#honestly it's given me a lot of clarke muse

[saintfromkrypton]

Welcome to my roleplay blog for Clark Kent/Superman!

This rules doc was heavily inspired by @/gothamsaved's rules.

PORTRAYAL NOTE

My Clark is gay. In an attempt to keep him closer to "canon," I had tried to write him as bisexual, but it was just keeping his muse from me. I also was attempting to keep Lois Lane & Lana Lang in his backstory, but because my partner and I write SuperBat as childhood friends. . . honestly, my Clark wasn't vibing with it, he only became romantically attached to Bruce.

EXCLUSIVITY / SHIPPING STATUS

Before interacting with me, it must be known that my portrayal is exclusively shipped (single-shipped, romantically and platonically) & affiliated with @gothamsaved. Their lore and my own are closely intertwined. Seb's Bruce is the reason my Clark exists, and their threads will be prioritized above all others. Every Super needs their Bat, after all, and Seb's Bruce is my Clark's Bat. I do not wish to write with other Bruce's.

I do not want to ship romantically with any other writers, but I am open to developing other dynamics outside of the romantic purview. This is because, to me, Bruce & Clark are so intertwined, I truly feel as if I cannot ship with another person outside of Seb. Clark, however, is always willing to befriend others.

While I was okay with unrequited dynamics in the beginning, as feelings cannot be controlled, I am now realizing writing these dynamics can be triggering for me as a writer. Please refrain from doing so for my comfort.

WRITER

Vik, they/he, 21+, EST. Your neighborhood chronically ill & disabled writer who loves all things Justice League focused (and my partner, Seb).

GOLDEN RULE

Be courteous! Do not reblog things except threads you are involved in or things I have made for you from me. All other things are to be reblogged from the source. It messes up my notifications.

No godmodding, metagaming, knowing of Clark Kent being Superman unless permission is given by me - we can figure out plot points or et cetera for this, but it must be done with MY CONSENT. Failure to do this, and automatically assume that it is okay, will constitute a hardblock. Do not forget that Clark is exceptionally powerful, and he will respond, though very restrained, in situations where he must defend himself or others.

Please do not say anything negative OOC about Clark. While I welcome other's opinions in other spaces, Clark is a comfort for me, and this blog does not welcome hate or negativity concerning Superman. Please keep your opinions, if they are harmful to the boundaries I have placed, to yourself. Clark often gets shit on for his kindness, or often will be seen as plain or dull by those who prefer grittier media. What is wrong with optimism for the sake of the human condition, or loving humanity and wanting to protect it? If one views Clark as stale, why write with me? Henceforth, negative opinions are allowed to be held, as long as you do not bring them up to me in any case. Doing so will get you an immediate block.

EXPLICIT CONTENT

All content of this nature will be tagged with "nsft cw" (less explicit content will be tagged as "suggestive cw") as Clark enjoys and engages in this content when the opportunity arises. He and I are both over 21, and because of this, I will only write with those who are of age and over: 18+.

TRIGGERING THEMES

Heavy violence may be present, or situations that a superhero may need to intervene to assist, and thus, could range from a whole lot of uncomfortable or tense situations like hostage taking to even saving a cat from a tree. Situations will be agreed upon with the other mun before their muse is ever put into any danger, if they want to write against Superman. If anything needs to be tagged for my writing partner's safety, please let me know, and if I can do anything to accommodate you as a writer, also let me know.

I will usually tag for blood (blood cw) but to keep you safe, please let me know what you need tagged.

THE REPLY CLAUSE

I’m taking a long time to reply — ic or in ims/on discord — because I have health issues, including (but not limited to; these are all diagnosed) chronic fatigue, PCOS, endometriosis, osteoarthritis, sleep apnea, OCD, C-PTSD, depression, anxiety, and I have a bad leg. I am a proud cripple + take my time to write, especially on low energy days. This does not mean that my interest in our stuff has waned! I am simply too low energy to interact with anyone. I also have a busy life full of chores (I help my dad out as a caregiver and also do household duties and feed chickens and garden) and work, on top of my health conditions. I also want the writing I post to be of high quality.

I do apologize for your wait. Especially since my health has declined.

WRITING LENGTH & FORMAT & STYLE

I am a novella roleplayer. The longer, the better. I do make attempts to match length, and can write shorter if you do not like longer things. The tense I prefer to write in is present; I have a special-looking first line, and italicize for emphasis.

I am not a stickler for grammar (I took linguistics and know that "proper" grammar is really a myth), but please use proper punctuation if able. It really triggers my OCD, and I cannot go back and edit your reply to have proper punctuation on my blog. An occasional error or so is fine; I simply ask that it is not the norm. I am also okay to help assist with these in case someone wishes to write with me but struggles with punctuation. I also attempt to not fix typos if I see them, as a way to work on myself.

MEMES

I encourage you to continue any asks or memes I send/answer. Though memes are not the priority for interaction for me, I encourage you to send them, and I will respond to them when I can. I vastly prefer plotting.

STARTING OR ENDING THE WRITING RELATIONSHIP

If you are keen on having a writing relationship with me, I would prefer you and I have each other's Discord information. Please hardblock me if you wish to stop writing with me. Do not softblock, as I will assume it is a tumblr error and ask if everything is okay. Hardblocking ensures that there are no questions asked, no inquiring: I do want you to keep your space safe.

I will only softblock you if I do not wish to write with you, before contacting you or forming a writing relationship. I will also unfollow if you do not follow me back within a set amount of time, as I am mutuals only.

BLOG IDENTIFIERS

Private, mutuals only, highly selective, oc + multi muse + au friendly, & independent.

PERSONALS

Please do not follow or interact with this blog unless you have an rp sideblog.

Reading my threads is fine, you are welcome to consume this content! But do not follow or like or reblog my posts. You are welcome to ask my thoughts about headcanons, or send me inquisitive asks. I will not roleplay with you, however.

CREDITS

Sol of @gothamsaved made my amazing dash icon, header, blog dividers, and icon borders.

Header font file is from here.

Elegant typewriter font.

Silver Forte font.

[genetictraitor-a]

i caved and watched 6x01 and i’m emotional as hell

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns. 

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art. 

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready. 

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

���Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by. 

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[cybernaght]

Guardian rewatch: Episode 5

I thought this would be a shorter recap. Ha!

Every now and then throughout this show we are getting CGI wide shots of the Dragon City, mostly establishing the time of day. They have three settings: nighttime, daytime, and sunset/sunrise. While quality-wise those wide shots would not feel out of place in a video game from ten years ago, with buildings looking all rubbery, I actually really like this sunset sky. I also appreciate that they firmly establish that this is city is not, in fact, a real place. I almost wish the architecture was a little bit less familiar, but making the city look truly otherworldly here would make location scouting much harder. As it happens, the buildings on the forefront have a very 60’s art deco revival inspired feeling, and there are some distinctively neoclassical buildings peppered around as well. We can also see that the roads are very wide, and generally there is a hint of Stalinist grandioseness about the downtown. Unfortunately, it looks nothing like the locations and sets the characters are running in; we also get a feeling that the Dragon City is very large, which is not entirely consistent with the very few locations that were available when shooting the series. This shot does, however, remind me the city I grew up in (Moscow).

The actual plot of the episode centres around Huang Linqi and his fiancé, Li Jiaqi, going missing - it will be important, because their disastrous wedding will produce the most Clark Kent moment that Shen Wei will ever have. We also meet the parents of the couple, who are stinking rich and extremely unpleasant. It also introduces us to Butler Wu (Wu Tian’en) and his son, who will become important in later episodes. Butler Wu is not actually the villain of the piece, despite this shot clearly telling us otherwise. 

Back at the university, Shen Wei is having a morning tea with his dean. He holding his teacup with almost god-like elegance, very close to actually covering his mouth when he drinks, which is extremely old-fashioned. This is in stark contrast with him brazenly and un-gentlemanly showing his ankles. 

