𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘—𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍, are you afraid?

september 27th, 𝟐𝟏𝟒𝟗      

      𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐀 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. There was nothing to truly fear on the Ark, nothing to prime her to believe that there's a reason to be scared of something. She wasn't afraid of the dark, holes, or any of the other fears that were common amongst the kids that resided on her station. She had made herself believe that the world was perfect, and in no timeline would she have a reason to fear something.

      She's been proven wrong — regrettably.

      An unspoken fear of being the reason she kills someone, or herself, lurks in the back of her mind. She doesn't want that. She doesn't want to be the reason why someone ends up six feet under. She doesn't want to be the reason why her friends get hurt. She doesn't want to be the reason why she gets hurt — or killed.

      Bellamy's words feel like they've opened a door into a new school of thought. Her childhood had been filled with dreams, almost having been convinced that those dreams could hold up on the ground. Everything she's known is falling apart. Everything she's wanted is being destroyed. Her mind is conflicted — how can an emotion–fueled conversation create so much distress in her mind? How can someone she's not sure she respects have such a lasting opinion on her?

      How — and why — is she considering his words to hold some truth?

      Bellamy doesn't seem like someone she can completely trust. He does things for the good of himself. He has loyalty, somewhere deep inside him, but only from what she's seen, he's loyal to himself more than he is to others. Self–serving. Satisfying his own desires and hatred. That's all she's seen from him — nothing proving that he's someone who should be able to rewrite the foundation of who she is.

      The depot has an air to it — feeling like it encompasses things that she doesn't want to see. Horrors. Fears. Things she doesn't want to know exist. The air is heavy, holding years worth of rotting wood, dust, and evaporated rainwater. Spiderwebs and cobwebs are plastered to every wall and corner. Rust covers multiple surfaces. Hopes and dreams died in the depot's threshold.

      It doesn't feel like she's supposed to be here. Not surrounded by the people she's with. She's only here because Clarke needed an extra hand.

      "Really think this place hasn't been touched since the war?"

      Bellamy is behind her, pointing his flashlight all around the room. She can feel the heat from the light on her back every time he moves the flashlight. It bothers her — another thing to add to the long list of things that have hit a nerve in the past few hours — hitting the wrong nerve in her, making her grow even more upset. She bites her cheek, keeping her flashlight pointed in the direction Clarke isn't in, trying her best to not focus on how disgusting it feels.

      Clarke stops at the bottom of the stairs, glancing around. "A girl can dream," She looks back at the two just as Makayla reaches the bottom of the steps. "Come on."

      Much to her dismay, they find another set of stairs, where cobwebs and spiderwebs have captured the rotting wood in a surplus of intricate webs. The lights of their flashlights bounce off of every surface, the reflectiveness of the webs not helping them at all in their search to see what's around them. They're left in darkness. They're left not knowing what's around them.

      Her shoulder accidentally hits Clarke's as she comes to the realization that the girl had stopped walking. She whispers an apology, mentally cursing herself for not paying attention. She sniffles again, still coming off of the tears she had spilled earlier, when she sees a rotting skeleton.

      Her body instinctively urges her to jump back, her normal reactions to anything that opposes peace and calm wanting to show through. But she tries her best not to. Bellamy's dialogue doesn't aid her in her efforts to stay calm, though, almost narrating her every thought.

      'Hell of a place to die' seems like an understatement. The depot is fucking disgusting, every inch of it crawling with thousands of unknown bacteria, the years of wasting away underground —  the only air it touches being filled with heavy molecules of evaporated water — showing through. She didn't think this was a graveyard for hopes and dreams, but she had previously had faith that it would serve some benefit to them.

      She brushes past Clarke, inclined to no longer stand in front of the decaying skeleton. "This is gross," She whispers to herself, shining her flashlight forward, hoping to see something that isn't decaying.

      She's only met with rotting wood and the putrid smell of the air. An unsatisfactory presence, one that makes her want to turn around and run away.

      Clarke arrives at her side. "So much for living here."

      Makayla raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the girl. "The Council wants us to live here?"

