clrkingrm

[clrkingrm]

reynakeegan​:

the cool toned light beams dance across the walls. music blaring through the speakers as bodies sway to some semblance of the beat. only an hour into the night meant that being good is getting trickier. reyna is stoked to perform, but damn she’s too sober to be around her favorite bands. with a groan, she approaches the empty bar looking for the bartender. “do you think mark will notice if i sneak back there for a bottle of whiskey?” she hums asking the other.

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

clark is slumped in front of the bar, waiting (im)patiently for the drinks he’d ordered for himself and connor. the drunker he gets, the longer everything seems to take. he feels like he’s been waiting for three entire fucking years already when reyna — truly his saving grace — rolls up next to him. and she is immediately speaking his language. “dude, even if he does, who fuckin’ cares?” he replies, lips already curling up into a big, toothy grin. “we're the fuckin’ talent, right? he can’t kick us out.” there’s a beat as he leans in closer (probably too close, really, but drunk clark has no concept of personal space). “so, what’s the move? do i gotta cause a scene?” they always do that in movies, so he is feeling like it is foolproof. 

[clrkingrm]

maxdecosta​:

Max is no stranger to the classic Whiskey and Coke, but this one tastes particularly strong. Sloshing it around rather carelessly, he observed it. “Do you think they forgot to put the cola in? Every sip, I see a clearer vision of God. I’m not even going to remember how to play bass in a couple hours.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

clark is already crossed as fuck and the night has barely even begun. he’d hastily smoked a joint before coming inside, and knocked back an (also especially strong) rum and coke basically immediately upon entering, and had quickly entered stupid mode. hence, him snatching the glass from max and knocking back a solid glug, eyes narrowing the moment it hits the back of his throat. “jesus christ, dude,” he says through a half-cough, half-laugh, handing the glass back to him. “i think i’m already seein’ god too. she’s got absolutely fuckin’ gigantic knockers.” 

[clrkingrm]

☆✺✈♫♧

☆: what my muse would be famous for if they were famous

if not for drumming, which is the most likely, either his twitch stream will randomly blow up and he’ll be able to have some niche internet fame off of that, or he’ll end up on one of those “stupid criminals” listicles. 

✺: something my muse loves and never gets tired of

drumming (obv), listening to music/making playlists/going to shows, skating, playing shitty video games, adam sandler films, thrifting ugly knick knacks, taco bell burritos, annoying the shit out of people, connor roth

✈: where my muse would go if they could move anywhere

nyc, baby!!!! he loves his hometown and he is ready to go BACK asap

♫: my muse’s favorite song, band, and/or music genre

he is a nut for the beach boys, and thinks wouldn’t it be nice is one of the best love songs ever written. he also got super high in his moms’ basement once and had a full on crying session over the song everybody wants to rule the world, so that’s another fave. bandwise, he really digs fleece, tame impala, mac demarco, foxygen, temples, beastie boys, the vaccines, and moses gun collective, and his “””guilty pleasure””” bands are wham! and duran duran. 

♧: something my muse is really good at

aside from drumming, he’s genuinely a pretty good skater. he’s been skating since he was a wee boy, and although he still ends up with busted up knees pretty often, that’s mainly because he tries extra risky shit for funsies and doesn’t wear any pads (bc that shit is LAME!) 

[clrkingrm]

charleyfry​:

tagging @clrkingrm​ location: breeze blocks

Charley has always been under the assumption that, if she hasn’t been screamed at or explicitly told, she’s friends with everybody. After all, she does has her father’s trademark oblivion to social cues, as she stands here beside Clark, who she coincidentally met at the arcade, on her day off. “Okay so, here’s the thing. Bertie’s coming over for the extended weekend, because he told Mom he’s got the sniffles, and for some reason, she thinks it’s perfectly okay to send him on a bus back to Dingle. Anyways, how am I supposed to look at my little brother in the eye and tell him that the Mrs. Pac Man game is gone for good? He wanted to beat Alf’s high score, but now he’s never going to see the lovely missus Man.” She finally turns to face Clark, as if waiting for his opinion. She just assumes, since she’s on good terms with all of the Wet Brains, that her and Clark were more than dandy. “Thoughts? I mean, I could always just challenge him to skeeball, right? Would that work?”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