Shen Wei is asked to move off campus, because, apparently, having a chief of the special task force showing up at your office is bad for the reputation. Since the professor does not look surprised, and states that he has already found a flat, I’m guessing that he was clever enough to have predicted this turn of events, and used it to secure the place a breath away from Zhao Yunlan. It is up to speculation as to when he started scouting for an apartment: it could not have been more than a few weeks since he met Zhao Yunlan, and finding a flat can take a while. 

At the SID office, we are treated to a lovely moment between the team members, crowding around Lin Jin’s new invention: a popcorn-specific microwave.

It’s very sweet to see the team indulge in some nonsense outside of their case work, made even better by Wang Zheng being there. The fact that Zhao Yunlan is on board with his department’s time and resources being spent on a popcorn maker only makes this scene better. He is crouching on the table, because chairs are for the weak.

After inspecting the crime scene, Zhao Yunlan is spending some time outside chatting to Buttler Wu, and comments on Li Jiaqi’s good looks, since Zhao Yunlan is a man who can appreciate beauty.

As Xiao Guo is awe-struck at his boss’ ability to note someone’s prettiness from a distance, Chu Shuzhi literally rolls his eyes calling those “instincts of a beast”, and Zhao Yunlan fails to reprimand him for the remark, because… fair enough. Very fair enough. It’s hard not to relate to Zhao Yunlan, a self-admitted bi disaster. 

Shen Wei is being shown his new apartment. He does not even look around it, staring instead at Zhao Yunlan’s front door across the hall from him.

Moving here is a completely senseless thing to do. How on earth is he planning to hide his Hei Pao Shi persona while being a next door neighbour to the chief of SID? My conclusion is that from a character stand-point, it’s nothing but an act of desperate devotion; from a narrative stand-point, this codifies that their relationship is about to get very intimate indeed. 

The SID members are interrogating Buttler Wu: as is often the case, instead of bringing him in, like they did with Shen Wei, they hijack a cafe nearby to have a more relaxed conversation. As they talk, Shen Wei is making his way past the cafe, which both Wu Tian'en and Shen Wei notice. 

Shen Wei proceed to follow Butler Wu, who calls him out on it. This leads to a removal of his glasses so epic it warrants a jump-cut to close-up, on top of the dutch angle used mere seconds prior to it.

Instantly recognizing Shen Wei as Hei Pao Shi, Wu Tian’en sinks to his knees in reverence. Again, fair enough. After having a brief conversation about their shared history, Shen Wei states that Butler Wu is not allowed to lay a hand on Zhao Yunlan. 

“Chief Zhao? You’re stalking him?” 

“You don’t need to know more.”

That is not a no. Mostly because that is a yes. 

Shen Wei promises to not take Wu Tian’en away before the man resolves his current problems, adding that he hopes his old acquaintance won’t have any regrets when that happens. As Shen Wei walks away, he muses “Then how much time is there left for me?” 

(And I have to fight an uncomfortable sinking feeling in my stomach, which is occurring a lot as I rewatch those series.) 

The same evening at the SID offices the team is struggling with the case so much Da Qing suggests asking Hei Pao Shi’s help. Zhao Yunlan bristles at the idea, and… calls Shen Wei instead. Of course he does.

To be fair, he does so to check whether the other man is stalking him, but he also calls him by his given name rather Professor Shen, reinforcing that he makes this enquiry as a friend, not at as the chief of the Special Investigations Department. 

During the phone call Shen Wei is absentmindedly playing with the corner of the publication he is reading. 

While Yunlan does not deny that he still thinks Shen Wei is potentially up to something dodgy, he still proceeds to ask his advice on the case. This continues the dynamic from the previous episode: it’s not that Yunlan is completely blind, it’s just that he trusts Shen Wei regardless of the secrets he might be hiding. 

Moving on, here’s what I have to say on he topic of bad CGI. There are several reasons in the world for a piece of visual media to have a poor quality computer animation. It could be laziness, or it could be absence of imagination, both of which are inexcusable. It also could be absence of funds, as is the case with the Guardian. And, honestly, I am alright with that. It’s not their fault, and I would much rather see this drama as it is - bad CGI and all - than none at all. 

And, the quality of CGI here has energy similar to Live Action Sailor Moon (PGSM), which I honestly find both nostalgic and endearing. 

That show also has a talking cat, but it’s performed by a literal plush toy on strings, so Guardian certainly wins here.

While Huang Linqi and Li Jiaqi are being kept together (possibly in an alternate dimension, seeing as how they have emerged from the lake completely dry), they talk through their relationship issues, and the audience finds itself with a sugar-sweet take on the arranged marriage/strangers to lovers trope. I feel a little bit bad about their disaster wedding now. 

At the same time, Xiao Jun and Wu Tian’en’s story is a tiny echo of Shen Wei end Je Zun: the son thinks his dad left him to fend for himself when he was young and vulnerable, and distrusts the very concept of love because of that perceived abandonment. Unlike Je Zun however, he stops to have an actual conversation, which ultimately forces him to quit his senseless act of revenge, and make the first step on the path of reconciliation and redemption. This is Guardian telling us that communication skills do, in fact, matter. 

He also drops this bombshell of a line, which hurts my heart a lot.

“In the face of death every love in the world is mere foam”

On an entirely separate note, I am very glad that the actor who plays Butler Wu is wearing nice thick knee pads. 

They are very visible, and they make a little “boing” when he hits the ground, but the actor has to fall to his knees twice in this episode, both times on hard surfaces, one of which is literal gravel, and I’m happy that the production is being considerate of their actors’ physical well-being. 

While this episode does not mark the first time Zhao Yunlan is being understanding to the Undergrounders in pain, this is the first time anti-Unvergrounder bigotry is explicitly framed in a negative light. The two evil businessmen, who cast a child aside just because he has special powers, are shown as unquestionably in the wrong. Xiao Jun is lightly scolded for his rash actions, but he is not brought back to SID in cuffs, and he is not immediately given away to Hei Pao Shi. Far from that: he is brought in softly, to spend some time at his dying father’s side. 

As Butler Wu slipping away, we once more see Guo Changcheng being recklessly heroic, as he is prepared to use the Longevity Dial to share his life force. Instead of letting him do it, Zhao Yunlan snatches the Hallow away and decides to perform this particular miracle himself. This is the same man who will later sacrifice his eyesight to bring people’s lives back. Bai Yu’s acting in that moment is utterly phenomenal, showing a whole range of emotion from horror to determination to dismay in mere seconds. 

Hei Pao Shi teleports in, and, without a preamble, scolds Zhao Yunlan (the first episode in the series-long “don’t touch the Hallows” saga), and then asks him whether it’s worth shortening his life for an Undergrounder. This is in equal parts a provocation and a test, because I’m fairly certain that Shen Wei was going to save Wu Tian’en anyway. 

As SID members beg Hei Pao Shi to save Butler Wu in perfect unison, Zhao Yunlan states that a person is a person, regardless of their origin. Shen Wei notes inwardly that SID had changed, and, as expected, heals Butler Wu, while Yunlan stares at his power with relief and awe.

Since I have talked about the wide shot of the Dragon City, let’s talk about its counterpart in the Underworld. 

I have failed to notice before that there appears to be a vast city next to the volcano river, some way away from the royal Palace, looming over it. Geographically, this makes little sense: we will see characters leave the Palace and instantly end up in a city square throughout the series, but I still really enjoy this wide shot. It is also interesting to see the architecture of the place. It is somewhere between (western) medieval abodes and futuristic shipment container blocks, with living spaces built on top of each other, crammed-in, and unpleasant. I also love the lighting here, contrasting blue and red.

Hallows random power #n: projecting their brethren. Imagine how useful it would be if they also did that for the Brush and the Lantern.

The next day, Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing are on a leisurely morning jog, while Yunlan is wearing bottoms that my partner refers to as “sheggings” (as in, shorts + leggings)

They are talking about Shen Wei, naturally. In my head-canon, Zhao Yunlan is driving his colleagues nuts because can’t help himself but bring the good professor up every goddamn minute of every goddamn day.

