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finnsgrin · 3 years

Text

John Murphy - Soulmate AU

John Murphy x reader

From my Wattpad: inanoncriminalwayy

GIF: captain-shurley

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Word Count: 1,680

Published on: August 22, 2020

TW: Blood and sickness

Spoilers: S1 E10

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Where the very first words your soulmate will say to you is tattooed on your wrist

John Murphy

♡Masterlist♡ You had always been envious of your friends and the tattoos on their wrists.

It wasn't the tattoo you were jealous of. Everyone on the Ark had one.

It was what their tattoos said that made your blood boil.

When you're born, you come with a tattoo on your wrist, and that tattoo consists of the first words your soulmate will say to you.

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're so beautiful."

"My soulmate is the prettiest girl on the Ark."

Yeah, those were all of the things tattooed on your friends wrists.

What did yours say?

I think I'm going to throw up.

Yup. Those are the words written on you for the rest of your life.

You had gone over and over time and time again trying to imagine your first encounter with your soulmate.

All of your friends gushed over how cute their soulmates already were, while you pondered over the fact that your soulmate would be physically ill when he first met you.

You hid your wrist as much as possible, and were grateful when the wristband you were issued covered up the words you hated so much.

You met a lot of new people after being sent to the ground, and were relieved when days had gone by and you hadn't heard the words you dreaded.

After the malfunction that made all of the wristbands come off, you did what you could to hide the words.

Wearing long sleeves, making bracelets out of spare cord...

Almost a month had gone by, and you still didn't hear anyone complaining about being sick.

Until he came back.

You had never spoken to John Murphy.

Hell, you didn't even know what color his eyes were. You stayed as far away from his as possible, and, rightfully so.

You were among the first to be in contact with him after your best friend, Octavia Blake, had found him in the woods, beaten to a pulp.

After Clarke had determined biological warfare, you volunteered to help with the sick. It was inevitable that you were going to get sick anyway, you being one of the first to touch the ill boy, so you might as well help while you could. At least a dozen people were on their death beds, and the words on your wrist were just a memory in moments like these where it was life or death.

You were making rounds, passing out water, when he caught your eye.

Normally, the sight of the boy everyone despised in such anguish would having you smiling to yourself.

But this was different.

He was shaking. Beaten. Bruised and bloody. Vulnerable. Broken.

And it hurt you.

"How are you feeling?"

You crouched down next to him, frowning at the absence of his fingernails which had been ripped off by the Grounders.

His eyes met yours. They were blue. They reminded you of the sky. Up on the Ark, you used to sit for hours in front of the window that faced earth, and marvel at the blue. Coming to earth, you didn't expect the sky to be so... vivid and beautiful.

But his eyes were also full of panic.

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

Your heart stopped.

John Murphy?

Out of all of the people in the universe, your soulmate was John Murphy?

"Yeah, me too." You whispered.

You both sat in silence, and you waited for him to vomit, but he didn't. After simmering in the awkwardness, you eventually stood, and went around the dropship tending to the others.

The entire time, his eyes followed you.

Not soon after your encounter with your dreaded soulmate did you fall ill.

You were passing out water when you looked down in the cup to see that it had turned a crimson red. You frowned, confused. But the question to your curiosity was answered when you reached up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand, and were met with the blood that was dripping. Immediately, you called for Clarke, and she made you lay down in the only available spot which, go figure, was right next to Murphy.

You laid there in anguish, clenching your teeth together and tilting your head to the side when you felt the uncontrollable urge to vomit.

Someone was holding your hair back, and when you were finished emptying the contents of your stomach, you turned around to thank Clarke, who you presumed was the one who was helping.

But it wasn't Clarke. She was on the other side of the dropship tending to someone's wound.

Murphy looked better than he had an hour ago, and you awkwardly wiped the dribble off of your chin.

"Thank you." You croaked, your voice raw.

"It's the least I could do for my soulmate." The corner of his lips curled up into a smirk.

After sitting in more silence, he broke it.

"Did you think it would be me?" He asked you, propping himself up on his elbow.

You frowned.

"What?" You inquired.

"Did you think it would be me? Did you ever think you would get lucky enough to have me as your soulmate?" He smiled cockily.

You just scoffed, which turned into a hacking cough.

"I knew I was lucky the moment I understood what the words on my wrist meant." He whispered after you had gotten your breathing under control.

You blinked, confused once again for the millionth time that day.

He extended his right wrist to you, where the very first words you had ever spoken to him were.

How are you feeling?

You ran your index finger over the tattoo. His skin was rough and calloused.

"I knew that I was lucky, because the very first words my soulmate would ever say to me were asking how I was feeling. My soulmate was kind. Caring. Selfless." His voice had dropped even quieter, and you strained to hear him.

You smiled, and looked down at your wrist.

"I always thought my soulmate was an asshole." You smiled as he gently traced the words on your wrist. A jolt of electricity pulsed through you.

"Well, you weren't wrong." Murphy laughed once, and looked you in your (Y/C/E) eyes which were blotched red from all of coughing.

"You should get some rest." He pulled his hand away from your wrist, and you secretly longed for his touch.

Seriously, (Y/N) It's John Murphy. Maybe there was a mistake. There's no way he's my soulmate.

You tried to convince yourself of this. He had been so awful to everyone on the ground. How could someone as sweet as you be destined to someone as selfish as him?

"Yeah. Yeah, I should. We both should." You closed your eyes, and turned your head away from him in fear that you would end up staring at him.

Fatigue overcame you, and you thought of the irony of it all.

The very day you meet your soulmate might very well be the same day you both die.

