bellamy blake (whoweneedtobe) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-04-29 14:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !locale: space, bellamy blake |
narrative
who: Bellamy Blake
what: Poorly Processing his feels. idk, I just need activity so I wrote this really quick :/
when: Recently
where: His ship
rating: PG
For the infinite sprawl space presented, Bellamy thought it capable of feeling incredibly claustrophobic. In his small ship, that feeling was only compounded by the stale taste of recycled air and the perpetual coolness that came with the vast emptiness of space. The ship wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but then neither were his quarters back on the Ark and so Bellamy found a painful nostalgia in the cramped space. If he sat quietly enough for long enough, he could imagine himself back on the Ark. With Octavia, it had never been truly quiet. She was always demanding stories or games, or her heavy, even breaths filled the room as she napped. If he tried hard enough, he could bring to mind the sound of needle pulling through fabric as his mother sewed and Octavia's childlike voice as she hummed to herself, playing with the doll he'd made for her.
Somehow, without even trying, Bellamy had turned this ship into a prison where he allowed memory to haunt him and guilt to suffocate him. It was penance, in a way. At some point, as the days stretched on, he blipped out to his own world, only to return instantly crumpling to the ground under the weight of the beating his sister had doled out. A living, breathing Octavia in a completely different world. Lying on the cold metal corridor, body aching, he considered reaching out to Clarke. Had she gone home? Had she seen Octavia? Octavia was alive there, but... what good did that do him here? Here she had died brutally, abused and cast aside and he'd been nowhere to help her. Back home... that fate had been passed on to Lincoln, hadn't it? Executed for being too kind and too open-minded. Too willing to love someone from the Sky and too heroic for his own good. Octavia was dead here and she hated him back home.
In the days after his return, Bellamy struggled to navigate his emotions. He would feel collected and then something would set him off. A doleful bleep from his astromech would remind him of something and Bellamy would lash out, breaking the skin on his knuckles anew as he took his frustrations out his chair, the walls, whatever was closest. He could feel the anger crackling through him, intensified by the Force, and sometimes he felt like he was going to lose his mind.
Soon though, Bellamy managed to start channeling his anger. When his anguish got the better of him, he would turn it inward. When he felt a rush of rage toward this world for killing Octavia, when he felt the flood of guilt for his part in Lincoln's death, he would center himself and direct it back into himself. Each time he did, he could feel the power it afforded him. He tested it once. Brooding in the cockpit, glowering out at the stars, Bellamy's astromech rolled in to do a routine check. The movement caught his attention and Bellamy's eyes lighted on the lever that pushed to... whatever this ship did. It didn't matter, because it just made him think of Clarke. Of Mount Weather. Of Echo and Gina and Maya and Lovejoy and all of those innocent people who died terribly because of him. The anger bubbled forth and it was so easy to let it flow through him. He rose and, in a swift motion, channeled that power into a sudden downswing with his fists. The circuit board exploded and the astromech screamed, jerkily rolling backward and fleeing the area. Sparks showered around him, his hands bled, and Bellamy felt powerful.