As they turn the corner to go home, they bump into the subject of discussion, who informs them that he moved into the building, and leaves abruptly looking more than slightly pleased with himself. 

Finally, we are treated to Guo Changcheng’s surveillance exam. I don’t know why he thought this outfit would make him look less conspicuous. 

Eventually, the SID will learn that some of their staff members don’t have to be fighters or detectives. In Xiao Guo, they have found the heart of their team, and that is enough. 

Next up, Episode 6: The Coat Zhao Yunlan Will Buy

—

PS: I have mentioned earlier, that I have a sinking feeling as I watch Guardian, and I would like to elaborate on that. You see, I am very scared of flying. It’s an irrational fear, but it is the one I nonetheless have. There is a very specific feeling I get just as the plane starts gaining speed on the runway: there is joy, because at the end of this journey they is something to look forward to (my parents’ hugs, a drink with a friend, a favourite place, a new city to explore), but there is also a painful anticipation, as I brace for the moment the aircraft will tilt upwards, knowing that I will be pushed back into my chair by gravity, battling against an onslaught of a panic attack, shaking, learning to breathe, fighting with everything I have to keep my heart rate down. Watching Guardian from the beginning, knowing where the story is going, mirrors that feeling perfectly.

PPS: The following conversation happened with my partner as I way typing this recap.

My partner: Do you think Shen Wei ever wears sheggings?

Me: Sweetie, I think he would rather die. 

[chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky]

Hi everyone! I know this is random, but I accidentally plotted an entire S7 canon divergent ending, which included Cadogan and Clarke + disciples doing the “test” and Cadogan inadvertently killing all his people through the desire for power (not Bellamy – Clarke traded herself), Clarke returning and everyone thinking she killed them all, lots of healing and forgiveness, a thriving city and finally Bellarke, cozy domestic Bellarke, and then the Anomaly takes Clarke away because everyone has to pass the ‘test’ and she already did, so they’re separated for 3 years while the rest of the people earn their place (takes a while because they all collectively share *one brain cell* and Clarke usually holds it), then Clarke returns when they pass and Bellarke is back to being cozy, but excited to be reunited. Which is why Clarke is a little lighter and Bellamy is, well, more Bellamy. Don’t ask, lol. I had this thought of a beautiful, domestic day between the two of them and I had to write it down. Please forgive me, but I needed to write this fluff and angst.

When he wakes up, his arm reaches across the bed and finds no one there. Bellamy’s first reaction is to panic, sitting straight up in the bed. Except one of the pillows had a dent in it, so someone was there, they just aren’t there anymore. He presses his hand against the sheets of the bed and they’re cold, the person long since left.

Sighing, Bellamy takes off the covers and shivers when his toes hit the farmhouse floor. The world is still relatively dark, the sun peeking over the mountains in the distance. He notices a pot of coffee in the kitchen, making his way to the house.

She’s where he thought he’d find her.

On the porch is a suspended love seat that swings back and forth, a figure covered in a blanket with a cup in their hands. The sun is pouring the world in color and light, and it hits her face in a way that makes her look like magic and fills his chest up with a contentment he never thought he’d have. He never understood visual art the way Clarke did, the colors and lines something he’d never tire of hearing about from her, but he’d never understand.

Then again, he’s looking at Clarke now and maybe he does.

Walking over to her, Bellamy opens the blanket and slides to her side, Clarke not even flinching. Of course she knew he was there, turning her head to smile at him in that way that made his heart flip. Sometimes Bellamy has to remind himself that she’s still her, that it isn’t a dream. He’s often dreamt of Clarke through their various separations, but he never thought he’d have an ending as gentle as this.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Clarke beams at him, resting her head on his shoulder and offering him her drink. He takes a sip of the coffee, the taste bitter and harsh, waking him up a bit. “I fell asleep fine, I’m just not entirely used to how quiet it is here.”

Bellamy frowns at that. “You were on Earth by yourself for three years. Wasn’t it quiet?”

“Well, not in the way you’re thinking.” She offers, Clarke’s honestly for her life more astounding every day. Something happened in that separation that crumbled her walls, and she offered thoughts and stories freely. Bellamy could spend the rest of his life listening to them, and marvels at the idea that he may just get that. “The earth was still healing, so it was very loud. The wind, the earthquakes. I got used to it after a month or so. It’s very strange to come here when it’s so quiet.”

He tries not to be upset listening to it, but it was a fact of life, he supposes. “You’ll get used to this too,” he saying, giving her the cup back and wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

Looking up at him, her eyes shine in the sunlight. “Promise?”

She’s sitting there and the wind is in her hair. The world is drenched in purples and blues and pinks, and everything is quiet. Dipping his head down, he presses her lips against his and thinks I promise, I promise, I promise.

***

“So when was it for you?”

Bellamy startles, shaking his wet curls after they’d showered – together, then apart, then together again. Running a towel through his hair, he peeks out of the bathroom. “What do you mean?”

Clarke’s in the middle of the room in her underwear, pulling her jeans up, the scars from her time alone present and shimmering. He plans on asking her about every single one, hearing every story, learning the lines of her body until he could speak it from memory. She grins at him when she notices him staring at her, lifting her eyebrows. He laughs and shakes his head.

“I mean,” Clarke continues, rummaging around the room until she finds a shirt. “When did you start having feelings for me?”

Bellamy recoils a bit. Not because he doesn’t want to talk about it, but because he’s spent his whole life loving Clarke. Or, at least, it felt that way. Frowning, Bellamy offers, “Attracted to or in love with?”

“Both, sounds fun.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was pretty attracted to you the entire time, to be honest.” He muses, hard to think of the dropship days without reminding himself of everyone they lost. “You yelled at me and I was done.”

Snorting, Clarke walks over to where he is and presses herself against his back and wraps her arms around his chest. “Such a romantic.”

“I can’t help it,” He says pressing a kiss against her forearm. “I realized I started to have actual feelings for you after you said that if I needed forgiveness, you’d give it to me. I didn’t realize… I needed to hear that. And I had no idea it would come from you.”

Clarke rests her face against his back and he can feel her smile. “And when I realized I loved you – when you killed Atom for me.”

Turning around, Bellamy faces her. Placing his hand under her chin, he tilts her head up to him. “First time you bore it, so someone didn’t have to. I was done.”

“Well, that’s annoying.”

Whatever he expected her to say, that wasn’t it. Barking a laugh, he repeats, “Annoying?”

“We could’ve been together for so much longer, had you ever said anying?”

He laughs, free and easy, placing his hands against her face and planting a kiss. “Alright you, what was your time?”

Clarke giggles and pulls herself out of his embrace. “Way later than that.”

“Oh my god—”

She laughs at him and he isn’t sure he could ever tire of hearing it. “I was attracted to you when I asked if you had a gun?”

Bellamy fixes her a look. “Really? That did it?”

“Please, like you weren’t trying to turn everyone with a pulse on.”

He supposes he has to give her that.

“Love,” Clarke’s face falls a bit. “I-I don’t think I precisely knew when I started loving you, but I remember when I realized it.”

Bellamy stills, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

“When we reunited after the dropship. I thought you were dead and that I killed you, then suddenly you were there. It felt like I could breathe for the first time, and I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath. When I hugged you, I don’t know… everything fell into place.”

She’s sitting on the bed, hair wet, shirt in her hands. Joining her, Bellamy takes her hand and brings it into her lap. “Yeah, I get that.”

Clarke leans into him, squeezing his hand. Pressing a kiss in her hair, she smells of soap and possibilities. “I really get that.”

***

“Platonic love of my life!”

When Clarke shouts, Bellamy startles, still not entirely used to how open she is. She’d been holding his hand and pressing kisses against his arm and he thinks he’s never felt so loved. Bellamy never knew how much he needed physical affection, but it was like Clarke knew and she was willing to drown him in it. It all felt very safe, which scares him more than he can say.

But when she shouts at a figure, he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Clarke jumps and they catch her, swinging her around in a hug. Jackson walks up to Bellamy, pretending to be aghast. “Oh look, my husband found his girlfriend.”