"Murphy?" His name rolled effortlessly off your tounge.

He was quite for a moment.

"Yeah?" He whispered back, turning to face you.

A single tear rolled down your cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

"Please be here when I open my eyes." You whispered.

The last thing you remember before sinking into unconsciousness, was him taking your hand into his.

Miraculously, you both survived through the night. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with him gazing at you.

"Good morning." He greeted you with a small smile. The grovel in his voice was gone, and color had begun to return to his cheeks.

"Hi." You smiled softly, and swallowed, the pain in your throat gone.

Clarke examined the both of you, and explained that the sickness was a 24 hour thing, and you two should be fine now.

Both you and Murphy exited the dropship side by side to go get some water from the still.

You both walked slowly, your bones and joints still aching and sore.

"It wasn't just because I was sick that I said it." He broke the silence.

You raised an eyebrow, perplexed, and he held out his tattooed wrist.

You nodded in understanding, and motioned for him to continue.

"Yeah, I already felt sick, but the moment I realized you were my... soulmate," He smiled at the word, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"I was so scared I was going to get you killed, (Y/N)," His eyes were full of sadness.

"If I lived, and if I got you killed, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." His words grew thick and weighed heavy.

You grabbed both of his hands with yours, and looked him in the eyes.

"But you didn't. And, even if you did, it wouldn't have been your fault." Your words were comforting to him, but he still blinked back tears.

"How is it that someone like me is destined to be with someone like you? A butterfly and a dungbeetle." He reached up his hand to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I don't think you would be a dungbettle. Maybe a stink bug." You smirked.

"Actually I was referring to myself as the butterfly. You would be the dungbettle," He laughed as you playfully smacked him on his shoulder.

"I know I haven't been the best person, but for you, I'm willing to change." He continued.

Your heart began to beat erratically as he leaned in for a sweet kiss. Although both of your lips were chapped, it was still the best kiss you bet you'd ever have.

"Hey! Keep your lips separated, or we're gonna have another outbreak. This time, mono!" You heard Octavia gag a few feet away from you.

You both flipped her off at the same time, and you heard someone chuckle.

"Yup. They're definitely meant for each other."

♡Masterlist♡

#the100 the100imagines the100xreader xreader xreaderimagines cwthe100 the100cw johnmurphy johnmurphyimagines the100murphy the100johnmurphy th

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finnsgrin · 3 years

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John Murphy - “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

John Murphy x reader

From my Wattpad: inanoncriminalwayy

GIF: mattsryan

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Word Count: 2,035

Published on: October 8th, 2020

TW: Drinking

Spoilers: None

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♡Masterlist♡

John Murphy

Sulking wasn't the right word.

Alright, maybe it was.

You were a sulker. And, there's nothing wrong with a good pity party every once in a while. Sometimes you just really need to focus and reflect on yourself and your problems.

While every other delinquent was busy partying and getting drunk off of their asses from Montys moonshine, you stood alone at the entrance of the wall, loaded with a gun, eyes peeled for any sudden movement on the outside.

Unity Day on the Ark brought out the best in people. Here on the ground, it seemed to bring out the child in everyone.

"Jasper! What the hell are you doing?" You hissed at the tall and lanky boy who was wielding a thin stick and creating random patterns in the dirt with it.

The boy looked at you, blinked, and dropped the stick.

"I... I don't know." He slurred.

Now impatient, you threw one last glance over the fence, and figured it would be safe for a few minutes. You weren't gonna leave Jasper alone with a stick without someone who was coherent.

"Come on." You sighed, grabbing him gently by the wrist.

"Where are we going?" He asked, tripping over his own two feet.

"To Wonderland." You grumbled sarcastically.

As Jasper giddily clapped his hands together, you took note of the scene before you.

A roaring bonfire, moonshine by the gallons, handsy couples...

"(Y/N)! There you are!" Your boyfriend of two years, John Murphy, walked over to you with a cup of alchohol in each hand, and extended one to you.

"John, you know I don't drink." You gently reminded him, keeping a firm grip on Jasper as he tried to grab the drink for himself.

"Pbhhh. Take a break from babysitting Goggle Boy, and come dance with me." He shoved the metal cup in your face, moonshine splashing over the rim and onto your shirt.

"Damn it, John! This was my last clean shirt." You complained as you yanked Jasper back yet again.

Murphy scowled, his nose scrunching up to his green eyes.

"Who called the party police? Lossen up, (Y/N). No wonder you never got invited to anything on the Ark. You're boring." He scoffed and walked away, drinking as he did so.

Boring? You were so not boring! Sure, you kept to yourself and weren't one for confrontation, but you weren't boring.

Annoyance evident in your eyes, Jasper sobered up enough to realize that now wasn't the time to mess with you, and he followed you back to his and Montys shared tent where you took off his boots and tucked him into bed.

"(Y/N)?" His soft voice stopped you as you were about to leave.

"Yeah, Jasper?" You sighed, massaging your temples.

"I don't think you're boring." He yawned.

Your lips curled up at the kind words, and you patted him on the leg.

"Thanks, Jasper. Goodnight."

He mumbled something incoherent to your ears as you walked outside into the crisp air. You took a deep lungful of it and battled your thoughts.

John's words stung more than they should. Were you really boring? No... no, you were being safe. Responsible.

If no one else was going to watch the forest for approaching and violent Grounders, who else would?

Even Clarke was playing some drinking game with a few other delinquents.

Huffing to yourself, you began the short walk back to your stakeout spot where you stood alone in the cold.

On Unity Day on the Ark, you and Murphy used to spend it together.

