and we're going to see them more fleshed out than ever

Outlander 03x04 Of Lost Things

This is and was always going to be a divisive episode. I feel the need to warn that I enjoyed the episode tremendously. It wasn’t my favorite but there was so much about how things were handled that I loved and appreciated that it far outweighed the scenes and moments where I was disappointed. So if you hated this episode and don’t see that changing any time soon, if reading a positive review is only going to upset you more, feel free to skip this post. We ALL have episodes that we need to pretend didn’t happen (*cough* Fox’s Lair *cough*). Know that this episode is over, you never have to watch it again if you don’t want to, and we’re one episode closer to print shop. 

For everyone else, I’ve got SO MUCH to say and flail about below the cut and I think I’ll start with Isobel Dunsany, my biggest surprise of the episode.

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Clegane, Sandor

“The Hound”

13th Level (Man-at-arms 12 / Brother of the Kingsguard 1)

The right side of his face was gaunt with sharp cheek-bones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow… his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face. The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar… Down by his jaw you could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.
— A Game of Thrones

There is only one man who wears a helm carved like a snarling hound, and they say his looks improve with the visor down. Sandor Clegane is as vicious as he is ugly, able to kill a knight or a butcher’s boy with equal ease. The Hound has no friends and no love. He does however, have very powerful patrons.

Sandor is an impressive warrior, so much so that Queen Cersei entrusts him to bodyguard her son. Cersei chose well, though his manners could do with a little polish. This grim and terrifyingly efficient guardian would say he works for the heaviest purse and the winning side, but a hound is a strange emblem for a man purely moved by mercenary reasons. Dogs can be strong or weak, fast or slow, but the one characteristic they all share is loyalty.

Sandor has no reason to develop any such quality. At best cold, at worst murderous, the Cleganes are not renowned for their sense of honour. Sandor’s older brother, Gregor Clegane, is the reason for Sandor’s ruined features. When Sandor was seven, he took one of his brother’s toys — a gift Gregor was too old to play with or value. Gregor, a full grown squire at the time, discovered the theft. He found his little brother, picked him up, and twisted his face into a brazier full of hot coals in retaliation, leaving Sandor permanently scarred. The boys’ father hushed the matter up and Gregor was knighted four years later. From that time on, the Cleganes barely acknowledged each other.

At the Hand’s tourney, when Gregor is unhorsed he flies into a murderous frenzy, and it is the Hound who steps forward saving Ser Loras and forcing Gregor to back off. Sandor matches strength with control, and ferocity with restraint. When the king commands them to cease, Sandor instantly goes to one knee, though it gives his brother a potentially fatal advantage. This is not the act of a man looking out for himself, but of a man who knows what loyalty really means. Sandor is ready to lay down his life for the king he respects, yet sneers at the concept of chivalry. No one knows better than Sandor Clegane how false the vows of knighthood can be.

Brave, strong, and loyal, Sandor consistently demonstrates the qualities of a good man behind the attitudes of a bad one. By the double standards of Westeros, it’s a winning combination. Beat a hound badly enough and it will learn to bite first in self-defence, but somewhere under all that anger is a worthy beast despite its uncertain temper. Desperate to protect himself, the Hound covers his decent nature by snarling at the world, as though he sees is better qualities as a weakness others will exploit. His underlying need for some kindness or recognition is revealed when he confides the secret of his disfigurement to Sansa Stark. Sansa is a child, innocent and reckless, with no great amount of common sense. No one knows why Sandor tells her his secret, possibly not even himself. Perhaps some part of him is desperate to make her understand the world behind the banners and trumpets of court and kings, to see the killer beneath the bright armour of a knight before she suffers a similar fate.

Sandor makes Sansa look at his destroyed face and admit that a terrible wrong was done to him. Once, long ago, the brutal Hound was an innocent child, just like everyone else. This is important, because no one else has admitted it in all Sandor’s life. He needs to hear it from someone with no connection to his situation, and yet, even this is a greater vulnerability than Sandor can admit. Having revealed so much of himself to another person, he threatens to kill her if she tells anyone.

Still, even after so threatening a bark, the Hound does not bite. After the death of her father, when Sansa is abused and tormented by Joffrey, Sandor shows her occasional deep kindness. Beaten by Joffrey’s knights, she is forced to recognise that vows do not a true knight make, the very same conclusion Sandor reached when he was seven. He never beats her at the prince’s bidding. He is no storybook hero to risk all for her, but neither is he a brute to punch her with mailed fists. Sandor Clegane is a killer, not a torturer; he kills because he is ordered to, not because he needs to inflict pain. It is this that marks the difference between Sandor and his brother.

