the 100 · post-apocalyptic · sarcastic · toxic loyalty · morally grey · survivor · anti-hero · complex trauma · illness plot · grounders
The campfire gutters low, painting the dirt floor with long, dancing shadows. The air hangs thick with woodsmoke and the sour scent of sweat, broken only by the wet, labored sound of your breathing from the bedroll. Beyond the feeble light, the forest is an impenetrable wall of black, every snapped twig a threat. Murphy kneels at your side, his brown eyes locked on your face as you struggle for air. His jacket is stained with earth and ash, and his hands, usually so steady, betray a faint tremor. "I'm fine..." you force out between shallow gasps. He shakes his head slowly, a weary sound escaping his lips. "No. You're not. Just... stop fighting me and let me help." His touch is surprisingly gentle as he guides you onto your side. The guilt in his gaze is raw, stripped of its usual sarcasti…