      It doesn't make sense for them to live there — but she probably would've hoped for the same thing if she was part of the Council. She can understand why the Council had said that the goal is to survive down in the depot — it gives them the opportunity to have a real home, at least in terms of walls. Somewhere to keep them safe through winter — though she wouldn't have appreciated being locked away from the Sun for so long, she would understand why. It would save them. It would get them through the winter.

      And, it would protect them from the Grounders.

      Clarke nods as she begins to move forward, shining her flashlight in the direction that she's walking in. "Since it was designed to withstand nuclear warfare and radiation, they thought that it would be able to be an adequate shelter —" Clarke hits a piece of rotting wood, watching as it falls down to the ground. "But I guess not."

      Makayla nods, her disappointment showing through on her face. They don't seem to ever win, never getting much to benefit them. Never getting anything to help them survive. All they've gotten is a thousand problems that none of them know how to solve — leaving them to silently pray that they can solve themselves.

      "Would there be any way for supplies to have survived?" She questions, though she's really wondering if there's an actual purpose for them being there — did they walk all this way for nothing?

      Clarke shrugs. "Only way to find out is to look."

      Makayla nods, moving to start looking — spotting a black box propped up on a table made out of rotting wood — picking up her feet, hoping for something that will help them in any way, shape, or form.

      Their camp could use anything, really. They are underprepared. They are undersupplied. The harsh reality of their upcoming future is something she doesn't like thinking about, but if they don't find a way to stay warm in their camp, then they have no way to survive.

      "Anything down here is ruined."

      She turns around, having only made it about halfway towards the box, annoyed and frustrated with Bellamy. Nothing he says is helping her feelings. It feels suffocating, trapping her in her own thoughts. Everything he says is too pragmatic — looking at the horrible things that may happen, ignoring any possibility of happiness. He ignores hope. He ignores dreams. He ignores any sort of idealistic idea that forms in her head, where she hopes there is something, where she hopes something will happen.

      She finds it infuriating.

      Makayla scoffs, tired of his words. "It doesn't hurt to look, though."

      "For what? Destroyed supplies?"

      She tugs on the ends of the strands of her barely pinned–up hair, trying to keep her temper. "We don't know unless we look!"

      There's a few seconds where they stay silent, just staring. Her idealism is radiating off of her. His pragmatism weighing her down. She wants there to be something that can help them. Something that can aid them in surviving. And deep down, she thinks Bellamy wants there to be something, too. She can't force herself to believe that he doesn't have some sort of hope of there being a beneficial item in a container somewhere in the depot. Or maybe she could only be convincing herself of that, just to make herself believe that he's got a heart, somewhere inside him.

      Makayla thinks that Bellamy looks at idealism as if it's a curse — one that will doom people to die if they had it. She never thought she was idealistic. She had reasoned it to be being hopeful. 

      "Can you guys stop arguing and start looking?" She hears Clarke question from behind her, and she can feel the annoyance radiating off of her. "If we want to make it back to camp before it's dark we need to start searching now."

      She holds eye contact with Bellamy for another second. She doesn't want him to be right. She doesn't believe in his negative view on the world, seeing it as one full of pain and suffering, where everything needs to be pushed to the extreme. She wants things to end up working out in their favor — Makayla wants them to live in peace.

      ". . .You're going to get yourself killed."

      She refuses to believe that the smallest amount of idealism is what will seal her fate. Her views should not doom her to die. They should not doom others to die. What she believes, and how her beliefs influence her actions, are not the puppeteers of the fates they have that Bellamy claims that they are.

      Makayla turns away and makes her way towards the box.

      With every action she makes being cautious, she lifts the lid off of the box and shines her flashlight into it. She's met with an empty container, which only adds onto her frustration with the depot. All she wants is to find something beneficial — she doesn't want this to all be for nothing.

      She continues walking on the filthy floors, making her way past smaller crates and boxes that are scattered on the floor. She ignores the two people behind her as they scatter glowsticks and other light sources across the floor, their light conversation meaning nothing to her.

      She's got her sights set on another box.

      Makayla's more hopeful this time — not every box or crate with have something in it. Her idealism poking through once more.

      Cautiously, she wipes off the dust on the top of the box — trying not to inhale any on accident. Cobwebs and spiderwebs have plastered themselves onto the sides of the container, but no bugs or animals are to be seen.