Ever since you could remember, back to when you two were just kids, you and John would stand in the back of the crowd of the Unity Day Pagent, and sneak out to cause mischief. Once, you even snuck into the kitchen and shared a glass of apple juice.

Now? He was spilling moonshine on your last clean shirt.

You were almost to the wall, when they caught your eye.

Murphy and Fox, their bodies pressed close together, foreheads grazing as they laughed loudly and swayed to the beat of nonexistent music only the two of them could hear.

You swore your heart stopped, froze, and skipped a beat all at the same time.

Murphy whispered something in Foxs ear, and she giggled, slapping him playfully on his chest.

John Mbege tapped Murphy on the shoulder, and pointed to you.

Murphy whipped his head around, his eyes which were once mischievous and flirty, now wide and full of regret.

"(Y/N)!" You read his lips over the crowd of rowdy teens, and just shook your head.

He had just began to make his way to you, when someone started a conga line, disrupting his pathway.

Monty Green was walking solo, holding a cup of moonshine in his hands, on his way back to his tent, presumably.

"Give me that," You hissed as you snatched the cup from his hands, and gulped it, your eyes stinging.

"I am NOT boring. Just because I look out for us, and don't drink, doesn't make me boring, does it? I'M the responsible one here! Where the hell is Bellamy? Isn't he King of the camp? Remember our first few days on the ground, when he was just whoring it up with any living creature with boobs? Who was out there collecting water and building shelter? That's right. Me!"

The poor boy just blinked, unsure of what to say or do in this situation, so he just opened and closed his mouth, confused beyond belief.

Finally, he just shook his head, looked at the ground, and continued on his way.

You took another swig of the poison, and coughed.

Murphy wanted you to loosen up? Well two can play at that game.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Murphys POV

"(Y/N)!" Her name fell from my lips which were slightly chapped, and stinging from all of the drink I had consumed within the past couple of hours.

She just shook her head, turned to the side, and began to walk away.

"Damn it, (Y/N)!" I called once more, and took a step forward just as a giant conga line made it's way before me. When it had finally passed, she was gone.

"Fuck." I cursed, running my fingers through my hair.

Mbege slapped me on the back in a feeble attempt of comfort.

"She's water under the bridge, man. Weren't you just saying how boring she was?" Mbege sighed.

I tore away harshly from him, a scowl on my face.

"That's not what I meant! I don't even know why I said it. I don't even know why I was dancing with Fox. Damn it!" I brought my hands up to my face, and slapped myself on the forehead, hard.

But Mbege could have cared less. He just brought up his stupid drink to his stupid lips and smirked.

"She's just a stupid girl. There are plenty of sluts like her down here."

I grabbed him by his shirt, and pinned him up against the dropship, his drink spilling onto the dirt below our feet.

"Say that about her again." I seethed through clenched teeth.

He just blinked, eyes wide until I released him harshly and jogged away, both eyes on the lookout for the girl I loved.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"I wish I had a harmonica, y'know? Like how in the old timey Western movies, people in jail would play a sad song on it." You slurred from the ground where you sat talking to Raven, who was busy making bullets.

She just chuckled, and shook her head.

"You're a hazard, (Y/N). You're not supposed to have any flammable liquids near this gunpowder, and you my friend, are a walking, talking, bottle of booze."

You laughed at her retort, and childishly stuck out your tounge.

"You said Murphy was dancing with another girl?" She held up a bullet to the dim lantern, and examined it.

"Fox. Don't remind me." You took another swig of moonshine, and sputtered.

"Well, just dance with another guy. That'll piss Murphy off to no end." Raven shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

It took a moment for her words to process themselves in your brain, and when they did, you gasped.

"Raven Reyes, you're a genius!" You hopped up quickly, stumbling back and catching yourself on the table which housed the dud bullets.

"I'm good, I'm good." You hiccuped, giving her a thumbs up.

"Just keep your hands off of Finn!" She laughed as you struggled with the opening of the tent flap.

Normally, everyone was mindful of the root that stuck out for the ground in front of the ammunition tent, but in your drunken state, you completely dismissed it, and tripped over it, spilling your drink on Murphy as he caught you in his arms.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" He hissed once he steadied you.

"Well, well, how the tables have turned." You smirked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He gave you an incredulous look as you laughed.

"Not an hour ago, I was the responsible one getting my shirt soiled by moonshine. Did you get your Fox fix? Don't worry, I was just on my way to find someone to dance with. Don't wait up." You sneered, turning away from him.

Murphy grasped your wrist, and pulled you back to him.

"No, not happening. You are going straight to bed, and-."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

You asked mournfully with tears in your bloodshot eyes.

Murphy blinked, emotion and confusion overtaking him.

"What?" He had the audacity to question you.

"I'm just loosening up, Murph. Like you said. Wouldn't want a boring girlfriend, would you?" You sniffed.

Murphy shook his head, taking a moment to access the severity of his words.

"Babe, no, I - I didn't mean that. I don't think you're boring." He took both of your hands into his, and frowned at how cold your fingers were.

"Then why did you say it? And why were you dancing with another girl?" You pressed.

His eyes met yours, and they were full of regret.

"Because I... I'm an idiot. I'm an insecure, stupid, jealous idiot who doesn't know how to communicate with my girlfriend. I was just so scared that some other responsible guy would end up talking to you, and you would realize how much of a doofus I am, and leave me, and I'm selfish and petty, and... I can't lose you, (Y/N). You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I sorry I'm not good at communicating, and for some reason I thought that dancing with another girl would make you jealous, and you would come over and talk to me, but I realize now that my words and actions have been thoughtless and - ."