Bellamy snorts. “My girlfriend found her boyfriend.”

Clarke and Miller laugh, the woman kissing him on the cheek and Miller grabbing her arm fondly. The two link arms and Bellamy shakes his head, filling with fondness and family. “Actually, we were going to get some lunch at the bakery, do you want to join?” He asks Jackson.

“Did you say lunch at the bakery?” Miller calls from a few yards away. “Hell yeah!”

Bellamy rolls his eyes as Jackson says with as much love as a person can hold. “Looks like I don’t have a choice.” He snorts. “Yeah man, gotta give the two of them time to make us question our relationships.”

Bellamy isn’t sure when Clarke and Miller became so close, but he knows it directly has to do with him. His time as a disciple sent cracks in all his relationships, none more so than Miller. He came back to the man a stranger. He found him standing next to Clarke, as protective as a person can be, angry and hurt. It took a while to repair their relationship, and again when Clarke was taken from them.

But as they sit in the bakery, sandwiches placed before him, Bellamy can’t help but be grateful for the man, and everything he’s given both of them.

“We were reminiscing about how Bellamy was such a manwhore in the early days.” Clarke offers, picking at her sandwich. Bellamy frowns at that, her appetite quite sad after being alone for such a long time.

Miller barks a laugh, tilting his head back. The two of them are sitting on the same side of the booth, their loves forced to watch from across the table with exasperation and fondness. “Man, you did a U-turn into nerd real quick.”

Clarke picks off a piece of bread and plays with it. “He’s been a nerd the whole time. He was trying to compensate for it.”

“You know, I’m not sure if I’m loving this friendship.” Bellamy says dryly.

“We don’t care.” Is the communal response.

Bellamy shares a look with Jackson.

“Well, you’re one to talk, Clarke. You have your share of annoying history.” Miller offers, taking a drink of water. “When you were gone, you know how many times this one offered to sacrifice herself? I swear to god, I thought I was watching a puppy.”

Bellamy’s surprised. Miller doesn’t often offer up details from that time, but Clarke laughing at him and he’s smiling and something seems to slot back together.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long, man.” Miller says, biting his sandwich. Through bites, he says, “I felt like I was losing it. I needed to know how to stop it.”

“If only I had that power.”

Clarke chuckles at both of them.

“You know,” Jackson says. “I never really knew how you two became close.”

“Yeah,” Miller offers. “I got the impression you didn’t really like me in the beginning.”

“I didn’t.” Clarke says and Miller elbows her. With a loud laugh, she continues, “It was actually because of him.” Clarke states, pointing to Bellamy. “He said if anything ever happened to him, to keep you close. I didn’t know he was planning on running from the Chancellor since he shot him at that time, but he said he trusted you. That was enough for me.”

Bellamy catches Miller’s eye. He still sees the anger and betrayal there, but the love is more. The respect is back, having clawed his way up.

“How did you ever get acquitted of that?” Jackson asks through bites. “No one really knew – we all thought you’d be executed and then it just… didn’t happen.”

Bellamy turns to Clarke. She smiles at him softly, the way she did all those years ago. Nodding at her, Bellamy takes a bite of his own sandwich. She smiles and he feels warm and whole, something he never thought he’d be.

***

They’re standing in a field of flowers and Clarke is laughing.

It sounds like sunlight and she looks like stardrops and everything is beautiful.

“I just can’t believe this is really happening.” He finds himself saying aloud, unable to stop it. “That you’re here, we’re together, and there’s nothing to fight.”

Clarke stops wading through the flowers and turns to him. Marching over to where he is, she places a hand against his cheek. “Together.”

He covers his hand with hers and holds it there, thinking that if there’s a moment he’d like to relive for the rest of his life, he would gladly have today.

***

There’s a single restaurant in Sanctum, started by a few original citizens and Murphy. Bellamy had put on the nicest clothes he owned and sucked in a breath when he saw Clarke step out in a flowing blue dress, a handful of daisies in her hair. The two of them sit in the restaurant and it all feels very simple and normal – two words he never thought would describe the two of them.

Someone pours wine, another person brings food, and the two of them sit, looking out at Sanctum, their new home. When he sees her, he thinks his heart will explode, his skin still burns from her touch, and he thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning her.

“I have a favor to ask.” He says when the room quiets. Reaching out, he grabs her hand. “Did you know?”

Clarke looks at him, confused. “Know what?”

“Did you know the Anomaly was going to take you?”

Clarke frowns. It’s the one thing she really doesn’t like to talk about, but he can’t help but think it is all fragile, their life. “Not really, but,” she says distantly. “I knew something was going to happen. It wasn’t until it was actually happening did all the pieces come together. I knew… that story wasn’t over, I just felt it.”

Bellamy figured as much. He remembers the day she was taken, her resolve. It reminded him a lot of the day before the Death Wave – her resolute ending. “If you ever feel something like that, would you mind letting me know? I don’t think I could bare another three years without you.”

Clarke smiles and his chest fills and the world settles in a peace he longs to fill his lungs. “I have no intention of leaving.” She says.

“Good, because you’re in this with me, Griffin. Until the very end.”

She leans across the table and catches his lips. He doesn’t care people are watching, he doesn’t care about any of it. All he knows is he has her, his world is safe because she is his world.

They will have one normal day after another normal day, until they string together into a lifetime. Maybe that’s the true art, he muses. Not tragedy, not the epic stories. But a tapestry of quiet and safety, until the end of time.

[dented-nado]

Only if you want but maybe 18 “I can’t breathe” with superbat? It might be more angst than fluff but maybe supes is helping bat calm down from a panic? Love your stuff! 💕

[[Sorry this took so long! But once I got writing! I couldn’t stop! So I hope you enjoy this ficlet! It takes place in canon-verse - Dick has just quit as Robin and Bruce has a lot of rules for being Batman. Enjoy!]]

 Batman as a meaning, sometimes changed… depending on what Bruce either wanted to enforce or punish himself with.

It could be something as simple as “Batman doesn’t eat Nachos” or “Batman doesn’t eat a lot of sweets”.

Those were rules meant to control his diet and discourage himself from emotional eating. Though it also meant he didn’t always let himself have a little fun when it came to dining at all.

Being dedicated as he was to organization, he had all the Batman rules written down - in a small black book he kept in a locked drawer in the bat-cave.

Rule #1: Batman doesn’t cry

Bruce hated crying, especially in front of people. It made him feel vulnerable, it made him feel weak… and most of all, when he cried, he couldn’t control it. Not being able to control some part of himself no matter how small infuriated him. He sometimes wished he was a cyborg or a computer that was easily programmable and he could do being Batman and doing his work without pesky emotions or trauma getting in his way.

There were some times - times he wasn’t very proud of, he had felt tears slip out of his eyes among his teammates, he had the bat-cowl to hide them. But he knew that both Clark and J'onn knew every damn time he had started crying. J'onn didn’t tend to bother him about it, and would pretend he didn’t notice, because he knew Bruce didn’t want it to be noticed.

Clark would do the same… for the most part. Bruce knew he tried, hard, for his sake, because he knew that -especially in the Batsuit- that Bruce didn’t want to acknowledge he had gotten emotional over something, or something they encountered had brought up old feelings, opened old wounds that had never healed or gone acknowledged. Except… Clark would bite his lip and look over at Bruce with sad eyes, like he wanted to talk, somehow encourage Bruce to open up, somehow convey that it was okay even for the Bat to sometimes cry… because he himself struggled with the fact that even the man of steel was allowed to cry.

But he didn’t, at least not in the moment, because if he called it out, Bruce would shut down and lash out, deny it, because Rule Number One: Was Batman Doesn’t Cry.

Even if Bruce Wayne cried, Batman couldn’t cry.

Rule # 2: Batman doesn’t panic.

Batman always had to be in control. Of himself and the situation. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t supposed to panic. If he panicked… who would be the one to figure it all out if not him? So, he absolutely could not panic.

Except he had panicked before. He had broken that rule.

