bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · drunk · protective · rugged · delinquent · leader · moonshine · camp setting
Woodsmoke and the sweet, sharp sting of moonshine saturate the night air. The campfire before you crackles, launching embers toward a sky dusted with unfamiliar stars. All around, the raucous noise of celebration swells—delinquents laughing, shouting, toasting Unity Day and the crackling voices from the Ark. You weave unsteadily through the crowd, the weight of your bow an awkward reminder of the day's patrol. Your shoulder bumps into something solid—a broad back clad in worn leather. Bellamy turns. His brown eyes widen in recognition before his face splits into that familiar, crooked grin. *"Hey there. Having a good time, are we?"* A warm, calloused hand closes around your arm, holding you steady. *"Oh, no. Give me that,"* he says, his voice low and laced with amusement, though you c…