⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
.*･｡..*･｡..*･｡.
——
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
.*･｡. HOOD! .*･｡.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

"𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥?"

"'𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩
𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯' 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭, 𝘥𝘶𝘥𝘦!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[ she was a proper
young woman, of courage
stout and bold. ]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

——

Hands folded neatly behind her back, labcoat adorning her arms, Robin sucked in a breath to keep herself calm and collected. She quickly graced the halls of alpha station with her chin up high and her shoulders rolled back, poised.

She smiled at a couple of guards that passed by, nodding as if she was meant to be there, and they returned the gesture. Robin was a pretty girl and, if anything, that made her business run even smoother. No guards tended to question a pretty girl. A giggle and a smile, and they usually let her through. Not that she needed those meatheads in order to succeed — no, they just ensured that Robin would breeze through if they posed threat of getting in her way. In alpha, the guards were posted at every corner. In alpha, the guards also happened to be some of the biggest idiots.

Robin had done this far too many times, to worry.

Perhaps she fit into alpha. At least, on the outside. At first it had been harder to blend in, with her tatty clothes and worn boots from mecha, but it got easier.

Every trip was swifter than the last. She eventually nicked a pair of jeans and neater boots from alpha lost and found, and they started to recognise her in the halls — the guard grew used to her face and didn't question her presence. She had been about before, a regular in the halls in the evenings, and she looked the part. Robin looked was like a resident of alpha; Robin looked wealthy, innocent.

She didn't look like any of those mecha scum, the worst in the way of delinquents.

When she was in alpha station, Robin looked presentable; a do-gooder; a child of the rich. Nowadays, Robin flounced about as though she owned the place. That was the brilliant part: rather than having to sneak around, Robin looked like she belonged. She hid in plainsight. No more running, no more crawling through the vent systems, no more avoiding guards. Robin hid in plain sight — and she was good at it, too. She should have been. After all, Robin had been up to this for years. Since the age of thirteen, the age of her first steal, Robin had been perfecting her strategies. It was rare for anyone to bat an eye, now; four long years later, seventeen and still swinging. If she had a choice, Robin would do this for the rest of her life. And, unless she got caught, that was exactly what Robin planned to do.

            Robin had made a name, for herself.

            Well— an anonymous one.

            Up on the ark, the hood was known by everyone. Talk of the halls, enemy of the council, saviour of the poor. They were iconic.

            No one knew who they were, or how they started. All they knew was that, one day years ago, extra rations started appearing on doorsteps. Then, extra credits. Then, medical supplies that had only been available in the med-bay, or on alpha station.

            Whispers went around of a hooded figure who stopped by doors in the middle of the night and left the lower stations with all they needed to live, things that were easy access to alpha but not so easy access to mecha, and the rest. They gave to people based on a realm of need — if you needed it, you got it.

            How the hood knew who needed what, was undecided. The common explanation was that they were one of them — rumours of a sneaky boy from mecha.

            Some were even accused of having known the true identity of the hood, even of being a part of their merry men, but no one ever confessed to it. There was, in reality, only one merry man. And the name of that merry man was John Murphy — but, he got nicked a year back for setting fire to a guard's quarters and hadn't worked with the hood since. He never told anyone who the hood really was. It wasn't as if he could, anyway, because he was sworn to total secrecy. John Murphy was a criminal, but he wasn't a traitor. Not to anyone who deserved his loyalty.

            Turns out, the hood was one of them.

            As she approached med-bay, Robin slipped the old, stolen identification card from her pocket and pressed it against the wall. The light flashed green and she entered the room, waiting for the doors to slide shut behind her before she had fully stepped inside.

A satisfying hiss! of air, and Robin let her poised shoulders drop. She peered around, smiling smugly when the place was just as empty as she had expected, and ripped off her lab coat — also stolen. Robin threw it aside haphazardly, not particularly caring about where it landed, and spared a look at the doors to assure no one was intending on walking into medical, right after her. No one.

            Robin grinned.

            She had checked the system rota's and discovered that the lead medical staff had their lunch breaks at the same time. It gave her a ten minute window to work her magic.