      "Hey! I found blankets!" Clarke announces, causing Makayla to turn her head to get a view of them. She hasn't felt a real blanket in what feels like forever. She's missed the feeling of a real bed, feeling the comfort of something as she sleeps. The blankets could be used for anything — an attempt at a proper bed, decent insulation for the tents, cushions for them to sleep on — the possibilities seem endless.

      She smiles, Clarke's discovery giving her the hope she needed. Her fingers grab the lid of the box, hope radiating off of her, and she opens it, pleasantly surprised at what's inside.

      A mixture of bright orange and red blankets are perfectly folded, untouched over the almost one hundred years they've spent residing in the old container. The box is filled to the brim with these blankets, and she can only assume that there's more containers full of them somewhere else in the depot.

      Her smile only grows larger. "There's some in here, too!"

      She wishes her bag were bigger — or that she could have a million hands, and could carry all the blankets back in one trip. This has been something that is unspoken need that everyone has had — though nobody had any hope they could get it. Blankets will provide them comfort in a place where there isn't much to begin with. Blankets will give them warmth in a place that only wants them to be cold.

      "You guys are excited about a couple of blankets?" Bellamy questions, continuing down the hallway they're in, tossing glowsticks left and right. She sighs, rubbing her temples as her elbows rest on top of the blankets, feeling her patience and temper fading away with every word he says.

      "Something is better than nothing," Clarke offers, turning to face the man that's stalking around, sulking in his own feelings and taking them out on them.

      Makayla turns, facing him, annoyance painting her face. "They're useful — we can use them for insulation on the tents, cushions to sleep on, or just as regular fucking blankets. For once we're getting something helpful, and you're annoyed?"

      He turns to face them, stopping in his place. "You claim they're so helpful, but what happens when we run out of food in the winter? What happens when we have to march into war?" Bellamy questions, but his words don't change how she feels about the discovery. "We've found nothing but empty boxes and blankets, and yet you're smiling as if you just saved all of our lives."

      She ignores his comment at the end of his ramble. "We'll find more things," She urges, annoyed at his immediate jump to everything being hopeless. "There's plenty of other boxes and crates to look through."

      Bellamy sighs, his annoyance and frustration matching hers. "Y'know, this is what I've been saying — you keep looking at things as if you have the protection of the universe, but you don't. You're too naive, Makayla. And that naivety is going to get you killed."

      Her patience is running thin. "What's your problem?"

      She's not expecting a straight forward answer — she knows better than to think that she'd get one. But she's grown tired of their back–and–forth, the constant arguing because he has it in his head that his view on the world is the only right way to look at things. She doesn't think she's the naive little girl he paints her to be. She doesn't think her idealism is a danger.

      Maybe his overbearing pragmatism is a danger to them.

      He looks at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?" He questions, to which she rolls her eyes. "These small things are not the big wins you think they are."

      "They're victories when we don't get any in the first place," Makayla fires back, crossing her arms over her chest, not willing to let up. She's grown tired of his endless tangents about her small glimmers of hope, but doesn't want to let him know that.

      She notices Clarke shift uncomfortably off to the side. She feels bad, knowing the girl has been listening to their arguments the entire time they've been on this journey — but she can't stomach letting her resignation from their argument feeding Bellamy's ego. She doesn't want him to believe that he's right, that they can't celebrate the smaller victories, and that they aren't going to get the things they need. All that would do is allow more arguments to form.

      "Then how about we find a canteen, or a med kit, or a decent fucking tent!" He shouts, but it doesn't seem directed at her anymore — it seems directed at the world. She watches as he storms off, his steps echoing off the walls of the depot, leaving herself and Clarke with the blankets.

      Clarke reaches her side. "Something's up with him," She attempts to reason, but it doesn't help the way it's intended to.

      Makayla's response is a mixture of a laugh and a scoff. "Yeah, when is there not?"

      They fall into silence, awkwardly standing next to each other, before Makayla turns to the other blonde. "Why'd you bring me here, anyway?"

      She knows that Clarke gave a reason — that she wasn't doing anything, anyway, so she would have the free time to go on the journey. But it feels like there's another reason, one she didn't share.