"If I say I forgive you, will you shut up?" You interrupted.

Murphy, who had been speaking that whole rant in a single breath, took a deep breath and nodded his head.

Once he had regained his breath, he caressed your cheek.

"You aren't boring, (Y/N). You're responsible. And I love you for it." He blushed.

"You... love me?" You blinked, and prayed this wasn't all some drunken hallucination.

He chuckled, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I do. And I'm sorry it took all of this for me to find the balls to say it." He smirked.

You pressed your lips to his, hints moonshine and young love dancing on your taste buds.

Fatigue overtaking you, you stumbled once more into him, and he steadied you again.

"Let's get you to bed." He scooped you up off of your feet, and carried you to your shared tent.

As he took off your boots and covered you with the thin blanket you both shared, you smiled to yourself and silently thanked Raven for her advice. If she had never persuaded you to go dance with someone, you probably would have never fallen into Murphy, and he would have never confessed his love to you.

What started off as a self loathing night, turned into a magical one.

♡Masterlist♡

#the100 the100imagines the100xreader xreader xreaderimagines cwthe100 the100cw johnmurphy johnmurphyimagines the100murphy the100johnmurphy th

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finnsgrin · 3 years

Text

Beauty and the Beast - John Murphy

John Murphy x reader

From my Wattpad: inanonacrimnalwayy

GIF: bellamysgriffin

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

John Murphy

Based on S1 E10

Spoilers: S1 E10

After Murphy is found, the sickness inflicted by the Grounders spreads like wildfire around camp, the thought of losing him is too much for you.

Word Count: 5,655

Published on: July 6, 2020

TW: Blood, sickness

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

♡Masterlist♡

Sleep became a rare occurrence for me.

When I did find the courage to shut off my mind, I was harassed with nightmares and plagued with horrific flashbacks that danced tirelessly behind my eyes.

I woke up every single time screaming for John to run.

It's no secret that the majority of camp hated John's guts.

But I was a different story.

Everyone in camp wanted to know me.

They wanted to know the kind girl who sang the younger fretful campers to sleep, and who always looked on the bright side no matter the circumstance.

They compared me and John to Beauty and the Beast.

"But the Beast is good inside. He just doesn't let anyone see that because when people see good, they expect good. And the Beast doesn't want to have to live up to anybody's expectations." I would always remind them.

Nobody seemed to care.

That's what angered me.

One night, while we were in our tent, I overheard several older campers badmouthing John.

I stood, hands balled into fists, eager to let off some of my steam on someone.

"Easy, babe. Don't stoop to their level." John had repeated the words I so often had to say to him when anything bothered him.

And I had to say them a lot, because everything bothers John.

I took a breath, and sat back down allowing him to massage my neck and shoulders which were tight and taut from the stresses of the day.

"They make me so angry. No one down here is innocent. We all have something that we did wrong. Why are they so quick to judge?" I lazily traced meaningless patterns on his hand which was riddled in scars and calluses.

I felt John chuckle, and he rested his chin in the crook of my neck.

"Because they're not you. They're not selfless, and kind, and forgiving. Some of them are ruthless murders."

I allowed his words to simmer in the heat of the tent.

I didn't like being called selfless.

John's just says that's another reason to call me selfless.

"I still don't like it." I pouted.

"No one says you have to like it. Now shut up and cuddle with me." John attacked me with tickles, peppering my face with kisses.

This is the side of John Murphy that no one else sees.

And that was the last night I had with John Murphy.

The morning brought uncertainty.

I could feel it in the air.

I've always been an anxious person, but John does his best to keep it at bay.

"What else could go wrong? We're miles away from home which isn't even on the planet, surrounded by crazy tree people who are hell bent on killing us all, and we're probably all gonna die before the snow falls."

I know his words were meant for comfort, but they always freaked me out even more.

I woke up, sorry - I mean I was trampled awake by a group of two dozen people who thrust their hands into the opening of our pathetic excuse of a tent.

I screamed as people grabbed my hair and scratched my arms.

What the hell was going on?

Were we being ambushed by Grounders?

"Murphy!"

"John Murphy!"

"Murphy, come out!"

Now I knew these were our people.

Why would Grounders be specifically after the most hated boy in our camp?

How would they even know his name?

We didn't even know if they spoke English.

"John, John, help me!"

My chest grew tight, and my legs felt like jelly, which was something that always happened to me before a panic attack.

"Hey, keep your hands off of her!" I saw John's fist come into contact with a boys face.

He was then physically dragged out of of camp, with me hot on their trail, slightly disoriented from what had just happened.

I spun around, frantic for the sight of someone, anyone who wasn't engrossed by the mosh pit with John in the center of it all.

"Harper, what's going on?" I found my good friend Harper, and clutched her arm.

She shook me free, disgust prominent on her face.

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend the killer? Wells was found dead this morning, and Murphy's knife was next to him."

What?

"Th-that's crazy! John did not kill Wells!"

"It sure looks like it!"

I wasn't about to argue furthermore with Harper. I needed to see Bellamy.

I found him in the mob, and yanked him free.

"Bellamy, this is crazy! Murphy didn't kill Wells! He couldn't have! He was by my side the entire night!" My words came out fast and jumbled.

"(Y/N), I know it's hard to comprehend, but Murphy killed Wells." Bellamy spoke to me in a calm manner.

"Bullshit! Harper said the knife was found near Wells? That wasn't Murphy! Even if he DID ever kill someone, he wouldn't be that sloppy. Please, Bellamy! You have to believe me!" Angry tears rolled down my face and panic grew.

