press against the back of his neck and this time when he closes his eyes, there’s no one haunting him. All he sees is the peaceful dark.

“What was it this time?” She asks, voice raspy with sleep.

“O.”

A sharp exhale through her nose lands behind his ear. He won’t go into more detail than that, not wanting to add to the burden of guilt Clarke heaps upon herself. She doesn’t press him for details, her other hand finding his waist, then sliding to his chest until she’s curled around him from behind, her head resting on his back.

Bellamy brings their linked hands to his lips and kisses her palm.

Settling himself after his nightmares isn’t always this easy.

Some nights he is restless, going to the training room and taking his self-loathing out on a punching bag until he notices Clarke slumped against the wall, asleep, and carries her back to their bed. Some nights she cradles his head to her chest and strokes his hair as he cries. Some nights she distracts him with her hands and lips and curves until he forgets anything and anyone else exists.

But some nights, like tonight, it’s as simple as reminding himself where he is. What he made his choices for. That she’s here with him.

They sit like that for a while, unmoving, until he feels Clarke’s breathing start to slow. A tiny smile nudges at his lips.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he chides gently.

“Can’t help it. You’re comfy,” she mumbles, but her limbs loosen around him. Bellamy lets go of her hand and she flops back onto the mattress, her fingers tugging at the back of his waistband, insistent.

He twists as he lies down so that he’s facing her, draping his arm over her as she squirms closer. Her heartbeat is steady and slow against his palm, her nose tucked into his neck.

The rift between him and his sister may never fully mend. Life on earth may never be one of perfect peace or taking survival for granted. But this moment right here, with Clarke in his arms? He wouldn’t trade it.

Not for anything.

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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controversial writing tip

open a document and start writing

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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If they’d all made it into the bunker...

Bellamy X Clarke

No warning, just fluff...

As everyone settled into the bunker, the leaders held countless meetings about rationing, work schedules and the like. By the time they adjourned, everyone was exhausted shuffling off to their assigned living quarters for the next 5 years. Bellamy had lost Clarke in the shuffle but before he did he'd caught a glimpse of her exhausted expression and slumped posture. The girl deserved a good nights sleep, they all did.

He gave a small wave in Monty's direction before heading on to his own room lugging along a pack that contained his few possessions. Being a higher up at least had the privilege of getting him a room separate from the group bunks. The door slid aside without protest and he nearly dropped his bag onto the sleeping form that occupied the nearest of two cots but tightened his grip on the strap immediately sending it swinging back and colliding with his shins. Bellamy winced and let out a grunt.

At the sound, his new roommate bolted upright eyes wide in the dim light spilling in from the still open door. Clarke relaxed a bit upon seeing him but then furrowed her brow. "Is something wrong?", she queried in a tone weary enough to suggest that if it wasn't an emergency, she would rather wait until morning to deal with it.

Bellamy took a step back and tilted his head to look at the small identifying number next to the door. Upon inspection he was in fact in the room that Monty had told him would be his for their time underground. Perhaps Monty had gotten the number wrong or maybe Clarke in her exhaustion had wondered into the wrong room, but honestly he was too tired at the moment to really care so he stepped back into the small space pushing the door closed and dropped his bag on the floor next to the cot opposite of the one that she occupied.

It was too dark now to see anything as he finally replied, "Nothing's wrong. I just want to sleep.", huffing as he toed off his boots and flopped down face first onto the bed. Clarke didn't speak but he heard her shift, presumably lying back down. Bellamy was on the verge of unconsciousness within seconds but that was interrupted as he heard the sound of Clarke letting out an exasperated sigh followed by the sound of bare feet approaching.

"Ow!" Clarke hissed as she stumbled over what must have been Bellamy's boots before grabbing the edge of his bunk and crawling in beside him. He rolled onto his back trying to make room for her but she grabbed his side and stopped his retreat drawing him close. With a little sigh she breathed against his neck, "You're warm."

Bellamy chuckled softly, "I see how it is, you just want me for my body heat." Clarke mumbled an 'mhm' settling in further and draping a leg over his extended knee. Bellamy tightened his grasp and tucked the covers around her firmly before lying back and promptly passing out.

They were both jolted from sleep by a knock at the door. After a few seconds, Bellamy managed to disentangle himself from the blanket and Clarke's sprawling limbs. She groaned and shoved her head under the pillow which he found strangely adorable as another knock sounded. He hurried over stumbling and fumbled with the light switch finally flipping it on as he slid the door open to find Abby standing in the hall with her hand raised, poised to knock again.