Sandor is a complex man, hardened by a world more ugly than he could ever be. He laughs at foolish ideals all the time, particularly those of Sansa, at least until they are torn to shreds in front of her. Once she has lost everything, he tries to show her the lessons he had to learn alone: how to survive, how to keep going when dreams are dead. He tries to protect her and help her to protect herself. In that way, he is almost like a true knight — or a loyal hound.

– A Game of Thrones, Deluxe Edition Role-Playing Game and Resource Book

Joel (Vinesauce) Sentence Meme
  • : --|) Send one and see how my muse reacts!
  • "It's a little old, ____."
  • "He has like, spikes too, right?"
  • "God, I can't stand it, even ironically."
  • "The trick is to just spam it."
  • "Oh god, my poor computer..."
  • "How about... Expand Dong?"
  • "I'll show you all the bestality porn to corrupt you."
  • "This is like the olden days of ____, where you just _____."
  • "Now we got that we gotta add some WACKY EFFECTS."
  • "Safe installer? Probably the safest installer in the world."
  • "Still up after all these years, what the hell..."
  • "And my friend with no talent, he would always ____."
  • "Kup teraz!"
  • "More like my credit card information."
  • "Love the sound of that."
  • "It's like it's a nuke about to blow off and we're sitting here at the safe distance."
  • --> [ CORPSE IN THE FRIDGE ] <--
  • "With my wah."
  • "I don't care what anyone else thinks, I think you're hot."
  • "Oh goddamn, you're ugly."
  • "You've got some issues, and I'm not sticking around to deal with them."
  • "Don't insult him, he's a god of shapeshifting."
  • "No, not in the toilet."
  • "HELP."
  • "Sick moves."
  • "Aw, what the hell...."
  • "Morning ritual - take a shit in the bush."
  • "I made him into a vegetable, man!"
  • "Goddamnit, ____, not again! You smug piece of poop."
  • "I am crying so bad."
  • "A moment like this needs music like this."
  • --> [ POKEDRAW ] <--
  • "Alright. I know the ____ really good."
  • "You know this is gonna be a fuckin' disaster."
  • "Lil' wink."
  • "How do I make him blue fast?!"
  • "Swiggity swooty, I am comin' for the booty."
  • "They are born with pants. These pants are flesh."
  • "Fucking great. Fuckin' ace."
  • "Lookit him. Give him some rose tinted fifties cheeks."
  • "Oh great. More horses."
  • "BEES. ....I hate bees."
  • "Dog. Dog. Dog. Dog. Dog?"
  • "This got grim so quick."
  • "How's he sitting?"
  • "Juicy."
  • "He looks like Dracula now."
  • "I'm gonna blow your mind."
  • "Somebody glued a Wheetabix to the cat."
  • "He looks like a cinnamon bun!!"
  • "This guy's goin' to work!"
  • "I can do this!"
  • "I tried. That's a bootleg ____ if I ever saw one."
  • "Screw you guys, I'm goin' home."
  • "He's got MIND BULLETS."
  • "This is not Zubat. It's AAAAAAAAGAAGHAGGHAHGA."
  • "This is totally the worst ever."
  • "Now we're stuck with... THIS!"
  • "Why did I put a dead skeleton on my face?!"
  • "Ugh, more birds."
  • "Everytime you hug them, it's a face full of spikes. Edgelord."
  • --> [ WINDOWS 7 DESTRUCTION ] <--
  • "What is technology?!"
  • "It's magic, ___, it's magic."
  • "It looks like a plate of oatmeal."
  • "This child has no idea what she's doing."
  • "I will change this for the better!"
  • "This doesn't look fishy at all."
  • "Oh my god guys. This comment section is from fake people."
  • "To make idiots think it's safe!"
  • "I DIDN'T DO THAT!!!"
  • "That's the most honest name for something. ____ Blaster. You will have nothing left."
  • "When I was 11 years old, I had a desktop stripper."
  • "The worst part, I couldn't get it off my ____, so I had to ask my dad to help me."
  • "Please, give me Jesus!"
  • "Oh, my sweet Jesus... There's Jesus."
  • "Nothing says this's more welcome than a creepy smiley repeatedly jamming a welcome sign into his crotch."
  • "Don't stop, keep injecting me those smilies."
  • "I dunno what he's doing, but that cannot be a good way to live your life."
  • "It pains me to do this, and it will be the only one ever."