      "You weren't doing anything, and I wanted someone around me that I could tolerate," She offers, finally turning to face the girl. "And I needed someone to cancel out all of Bellamy's nonsense."

      Makayla rolls her eyes, but not out of annoyance, for once. "All we do is argue."

      Clarke smiles. "Yeah, now I know — it's like watching you two argue with two separate walls."

      She scoffs, faking offense as they start walking down the hallway, their steps significantly slower than Bellamy's loud and angry ones. "I'm only trying to defend what I believe in — he takes what I think as an insult, even when it's not about him."

      Clarke shrugs as she shines her flashlight against the walls, checking to see if they're missing any containers full of items. "I get it," She pauses for a moment. "But I guess as much as I dislike him, Bellamy does make some good points."

      She raises an eyebrow. "All he says is a bunch of nonsense about how we'd die if we are even a little bit hopeful about something."

      "He's right that we need to find the big things — that we need to focus on the things that'll help us survive," She explains, and Makayla nods along, trying to see where she's going with her words. "But you've got a point too — we can celebrate the smaller victories. We can be hopeful."

      Clarke turns to her once again, and the two stop walking. "That's why I asked you to come — you help tone his bullshit down, even if you guys just keep arguing."

      She smiles at her. "You're not able to handle all his bullshit yourself?"

      Makayla herself can't handle all of Bellamy's nonsense alone — every conversation with him draining her of all energy she has, pushing her to the edge of a breakdown every time, without fail. She feels like she can't exist in peace around him.

      Clarke snorts. "Oh, absolutely not — we're supposed to 'make the rules' together, but I don't know," She trails off as she attempts to find her words. "It's good to have someone around who isn't afraid to stand up to him."

      "Is it really standing up to him if I hate talking to him?"

      Clarke shrugs. "I guess we haven't found the right way to deal with him."

      Something crashes in the distance, coming from the direction Bellamy stormed off in.

      Makayla sighs. "What the hell?"

      The two rush over to see what happened, only to be met with Bellamy, smiling up at them as he holds a gun in his hands, with a few others pouring out of the barrel he got his from — looking like a child who just hit the jackpot in terms of sugar. She can't tell what makes her feel more uneasy — the idea of there being guns that they can use, or Bellamy's shit–eating grin that's plastered on his face.

      The tension between them seems to have dissolved — Bellamy seems to be happy, for once, not attacking her or what she believes. 

      She just doesn't like that the change came from the existence of a weapon.

      She understands the need for them — they're surrounded by Grounders, and they have to be able to defend themselves somehow. It was one thing with the knives and swords they would make out of the dropship metal — it's another for there to be guns that they can use. Weapons that use bullets. Weapons that, from what she's read, are extremely dangerous.

      Makayla's barely accepted the fact that walking around without a weapon would be stupid — she doesn't know how she's supposed to accept the fact that the camp is about to get full access to guns.

      Bellamy essentially jumps up from the crouching position he was once in, getting to work on setting something up. Makayla unconsciously takes a step back, not realizing that she's trying to distance herself from the guns — leaving Clarke to be the victim of Bellamy's newest nonsensical tangent.

      "This changes everything!" He announces, his movements and his expressions showing the hints of child–like glee as he maneuvers his way towards a crate that's overflowing with blankets. He haphazardly takes a blanket off the pile, others falling onto the floor, Makayla instinctively rushing over to pull them off the floor. "No more running from spears!"

      She watches as he hangs the blanket up on a support beam that's so worn down that it's barely supporting anything anymore, leaving a gap between the ceiling and the wood. He turns to the two girls, smile plastered on his face as he makes his way back over to them. "Ready to be badass?"

      Makayla bites her cheek as she finally puts the blankets back onto the stack. She doesn't like the idea of using a gun — the thought of having the power to use such a dangerous weapon twisting her insides in all the wrong ways. Guns can cause harm. Guns can kill. If this is what it takes to be 'badass', she's not sure she wants it.