Heat rose to his ears as she scrunched her face up confused and looked at the rooms number the same way he had the night before. "Sorry Bellamy. I was looking for Clarke." Her eyes widened slightly as the rustle of covers sounded over his shoulder and Clarke grumbled, "For god sakes Bellamy, turn off the light..." Abby cleared her throat, "Clarke?" The bundle curled up beneath the blankets froze for a moment and then sat up slowly emerging from her cocoon as she squeaked out, "Mom?"

Bellamy looked back and stifled a laugh as he took in Clarke sitting on the cot clutching a pillow, her wild blonde hair sticking up in every direction. She gulped, her eyes darting to meet his and he suddenly realized that Clarke's mom had just found them in bed together, even if nothing had happened. His smirk faded, replaced with embarrassment as he snatched up his boots, bouncing from one foot to the other to pull them on. He stuttered, "Uh, I'm gonna go find some breakfast, see you there?"

Clarke nodded as he slipped by Abby avoiding eye contact. Clarke called, "Bell?" His head appeared back in the doorway, brows raised, "Huh?" Clarke threw his shirt at him and he caught it laughing nervously as he pulled it on, "Might need that."

When he was gone, Abby came into the room looking around, "So you two are roommates?" Clarke turned slightly pink shuffling out of bed to pull on clothes and shoved her shoes on, "It's not like that." Abby seemed genuinely surprised by the denial and just shrugged, "You're a big girl, its your business I guess."

Clarke didn't bother with another denial but instead finger combed her hair back braiding it quickly while asking, "Did you need something?" Abby shifted crossing her arms, "Just wanted to check on you, see how you're doing after getting some sleep." Shrugging back, Clarke huffed, "I'm fine, good as can be expected I guess. There's just so much to do and we're stuck down here for five years, we all have to learn to get along." Abby nodded, "Yeah, it's going to take time and a lot of work." Clarke met her gaze finally and took a deep breath, "Yeah... Let's just start with breakfast."

Breakfast was less awkward than Clarke expected given the circumstances and afterward everyone quickly got to work on designated tasks. Clarke and Bellamy were on duty together helping with the hydrofarm setup when Monty came by with his nose buried in a blueprint. "If we clear this storage space, we can expand the farm and have a higher yield.", he said to Harper who tagged along carrying an arm load of other paperwork and nodded at Clarke as she passed.

Clarke stretched to slide the box she was carrying onto the top shelf and grunted as she struggled to reach pushing up onto her toes. She let out a little squeal as it slipped a bit. Bellamy hurried over gripping the box before it could tip and pushed it back looking down at Clarke with a smile, "You know, it's ok to get help sometimes?" Clarke huffed, "I had it." He chuckled, still standing over her and put his hands on his hips as he leveled a look. She reluctantly mumbled as she stepped around him, "Thanks."

Monty poked Harper in the ribs eliciting a squeak, "Are you even listening?" She glared halfheartedly at him rubbing her side, "Not really. I was kind of busy watching Clarke and Bellamy flirting." He looked over just as Bellamy leaned to grab something and Clarke bumped him just hard enough that he toppled over. She exclaimed with a smirk, "My bad!" Bellamy laid there for a second staring at the ceiling and then sat up pointing an accusatory finger in Clarke's direction, "That was on purpose and I will remember it when you get cold again."

Clarke rolled her eyes oblivious to the audience they had and nudged Bellamy, who was still sitting on the floor, with her knee as she passed, "You didn't complain last night." She squealed again as Bellamy grabbed her behind the knees dragging her to the floor and started tickling her. She fought back trying to scramble away but Bellamy managed to pin her between his thighs and wouldn't let up.

Interrupting Clarke's kicking and screaming, someone cleared their throat loudly. Bellamy grunted when Clarke landed a punch to his gut and rolled him off of her. She jumped up quickly, yanking her shirt down where it had ridden up. Harper was grinning like a cat over Monty's shoulder as he raised a brow and asked, "Aren't you too supposed to be working?" Clarke wasted no time hurrying to start moving boxes again but Bellamy took his time getting up. He and Monty exchanged a pointed look and Monty raised his hands submissively, "Hey I don't make the rules, you guys can have tickle fights on your own time."

That night, after a long day of checking tasks off the big to do list, Clarke and Bellamy headed off towards the mess hall. When they arrived, it was pretty much empty so they grabbed rations and ate quickly in silence. They were both ready for some sleep, shuffling as they walked back to their room. Clarke took Bellamy's arm leaning into him heavily. "God I'm so tired, you know you want to give me a piggy back ride?", Clarke teased looking up at him.