"Bellamy! What do you want us to do with him?" Finn called over, stepping back and revealing a severely beaten Murphy who was now bound by the wrists and ankles, and gagged.

Bellamy took a final look at me. Once final glance at the broken girl who was on the cusp of a breakdown.

"String him up." Bellamy boomed, nodding to a large oak tree which housed thick and sturdy branches, a noose already tied securely around it.

They say adrenaline makes everything move quicker.

You run faster, you think faster, you act faster...

There must be something wrong with me, because I move in slow motion.

It's like when you're dreaming.

When you're dreaming and you're running away from a monster and it feels like your legs have been submerged in molasses. You scream at your legs to move faster, but they don't.

Everything was in slow motion.

I could see a struggling John being stood by an overturned bucket, using all of his strength to break free.

Chants and screams of those around us beckoning on his death.

Twigs snapping and dirt flying from beneath my bare feet as I sprinted towards John.

The cries out of my mouth, and the final gasp of breath when the bucket was overturned.

"No! No! Please! It wasn't him!" I shoved away bystanders, just inches away from the boy who I loved.

The boy on the drop ship who squeezed my hand telling me it was going to be alright.

The boy in the forest who picked flowers for me and presented them with a dopey smile.

The boy in the tent who held me close our first nights on the ground after Jaspers attack.

The boy who was now dangling from a tree, his hands working relentlessly to loosen the pull of the rope.

Someone was holding me back, and I clawed at their hands. But that just added another person, and another...

I fought and screamed and cried against the arms that held me back.

Feet were stomped on, wrists bitten, fingers bent back...

But they didn't let go.

His face was now purple, eyes bulging and red.

"It was me! It was me, okay!" A small voice screamed from the hill to my right.

There stood Charlotte, a twelve year old girl with blonde hair that was in two braids.

I heard she had been sent to the ground after attacking the guards that floated her parents.

"I killed Wells! Not Murphy!"

As her words were being registered, the arms and hands that were holding me hostage, loosened, and I lunged toward John, who was now limp.

"Cut him down! Somebody, please!" I begged as I jumped in the air in a pathetic attempt to reach him.

"Cut him down!" Bellamy ordered.

His body feel to the ground with a thud, and I shook his shoulders.

"John, please wake up!" I sobbed.

He gasped, sitting up and yanking the rope off of his neck.

"It's okay, you're okay. You're safe now." I engulfed him in a hug as he trembled beneath my touch.

All eyes were now on Charlotte, who had Bellamy next to her, crouched down so he could be at eye level with her.

She honestly couldn't have been bigger than a dog. A tiny thing, she was.

Did she really kill Wells? Or was that just a desperate ploy to save John's life?

"Charolette, what are you talking about?" Bellamy asked in disbelief.

Fear in her eyes made her seem even more vulnerable than she already was.

"You told me to slay my demons, Bellamy. Jaha killed my parents, and I can't get to Jaha, so I killed his son."

Everyone went quiet.

"Charlotte that's not what I meant. You KNOW that's not what I meant." Bellamy grabbed the young girl by her shoulders and shook her.

She nodded, tears falling to the ground.

"Well I say we kill the little bitch the same way you tried to kill me." John was now on his feet, angry marks on his neck bleeding and raised, crimson red and berry purple...

Agreement stirred amongst the crowd, and Bellamy stood in front of the girl.

"John, she's just a child." I reminded him softly, reaching out and touching is arm. Surely he had more sense than this.

"Pick, (Y/N). Me, or the kid?" He rasped.

I stuttered, words failing.

His eyes were cold.

"Just as I suspected. Maybe they got that part wrong. Maybe you're the Beast," He shoved me away, the rope still in his hands.

"Who's with me?!" Several people raised their fists and shouted in agreement.

"She could have killed any one of us, and the blame could have been on you, or you!" He thrusted his index finger toward people at random in the crowd.

"Nobody is dying today!" Bellamy hollered, Charolette still cowering behind him.

John flung the rope to the ground.

"A little to late for that, Bellamy. Why not her, next? She killed one of our people!"

No one could argue against that.

John lunged forward, and Bellamy held his arms out protectively.

After that, it was a madhouse.

People rushing from our side to Bellamy's to protect the little girl, and people joining John.

I was shoved from behind, and everything went black.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"John! Run!"

I'm in a small tent, yet I still throw the blankets about, searching for him.

The first few days after his banishment, I convinced myself it was all a bad dream.

I wish it was.

Now over two weeks had passed and I still woke up screaming.

I made my bed, picking up John's sweatshirt as I did so, and inhaled his scent.

How long did I have until it faded?

There was a rap on the flimsy material of the tent, and Harper appeared, smiling.

"(Y/N), breakfast."

I turned away, my arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out like I was a four year old losing an argument.

She sighed, leaving a small bowl of berries next to the entrance of the shelter, and left.

After Clarke and Bellamy were the only ones to return from the woods, I cut everyone else off.

I didn't talk to anyone, let alone acknowledge their existence.

I still helped around, but that was for my sake. They would banish me, too if I wasn't of any use.

I fell into a rut the day John left.

His final words to me played like a broken record.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Wake up.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Make my bed.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Have breakfast.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Work.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Break time.

"Maybe you're the beast."

More work.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Dinner.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Bed time.

"Maybe you're the beast."

Repeat.

Maybe I was the beast.

Was I really as selfless as people made me out to be?

No, I was being smart. No one knows what happened to John, or if he was even still alive.

But what would John have done if the situation were reversed?

He would have gone after me, no questions asked.

I hated myself for the fact.

I had become the bitter girl.

I no longer sang the little ones to sleep.

