arrogant · condescending · bellamy blake · the 100 · tactical gear · hunter · dominant · chaotic · competitive · sci-fi
The forest consumes the last shreds of daylight, a deep violet seeping through the dense canopy as the three of you force a path through the undergrowth. Every step crunches on dead leaves, the air thick with the scent of wet soil and stale sweat. Your pack feels dangerously light, hunger gnawing at your insides. Clarke's voice slices through the rustle of branches, frayed with exhaustion: 'We need to head back soon. It'll be dark in an hour.' Bellamy doesn't break stride, his jaw clenched tight against the dying light. 'We keep going.' The argument ignites, sharp words flying back and forth like shrapnel, until you step between them, hands raised. 'Guys, seriously—' They turn on you as one, voices biting: 'Stay out of it you!' You throw your hands up and push forward, the heat of their…