Sometimes it was in a quiet ‘silly’ way, like when he had been in the bat-cave with the cowl down - Clark right by his side after they had a long day dealing with various catastrophes - when asked:

“Hey B… you sure your okay? After today?”

Bruce’s brain had short-circuited when asked if he was okay for some damn reason and had answered:

“Peachy-keen and Squeaky Clean.”

“…What?”

Clark had swallowed hard to keep from chuckling. Bruce put his head in his hand.

“Fuck… its something Dick used to say.”

“Sounds like a young Dick Grayson thing to say…” Clark had paused, Bruce willed the pink in his face to go away and pleaded with every higher power in existence that his ears wouldn’t turn pink as well and stand out like a damn stop-light on his pale sun-deprived skin.

“Were you thinking about him B?” Clark had asked slowly.

“……”

This came up against Rule #3: Batman doesn’t lie for stupid reasons.

Bruce found himself having trouble following this one the most.

“No…”

“Bruce.” Clark had said in a disappointed tone.

“Yes.” Bruce immediately replied, changing his answer. It was a little ridiculous how Clark could manage to get him to stop lying the same way Alfred could just by speaking in that ’oh your better than that.’tone.

“Have you talked to him lately?” Clark asked.

Bruce knew Clark was perfectly aware he was treading on dangerous territory, but it didn’t seem to phase the super-man at the moment.

“… I don’t think he wants to talk.”

“I know he quit as robin but…”

“He was furious at me for not telling him about Batgirl… among other things… I think… and we haven’t talked since.”

They sat in silence as Bruce stared forward blankly at his computer.

“I’m never doing it again…” He had said finally in a low voice.

Clark had landed on the ground from his floating position and put a quiet hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Doing what, B?”

“I wasn’t a good parent. I wasn’t ready to be a parent, I… I think I was projecting onto him, so I thought our goals were aligned, but they weren’t… I don’t know why I thought… I would be good for him, I was terrible for him.” Bruce found himself babbling.

He had just broken Rule #4: Batman doesn’t talk about feelings or personal events to anyone.

But then again… his cowl was down, so maybe it wouldn’t count… but on the other hand he was still in the suit.

At some point along the way of becoming friends with Clark Kent, he had broken and completely obliterated Rule #5: Batman doesn’t trust anyone. Because he had come to trust Clark. Batman had come to trust Superman. It felt dangerous… the way Clark had slowly gotten him to open up, feel safe, feel comforted. It scared him… but he treasured it at the same time. So sometimes… the fact he had broken that rule didn’t always feel so bad.

“I think you did the best you could given the circumstances… and maybe your goals were aligned at one point and he just… changed. And I don’t know B, I was peeved at my parents when I was about Dick’s age.” Clark said with a slight shrug.

Bruce’s head whipped towards him. “Why? I mean maybe I don’t know parents well but… yours seem so…”

Clark smiled and chuckled. “Perfect?” He floated back up in the air and 'sat’ on nothing next to Bruce’s chair, criss-crossing his legs. “No, but really. I thought about running away even… I was going through some stuff, it was… hard going through puberty, gaining powers, and realizing your an alien that fast. I briefly resented them not telling me… it was worse than just not knowing I was adopted, I was an adopted alien. I felt lied to, and like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Bruce leaned forward curiously. He had never heard Clark really talk about his childhood or teenager-hood before. “Eventually I realized… they were just trying to give me a normal childhood, where I could feel like a normal kid. They never wanted me to feel like I didn’t belong, and eventually we talked about it.”

He twiddled his thumbs. “I know its far from a one-to-one with what your going through with Dick… I’m sure you both have a long list of things you could have done, should have done… and it just… blew up without either of you realizing it was blowing up. ”

Bruce nodded quietly in response. “I probably had it coming. I don’t think I taught him how to deal with his anger in a very healthy way. I’m not exactly a model of mental health…” Bruce mused. “I know sometimes been letting fighting be a way to deal with things rather than dealing with them… that’s probably not a good thing, is it?”

“Probably not… but I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person in the league that doesn’t sometimes use fighting as an emotional crutch.”

“Hmm…” Bruce had replied quietly.

They sat in silence for a long moment again, Bruce drifting back into deep thought, that was until a warm hand covering his surprised him and jolted him out of his thoughts.

“I think you’ll talk about it eventually, B, he isn’t going to stay mad forever, and you still raised him.”

“I just hope he finds what he’s looking for… but it honestly… might be in his best interests to… to never see me again.” Bruce said, his own hand now covering his own mouth as he felt himself dangerously get close to breaking rule #1.

“I… I don’t want it to bother me, I don’t… I don’t want to think about it…” Bruce stammered.

Clark’s hand traveled up Bruce’s arm and he wrapped his arm around his shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay to be upset about it B… I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset about it. He’s your son.”

“I don’t… I don’t think he sees me as his father, why would he?”

“B…” Clark said softly.

“I keep… loosing people, I don’t… I don’t know why… I don’t know why I keep…. I keep…” Bruce made a growl of frustration as his eyes began to water. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay don’t apologize, you don’t have to apologize for feeling.”

“I … I can’ breathe…” Bruce stammered in-between gasps of trying to force himself to pull himself together.

“Don’t try to force yourself to stop,  It’s okay, B, really, just let it out, its okay…” Clark whispered calmly and softly.

“Batman doesn’t…”

“Forget Batman for a second, your more important. Besides! Who says what Batman can and can’t do?” Clark said pulling Bruce into an even tighter hug.

Bruce couldn’t help a sniffle. “I did. I have a rule-book and everything.”

Clark sighed and pressed his cheek against Bruce’s. “Of course you did you goofy-bat.”

Bruce grumbled but slowly closed his eyes and let himself feel Clark hold him as he slowly began to calm down and breathe again.

“I just want to be… better… I wish I had been better.”

“Well if you want to be 'better’ - which is not the word I’d pick by the way…  don’t leave out the possibility of talking to Dick once you’ve had some time apart… You both need time to sort yourselves out. And you could also start by not writing silly rules for yourself and holding yourself to an impossible standard.”

Bruce snorted. “If I don’t make the rules for Batman, who will.”

“Hmm.” Clark replied.

—

A week later, Clark visited Bruce again in the cave. He and Dick still hadn’t talked, or run into each other. It still… hurt. But Bruce was now open to talking when it was time, but now wasn’t the time.

“I got you a little present.” Clark said, once again hover-sitting next to Bruce.

Bruce raised his eyebrow at him. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t forget my birthday again, did I?”

“You’ve forgotten your own…” Clark began before shaking his head. “No, that’s not it, and the occasion is 'your my friend and I wanted to do something for you’.” He replied with a sheepish smile.

He handed Bruce a very carefully and meticulously black wrapped flat present with a yellow bow on top. Bruce had to smile a little on how it matched the Batman aesthetic, clearly, Clark had an attention to detail that he had to appreciate. Clark waited patiently as bruce went through his routine of very carefully unwrapping the gift to avoid ripping the paper and found a maroon colored notebook inside.

Bruce glanced up at Clark curiously before opening the notebook to find Clark’s hand-writing inside.

“Superman’s ”“'rules”“ for what Batman can and can’t do.”

Bruce smiled a little wider and kept reading.

Rule #1: Batman is allowed to cry.

Rule #2: It’s okay for Batman to not have everything figured out right away.

Rule #3:  Batman can have some fun and laugh sometimes because he has a smile and a laugh that lights up a room and has probably the cutest dimples I’ve ever seen.

Bruce’s heart skipped a few beats.

Rule #4: I’ll always be your friend, and I care about you, a lot… so Batman should never forget that.

Rule #4.5: I love you. Batman doesn’t have to feel the same way, but he should know that.

Bruce looked up at Clark with wide eyes. Clark was turned slightly away, face beet red.

“I know… I can’t help being a hopeless romantic, I’m sorry… but…”

“Clark… I…” Bruce’s words caught in his throat, heart feeling like it was going to fall out. “This is… really… really … sweet… thank you.”

Clark glanced back at Bruce finally with a little shy smile. “Your welcome.”