I no longer offered hugs or advice.

I sat on a log, skinning squirrels and rabbits, staring blankly ahead as the day progressed.

Forgiveness had always been my thing.

Not anymore.

Bellamy had tried on more than one occasion to apologize to me, as did Clarke, and everyone else who took part in the hanging of John Murphy.

And every time, I told them to stick it where the sun don't shine.

"You have to talk to us eventually." Octavia approached me, knife in hand.

Silence.

"You can't keep ignoring us forever."

You wanna bet?

"(Y/N), I-."

"What? If I don't speak, you gonna string me up too? Like you did to John?"

I blinked away tears.

"We didn't know. We thought-."

"There's the thing, Octavia. You DID know. You knew John was innocent. You just wanted someone to pin it on." I interrupted her once more, tears breaking through the dam behind my eyelids.

The unmistakable bang of a gunshot made everyone jump. We all turned our heads to the source of the sound. Nate Miller was on guard, and he shot once more.

"Hold it!" Octavia yelled, running to Nate, me hot on her trail.

"Is it a Grounder?" Octavia asked Miller.

He blinked several times.

"I-I don't know. I just saw movement, and-."

"You could have just shot one of our people! I need a team with me. Let's move out."

Octavia grabbed a gun, and someone opened the gate.

I tagged along, not even caring if it was a Grounder.

What did I have to lose?

We jogged through the forest, eyes wide and alert.

Nothing.

No sound or movement of any kind. Whatever animals that had been around here were probably chased away by Miller's shot.

"Octavia, up there." Someone pointed in the distance to someone laying on the ground, unmoving.

I lurched forward, ignoring the hisses and orders of "Get back here!"

Really, what did I have to lose?

John was gone.

He called me a beast.

I picked Charolette over him.

Maybe what I deserved was a Grounder killing me.

That would be less painful than what I dealt with each day.

But it wasn't a Grounder.

Through caked mud, dried blood, and cracked leaves and debris, I could still make out the broken boy who was indeed John Murphy.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Clarke! We need Clarke!" Octavia screamed as several boys hauled John back to camp.

Was this a nightmare, too?

"What's going on?" Clarke jogged to Octavia's side, and glanced at me.

Clarke frowned, and grabbed my face.

Her hands felt hot.

I felt like I couldn't breath.

"She's in shock. Octavia what-."

"It's Murphy. He's alive. We found him outside of camp." Octavia panted.

The blonde girls attention turned to Murphy, who was now half conscious and confused.

"Bring him into the drop ship." Clarke ordered.

I began to follow, but my knees gave out and I collapsed.

Bellamy barely caught me by my elbows, and lead me to a makeshift chair where he called over Monty and Jasper to keep an eye on me.

Part of me wanted so badly to be with John. To ask him where he had been, what had happened...

Finally, Clarke emerged from the drop ship, hands stained a blood red, brows furrowed.

I jumped up so fast I nearly fell down again.

"What's going on? Is he okay?" My throat was tight and it burned to speak.

Clarke bit her lip, silent.

"Is he-."

"He's alive, but he's not in good shape." She answered, a hundred pound weight was lifted off my chest.

"What happened?" Jasper stood with me, unaware of the current situation.

Clarke hesitated, something she hardly ever did.

"A few days after we banished him, Murphy had been with the Grounders. He told them everything about our camp, and...they just let him go."

Monty scowled.

"Yeah, right. Murphy's always been a liar. He'll say anything to-."

"His fingernails have been ripped off, Monty. He was tortured. He's not lying."

Silence fell over us, and a wounded animal sound escaped my lips.

Clarke turned to me, harshly rubbing her hands on her pants in an attempt to scrub off the blood.

"He's asking for you, (Y/N). Don't be surprised when you go in there and see him chained up."

I had left before she had even finished her sentence.

John was alive... John was alive, and he wanted to see me.

I tripped over the threshold at the entrance, but that didn't slow me down.

He was indeed chained.

His wrists were bound with shiny handcuffs to a thick pole.

I lunged towards him, dropping on my hands and knees, taking his filthy face in my hands.

"John, oh, John, you're alive!" I exclaimed, tears sprouting in my eyes.

He smirked the same smirk I had grown to love, and the chains rattled as he tried to move his hands to wipe away my tears.

"It's okay. Let's clean you up." I stood, Bellamy's eyes focused on the two of us.

Of course, there had to be an armed guard.

"You could at least lower the gun." I seethed.

He didn't.

I had retrieved a wet cloth, and a cup of water to bring back to John.

He drank thirstily as I held the cup to his lips.

He gasped, exasperated by the little movement he had made.

I took the cloth, and began dabbing away the dirt that was caked onto his forehead. Some of it mixed with blood, and it looked painful.

He winced, and coughed.

"Sorry. I'm trying to be as gentle as I can." I apologized, pressing softer on the spots that appeared to be more tender.

"(Y/N)-."

"Hush, now. It's okay. Save your breath. We can talk later."

He relaxed a bit as I cleaned his face, humming as I did so.

Although my touch was gentle, he reacted otherwise, flinching away every time the wet cloth was brought to his face.

Unbeknownst to me, my eyes wandered aimlessly to his hands which were cracked, bleeding, and caked with dried tree sap, and dirt. My stomach did a flip as I realized Clarke was telling the truth. His fingernails were gone.

My throat grew tight, and I struggled to swallow the lump that had formed.

He was tortured.

He was really tortured.

"(Y/N)..." He spoke my name, his voice raspy, and his shackled hands reached up to my face once more, and I allowed him to wipe away the falling tears which had began to stream down my face again.