  • "This is a worse idea than the time I drank a martini with my eye, I legit did that once."
  • "I thought that everything was fine. But no. No no no no no."
  • "Animated Christmas Tree For Desktop?! Yes!"
  • "Look at it! It's the worst thing ever!"
  • "I blame you! You did this, you did this!"
  • "Two hundred dollars?! For a MIDI?!"
  • "It sounds like farting in a bathtub. BLEUB."
  • "This is the worst image."
  • "Pretty leggums."
  • "What if you have a bad dream in hypersleep and you can't wake up?"
  • "What is that?! That's the face of a strangle murderer!"
  • "Hey, we can do this. Hey, we can do this."
  • "GO FOR THE GOLD! .....FUCK."
  • "Guys, it's a spooky ghost in the vents! Go away!"
  • "Save me, Pochahontas! Save me!"
  • "Alien, please pry me off this thing."
  • "What're you waiting for! DO IT NOW!"
  • "Come on, I dare you!"
  • "'Advanced AI is unparalleled', my ass."
  • "Space poosy."
  • "He chucked a fuckin' traffic cone at me!"
  • "I see London, I see France, I see a dumbshit alienpants."
  • "Ok, drink up."
  • "Fuck you, karma."
  • "This guy's badly programmed. Like a bootleg OS."
  • "It's jazz, but in space!"
  • "So uh, what exactly is this?"
  • "I'm afraid there's gonna be boobs."
  • "What the shit is this!?!"
  • "Why is one of those Russian castles being pulled apart; what the fuck?"
  • "Hide in shame."
  • "Oh, dios mio."
  • "Nah, screw it."
  • "What in mother Mary's name is this?"
  • "Why am I doing like this twerk-a-thon?"
  • "Am I a furry?"
  • "Shameful. Shame on you."
  • "Pronounce this."
  • "You know what seals the deal for me? When shit's got that rainbow tint to it..."
  • "Ohhhh... That's SONIC."
  • "Wait a minute, that music...."
  • "Woooooow."
  • "Let's see how they did this."
  • "That's just being so illiterate it's beyond anything else."
  • "Good face there, _____."
  • "It's Windows 2000...."
  • "What we have here is an enigma."
  • "Play it, maestro."
  • --> [ LINK THE MURDERER ] <--
  • "Is that a tinted mustache?!"
  • "What are you fuckin' wearing?"
  • "Yeah. Yeah! Yeah!!"
  • "This music is not helping at all."
  • "Let's see how big you can go."
  • "You know those advertisements on the internet that're like, 'try this new cure; I did and I got RIIIIIIIIIPPED'."
  • "Chest break?! Crack neck? Holy shit."
  • "Knock him out with a punch."
  • "Why are you having a conversation? He just went down cold."
  • "OH SHIT, 'E DIED."
  • "Go home. GO HOME."
  • "That's all I need, baby."
  • "Replace your sadness with piss."
  • "Can I body slam a BABY?!"
  • "Let's order a pizza."
  • "Nothing tastes as good as... Toilet joint pizza ghost party."
  • "Ghost... You want some pizza?"
  • "Oh no, what exactly is this?"
  • "I killed death. I killed a concept."
  • "Great. I've killed so many people that they blend into society now."
  • "That's just the weak leaving your body."
  • "I'm too busy to care. Fire? Whatever."
  • "The brain, brain, brain, brain, bRAIN."
  • "I'll be having children's tears on the rocks."
  • --> [ BEST OF DOS ] <--
  • "NAILED IT!"
  • "What's the worst that could happen?"
  • "I believe my patient is balls high."
  • "It's not brain surgery, but it is surgery."
  • "Strange, I've never seen a doctor operate with his bare hands before."
  • "How fucking dare you, alright?"
  • "I am back... for MORE."
  • "To understand surgery, you must also understand flesh."
  • "It's like crayons, but with more gore."
  • "I was a surgeon, but now I CAN FLY."
  • "The MIDI zone."
  • "Light the pipeweed."
  • "Put pipeweed in Frodo."
  • "YeeeAAAAH. YEAH. YEAH."
  • "I killed him 'cause he was hogging the bong!"

lielow-at-lupins  asked:

So I've always hated Pansy but I see a LOT of stuff on my dash about her and people really seem to love her. I'm rereading the series rn for a lot of reasons and one of them is that I'm trying to look at Pansy from a new perspective because I really want to like her. Could you explain what it is about her that you like so I could better understand it?

