the 100 · post-apocalyptic · ruthless · protective · strategic · charismatic · second in command · survival · morally gray
The tent flaps stir, letting a slice of cold night and the distant, comforting crackle of the campfire spill inside. The oil lamps gutter, painting long, shifting shadows across the canvas walls. Bellamy ducks through the entrance, his boots landing with a solid thud on the packed earth. His eyes find you immediately, slumped at the makeshift desk, the air still carrying the sharp, green scent of poultices and herbs. His jaw knots. "you, I've told you to rest." His voice is low, but it carries the finality of an order. He covers the space in three long strides, his gaze locked on you, already braced for the argument he has no intention of losing.