“I do have to add one little thing though…” Bruce said with a slightly cheeky look, getting out his pen.

Clark looked him over slightly startled “What’s that?”

Bruce quietly with a calm smile wrote down the words that had caught in his throat, but he wanted to say in one way or another anyway.

Rule #5: Batman loves Superman too… and thinks he should know that too.

He turned the book slightly so Clark could read the additional rule, he was incredibly amused by the way Clark lit up and looked so over-joyed he might actually start glowing.

“Do… Do you think maybe Batman could change his rule about no dating within the league?”

Bruce leaned forward with a hum. “Everyone else seems to break it all the time anyway so it might not be a very good rule anyway.”

Clark laughed. “The team is still together even with the drama it can cause from time to time.”

“Then I think I will get rid of that rule, and maybe Rule #6 - is "Batman can date” especially if I don’t want to break rule #3" Bruce stood as he and Clark quietly locked hands.

“That’s true, I’m going to hold you to that one especially.” Clark said decidedly.

“I always thought my laugh was scary… Is it also weird I didn’t even know I had dimples?” Bruce asked, feeling a little giddy for once.

“Well when you force any laugh its scary, but when I’ve seen you genuinely laugh before….” Clark almost looked a little wistful “It… makes me swoon a little…. it is kind of bad you didn’t know you have dimples B, but its okay.”

“Hmmm…” Bruce hummed. “Guess there’s still things for me to learn.”

“Guess Batman doesn’t know everything.” Clark teased playfully.

“No, and he doesn’t have to know everything, Rule #2.” Bruce replied now leaning against Clark slightly.

“Rule #7 that I just made up, there’s always still time to figure things out. And that’s okay.”

“That’s a good one, I have to write it down really quick.” Bruce said reaching for his pen.

—

Bruce handed Clark his old notebook as he replaced it with Clark’s sweet gesture of a rulebook, allowing Clark to flip through the old rules.

“Why Nachos specifically? Do you like Nachos?”

“I fucking love Nachos.” Bruce replied with a mournful sigh.

“Wow, good to know. Sounds like you have a sweet tooth too?”

“I do. It’s horrible.” Bruce argued.

“Oh no its not.”

“It is when you eat your feelings, and I don’t have super-metabolism, I didn’t get spend ages getting these rock hard abs only to fuck it up by filling myself up with all the nachos and sweet things I’ve always wanted to eat and forced myself not to.”

“Point taken, but for the record, you can  enjoy yourself and eat things you like. Besides, Alfred has told me you don’t eat enough anyway.”

Bruce grumbled. “Oh great, please tell me he hasn’t already shown you my baby pictures.”

Clark gasped. “No But I’m definitely going to ask him next time I talk to him.”

“Fuck.” Bruce groaned.

“Rule #35 Stop getting excited whenever Clark is around… you get excited when I’m around??” Clark said cheerfully.

“…. No….”

“B…”

“……..Yes.”

“Awww, B!”

Bruce mumbled and grumbled for a moment because he couldn’t help himself.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Your the sweet one here, don’t accuse me of such things.”

“You’re sweet too though! Sweetest bat around.”

“Clark.”

“Bruce.”

Unable to keep up his grumpy facade, Bruce smiled very slightly and sighed over-dramatically. “Well… thank you.”

They both locked eyes for a long moment, then jumped suddenly when Bruce’s phone dinged and scared the crap out of both of them, making them jump.

“Who the hell is…”

Bruce picked up his phone and looked at the name over the message that had been sent and froze.

“It’s Dick…”

Clark’s eyes grew wide and he floated forward slightly.

“Hey… idk if you want to talk about it. I talked to Barbara, I think we should. If you want, idk.”

Bruce immediately tapped the message open, wondered if he should wait so it didn’t seem like he was desperate or constantly checking his phone to see if Dick had texted him, then decided “fuck it” and answered anyway.

“Yeah, we should talk about it. Catch up. Let me know when/where works for you.”

Dick replied almost as fast as Bruce had. “You sure you don’t need to work around…. … work?”

“No. This is more important right now. Work can wait.”

“Okay… I get off work in an hour, can you get to Bludhaven by then? I’ll send you the address.”

Bruce found himself tilting his head, curious as to what job Dick had gotten since he quit as robin.

“Cool. I’ll be there. Hope your doing okay.”

“…Yeah… you too. See you then.”

Bruce looked up at Clark. “You were right… he wants to talk…”

Clark beamed at him and put his arms around his bat-boyfriend. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I…. thank you… so much Clark. I’m still worried I’ll mess it up but…”

“It’s going to be okay B, your going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.”

Bruce leaned against Clark’s chest and sighed. “Yeah… It’s going to be okay…”

[ftauriellas]

            chicago’s  very  own  auriella  yates  has  been  spotted  on  madison  avenue  driving  a  porsche  718  spyder  ,  welcome  !  your  resemblance  to  jasmine  tookes  is  unreal  .  according  to  tmz  ,  you  just  had  your  twenty - fifth  birthday  bash  .  your  chance  of  surviving  new  york  is  uncertain  because  you’re  guileful  ,  but  being  unadulterated  might  help  you  .  i  think  being  a  virgo  explains  that  .  three  things  that  would  paint  a  better  picture  of  you  would  be  the  lingering  scent  of  her  perfume  on  crisp  white  sheets  ,  the  soft  touch  of  short  satin  dresses  against  her  thighs  ,  and  the  soft  glistening  of  diamonds  during  golden  hour  .

            hi  again  ,  kitty  gorls  !  it’s  jin  showing  up  on  your  dash  for  the  last  time  with  my  sweet  peach  miss  auriella  yates  .  she’s  a  rendition  of  a  hailey  b  .  chara  that  i  have  ,  so  she’s  quite  the  mess  ,  but  as  lovable  as  ever  !  as  you’ve  probably  figured  ,  i  didn’t  have  much  muse  for  guiliana  anymore  so  i  decided  it  was  best  to  let  her  go  and  bring  someone  else  (  also  ,  i’m  really  sorry  about  not  fulfilling  that  starter  call  .  please  don’t  hate  me  🥺  )  .  my  muse  is  soaring  for  auriella  so  be  prepared  for  me  to  slide  into  your  dm’s  for  plotting  up  a  storm  !  that  being  said  ,  here’s  another  long  one  !

basic  information  .

FULL  NAME  :  auriella  kaia  yates  .

NICKNAME(S)  :  auri  ,  mostly  .

BIRTHDATE  +  AGE  :  september  9th  ,  1997  +  22  .

ZODIAC  :  virgo  .

HOMETOWN  :  chicago  ,  il  .

GENDER  :  cis  female  .

NATIONALITY  :  american  .

ETHNICITY  :  african  american  ,  brazilian  ,  west  indian  , barbadian  ,  and  european  .

HEIGHT  :  5′5″  .

LABEL(S)  :  the  harlequin  ,  the  trust  fund  baby  ,  the  vainglorious  ,  the  coquette  ,  and  the  sovereign  .

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION  :  biromantic  .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION  :  bisexual  .

LANGUAGE(S)  SPOKEN  :  english  and  learned  basic  french  in  high  school  .

OCCUPATION  :  socialite  ,  makeup  artist  ,  and  businesswoman  .

POSITIVES  :  impulsive  ,  alluring  ,  unadulterated  ,  facetious  ,  and  melodious  .