I love Pansy for lots of reasons- JKR intended for her to be a one dimensional bully, but at the same time, I love her for her viciousness. Not all girls are sweet, gentle, warm, kindhearted heroes who are ready and willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the world, and that’s okay. I love Pansy for the same reasons I love Draco- she can be petty and catty and cruel, but she’s also clever and wily and fiercely devoted to her friends and will do whatever it takes to protect herself and her loved ones. I like that she shows that girls don’t have to be soft, that they can be hard and cutting too. And even more than that, there is so much more going on with her that we don’t see, due to Harry’s (understandably) limited perspective and the (unfortunate) bias against Slytherins that runs throughout the books. We don’t know what her upbringing was like, what pressures she was placed under, what it was like for her during the war to have to pledge her loyalties to either a genocidal despot or an administration/school that was never there for her. We have such a limited view of her, and I love to play with that and explore different facets of her personality to see her as a three dimensional person, one who is certainly flawed but who is still capable of more 

@provocative-envy is a phenomenally brilliant writer, and she understands Pansy and writes her like no one else. I’ve always loved Pansy, but after reading Envy’s headcanons, drabbles, and fics, I became incredibly protective of Pansy in a way I never had before. Envy just fleshes her out and really gets inside her head, allowing you to sympathize with her without glossing over her viciousness and the mistakes she’s made along the way. All of Envy’s writing is exquisite, but I’d particularly recommend: 

  • Chrysalis- a Pansy character study 
  • Spare Parts- a post war Pansy character study
  • Pansy Parkinson; Of Consequence- a Pansy character study 
  • Greenwich Mean Time- a Pansy/Harry fic with such a perfect Pansy that I will forever hold her as my canon Pansy
  • Afterword- this is a study of post war Slytherins in general, but it’s honestly one of the best things I’ve ever read and I recommend it to anyone who wants to understand Slytherins better
  • And here are all her ficlets that focus on Pansy- they’re all amazing and her Pansy just sparkles with brutal wit and raw emotion 
  • (Also, here’s Envy’s ao3, because all of her writing is gorgeous and I can’t recommend it highly enough. She’s also super sweet so be sure to send lots of love her way!)

anonymous asked:

I have a Steggy AU prompt, if you're taking them: Peggy is a wartime singer (ala Vera Lynn) but dreams of joining the army and Steve is the quiet soldier who admires her from afar, and whom she notices when no one else does. So kind of like a gender-swap, really. I was listening to Vera Lynn today and I just thought it would make a good AU. We're always in need of more Steggy AUs. Especially happy ones. :)

Sorry for taking so long to get to this, Anon. I had to think quite hard about this one, so I hope this is the sort of thing you had in mind.

He heard her voice long before he ever saw her.

The first time was huddled around a fire with some of the guys from the 107th, trying desperately to stay warm in a North European winter, static in the background as someone fiddled with the wireless radio in the hope of connecting to home somehow. Then the static gave way to her singing and Steve felt his heart stop. Her voice was rich and smooth, and he would have sworn that he could feel it sliding over his skin like silk, raising goosebumps over his flesh. He wasn’t the only one to stop short at the sound.  Heads turned, and before long a whole crowd was gathered around the radio.

They started tuning in every night for the chance to hear her sing. It was noticeable that everyone’s moods were improved, more cheerful, on the nights her song played. Someone must have written home about it, because one night the presenter introduced her as the Sweetheart of the 107th. A cheer went up when their commanding officer announced that she was coming to the front to perform for them.