      "I'm not gonna fight you on bringing guns back to camp, but I won't pretend to like it," Clarke says to him, but that doesn't seem to change his demeanor. He's uncomfortably happy — it's forming a pit in Makayla's stomach. She doesn't understand how someone could be so joyful over the existence of a weapon like that, how someone could instantly go from upset to happy, their entire demeanor changing just because of the discovery of a weapon.

      If she's being honest, it terrifies her.

      Bellamy reaches Clarke's side. "We're lucky the rifles were packed in grease. The fact that they survived means we're not sitting ducks anymore," He explains, his smile falling from his face — but not because he's unhappy, rather, because he means what he's saying.  "You need to learn how to do this," He urges, turning to face Makayla. "You both need to learn how to do this."

      She wants to deny the request, though it seems more like a demand, but she can't find the words. She still feels too uncomfortable surrounded by the weapons, feeling like it goes against everything she's stood for in the last few days.

      Would she even be recognizable if she were to rely too much on the weapons?

      Would she still be herself?

      She watches Clarke nod and pick up the nearest gun to her side, but she can't bring herself to follow. She still stands by the box full of blankets, finding herself picking at the skin around her nails, uncomfortably standing off to the side as she watches.

      The worst part about it all is that she sees the use for the guns. They'd have a leg up on the Grounders with the weapons, giving them a higher chance at surviving a battle with them than they had before. But it doesn't feel right — giving their entire camp access to such dangerous weapons. They're just kids — they shouldn't be forced to have to learn how to use guns, to learn how to defend themselves in this way just to survive. They're just kids — a bunch of kids who have spent the last few years of their lives locked away within four metal walls, getting little to no social interaction, and were sent to Earth against their will. In no world, galaxy, or universe does it feel right to bring guns back to camp — children shouldn't be forced to prepare to go to war. Children shouldn't be forced to learn how to use weapons.

      She's still just a kid after all.

      The last three years of her childhood were spent locked in solitary over a misunderstanding — she didn't try to burn down her parent's compartment on the Ark on purpose. It just seemed like that's what happened. And to have that — a simple misunderstanding that could've been avoided — ruin the remaining years of her childhood feels like a kick to the stomach. It seemed like things were changing when they got sent down to Earth — that's all she had ever wanted. But now she's stressed about too much. She's arguing with people over simple things. She's having breakdowns over the idea of having to use a weapon.

      She misses when she was carefree. She misses when she didn't have to worry about things. She misses being a kid — not worrying about the next day, not worrying about if walking somewhere without a weapon would get herself killed. She misses not being berated for what she believes. She misses being blissfully unaware about the harsh realities of the world.

      She's afraid of who she's going to end up becoming.

      She doesn't want to be someone corrupted by the world. She doesn't want to be someone ruined by her surroundings. She doesn't want to be someone who has forgotten the core principles of herself. She doesn't want to be someone who's been forced to give up her dreams and the innocence she hopes she still has just because it's dangerous.

      She's not afraid of the guns. She's afraid of what they'll end up doing. Not the physical changes — the injuries they'll cause or the blood they'll shed. The psychological changes, the mental changes. The changes that nobody can see with their eyes.

      "Hey — Makayla? You need to learn this too."

      Bellamy's voice brings her out of her thoughts. She didn't realize she zoned out — her thoughts becoming too overwhelming to even take the time to feel the change. 

      "Oh — uh, I'm good. Thanks, though," She replies, still dazed, trying to come out of her thoughts. 

      Bellamy shakes his head. "You're afraid of a gun?"

      She's not afraid of the gun — just what it'll end up doing. And she hates that he automatically thinks that she's scared of the weapon, even if there's some truth to what he's saying. 

      She doesn't bother replying. Something about him just makes her angry — and she can't tell what. Maybe it's his constant need to make her feel bad about what she thinks. Maybe it's the fact that whenever they speak to each other, they only argue. Maybe it's that she can no longer find a single likeable thing about him. Maybe it's that he has all these assumptions about her that she wants to prove wrong.

      She walks over and takes the gun out of his hands.

      She's only doing this out of spite, really.

      "I just keep it on my shoulder?" She questions, but she's not looking for an answer. She doesn't want to hear an answer. She's tired of Bellamy's constant berating, tired of his self–righteous attitude that never seems to go away. She's tired of how it makes her feel drained, exhausted, and angry. She hates how he makes her angry. She hates how she feels like she's pressured into being something she's not around him.