NEGATIVES  :  complaintive  ,  acquisitive  ,  guileful  ,  starry - eyed  ,  and  bellicose  .

biography  .

            auriella  yates  is  the  sixth  child  of  eight  ,  born  to  simone  and  joshua  yates  in  the  windy  city  of  chicago  ,  illinois  .  she  has  three  older  brothers  (  chance  ,  charles  ,  and  clark  )  ,  two  older  sisters  (  adriana  and  amelia  )  ,  and  a  younger  brother  and  sister  (  calvin  and  aurora  )  .  patrick  and  simone  for  some  reason  found  joy  in  naming  their  sons  with  c  names  and  their  daughters  with  a  names  ,  but  it  works  for  them  nonetheless  .  the  family  could  afford  such  a  grandiose  lifestyle  in  chicago  thanks  to  simone’s  lifestyle  and  wellness  brand  called  honey  &  lemon  (  goop  ,  who  ?  )  that  has  since  expanded  from  a  newsletter  to e - commerce  ,  pop - up  shops  ,  a  magazine  ,  and  a  podcast  .  patrick  ,  on  the  other  hands  ,  is  a  famous  vegetarian  chef  that  has  launched  three  cookbooks  while  also  having  his  own  cooking  series  on  the  food  network  along  with  a  cookware  partnership  at  target  .  together  ,  they  own  a  vegetarian  restaurant  in  downtown  chicago  called  lemongrass  .

            growing  up  ,  since  auriella  had  so  many  siblings  ,  she  never  had  an  uneventful  day  .  their  parents  strongly  believed  in  their  children  playing  outside  instead  of  being  stuck  in  front  of  the  television  all  day  ,  so  they  often  took  advantage  of  their  large  backyard  when  they  lived  in  the  suburbs  of  chicago  .  they  were  the  parents  who  let  their  rowdy  bunch  ruin  their  perfect  grass  because  they  wanted  to  play  in  the  mud  .  their  parents  may  have  afforded  them  luxuries  that  others  didn’t  have  and  while  their  parents  had  been  busy  people  ,  patrick  and  simone  refused  for  their  children  to  be  raised  by  nannies  .  they  were  heavily  involved  with  everything  that  their  children  did  ,  ranging  from  their  pre - school  graduations  to  their  high  school  proms  .

            auriella  had  always  been  a  rather  outgoing  girl  throughout  high  school  ,  and  she  knew  she  was  cute  so  she  started  an  instagram  page  when  she  was  about  thirteen  or  so  .  originally  ,  her  pictures  were  just  cringey  dirty  mirror  pics  and  photos  with  her  friends  ,  but  as  she  explored  the  app  more  and  more  ,  she  discovered  makeup  and  her  love  for  it  !  so  ,  despite  the  terrible  youtube - tutorial  makeup  that  she  tried  to  recreate  ,  auriella  never  gave  up  on  her  ability  to  do  better  .  as  she  moved  through  high  school  ,  her  makeup  skills  got  better  and  better  ,  so  once  she  graduated  ,  auriella  knew  what  she  wanted  to  do  in  life  !

            she  went  on  to  attend  make  up  first  in  chicago  ,  and  obtained  certificates  in  basic  makeup  i  +  ii  ,  media  makeup  ,  and  media: runway  ,  editorial  ,  and  fashion  .  once  she  was  finished  with  her  schooling  ,  auriella  went  on  to  grow  her  brand  and  get  her  name  out  there  .  she  used  instagram  a  majority  of  the  time  ,  and  thanks  to  that  and  word  of  mouth  ,  she  grew  a  significant  following  and  went  on  to  have  a  few  celebrities  under  her  belt  .  thanks  to  the  help  of  her  parents  ,  auriella  decided  that  she  wanted  to  get  into  the  makeup  business  entirely  ,  and  decided  to  stick  her  foot  into  makeup  production  .

            the  brand  originally  only  focused  on  her  favorite  thing  :  eyeshadow  palettes  !  the  palettes  were  originally  rather  small  ,  consisting  of  four  to  six  colors  as  they  perfected  the  formula  .  she  eventually  began  to  receive  rave  reviews  and  decided  that  it  was  time  to  expand  into  everything  else  :  mascaras  ,  lip  products  ,  foundations  ,  blushes  ,  highlighters  and  everything  else  under  the  sun  .  from  there  ,  kaia  beauty  is  now  being  sold  in  sephora  ,  ulta  ,  and  on  kaiabeauty.com  !  she  had  the  second  largest  foundation  drop  (  following  fenty  beauty  because  we  stan  miss  rihanna  in  this  house  )  .  

            that  being  said  ,  running  her  own  business  is  one  that  auriella  is  still  getting  used  to  despite  it  being  two  years  since  the  launch  .  she’s  thankful  for  the  expansion  of  her  brand  and  she’s  still  working  out  of  her  townhouse  because  she  hasn’t  found  the  perfect  space  for  a  headquarters  just  yet  !  it’s  one  of  her  biggest  dreams  at  the  moment  and  she  wants  to  expand  kaia  beauty  into  skincare  but  the  end  of  the  year  .  

personality  .

the  label  she  mostly  identifies  with  would  definitely  be  the  harlequin  .  she  can  be  really  loud  and  playful  at  times  ,  and  she  can  easily  get  called  out  for  not  taking  things  seriously  .  

at  the  same  time  ,  though  ,  she  can  be  pretty  sexual  in  her  speech  .  she  has  no  problem  with  people  looking  at  her  differently  for  doing  so  .  she  really  lets  a  lot  of  things  roll  off  of  her  shoulders  ,  but  she’d  be  a liar  if  she  said  that  some  things  didn’t  get  to  her  .

auriella  can  be  really  full  of  herself  and  simple  compliments  can  typically  leads  to  her  going  on  and  on  about  herself  ,  so  please  feel  free  to  shut  her  up  at  any  given  time  !  much  like  anyone  her  age  ,  she  can  be  found  prowling  around  on  instagram  or  twitter  and  can  never  go  shopping  without  taking  at  least  three  to  seven  mirror  selfies  .

headcanons  .

she  lives  in  a  beautiful  townhouse  on  west  fourth  street   and  she’s  really  proud  to  say  it  because  she  bought  it  with  her  own  money  !  she  likes  to  be  different  so  she  really  hates  range  rovers  and  instead  drives  an  audi  q5  !  sounds  kinda  dumb  since  she  lives  in  nyc  ,  but  she  likes  it  because  it  gives  her  freedom  to  go  where  she  wants  when  she  wants  to  .

she  never  leaves  the  house  without  a  purse  and  never  without  a  pair  of  earrings  on  (  she  thinks  she’s  ugly  without  them  ) .  she’s  obsessed  with  all  things  cartier  and  she  loves  to  accessorize  ,  but  not  to  much  .  she  keeps  scrunchies  in  her  purse  at  all  times  ,  so  if  you  need  one  just  ask  !

when  it  comes  to  her  style  ,  i  draw  a  lot  of  inspiration  from  instagram  if  i’m  being  honest  .  she  wears  a  lot  of  denim  shorts  ,  oversized  tees  ,  cropped  sweaters  ,  bodysuits  ,  chunky  sneakers  ...  honestly  ,  the  whole  nine  yards  .  for  some  examples  click  x  ,  x  ,  x  ,  x  ,  x  ,  and  x  .

she’s  been  vegetarian  since  she  was  a  kid  because  that’s  all  her  dad  ever  cooked  !  sometimes  the  scent  of  meat  makes  her  sick  and  sometimes  she  fakes  it  so  people  will  leave  her  alone  .  she’s  definitely  the  one  who  shows  up  to  the  function  with  her  fake  burgers  ,  but  you  know  she  has  a  bottle  of  vodka  along  with  it  .

finds  joy  in  doing  the  little  things  ?  she’s  not  the  greatest  at  art  but  really  enjoys  buying  a  canvas  and  trying  her  best  to  recreate  or  create  something  !  probably  gets  a  lot  of  art  ideas  from  tik  tok  (  those  kids  are  seriously  talented  )  and  really  likes  to  do  her  makeup  even  when  she  has  no  place  to  go  .  she  loves  laying  on  her  couch  and  doing  nothing  (  and  sometimes  she  might  be  kinda  naked  when  she  does  it  )  .

secret  .

okay  so  ,  auriella’s  secret  is  that  an  ‘  anonymous  ’  source  leaked  her  nudes  to  the  press  ,  but  her  parents  paid  off  publications  from  releasing  them  .  that  was  mostly  done  because  she  was  about  17 / 18  in  those  pictures  but  of  course  they’re  not  age  on  them  so  there’s  that  !  the  source  of  course  wasn’t  that  anonymous  and  it  turned  out  to  be  an  ex  (  which  is  really  gross  so  this  won’t  be  a  wanted  connection  )  ,  but  she’s  not  ashamed  of  them  by  any  means  !