Bellamy appraised her for a moment and then reached down and scooped her up into his arms. She gasped softly staring up at him with those doe eyes then settled her head against his shoulder with a sigh. He put her down gently after they'd entered their room and closed the door.

Now that he had a moment to look around, he realized the space was likely a storage compartment that cots had been added to. It was cramped but cozy with Clarke there. Her presence seemed to give it warmth. She rummaged through her bag and sat several things on the makeshift desk shoved into the corner. Bellamy watched quietly as she lined up her belongings on one end. While she continued unpacking, he undressed and settled back into the bed leaving the covers pulled back and waited.

Clarke finished with her few belongings, leaving a stack of papers on the desk and turned to face him looking a bit timid. With a soft smile, he beckoned for her to join him and she eagerly disrobed then flipped the light off before curling into his side. They listened to each other breathing then Bellamy spoke quietly, "If we're going to share a bed, we can move the other one out and have more room?"

Clarke shifted beside him asking, "Is this a permanent arrangement?" She felt him nod as he answered, "If you want it to be." It was quiet again as she thought it over and nuzzled farther into his embrace, "I'm sure some one could use the extra cot." Bellamy smiled to himself tightening his arm around her and placed a chaste kiss on her head whispering, "Goodnight Clarke."

#The 100 #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 fic #bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellamy x clarke #abby griffin #monty green #harper mcintyre #fanfic #fanfiction #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke fic #oneshot #ladyreneeboulanger92

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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Killing time isn’t as difficult as it sounds. I can shoot a hundred numbers through the chest and watch them bleed decimal points in the palm of my hand. I can rip the numbers off a clock and watch the hour hand tick tick tick its final tock just before I fall asleep. I can suffocate seconds just by holding my breath. I’ve been murdering minutes for hours and no one seems to mind.

Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me (via yabookquote)

The imagery is just mind blowing, I remember reading it for the first time when I was a teenager and getting chills. Beautiful writing like this inspired me to write myself.

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ladyreneeboulanger92 · 6 years

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I Will Try-Chapter 10

Kylo/Ben X Rey

Warnings: none

Also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116915/chapters/34154865

Summary:

Ben wakes up to find himself in a cell. Now that he's conscious Rey reaches out through the bond but will she be able to get to him in time?

Notes:

I know it's been a while since the last post on this one and I appreciate the patience, but I'm happy to say that we are continuing this story finally. I may be slow to post as I try to regain some momentum here and work on other projects as well but I am determined to get this one finished and posted for you guys. This chapter is going to hopefully get us back in the swing. Hope you guys like it and as always I love feedback and support, it's great motivation to keep writing.

Rey reached out feeling rage roll through the bond. Had Ben changed his mind? No, surely not after what they'd been through together. Rey knew the feelings they had were real and so when she appeared standing next to Ben everything felt as though it were moving in slow motion. She watched as he held out a hand towards General Hux who squirmed beneath his power's grasp, felt Ben's rage towards the man pulse, watched as the stormtroopers pulled the triggers and multiple bolts blasted towards him. Helpless to do anything, unable to even form a scream, Rey watched as the stun shots struck him and Ben's body seized from the pain toppling to the floor in a heap of limbs and dark cloth. As he lost consciousness, the bond severed leaving her alone in her room gasping for air as she stared at an empty spot on the floor.

There was nothing she could do. The bond was still there, so Ben was alive, for now. Rey paced silently pushing at it relentlessly but no amount of tugging would open it while he wasn't conscious. With no idea where he was, Rey couldn't get to him. How could this have happened? She cradled her head in her hands and let out a frustrated sound. Fear was a powerful thing so she straigtened he back and ran. As people looked on curiously, Rey dashed into the hangar and started up a transport but no one tried too stop her. They all knew who she was, the Jedi girl. Moments later when she entered orbit, Rey felt for the bond, only able to get a weak sense of direction but without hesitation she charted a course and let the task of flying be taken by the auto pilot. For now that would have to do and she kept probing the bond hoping he'd wake soon as she tried to formulate a plan.

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When he woke, it took Ben a moment to remember what had happened but then it rushed back and he bolted upright. The small, sterile room tilted as a wave of dizziness rushed over him and he scooted across the floor to put his back against a wall for support. Stun setting... Hux had ordered him captured, not killed, but why? Perhaps there'd be a public execution, a message to any would be traitors, don't bother betraying the First Order because even Kylo Ren as Supreme Leader couldn't get away with it.