clark believes he has made it explicitly clear to charley that he is not fond of her, but her continuous attempts to spend time with him certainly say otherwise. he sometimes rolls by the arcade after work to wind down, maybe try and beat some of the top scores so he can insert his name as ASS (a true classic), but his fun is being absolutely squandered by charley’s incessant blabbering. and he isn’t absorbing a single word she’s saying, far too invested in crushing BOB’s high score of 64,000 on burger time. “yeah, sure,” he says, offhandedly, as he stacks a prime piece of lettuce. he’s still not sure why she’s here, saying all this shit to him, when she presumably has a wealth of actual friends she could be blabbing to. they would certainly be giving her better advice. actually, that’s a good point. “why the fuck are you even askin’ me?”

[clrkingrm]

❤, ∞, ☂, ☺

❤: what my muse looks for in a person they like

clark has been into a wide variety of people throughout his young life, all with very different traits, so it would be hard to pinpoint super distinct commonalities btwn them. overall, i think he tends to be drawn to people who are unlike himself --- sweet and caring, with more bubbly personalities. they definitely bring out the sap in him. 

∞: if my muse believe in ghosts, aliens, etc.

definitely aliens because duh, but ghosts and other paranormal/supernatural type stuff... not so much. he’ll happily go “””ghost-hunting””” (meaning: going to old cemeteries and fucking around), but he doesn’t actually believe he’ll ever find anything. his mom swears up and down that her childhood home was haunted and she saw dozens of ghosts while she lived there, but he still doesn’t believe it. 

☂: my muse’s favorite season or time of year

he is a big fan of autumn. not only does it have halloween, which is the superior holiday, but the weather is ideal. he’s not super fond of snow, so winter kinda sucks, and his style of choice is usually Entirely or Mostly Black, so summer sucks even more. spring is on thin ice. 

☺: something that makes my muse happy

drumming makes him happier than.... basically anything else. he’s been drumming since he was seven years old, and it has given him an escape from Life anytime shit gets wild. and he’s actually really fucking good at it, which he cannot say about most things. 

[clrkingrm]

✇ ✎ ✉

✇: my muse’s favorite movie, director, and/or film genre

clark is the local adam sandler STAN, and he definitely saw uncut gems like ten times in theaters when it came out. the safdie brothers are top tier for him. he also really liked whiplash for obvious reasons (and also thoroughly enjoyed la la land but shhhh u don’t need to know that). he also enjoys a good stupid comedy, and that’s usually what he turns to when he’s in an especially bad mood (superbad, borat, kicking and screaming, etc.) 

✎: what my muse’s best subject in school is/was

he was a truly awful student and barely scraped through most of his classes with solid c minuses, but he consistently managed to pass his math courses with at least a b (likely would’ve been higher if homework wasn’t a requirement, bc god knows he didn’t do any of that shit). honestly, he’s not as big of a dumbass as he definitely appears, but he doesn’t apply himself to anything because he’s lazy and stupid LOL 

✉: the last person my muse texted and what the text said

[ text → cannor roach, 3:25 a.m. ] i am so fucking hungry dude wake up and get a burger w me 

[clrkingrm]

muse headcanons!

send me a symbol and i’ll tell you:

☠: my muse’s biggest fear ☮: when my muse feels the most at ease ☺: something that makes my muse happy ☹: something that makes my muse upset ♫: my muse’s favorite song, band, and/or music genre ✇: my muse’s favorite movie, director, and/or film genre ♔: my muse’s celebrity crush(es) ❤: what my muse looks for in a person they like ☂: my muse’s favorite season or time of year ∞: if my muse believe in ghosts, aliens, etc. ✧: what my muse’s netflix queue looks like ✎: what my muse’s best subject in school is/was ♧: something my muse is really good at ✺: something my muse loves and never gets tired of ✗: something my muse hates or gets angry about ☆: what my muse would be famous for if they were famous ✿: what my muse would like to do when they’re older ✈: where my muse would go if they could move anywhere ✆: the last person my muse called and what it was about ✉: the last person my muse texted and what the text said