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Blue's Clues: A Jurassic World chatfic that went progressively out of hand
  • Owen: Slowly... slowly...
  • Hoskins: Grady, tell it to back off. We could still make a fortune out of both of them. Just let it stand down.
  • Owen: They're your weapons. You disarm them.
  • Delta, in Raptorese: Father, shall I slay the corpulent unpleasant one so we can dine on its flesh in your honor?
  • Owen: Chirp chirp.
  • Delta, still in Raptorese: Father is kind <mauls Hoskins>
  • Owen: Zach, Gray, drop the chair.
  • Lowery, grabbing the thinking chair: You heard him.
  • Hoskins, while being eviscerated: At least let me shart on it first.
  • Dr. Wu, in the choppah: Why does everyone want to pass gas on my good chair!
  • Owen: Lowery, lower the chair.
  • Lowery: Awww man.
  • Barry: We will need a lot of therapy to make this moment in our lives okay.
  • Gray: Hey, remember when just a few minutes ago when we were going through the motions of a show you watched when you were 3.
  • Zach: Where's Aunt Claire?
  • Indominus, outside, doing the bring it pose: Claire Dearing, this ends now!
  • Claire, eyes glowing, flares on hand: It's come to this, Indominus. Run, or face me like a woman.
  • Indominus Rex: Fool, you are but one woman and I am the greatest carnivorous mechanism of the terrestial vertebrata there will ever be. What chance have you?
  • Claire, using her high heeled shoes as imrpov nunchuks while levitating: You assume that I fight alone, sparsely feathered one.
  • Zach, as wind effects too expensive for even Spielberg's budget swirl around his aunt: Oh no. Aunt Claire's entering the High Heels state.
  • Gray: Awesome!
  • Blue and Delta, standing by Claire's side: Chirp chirp.
  • Owen, in a kinda perverted way: I'll say. <sees raptors run toward Claire as she battles the I. Rex with only her high heels.>
  • Echo, in Raptorese: Father disapproves of our betrayal.
  • Charlie, as if they can speak anything other than raptorese anyway: How can you tell, sister?
  • Owen: <stares, "I am disappoint">
  • Echo: How shall we seek his forgiveness.
  • Charlie: As recompense for our disloyalty, we must challenge the one they call Indominus.
  • Echo: Indominus. Let's put her name to the test.
  • Claire: Lowery, now.
  • Lowery: Now, what now? <sees a flare> Oh, that. <the "Be a Man" song from Mulan plays in the background>
  • Rexy: Roar.
  • Raptor squad: Chirp chirp.
  • Owen: They're switching sides! Attagirls!
  • Claire: We fight as one!
  • Rexy, roaring as if to say: Bitch I work solo.
  • Indominus: Well, granny, nice of you to join us. <pwnage>
  • Rexy, in Rexese: Okay, I take it back. We share the glory.
  • Raptor Squad: Harooh, Harooh, Harooh <it's chirping, but whatevs, there was pwnage>.
  • Indominus, as her ass is handed by Rexy, Claire, and the Raptor Squad: This cannot be, I'm indominable. <gets hit by Claire's shoes, specifically the heely bits, in the eyes> AAAAAAAGH
  • Rexy: Bitch, shut your face.
  • Indominus: This is Madness.
  • Claire: We're not doing that reference! <the combined awesomeness of her, Rexy, and the raptor squad push I. Rex into the lagoon.>
  • Mosasaur, chomps on Indominus: Omnomnomnomnom.
  • Owen: I'm so proud of you girls.
  • Blue: Is Claire going to be our new mommy?
  • Owen: I have no idea what you just said Blue, but you do daddy proud. Go, for now it's time for so long...
  • Zach: Owen, we might have to do this in the ferry.
  • Owen: No, we have to do it here.
  • Owen, singing: But we'll sing just one more song. Thanks for doing you're part, you sure are smart, you know with me, and Claire, and these guys here, we can...
  • Claire: Owen, wrap it up.
  • Owen: Alright, alright. <goes to the ferry, waving at the raptors as they board> can and will be awesome, everything is cool when we're part of a team.
  • Zach, holding a yellow pages in his hand: And yet he butchers it again.
  • Gray, overlooking the yellow pages: Nitpicking later, find therapist now.
  • Zach: Dr. Malcolm seems affordable. Think our insurance would cover it?
  • Owen: Goodbye kids. See you soon.
  • Raptor squad: Chirp chirp <Farewell, father! We shall rule the island in your name>.
We're all Just Human.

It’s so exhausting talking about racism in a world of people who have just accepted that racism and the things that happen because of it are acceptable and permissible.

It’s really exhausting that people consider black face to be not racist, and me calling it out AS racist.

It’s really exhausting that I’m expected to tip toe around racism and that every time I address it i’m told to speak politely and properly and to never get angry about it when I’m being disrespected to my face.

I am a very polite and well mannered person. Anyone who’s actually met me in real life knows this. i’m someone who was taught to be silent and to be subdued and to never speak out of turn. As an adult I’ve learned that I was raised that way because my parents were raised that way and their parents were raised that way and their parents were taught to act that way by their slave masters.