He surveyed the room, looking for any way out, anything to use as a weapon. It was no use, one door in and out, guarded by a half dozen judging by the minds he brushed against. No weapons either, the room was empty aside from him. How was he going to get out of this one? Ben felt the yank then and simultaneously Rey appeared before him in his cell. Her hair was loose, disheveled and her eyes were wide with fear. She seemed surprised for a moment, then a mix of worry and relief washed over her expression as she hurried to his side kneeling.

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Tears threatened as Rey tried to swallow down her worry, "You scared me, I saw them shoot you and then the bond closed me out." Ben looked worn out but didn't appear permanently injured as he ran a hand down his face and groaned so quietly she could barely hear, "Cameras..." A moment of confusion overtook her before it dawned on her that of course, he was locked up and there were surveillance cameras. "Ok, don't reply.", Rey said as calmly as she could, taking charge of the situation and putting as much authority into her words as possible, "I'm coming to get you, I just need to know your exact coordinates."

Ben looked up slowly, his eyes filling with fear, he gritted his teeth and spoke through the bond, "You can't Rey, they'll kill us both." Rey laid a hand over his where it rested on his knee feeling the warmth that always radiated from him. To any observer it would appear that he stared down at this own hand but Rey knew he was watching her fingers curl over his own as she implored, "Let them try, please." He didn't answer, fear and desperation radiating through the bond. For a moment he seemed as if he'd refuse but he must have sensed her resolve because he finally caved giving her the coordinates followed by a quickly whispered, "Be careful."

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The door to his cell opened and a pair of troopers retrieved him with a dozen more flanking as their escort. Under different circumstances, Ben would've been insulted by so few guards but he wasn't worried about that now as they led him down an unfamiliar corridor. They'd transported him somewhere while he was out, but where? The coordinates he'd given Rey were useless now. How would she find him if he didn't even know where he was? It was probably better this way. At least she wouldn't get hurt if she was far away.

He got his answer soon enough as they marched out into a pavilion. Several squadrons lined the walls and Hux stood atop a raised dais at one end watching their processional with a glint in his eye. Public execution, as he'd suspected. The cameras situated around the space would transmit to all the First Order ships, a message of what happens to traitors. Ben was resigned to his fate. The only thing that clawed at him now was the look on General Hux's face, the determination. He wouldn't give up until the resistance was destroyed, until Rey was dead. The thought sent a roll of nausea through his stomach, bile rising in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth groaned.

Ben knew with sudden clarity that he had to stop Hux somehow. The man was so determined to bring order to the galaxy at any cost that he placed no value on life nor love. Something Ben thought he'd understood, the drive of duty. That is until he met Rey. Now that he had her, it was clear to him, power means nothing if all you gain is an empty, lonely existence. All the lives taken, and for what? For order? If they meant to bring order then how did waging war accomplish that? It didn't. Ben finally saw that. His resolve sharpened, it alone was a deadly blade in his hands. Ben squared his shoulders and spoke as they stopped before General Hux, "Finally decided to launch a coup, Hux?"

The General scoffed. "Hardly, I bring a traitor," he spat the word out pausing to step forward, "to justice." The burning hate in his eyes would've cowed many but Ben knew how to manipulate Hux's distaste, how to get under his skin. The mask of Kylo Ren fell into place as he shifted forward, the guards all tensing and moving with him. Ben growled low and menacing, "You know nothing of justice."

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Rey trembled, the coordinates he'd given her were wrong. There was nothing here unless they had some new stealth technology. She didn't think so though because the bond was tugging at her and it was away from here, to a nearby planet. Trusting her gut, Rey began a descent and set down in the woods away from a city that was crawling with first order troopers. Thankfully it had a large civilian population as well with plenty of transports coming and going. Play her cards right and Rey could be in and out without anyone being the wiser. Ben was alright for now, she could feel him through the bond focusing his energy on reading the guards outside his cell but Hux was careful. They were trained to resist mind intrusions and knew little of their master's plans specifically so it couldn't be rung from them.

Rey meant to try and tell Ben that she was here, that she just needed to find where they were holding him but as she appeared in his cell, guards came to lead him away. Not daring to speak, Rey followed along after Ben with her mind while carefully making her way into the city. Pulling a hood over her face, Rey wove through the crowds quickly. Her surrounds became familiar as she crossed the path he'd taken and doubled her pace trying to catch up.

Ben's eyes lifted as he moved into an open pavilion. Rey saw the General standing over an open area surrounded by dozens of troopers. The words public execution flashed through his mind and Rey stumbled. No... she was so close, he couldn't die now. Rey pulled back from the bond to focus on the ground ahead of her as she broke into a sprint. "Please Ben," she whispered desperately shoving people aside, ignoring their protests as she kept moving, "just hold on. I'm coming."

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