            And to fill her pockets.

           When no one followed and Robin could confidently say she was the only person within the medical bay, she pulled the hood of her old, beaten leather jacket over her head. It had been hidden by the lab coat, making her look like a student doctor, and those were the only times she found herself grateful for the thin material. She tugged her neckerchief to cover the lower-half of her face, enough to hide her features but reveal her eyes, and she headed over to the first cabinet on her left. Robin started to swipe a few things, mostly what she thought would come in handy for the poor kid that lived next to her. He was young, and deathly ill. She had heard the way his parents cried — he needed medicine, but they couldn't get it. It wasn't permitted, apparently. Classic Jaha. From the council, Robin expected nothing less.

            Robin bounced from filing cabinet to cupboard, picking up an assortment of items that wouldn't be visibly missed— at least, it wouldn't be missed until they did another routine check on medical supplies. But, by then, Robin would be long gone, and someone in alpha would pay for it. They were likely to suffer, but Robin felt no guilt. She couldn't find it within herself to care. Someone innocent would be held accountable for her crimes, sure, but were they really innocent?

            Was anyone on alpha station innocent?

            How could they be innocent? Floating people wasn't all that innocent; murder was just as punishable as thievery.

            The council floated people every single day. She didn't think that stealing gauzes and anti-bacterial wipes was remotely equal to murder, even if it was in the mean of justice. Murder wasn't justice.

            Robin felt no guilt in her actions. Even if someone else was going to be held accountable, unless they pinned the thievery once again on the hood — who, years later, was still wanted and yet never caught. That was what the hood did. They rebelled, they stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and they saved lives that the council deemed inferior to their own.

            The council were willing to let people die, and that didn't sit right with Robin. They were happy to kill people because they didn't qualify for extra medicine, or extra rations. To Robin, they were selfish. Because people needed medicine and food. In her eyes, bandaids and surgical tape seemed warranted; actually, it seemed necessary. A need. People were ill, and they were starving, and when the ark council refused to let them exceed their share, then people were forced to get it by other means. And usually, those means were stealing. Stealing was punishable by death.

            If they didn't get food and medicine, they died. If they had to steal it and got caught, they died. It only benefited the council.

            It was a classic lose-lose for the poor people. Once again, it was the wealthy that prevailed. It always was. Robin was sick of the same old story that played out in front of her, everyday. Some kids were born with silver spoons hanging out their mouths, meanwhile the rest of them barely survived. Their family members were killed for trying to feed them, clothe them. The ark perpetuated that.

            God— Robin hoped someone would kill the chancellor.

            Show him what it felt like.

            As she danced around, snatching anything she could get a hand on, Robin hardly noticed the door to medical slowly sliding to open. She was too busy.

           "Mom, can you help me with—?"

            Robin froze.

            She stopped what she was doing and slowly turned on her heels, boots squeaking against the metal ground.

            For a moment, her and the blonde girl stared at each other in silence. She recognised her. Of course, she did. Most people on the ark knew of the Griffin family — mother being one of the best doctors, father who was a solid engineer; Clarke Griffin was future council.

            Clarke knew of them, too.

            Everyone knew the hood. The council had been onto them a day after their first crime, and then a further pattern that were all decided to be down to the same repeating offender. Rumours were helpful in their profiling, and the council had been gagging to hunt down the hooded thief that people had claimed to see. But, they'd been unable to catch them. And yet, there they were: stood only a metre away from her.

            Her eyes flickered to the emergency button on her left.

            The action wasn't discrete enough, and Robin followed the gaze. It was tense, the air thick, and they both wondered which of them would make the first move. Surprisingly, it was Clarke Griffin.

            As she dived towards the button, Robin tugged the metal from the waistband of her jeans and aimed it towards Clarke, the action halting her in her step. Clarke's eyes widened as she looked at the weapon.

            Robin smirked, princess had never seen a gun, before.

            "Put it down."

            "You're not in charge, princess." Robin glared, her hand a steady hold. She wouldn't shoot Clarke — Robin wasn't a murder.

            "What do you want?" Clarke asked.