Whenever I call out racism I always feel like people are going to just get it, you know because it’s so obvious to me. I was raised feeling that I would never be able to get anything in this world because of my race. My white boyfriend was raised to view the world as his oyster and that he could be whatever he wanted to be. This impacts how he navigates the world and how he extends himself physically. On the flip side, I have to force myself to view the world in a similar fashion and encourage myself to navigate the world without the inferiority complex that I’ve been taught from day one. All of these things are so obvious to me now and it’s upsetting to know that so many people (including people of color) do not see how racism has shaped our culture.

I want people to wake up, but I don’t actually think they ever will.

It’s quite bizarre to me how people equate me discussing racism to hating white people when i don’t’ actually hate anyone on the basis of their race. I just see, all too often that when white people are racist it’s often defended and supported. And when I make a comment about the observation that white people are often able to be racist with no repercussion, I am seen as the racist. Somehow.

And all of this makes me feel like I shouldn’t discuss racism or I shouldn’t acknowledge it. But I realize that’s the intended impact. I’m called a racist for discussing racism because if racism were something that was perpetuated mainly by white people we’d have to view this country differently. So they want me to stay quiet because staying quiet allows them to never see what racism is or how it impacts people of color and especially how it impacts them.

When I talk about racism I refer to current events and when I’ve noticed white people talking about racism they’re referring to posts like this that can be ignore, blocked or deleted from their feed.

I can’t ignore block or delete my race. And i’m tired of being made to feel that I am ‘angry" because I’m upset with how I’m viewed in this world as a black woman. You think i’m angry because I have an opinion. It doesn’t matter how polite I am to you, I will always be angry. I will always be racist because I talk about the racism white men have perpetuated and you will be so much more progressive than I am because you 'don’t see race’. Of course your race affords you the right ot not see race because in this country, you are viewed as the default. We’re all just “people”, but flesh toned crayons look like you and most of our characters in film and other media look like you. But we’re all just “humans”, but people who look like me are always supporting you or behind you. But we’re all just “humans” and you “don’t see race”, which I’ve noticed you only say to me or other brown people.

Whatever, i’m exhausted. i’ll let you continue to believe i’m irrational and angry and you’re justified and right because that’s what you need to believe.

Bellarke: These Guarded Walls (a The 100 Fanfic)

Fanfiction won’t let me upload the fic at the moment due to server issues, so I’m just going to post the first part of it here. If you like it, let me know so I can write more!

These Guarded Walls
A Bellarke/The 100 Fanfic
Rated: T (atm)

As Bellamy paced one of the main corridors in the Ark, he couldn’t help but feel that something was off. The usual mechanical hum that he’d learned to ignore was absent, and the air was still, no draft coming from the large vent system. He placed a hand on his gun – a comforting gesture, if anything – and tried to shake the feeling.

It was always a little eerie at midnight. Everything being made of metal caused echoes to travel a mile a minute on the ship, forming repetitive whispers that scared many of the younger children. He smiled at the thought of Octavia as a kid, scurrying to and from the washroom to her hiding place, terrified of the ‘ghosts’ that lived on the ship. It’d taken him years to explain that what she thought were ghosts were just noises made from sound vibrating off the walls.

Always trying to protect his little sister.

A sudden crash startled him. Bellamy yanked the gun from his holster and raised it, snapping the safety off and placing a finger on the trigger. The sound had come from a near-empty storage room to his left, filled with a few filtration parts. Anyone lurking in the shadows at night was definitely not supposed to be in there.

'Hey!’ Bellamy hissed, stepping in front of the metal doors and flashing his card. The panel lit up with green lights and doors opened, revealing a – surprisingly – empty room. He took a careful step inside and scanned his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

The doors closed behind him with a loud whoosh.

Bellamy whirled around and froze with fear. He was face to face with the Chancellor. That is, what was left of the man’s rotting corpse. His mouth was agape in an unsettling way, blue, cracked lips parting to reveal broken teeth and a swollen, bloody tongue. His skin had began to decompose, curling upwards as if someone has gone at his face will a potato peeler. It was dry and flaky but moist underneath, oozing with a muddy green pus that rolled down his cheeks. And his eyes. Christ, his eyes. The sockets had been cleaned out, leaving nothing but gaping, black holes. Bellamy could see the flesh sagging at the back, clinging to bits of bloody flesh and stringy, veiny matter that had once been attached to his eyeballs. Thick, gelatinous blood pooled in the bottom of the hollows, leaking in a way that made it look like he was weeping.