[clrkingrm]

conye-west​:

⊹   ⊹   ⊹ 

he’s already quite full from having eaten half of the burrito already, but he gives the other a shrug as they climb into the nearest booth, fully prepared to lady and the tramp that shit. “lucy was trying to tell me about all that rising stuff, and, like, the houses and the planets… think i saw my last brain cell fizzle out… like a firework,” he says, emitting a “psssh” sound to accompany the mind blown motion he’s doing with his hands. “it could not be bullshit, though. who’s to say space doesn’t control everything?” he says, pulling ye olde burrito from the bag and digging open the foil around it before inching it closer to the other as some semblance of self control. “sounds way too confusing to me to be fake.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

“dude, she did the same shit to me. felt like i was listening to like, the lord of the rings wiki page, or some shit,” he flops down into his side of the booth, and leans over the table as though he’s about to make an illicit deal. this burrito half is very serious business, clearly. “it’s a hundred percent bull, bro. space can’t do fuckin’ shit, trust me,” he pulls the burrito ever so slightly closer, eyeing the innards as he speaks. “s’just a bunch of fuckin’ rocks, right? i refuse to be controlled by a buncha crusty ass floatin’ rocks, i’ll tell you that much. the only cool shit in space is aliens. everything else is straight up garbage.” he’s barely even paying attention to what he’s saying, entranced by the burrito. “so, how we gonna do this? ‘cause he’s basically beggin’ to be eaten, dude.” 

[clrkingrm]

oflcucis​:

❃ ❃ ❃

It had been a slow day and Louis certainly wasn’t appalled at the idea of it staying that way. He’d stopped at the diner for whatever carbs he could find and a coffee. He got so much more than he could have bargained for. 

The truly original rendition of “Whats new pussycat” was performed without skill in mind but with enough confidence to pull it across the line and as he watched on he couldn’t help but laugh as this grown man strutted across the stage like he was born for it. Taming his smile as the man approached, Louis lightly clapped. “Words cannot describe but that was fantastic.”. Rubbing his sore cheeks, he reached out a hand to the performer. “I’m Louis. And why are you stuck working in a diner with hips like those?”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

truthfully, clark doesn’t expect much when he does this dumb shit, especially not from strangers. most of the time, he receives eye rolls and labored sighs, with the occasional crack of a smile or stifled laugh. and those reactions are great, don’t get him wrong — but outright praise and blatant flirtations are definitely not in his realm of expectations. and boy, do they have him flying. 

“damn... you really get me, man,” he replies, a hand warmly outstretched over his heart, eyes shining. “i’ve been askin’ myself the exact same question. this body is fuckin’ wasted here.”

he grabs louis’ hand, and gives it a firm, business-like shake (although it is... rather damp).  “clark, dancer extraordinaire.” he pulls away, and immediately plops across from louis like it is his birthright, with a big, toothy smile spread across his face. “you come here often?” 

[clrkingrm]

lucygson​:

“If you can convince her to do that then I might consider saying something nice,” Lucy grinned. She reached over the counter and squished his cheeks affectionately. Perhaps her seemingly subconscious need to be near him was enough evidence that everything she was saying was a well intended lie. With a counter between them it was more obvious.

They were interrupted by a customer needing a refill but the request took all of two minutes to to fulfill. On her way back behind the counter she picked up a rag so she could fake productiveness at a moment’s notice. “What’re you doing when you get off?” she asked. “I mean, assuming you ever decide to get back to work?” she smirked.