            "I want to take my things," she gestured to her pockets, the gun moving as she did so. Clarke flinched at the movements, and it made Robin roll her eyes. "Calm down, blondie. I'm not gonna kill you. I'm not like your mommy and daddy; I just want to take what I came for, and then I'll let you go."

            Clarke slowly nodded, "Okay— do it, then."

            "Gladly," she hummed.

            Keeping the gun firmly trained on the blonde, just to make sure that she wouldn't move, Robin stuffed the last few things into her pockets and patted them when she was done. She turned back to Clarke and smirked smugly, "Pleasure doing business, with ya!"

            "Yeah— you, too."

            Robin quirked a brow at the comment. But, she ultimately missed the way Clarke's stare lingered on the door as she strolled past, cocky and confident in her steps. She spared a wiggle of her fingers and slid the gun back into her pocket, using the same stolen identification card to open the door. As she span around to leave, a whistle on the skin of her lips, Robin didn't expect the thump! of an angry fist on the back of her head. She was struck down, groaning and staggering as her face hit cold metal.

            Their was a yell, and a scuffle, and Robin had no time to haul herself up and make a break for it. People were already over her with hands grabbing at her jacket, yanking her up.

            She was forced to her knees despite her sluggish struggle, a blinding pain in the back of her head as her eyes hit the light, and Robin squinted to see. When her blurry vision cleared, she saw the plethora of guards that had guns trained on her figure. Besides the hostility of a whole army versus one teenager, Robin saw Clarke in the arms of another boy, Wells Jaha; the chancellors son. Her stare turned into a scowl when she saw the smudge of crimson smeared upon his fist. Robin would have lunged at him, if she could. Taken down by a future murderer, poetic.

            It wasn't long until the chancellor appeared.

            By his side stood Abby Griffin and Marcus Kane, his two bitches in crime.

            "Clarke? Wells? Are you both alright?"

            Both teenagers nodded at their parents. Soon enough, the attention was directed back to the teen with a hood over her head and a neckerchief hiding her face. The council made eyes at each other and nodded — the hood.

            Jaha signalled for the guard on Robin's left to reveal their identity and they did as told: the guard tugged down the hood as well as the neckerchief, and a mass of brown curls fell down past their shoulders, ruby red lips to match their pretty eyes. They'd all seemed shocked to see that the hood was not the ruthless criminal of which they'd been expecting to find. Rather, they found the exact opposite.

            The face behind the hood was a teenage girl.

            One they recognised, too.

            "Robin Loxely — you are being arrested for repeated theft and the threat of another person's life. You will be punished for all of your crimes, and be held in juvenile detention until you turn eighteen, where your crimes will be reviewed by the council." Jaha nodded at the guards.

            "Take her away."

——

—in which robin loxely
( the hood!) gets herself sent to
the ground with ninety-nine
fellow delinquents.

or

—robin realises that she doesn't have to be the person for
the people, all of the time. sometimes, she needed to wear the hood for herself. or, sometimes, not wear it at all.

——

—dedications
UpInFlames_ montygreens honeyslytherin paradiseearth fakehxppy -sftlee cressweIIs stilestastic peachpick -Banana-Bread foreignsouls ughivy -BELLSROVER
you made me wanna post this after
having it in my drafts for years!

i also just found MrsNOBrien 's bellamy blake fic!
this has a robin hood-esque storyline too, though i only
found it after posting this!
go support :)

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

i don't own any of the 100 characters, other than my own. the plot line is not mine, but i do take credit for adjustments, dynamics, and interactions between characters that i fabricated myself. my characters are not based upon anything other than my own imagination — any similarities between this book and other work of fiction is merely coincidental.

TRIGGER WARNING
death, abuse, graphic imagery,
illegal behaviour, alcohol,swearing,
trauma, blood and gore.
MENTION OF SEXUAL THEMES

ORIGINAL GIFS ARE NOT MINE
&
GIFS OF MADELYN MADE BY
SHURIHONEY
( MIDNIGHTMIDSOMMAR.TUMBLR.COM )

——

.*･｡..*･｡..*･｡.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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