The Chancellor wrapped his bony fingers around Bellamy’s wrist and dug his nails into the boy’s skin, twisting so that he dropped his gun with a clang.

Bellamy tasted bile as the rotting stench of pus and decay filled his nostrils.'You’re dead,’ He choked, struggling. 'You’re fucking dead! I killed you!’

The Chancellor’s lips parted in a feral grin, and his yellow teeth glinted beneath the Ark’s dim lighting. He raised his hand to reveal a large abdominal wound; right where Bellamy had shot him. 'Are you sure about that?’ He purred, his voice low and guttural. 'Are you sure about that, Bellamy Blake?’

Bellamy ripped free and stumbled backwards, gagging. The man’s breath smelled like waste and feces, with a sickening sweet undertone. Bellamy tried to stand but his legs felt like lead; no matter how much he willed them, they wouldn’t move. He pushed himself backwards and frantically fumbled for his gun, finally feeling cold metal beneath his fingertips.

'Does your sister know what you did, Bellamy Blake?’ The Chancellor hissed, swaying towards Bellamy with his arms dangling limp at his sides. Clots dislodged themselves from his mangled skin and splattered against the floor. Little white bits started to wriggle. 'Do you think she wants a KILLER watching over her? How can you even protect her, when you can’t even protect yourself?’

'I can protect her!’ Bellamy shouted, anger joining horror and fear in an adrenaline fueled trio. His heart was beating in panic. 'That’s all I care about – protecting HER!’

The Chancellor cocked his head to the side. 'Are you sure about that?’

Bellamy raised his gun and shot the man in the head.

And with that, Bellamy woke up.

His clothes were drenched in sweat and his hair was plastered across his face. He sat upright, momentarily confused. It took him a few seconds for the memories to come flooding back – the one hundred teens sent to Earth, the crash, the camp they set up. The grounders. His sister. Clarke. The Chancellor. Everything.

He waited for the relief to come as it usually did upon realizing that his nightmares weren’t real, but his heart continued to beat erratically. It seemed to be speeding up, and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were constricting. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his shoes, pushing his way from his tent and into the cool, night air. Stumbling awkwardly, he managed to deak out of the camp unnoticed. He shot a quick glance behind him and took off into the forest, unsure of where he was going but knowing that he couldn’t stay.

Bellamy ran until his lungs burned and his stomach threatened to rip open his throat. He reached for a nearby tree and felt skin scrape the rough bark as his knees gave out. He sank to the ground and let the wet moss seep into his clothing. The whole forest was layered with a damp carpet, moist with mud condensation. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath, a pressure building inside his ribs that threatened to break free. It felt like it would tear open his flesh and claw its way out into open air.

His muscles ached and his stomach cramped - he suddenly had to urge to vomit and lurched to the side, dry heaving. He coughed and wiped his lips, feeling dizzy, then sank back to the ground, cold and wet. He pressed his gloved fist to his mouth, digging his fingers into his cheeks as pressure built behind his eyes. He was going to explode. Gritting his teeth together, Bellamy clenched his hands so tightly his nails bit into skin; nothing was more frustrating than the throbbing that pulsed through his whole body. He fought the pressure as best he could… but finally broke down.

He crouched behind the tree, face pressed to his knees and hand clamped firmly over his mouth, screaming silently as sobs racked his body. He punched the ground. He was weak, pathetic. What kind of man broke down like this? He hated the emotions running through him, burning his veins like fire. Anger at the council, for sending Octavia into someplace so dangerous, for forcing Octavia into hiding, for killing their parents. Anger at Clarke and Finn and Jasper and all the idiots hellbent on doing the right thing. Anger at Charlotte, for choosing death. Anger at himself, for everything he’d done and everyone he’d failed. And shame. Shame lay on top of everything, like acid burning holes straight into his chest.


He froze at Clarke’s voice, eyes widening. His heart started to beat frantically. There was no way she could have seen him sneak out of camp, no way in hell. She definitely couldn’t see him now, crouched in the shadows. He had checked to see that they were sleeping, for god’s sake! He held his breath in shock, suppressing the urge to jump up and confront her. He’d rather have confronted death. There was no way she wouldn’t notice his trembling, and it would destroy him.

A twig snapped a few feet away. Fuck. He couldn’t let her see him cowering like a little baby.

Bellamy took a deep breath and stood.