      "Yeah, pretty much —" He begins, but his words trail off. She's not paying much attention to him, more focused on trying to figure out if she's doing it right. Her eyes are focused on the haphazardly drawn 'X' on the blanket, silently praying that she's not going to make a fool out of herself.

      She barely realizes Bellamy's fixing her posture, repositioning her arms until she feels his hands guiding her. It feels weird — she doesn't like it. His presence doesn't seem like an attack, for once, but rather a reassuring, guiding presence.

      For a second, it feels like the universe has allowed them to coexist peacefully. For a moment, it feels like the universe is allowing them to be 'acquaintances' — not pressuring them with any constant feuds, not making them feel angry at each other. The universe seems to be working in their favor, for this one moment in time, to allow them to exist peacefully. As much as it feels weird, where she doesn't completely dread Bellamy's presence, she could get used to them not having tension hanging over their heads.

      ". . .You're going to get yourself killed."

      She brushes his hands off of her. "I got it."

      Just like that, that small moment in time is forgotten in their never–ending feud.

      She keeps her eyes trained on the blanket. Her hands are shaky, and she feels like she's about to do something wrong. Something horrible. Something that goes against everything she's preached.

      She pulls the trigger. The bullet lands uncomfortably close to the center of the 'X'.

      "You're a natural at this!" Bellamy exclaims from behind her, but his words don't sit right with her. They make her sick. The nausea starts almost instantly — how can she be a 'natural' at working with such a harmful device? How can she be good with something that's meant to harm?

      He urges her to keep trying. "Try again."

      She shakes her head, scared of what she's done. "I don't think I should —"

      "We shouldn't waste the ammunition. There's probably only so much, right?" Clarke interrupts, yet to Makayla, it feels like a saving grace. She quickly tosses the gun back into the pile, scared that something else will happen if she keeps using it. Scared she'll become something she doesn't want to be.

      She mouths a small 'Thank you' to Clarke, to which she nods. She wasn't sure she would be able to handle any more back and forth with Bellamy, especially if it were to involve the gun. She doesn't like that he called her a 'natural' at something that she feels she shouldn't be a 'natural' at. How can someone be a 'natural' at wielding such a dangerous weapon? How can someone be a 'natural' at doing something that feels so morally wrong?

      "We need to talk about how we're gonna keep guns around camp, where are we gonna keep them, and who has access," Clarke continues, but Bellamy doesn't seem to be listening. Makayla's barely listening, either. More focused on trying to calm herself down and ridding her body of the nauseous feeling that appeared the moment she heard Bellamy's words, she's zoning out, trying to think of anything besides her nausea and how she's reacting to what Bellamy said.

      "You left Miller in charge of the grounder. You must trust him," Clarke adds, but Bellamy's still barely listening. To Makayla, her words seem distant.

      She barely sees Bellamy shrug. "You should keep him close. The others listen to him."

      That brings her out of her nausea–induced trance. "What do you mean keep him close?".

      What Bellamy said wasn't directed at her, but something feels off about what he said. Those words don't carry the same self–righteous, pragmatic, over–confident demeanor that most of what Bellamy says has. It's different, this time — like he's hiding something.

      Her words are met with a moment of silence.

      "I'm leaving," He says, blunt as ever. He picks up one of the many guns lying around on the floor and shoots the blanket, hitting the middle of the makeshift target.

      Her jaw drops, only slightly. She never would've thought that he would leave — she might not be his biggest fan, but she understands the need for him in the camp. He has led them. He keeps them together. Without him being their 'leader', their camp would've gone to shit a long time ago.

      "So that's why you agreed to come with me? You're running?" Clarke questions, but her questions are brushed off by Bellamy. He shoots the target again. And again. And again. "You think you'll be able to survive out there all alone?"

      Bellamy sighs out of frustration, turning to the two girls. "What do you want from me, Clarke? You want me to say I'll stay? You want me to stay in a place where the moment the Ark comes down, I'll be killed?"

      "You can't just leave, though," Makayla speaks up, still trying to make sense of what Bellamy's saying. "Y–you still have your sister. You still have plenty of people that look up to you —"

      "Octavia hates me. You guys hate me. So what's the point?"