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

he’s caught slightly off guard by the cheek squish  — partially because his face is still pretty sweaty, and he’s shocked she’d willingly subject herself to some obscenely greasy cheeks, but mainly because any casual affections between them are always underlined by a palpable weirdness. the moment passes far too quickly for either of them to dwell on it, though (and truthfully, he’s thankful for that). 

“hey now... i make an honest living,” he comments, though his break is over in around three minutes, and he has zero intention of heading back to his post until rosie comes waltzing through the door to yell at him. “i don’t really have shit goin’ on tonight, though. connor’s got the late shift at the trio, so i’ll probably stop by to bother him.” he pauses for a beat, and he absentmindedly fiddles with a lone salt shaker. “what time you get off? ‘cause i, uh, i hear the goonies is playin’ tonight, if you wanna come with.” 

[clrkingrm]

dottiesxdreams​:

As a more than proud vegan, Dorothy seldom found herself indulging in the greasy slop served at Rosie’s diner. That was a controversial opinion to say the least, but with the eatery plagued with the smell of sizzling flesh, she thought it best to keep herself and Whiskers, far away from the Dingle staple. Today was special, though. It was the eleventh of August, Dottie’s biggest vegan milestone yet and the 5 year marker on her meatless and dairy-free journey. Four years prior and she would proudly stomp into Rosie’s, a determined platinum blonde blur as she politely demanded a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream to celebrate her year of restraint. That was before she became familiar with Clark, well, other than shooting eachother childish glares of distaste whenever Connor invited her over despite her lukewarm feelings for his best bud. 

Now, Dorothy ducked through the diner, clumsily attempting to slide into a booth in the back unnoticed by Rosie’s most memorable employee. 

“Jesus, Clark.” Dot nearly jumped out of her seat as her attention was startled away from the waitress who had been searching for Dottie, strawberry milkshake (with extra whipped cream) in hand. Her eyes locked on his briefly. “Yes, you’re a fabulous dancer. I can’t believe I hadn’t told you sooner!” The sentence coming out of the blonde sounded almost too genuine to be sarcastic, but the look of impatience she sported gave her away completely. “You should try some of those for UNDRGRND, you guys would be a shoe-in.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

in this regard, clark and dottie are polar opposites. clark’s entire diet consists of greasy slop; it’s genuinely a wonder it hasn’t caught up to him yet, really, as he practically lives on food that can be made in three steps or less (most favorably with the first and only step being: drive-thru). but really, this isn’t much of a shock, as clark and dottie are dissimilar in basically every way — it’s no wonder there’s a lingering sourness between them, even after so many years have passed. 

“dang, dot, what’s up your ass?” clearly, she is not actually enthralled with his esteemed choreography, as he catches her eyes darting everywhere else but on him. “i straight up don’t think i’ve ever fuckin’ seen you in here before, dude. you hire someone to murk me, or somethin?”

and then the waitress  — susan, who is probably clark’s least favorite coworker, because she always rats him out to rosie and never lets him steal french fries — finally finds dottie’s table, and gingerly places the towering glass of pink in front of her. 

clark eyes this new development curiously, before wordlessly plopping down in the booth across from dottie. if her emotions are this heightened over a strawberry milkshake, it is his sacred duty to use the rest of his break to bother her while she drinks it. 

[clrkingrm]

lucygson​:

With little supervision in Rosie’s absence, Lucy didn’t feel bad at all about slacking off. It wasn’t like there was customers clamouring to have their orders taken. Clark’s performance was the most exciting thing that had happened her entire shift and it would likely remain that way.

“I’m not sure about that one. I think they’d have to do something about your face. Like how they photoshopped off Superman’s moustache in Justice League? Do that but with the whole thing,” she said, motioning to his face. “Maybe they could just-” she covered his face with her hand. “Much better,” she grinned. Objectively speaking she did think he had a rather handsome face, but to admit to even just to herself was way too far out of her comfort zone.