Sure enough, there stood Clarke, only slightly visible beneath the dark canopy. She had a flashlight in hand and her chest rose and fell a little faster than normal, indicating that she’d been running. Her blonde curls were scattered wildly around her face and her eyes were wide with surprise. He met her gaze and she was confronted by a sharp glare, complete with set jaw and narrowed brows. 'What do you want?’

'Bellamy, what are you doing out here?’

He frowned. 'I could ask you the same question, princess,’ he said, glaring. His hands still shook and he wasn’t sure he could handle her. She had a talent for asking the kind of questions that hit just the right nerve, and on any other day, he’d be right on par with her snippy remarks and sarcasm. But he was tired. 'Isn’t it a little late for you to be out of your comfy little bed?’

'Cut the crap, Bellamy,’ she said, taking a step towards him. Her arms were crossed against her chest in a defensive position. 'I saw you leave camp and take off running into the woods.’

'So what?’ He asked. 'I can go as I please, in case you forgot. We can ALL go as we please. There may be some new rules on the ground, but we’re free to come and go.’

Bellamy heard her sigh. 'I’m not challenging your freedom, idiot.’ She ran a hand through her hair and sighed again, looking annoyed. 'Is that all you ever think about? Whether I’m gonna knock you down from the throne you’ve made for yourself?’ She took another step forward, and this time, he took a step back. 'You may be fooling everyone else, you may even be fooling yourself. But you’re not fooling me. I know you’re scared. You’re just as scared as all of us. You just won’t admit it.’

He felt anger fill his veins, accompanied by adrenaline. 'Why did you follow me, Clarke?’ he growled. His voice shook but he couldn’t tell if it was from rage or something else. 'You place yourself in everyone’s business and think you have the right to demand answers? What did you expect to find? A meeting? A rebellion? A sacrifice? Or do you just like following people at all hours of the night?’

'Bellamy,’ she interrupted softly, reaching for his shoulder. 'I-’

'Don’t touch me!’ he snapped, recoiling. His lips curled over his teeth and he lowered his voice to a hiss. 'Why did you follow me, Clarke?’

She stilled and raised her head, eyes blazing. They were bright blue beneath the moonlight. 'I was worried about you.’ She said simply. 'But I guess I was wrong.’

And with that, she turned and left.

The beads of sweat on his forehead were cold in the night air and he shivered, tensing into himself. He listened to his pounding heartbeat and waited until she was gone before sinking back to the ground, finally succumbing to the wet and cold. The feeling of shock and shame were overwhelmed by fatigue, and he felt himself falling asleep.


Clarke pretended to walk off, but instead, she doubled back as quietly as possible. She didn’t know why she was bothering to waste her energy on Bellamy, of all people. He didn’t even want her help. It was damp and rainy and she had been nice and cozy in her tent. But she’d caught a glimpse of his face before he stepped beyond the fence, and it had contained such raw desperation that she felt her feet moving before her mind had decided to follow him.

She watched from her position in the brush and saw Bellamy kick the dirt in frustration, then sink to the ground, shaking with anger. No, not anger. He was… oh my god, he was trembling. He wasn’t crying, but it looked like it was taking every bit of strength not to. And it was taking every bit of hers not to go and confront him once more. She knew how he’d take it. He’d get mad, he’d yell, he might even punch her. She didn’t want to wake everyone up. She was probably wrong. He probably wasn’t upset - he was probably just cold. Cold and pissed off.

You’re lying to yourself, her inner voice said, sneering. You know he’s hiding something, something that’s making him so upset. You’re just trying to deny that it’s making you upset, too.

Claire silenced it. She didn’t feel sorry for Bellamy - he deserved every bit of pain he dished out. He was the reason Wells had been killed in the first place. He had created Murphy and the rest of the Lost Boy troupe that everyone seemed to follow. He had wanted control, and maybe losing the reigns a little was making him falter. Why should she care in the least? He’d made her look like a fool and her efforts to keep them all alive all the more difficult.

But deep down, she knew that she was lying to herself. She didn’t know how she felt about him, but he was still a human being, and she had trouble watching any human in pain, no matter what reason.

Rubbing her forehead, she finally retreated back to camp, not bothering to turn the flashlight on. She could walk the forest with both eyes closed; it felt like it’d been forever since they landed. She wondered how her mom was doing - if she was mourning over her daughter’s death or if she’d moved on like every other council member that had decided that throwing one hundred kids to their death was a reasonable decision.

It was thoughts of death and destruction that lulled her to sleep that night.