We didn't speak after that. Although I was positive that the salt was entering his wounds, hurting him furthermore, he wiped every single tear away as I dabbed at his face.

I took deep breaths, willing myself to calm down.

It's okay, (Y/N). Focus on one thing at a time.

Nearly all of the blood and grime had been washed away from his face, when John gasped and cupped his hand over his throat, sputtering and frantically flailing his arms about as if oxygen had suddenly refused to enter his lungs.

I don't even have time to turn my head before thick, hot blood was spewed into my face along with an array of the food that had been keeping John alive these past few weeks.

I heard Bellamy curse, and he dropped his loaded gun to the floor, sprinting out of the drop ship, screaming for Clarke as he did so.

John was on his side now, his face in a puddle of his own bloody vomit.

I struggled to keep down my meager breakfast.

Clarke rushed in, her cheeks alive with a red rouge.

She inched past me and kneeled down next to John, who was just beginning to catch his breath.

Clarke's hands were steady as she checked his pulse. She frowned, and then felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

She jerked away like his skin was as hot as a flame.

"What's happening to me?" John sniffed, blood now protruding from his terrified eyes.

The color in Clarke's cheeks was gone now, and she turned to both Bellamy and I.

"What is it? What's wrong with him?" Even Bellamy struggled to remain composed.

Clarke blinked a few times, debating if whether or not we should know.

"Clarke!" Bellamy's voice was full of worry.

The blonde girl shook her head, and gathered her senses.

"It's biological warfare. The Grounders infected him when they held him hostage. They knew he would come back, and they knew we would take him in. We don't have the genes to fight it off. They're trying to kill us."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Two different sections had been set up in the drop ship, now.

The lower level is where the sick and dying lay on stained blankets, and cold metal. The upper floor held both those who were showing symptoms, or those who had been around anyone who was already infected.

Clarke urged me to seek refuge in the upper level, where the coughs and groans and hacking of the lungs were suppressed by the thick metal trapdoor.

I bluntly refused, explaining that I was the first one to even touch John, and I was likely already infected. It wouldn't make sense to hole me up with people who possibly weren't even sick.

She halfheartedly agreed, only to the advantage that an extra pair of hands was helping. And God knows she needed them.

Whatever this was, it was spreading, and it was spreading fast.

Within the hour, twenty other cases were diagnosed by Clarke, and she, Bellamy, and I worked feverishly to get everything situated and keep everyone comfortable.

I had possibly seen more blood now than I had even seen back on The Ark when our class went on a field trip to Medbay, where we were given a tour of the blood bank, and explained to how transfusions worked.

At first, I attempted to tiptoe around the stringy vomit and clotted blood, but gave up when Clarke informed me that my shoes would protect my feet from contact.

Out of all of those who were afflicted, John was passed the most by the reluctant volunteers who wiped away blood and tears, and handed out cups of water.

My feet sloshed in stale vomit with a pungent smell as I witnessed John begin to convulse with shivers from fever.

The once wet compress that had been laid across his forehead, was now warm, and served no purpose. If anything, it was trapping the fever inside of him.

I removed the cloth, and dipped it in a nearby bucket of water that had been dispersed throughout the room for purposes such as this.

His teeth chattered violently.

"(Y-Y/N)." John's chest heaved with unfinished breaths, and I wiped the overgrown bangs away from his face.

"It's okay. Just rest." I hushed him.

If it were even possible, his skin blazed hotter than before, and his eyes grew dark.

"You haven't let me s-say a damn word every s-since I got h-here." His attempt to come across as angry and menacing was lost in a fit of dry coughs.

I helped him sit up, and rested his head so it was laying on my chest.

Once he had managed to catch his breath, I made him drink a few sips of water.

"You've spoken enough. You need to rest." I laid him back down, removing my sweatshirt and propping up his head with it so he could breath a bit easier.

He reached out for my hand, and I grabbed his fingertips, forgetting the absence of his nails.

He yelped, and pulled away instinctively.

I took his hand more gently this time, and traced meaningless patterns on the rough skin.

"They t-tortured m-me, y'know?" His eyes found mine.

Another flip in my stomach.

"I know." I whispered, my voice barley audible to myself.

John closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing a little as he came to the realization that I wasn't going to hurt him.

"They beat me, and b-burned me, and tore off my nails, and cut me-."

"John, stop." I interrupted, feeling guilty the moment I did so.

If it helped him to talk about it, why stop him?

"But none of that compared to the torture it was of being w-without you," His eyes opened once more as he continued, and I saw something I thought I would never see again.

The John Murphy that I know and love.

"Th-they kept asking me for your name. I was so afraid they were going to h-hurt you, (Y/N). I told th-them they could know everything e-else, but not you."

His words were both comforting, and painful at the same time.

John cared about me this whole time? This entire time he was away?

And even though John cared for me, and I for him, how much time did he have left?

I suddenly wished he didn't confide in me. It would be easier to move on with his death thinking that he hated me.

And death was inevitable.

Two people had died already, after the fever basically melted them from the inside out.

Their deaths were bloody and violent, accompanied with choking and tears.

No one, not even Clarke had hope for them. The best we could do was hold their hand and whisper "May we meet again." as they took their final breath.

My fingers had ceased to move across his skin, and both my mind and my mouth struggled to find the right words.

"I thought you hated me." Was the best I was able to come up with in the heat of the moment.

John's sarcastic scoff was accompanied with saliva and blood which dribbled down his chin. He raised his hand weakly to wipe it away.

"Did the B-Beast ever stop loving the Beauty?" He asked me, voice low, and words slurred. Fatigue seemed overcome him, and he fought to remain conscious.