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

“rude,” he comments from behind her hand, though a goofy smile betrays any genuine upset. he’s not one to be legitimately offended by these kinds of insults (he thrives off of this shit, really), but especially not when they come from lucy — mainly because this is just how they have always been, but partially because he has tangible proof she doesn’t actually mean it. not that he’s ever gonna bring that up.

“listen, you don’t gotta lie to yourself, luc,” he says, words muffled behind her hand, “we both know this is the face that’ll finally get sandra to show somethin’ other than ferris bueller for once. to shop it out would be a fuckin’ crime.” 

[clrkingrm]

beatsbydior​:

Dior was scanning the vinyls in Echo Records. They were in the way back of the store, looking at clearance albums. They were albums which not many people wanted to buy but which Ernie also thought of as good enough to bring into the store. Perfect for samples. Dior had picked up one which looked particularly promising, when they felt another human presence way too close to them. Holding the vinyl a little closer to their chest, they let out an annoyed sigh, not bothering to turn and face the person. “If you don’t back up of your own volition, I will do it for you.” Dior was a pacifist, in that they couldn’t fight for shit so it was a mostly empty threat.

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

at least once a week, clark stops in to scope out echo’s clearance section. occasionally, he stumbles across a hidden gem, but he is primarily interested in discovering some new, weird ass tunes to share with his bandmates. and so, he strolls in, slurpee in hand (in spite of the sign outside clearly reading ‘no food or drink’ — ernie was usually too high to actually care), ready to peruse some bizarro tunes.

and of course, dior just has to be standing directly in his way. and so, he does what anyone else would do, and gets right up in their space. like, hot-slurpee-breath-on-their-neck close. “hey, now... you don’t really wanna fuck up this pretty face, do ya?” 

[clrkingrm]

conye-west​:

    —    ✧    —    not sleeping for nearly forty hours isn’t necessarily something connor is accustomed to, but he’s never been the greatest sleeper in the universe, that much can be said. he’s not really doing it on purpose, but the copious amounts of red bull he has consumed certainly isn’t making matters any better; he can’t help that he’s been on an epic songwriting kick for quite literally an entire day and a half, and after his paycheck finally hits, he soon finds himself downing a six-dollar coffee at the dingle thrift store.

this time around, he’s found a bright blue sequined blazer and has already tried it on, indulging in a series of dumbass poses in front of the mirror. with the mixture of his sleep deprivation, weed intake, and just all-around good mood, he’s��absolutely cracking himself up. “please let me know if you see any pants that are supposed to go with this,” he says. “or, like, shoes. or a hat… i feel like i’ve found my new trademark. like, makes you wonder why sequins ever went out of style.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

the thrift store is something of a safe place for clark — surrounded by ill-fitting garments that absolutely no one with an actual sense of style would wear, and bizarre trinkets that definitely belonged to someone’s dead grandparents, he feels truly at peace. currently, he’s sifting through a rack of especially heinous maxi skirts, and he already has a beautiful selection of ugly t-shirts and sweaters tossed haphazardly in a shopping basket. 

he’s pulled away from his deliberations when he hears connor absolutely losing his marbles in front of the mirror, and he stops to survey the look. and oh, is it excellent. “that’s gotta be the new gig fit, bro,” he comments, face breaking out into a massive grin. “i got the perfect fuckin’ thing, too. hold up.” he scurries back over to the hat section like a man on a sacred mission, and returns clutching a baby pink cowboy hat, with glittery fluff circled around the rim. he gingerly sets it upon connor’s head, and then eyes his work in the mirror. “.... honestly, you really fuckin’ rock it, dude. look like you’re about to start singin’ old town road.”  

[clrkingrm]

reynakeegan​:

STEPPING ASIDE to give clark room at the register, she rested against the counter as she watched. work would never be something that reyna particularly enjoyed but she figured that if she had to do it, clark and lucy weren’t bad people to be with. the latter brought out a much-needed sense of competition in the lazy diner. and the former, well, it was hard not to be amused with clark around. he always had one trick or another up his sleeve.

