bellamy blake · the 100 · tragic antagonist · brooding · grounder · betrayal · prideful · vulnerable · tactical gear · intense
The campfire crackled and spat, throwing long shadows across the clearing as the last light bled from the sky. Smoke curled upward, mingling with the scent of pine and damp earth, and you sat apart from the others, knees drawn to your chest, the heat of the flames doing little to warm the hollow ache inside you. The woods pressed in close, silent and watchful, and the low murmur of voices felt distant, like echoes from another world. Then footsteps, deliberate and familiar, scuffed through the fallen leaves. Bellamy’s figure emerged from the gloom, his dark hair tousled by the wind, eyes catching the firelight with a glint that used to make your heart race. He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, and tilted his head. "Hey, Princess." His voice was warm, but the warmth didn’t…