I blanked, my mind combing through the story I had grown up on. What had the Beauty done to the Beast? Sure, he was angry for whatever she had done, but did he ever really stop loving her?

"To put it simply, no. He was just... angry. He didn't mean anything he said." I whispered.

John yawned, and his lips curled up a bit into a half smile.

"And the Beauty forgave the Beast. No matter how much of a douchebag he was to her. Just proving how amazing she is." John smirked weakly.

"Rest, now." My hands became slick with perspiration as I pushed away the hair from his forehead which began to stick.

There was a song that went with the story, and I began to hum it as John's eyes closed, and sleep overcame his battered body.

Reality settled over me like a thick and heavy blanket, and I realized how awful the atmosphere was inside.

How long I had been tending to the sick, I don't know. But I did know that I needed to get some fresh air before I completely lost my mind. The enclosed space and the oder of the blood and vomit made me feel nauseated.

I tiptoed over bodies and cups of water to the opening of the drop ship, and stepped outside.

Twilight was fast approaching, and the few people who were experiencing no symptoms at all sat huddled together by the fire speaking in hushed voices.

"Hey, wanna hear a joke?"

Jasper Jordan stood a good ten feet away from me, his hand holding the leg of a rabbit which he ravenously consumed.

I weakly smiled, grateful for the shred of positivity the boy had the offer.

"Sure, why not?" I grinned.

Jasper smirked, and spoke through a mouthful of food.

"So a sick Grounder walks into a hospital and says-."

Jaspers eyes suddenly widened, and he stumbled back, tripping over a stick, dropping his food onto the soil as his hands instinctively brace himself.

I placed my hands on my hips, waiting for the punchline.

"Well?" I tapped my foot impatiently. A joke shouldn't take this long to tell, and I had to get back to the sick.

"Your-your eyes. They're bleeding." Jaspers voice was high pitched, and he continued to back away until his body hit the fence.

I scowled, not in the mood for a prank.

"Jasper, that's not funny. There are people in there who are-."

My voice came to a halt when I reached up to my eyes to prove there was no blood, but was met with it.

It coated my fingers and dripped onto a rock.

I screamed, backing away from Jasper, and my back hit the drop ship.

I sunk to the ground, my hands feverishly wiping the blood from my eyes which were now mixed with tears, creating the effect of more blood than there was.

Bellamy ran out of the drop ship, machine gun in hand, his eyes frantic for the sight of whatever he thought was in camp.

The last thing I remember is his brown eyes meeting mine, and his lips forming an incoherent sentence which I failed to hear as everything went black.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Something weighed heavy on my chest. I remember, once, when I was younger and recovering from pneumonia, a doctor had stacked a few books on my chest and made me breathe with them on me. He said the point was to strengthen my lungs and my breathing, but it only added anxiety and claustrophobia.

It was like I couldn't move, and I was grateful when someone turned my head to the side for me where I noisily began to vomit.

I could taste the blood, but there was no food to come up. Just acidic bile. It burned my throat and I cried out.

"It's okay. I'm right here." A familiar voice sounded far away, and everything moved in slow motion.

"John?" I think I spoke between the firs of coughing.

I was dizzy, but a hand made me sit up and drink some water which I immediately threw up.

My vision was blurry, but I could make out what was around me.

John looked so much better. It was like he was never even sick. His cheeks were still a bit pale, but he was sitting up, and sweat wasn't dumping from his pores anymore.

Less than a half dozen people lay around me on worn out seat cushions and soiled sheets of cloth. Bellamy Blake was to my right, and Octavia was helping him drink some water.

"Wh-." My questions were cut short as John shushed me and held me close to his chest.

Tears fell from his eyes and landed on the top of my head.

"Why are you crying?" It hurt to speak, and I wondered how long I had been unconscious.

He didn't speak right then, but held me tighter.

"I thought I lost you. I heard you scream and then I saw Bellamy carried you inside. I thought you were dead." His voice turned quiet as he spoke the last sentence, and it was my turn to comfort him.

"But I'm here. You're here. And we're okay." I rubbed his arm soothingly.

He helped me lay back down, the simple act of even being propped up exhausted me.

As he situated himself next to me, I noticed those who were sick not only five minutes ago up and about.

John noticed my frown, and he pushed a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

"What?" He questioned, mimicking my frown.

"How-how long was I asleep?" I asked.

He sighed.

"Almost a day. Clarke thinks this is just a 24 hour thing. Once you've had it, you can't get it anymore."

It made sense. Some of the sicknesses on The Ark were similar to the 24 hour period.

The wool blanket over me offered little warmth, and I shivered.

John held me closer, and made it to where my head was laying on his chest.

"You cold?" He asked me, already worming his way out of his jacket.

He laid it on top of me, and a fresh set of tears pooled in my eyes.

"What's the matter? Where do you hurt?" Murphy's eyes darted to Clarke for assistance, who also lay shivering on the floor of the drop ship.

"It smells like you." I whispered, my words weighing foolish and pathetic.

I could feel his head cock to the side on confusion.

"I used to sleep with your sweatshirt in the tent. I was worried that the scent of you would fade too soon, and I would have nothing left to hold on to."

It really did hurt to talk, and the fact that a lump was forming in my sandpaper dry throat didn't help matters.

John's strong hands took mine and forced me to look him in the eyes.

"But I'm here, now," He said firmly.

I nodded, crushing myself up against him, afraid that he would disappear into thin air.

He stroked my hair, and I listened to the comforting and familiar beat of his heart.

"I'm here."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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