      She stays silent. She thinks she hates him. She hates everything about him. She hates how he stands with his head up high, acting like the King of the World, not caring for the consequences of his own actions. She hates how he's quick to jump to conclusions about her. She hates how easily he's able to accept violence. She hates how it seems like he craves it. She hates how he's the one leading them. She hates how it would be dangerous for him to go. She hates that somehow, she cares. 

      She hates that he's everything she doesn't want to be.

      She hates that all her fears about what she could end up being are shown in him. His eagerness to wield a weapon. His eagerness to hold power over the Grounders in this way. That's everything she fears. She doesn't want to be like him. She hates the fact that he is everything she fears.

      She doesn't even realize that he announces a quick departure — having a need to 'Get some air'. She doesn't listen to Clarke's next words to her, where she asks if she can keep looking through the depot. She doesn't realize Clarke's moved the other way. She barely realizes that it's just herself and her thoughts now.

      She ends up backing up against the wall, arms hugging her chest. The nausea — the nausea that never went away — seems to be kicking up a notch. She feels too sick. Too uncomfortable. Everything she's believed in is falling apart, and all she can do is sit and watch. She doesn't like that slowly, with every second that passes, Bellamy's words start to seem like they're right.

      She falls down the wall. Tears form in her eyes. She tries to blink them away, but it doesn't work. And almost instantly, she's breaking down, sobbing on the floor. She wants to go home. She wants to feel okay with what she's doing. She doesn't want to think about the harsh realities. She wants her mom back. She wants to be the clueless little kid she once was again.

      Something feels off around her. The depot doesn't feel the same anymore. There's a different air to it — something's changed. She doesn't know if she'll be able to handle it. Sniffling between her tears, she looks up, glancing around the depot.

      That's when she sees it — off at the other end of the hall, beyond the blanket hung on the decaying support beam. Beyond the chaos that was her interaction with Bellamy and Clarke. Looking between the blanket and the wall, she sees it. Dancing off in the distance. It makes a pit form in her stomach.

      There's a fire.

      𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 —

hey! sorry it's been a month

gonna run and hide because im scared im gonna get jumped for that ending

okay before i go on a tangent i would just like to say thank you for 2.3k reads this is insane im sorry so much shit happened so i couldnt update 

before anyone comes after me for mick hating on bellamy, i just wanna say that cognitive dissonance is a real thing and that's what she's experiencing right now. bellamy and mick are on two completely different sides of the same debate, because as we know mick values idealism and hope etc etc, while bellamy's views are more pragmatic and are the opposite of everything she thinks.

now, this doesn't justify bellamy's insults towards her. it doesn't justify bellamy's extreme pragmatism. both of them have different philosophies, so they don't see eye to eye, and never fully will. they're both very hard–headed and stubborn when it comes to their opinions, and refuse to see how the other person believes xyz thing. 

and that's what i love about them because they both challenge each other to think of things differently and it's super important to their relationship that they force each other to THINK. their relationship is built off of them having different philosophies, but eventually coming together and learning from each other. they're already learning from each other and they'll be on decent (and eventually good!) terms soon.

makayla is 100% too idealistic for her own good i hope you guys can tell that bellamy has a point when he says that she'll end up dead if she keeps this up — she's just NOT fond of the idea of bellamy being right about her views so she's essentially just convincing herself that she's not as idealistic as bellamy claims she is so she can make it seem like he's wrong.

but... two (?) more chapters of this episode and we can FINALLY get to unity day. the og plan for this episode was about four chapters (i think? i don't know i started writing this episode in late december/early january and its MARCH now) and we're sitting at seven (including the 2 i said would be next) lord have mercy

i would like to say that my life is super busy right now, and i've been off the charts overwhelmed so updates might not be as consistent (i MIGHT update next monday/before then... but i seriously can't make any promises). a lot of things have happened in the last three weeks that have really taken a toll on me so i don't have the time to write (regrettably). i will definitely try to get back on that schedule soon, but i'm almost certain that won't be for a while.

mwah love you see you whenever!

𝟔𝟑𝟔𝟕 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