AS SHE ACCEPTED her check, she swung her straw backpack over her shoulder to have access to it. “would i lie about a tip?” a playful smirk touched her lips and cocked her eyebrow as she pulled out a record from the bag. “call it inspiration for your next show.” she teased as she handed him the copy of wild honey she had found in gramps’ collection. “i think if you start singing more of the beach boys, rosie might be more inclined for some fireworks.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

clark slowly takes the record into his hands as though it is the holy grail, eyes wide with a newfound excitement. this is not at all the tip he was anticipating — he was expecting loose change, or maybe a dusty old snack reyna had buried in the depths of her bag. this.... this is on another level.

“no fucking way, dude,” he hastily flips it over, eyes scanning each and every detail of the cover. again, reyna is the absolute coolest. “my next performance is gonna be my magnum opus, just wait. i’ll bust out darlin’ just for you.” he pauses for a beat, looking momentarily flustered. “and for rosie. maybe if i seduce her with my moves she’ll stop gettin’ so pissy at me all the damn time.”

after a few more moments of happily staring at the record, his eyes light up with sudden remembrance. “oh, shit, that reminds me — i got somethin’ for you, too.” he quickly scurries through the kitchen doors and into the breakroom, scoops up his ratty black backpack, and is back before she even has a chance to question him. “so, uh, i dunno if this is somethin’ you’re even into, but —” he tugs open the zipper, roots around in the trash pit at the bottom of the bag, and eventually plucks out a cassette, nestled in a scratched up case. “i found some songs i, uh, thought you might be into?” he frames it casually; truthfully, he’d been compiling this for some time now, and has since been looking for the best moment to present it to her. “they’re not very... honeytune-ish, but i promise they are all fuckin’ bangers.” 

[clrkingrm]

graveshq​:

          ilya’s sides hurt ,   and they’re not done hurting .    he’s pretty sure he was the only applause out of the very  disgruntled  audience .    “  i think you have a future in rosie absolutely  kicking the shit  out of your ass if she ever finds out ,  “    he said before popping a fry in his mouth ,    “  i’m no snitch but i have a very itching feeling that gary is just pretending to be asleep .    watch out for him .  “            

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

clark's two favorite reactions to his inane bullshit are seething rage and uncontrollable laughter, so ilya’s response has him grinning like an absolute loon. he flops down in the seat across from him, hair disheveled and face glistening, but loony smile ever present. “nah, gary has completely got the hots for me, dude,” he comments, snatching a fry from the basket and grubbily shoving it into his mouth. “my dance moves were so sexy that they knocked his ass out.” 

[clrkingrm]

lucygson​:

If anything, Clark’s sheer stupidity often outshone her own lack of work ethic and was probably part of what kept her employed. Employed and amused by his antics was a good position to be in. “Then I won’t mention your hair,” she joked, leaning over to ruffle his girls cheerily. 

Watching him force out a tear was a tedious task, but much more interesting than cleaning out the the fryer like she might have been doing otherwise. “Oh, come on. There are plenty of new dreams out there,” she grinned and turned around to at least pretend to be doing something, if only to look more impressive than him. “Maybe acting will work out for you? Tears like that and you could beat out Jennifer Lawrence for a role any day.”

⊹   ⊹   ⊹

he's prepared to be offended over the hair roast (unwarranted offense, really, because his hair is a perpetually knotted grease pit, and it should absolutely be made fun of), but the “praise” for his acting chops completely wins over any other thoughts in his mind. 

“oh, shit, true,” he says, sporting a toothy grin as he plops down unceremoniously in a bright teal counter chair. he doesn’t feel any need to fake productivity — he’s got ten minutes left on break, and he intends to make use of them. “i think i’d make a pretty kickass katniss.” he knows approximately nothing about the hunger games, but he’s ready to talk about it anyway, in typical clark fashion. “got thor’s brother and the bitch from bridge from terabithia fightin’ over this delicious face.”