[ruffiorocks]

Rewatching Red Faced

Love rewatching Supergirl Episodes with my brother. Today we rewatched Red Faced, it's funny how with hindsight you notice things you didn't notice before.

First off i find it amusing that my brother dislikes James almost as much as I do. In the previous episodes he's messing up his relationship with Lucy so much because he can't control his boner for Kara! He then feels the need to tell Kara he needs to tell Lucy KARA'S secret!! Like WHAT?? In hindsight we know Lucy is sound but she wasn't exactly Supergirls number 1 fan when she arrived plus she is General Lanes daughter and he DEFINITELY isn't a Supergirl fan.

At the beginning of this episode we see that Lucy dumped his ass before he could reveal Kara's most important secret so he could try and salvage a relationship that had already sunk and he wasn't invested in. If Lucy had been his true love etc. then maybe in time Kara would have been OK with Lucy being told, but she was basically coerced into letting James tell Lucy. I'm glad Lucy dumped James before he could make things worse and Kara was able to reveal the secret herself.

Later at the DEO Alex and Kara are discussing Lucy and James and Alex says she always knew that relationship was going to sink! Well yeah! James had had a boner for Kara since day one and then easily discarded her so he could get with Lucy whilst continuing to lead Kara on to the point even Winn told Kara off for letting it happen. Honestly I'm surprised Lucy didnt dump him sooner!

Alex then pushed Kara to make her move on James (something she later does with Mon El as well). Funny how Kara has to be pushed into making moves on men (🤔🤔 ). Kara literally tells Alex she doesn't want to be someone's rebound and Alex doesn't listen. I'm taking this scene as Alex not having realised she's gay yet (because she hasn't) and not understanding how a healthy relationship should work.

When Kara grabs James and tries it on with him I applaud James here! He realised immediately that something was up and he didn't go along with her advances since she was basically drugged up.

Cat Grant basically tells Kara/Supergirl she isn't allowed to have any kind of dark side, she has to represent all the goodness in the world because she's a super hero. That is a hell of a lot of pressure to put on anyone. This reminded me a little of when Kara basically expects Mon El to be a hero and gets mad when he doesnt want to be one. That was entirely his choice to make or not make.

Now onto Maxwell, OK.. manufacturing Kryptonite wasn't the best plan since he got it wrong. BUT his reasons werent all that wrong, he didn't make the Kryptonite to attack Kara, he made it because Non and his followers would be back and Maxwell didn't want to sit around waiting for s**t to happen. Now I would say he should have worked with the DEO but we all know he doesn't trust the government, and he's fully aware that Supergirl is Alex's sister, so he probably would have been told no.

This is not unlike the time Lena makes Kryptonite, only she does a much better job of it. Neither Max not Lena make Kryptonite to hurt Supergirl, they make it because there are real Kryptonian threats that require Kryptonite to deal with. Non and his followers for Max and Reign and the other world killers for Lena. In fact in Lena's case she was even more justified because Jonn made the completely DUMB ASS decision to give the only real weapon that can take down Kryptonians to Clark because he had his cape in a twist about it. Then low and behold a season later they need Kryptonite to deal with the World Killers. Kara doesn't even have a plan to deal with them, Lena gives her a solution and Kara gets pissy about it (whilst still taking it because she actually needs it!). Lena doesn't like the government either, but she does work with them when she needs to or if they need her. The point is neither one wants to take down Supergirl, they want to defend Earth from psycho Kryptonians, something that Kara ans the DEO want to do as well.

Maxwell is often seen as a villian, he had his moments, like when he put people in danger to test Supergirl's powers. But most of the time he wanted to help people, he didn't believe that the world should put all their faith into alien heroes. 'Human for a Day' is a good example of this. Supergirl can't help anyone and Max helps people the human way, and he gives a message that people need to help themselves because a superhero won't always be there. He also feared that Supergirl could one day go rogue. Again, not an unwarranted fear, it's not like bad Kryptonians don't show up. Max was more of an anti hero.

Now back to red k Kara causing mayhem. Why oh why did Jonn and Alex waste time waiting for Max to invent some counter red k gun when they literally had Kryptonite at the DEO?! They could have used that on Kara, locked her in a bloody cell and given Max the time to perfect the gun. But no, the public were left at the mercy of Supergirl because no one had the foresight to use the very thing they had already used to take Kara down once and the very thing that Max had been trying to make??

The fact that Kara can take down Superman but not Jonn? I'm putting this down to Kara still being new to all this and she was probably unfocused being on the red K.

My brother asked why the DEO had to lock up Jonn when he revealed himself? Well that was understandable, he was an alien impersonating a human director of a government agency there to take down aliens. So yeah.... I'd be suspicious to. Not unlike when the President turned out to be an alien, people had legit reasons to be suspicious of this.

Now James basically gives Kara the brush off because of what happened, even though he knows she wasn't herself. It's like 'i want you', 'i have a girlfriend but I still want you', 'my girlfriend dumped me but i still want you' 'oh hang on, you're not the personification of perfection I thought you were, pfft I think you should leave even though I've done nothing but lead you on from the moment I met you'. That James/Kara crap should have just ended there and then. James had every reason to be a bit uncomfortable around Kara after the club incident but he knew that wasn't her, that she would never do something like that. He just made her feel even worse about herself, only for him to basically turn the flirt back on in 'human for day' and to get unbelievably jealous in 'worlds finest' just because Kara had the nerve to make a new male friend.

Lastly it's important to remember that red K doesn't make Kara 'evil', it basically makes every bad thought she's ever had manifest to the surface, thoughts so deep down she would never do them but those thoughts were already there.

All on all this is one of my favorite episodes! Mel did such a good job of being sweet Kara and then morphing into dark Kara. I wish we could have seen more dark Kara at some point, I hope we do again, but I suppose we've kind of already had that in Red Daughter in way.

(as always just mine and my brothers musings, don't agree? That's cool, but don't attack ✌️) x

[chasholidays]

Good job on not killing yourself with prompts this year, Chash. We appreciate your continued existence! I would like a modern AU where Bellamy bonds with Clarke’s foster daughter Madi by playing video games with her. Bellamy and Clarke have been friends for a long time but recently started dating, and everything’s gonna work out just fine but you know, they’re nervous.

Overall, Bellamy thinks the timing on two of the best developments of his life could have gone better.

The first best development is that he and Clarke are finally both single at the same time and manage to have a conversation about feelings that ends in the two of them agreeing to give the dating thing a try, which is honestly a miracle in and of itself. They’re going slow, trying not to screw anything up, and it’s going really well when the next best development hits, which is Madi.

Clarke had been on the wait-list for a foster kid for a while, and their entire friend group had been anxious for the assignment to finally come through. Most of them are only children who long to be cool aunts or uncles, so Clarke getting a kid is basically the perfect scenario for them. Bellamy had been excited too, of course, despite having an actual sister who had an actual child, but the combination of “new relationship” and “new child” makes things awkward.

“I just don’t really know how to introduce her to you,” Clarke says. “Like–I don’t know, it feels more serious than her meeting Raven or Wells. And I don’t want her to get invested in us as a couple or us as her parents if it’s not going to last.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He kisses her hair, settles in a little closer. They spent the whole day setting up the apartment for Madi, cleaning and moving furniture, and he’s sad he won’t be around to help her settle in, but he can’t actually object. “My mom introduced me to a lot of boyfriends, she might have a history with that too. We should take it slow.”

“We were already taking it slow,” she says, sounding mostly amused. “You know I’m really excited about dating you, right? It’s not–”

He laughs. “I know, don’t worry. If you wanted to break up with me, you’d break up with me.”

“I would. I just wish we had a little more time to settle into this before Madi came along.”

“When it rains it pours. I don’t mind taking a back seat for a while.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be long. She’s ten, I’m hoping that’s old enough where we can have a decent discussion about who you are and how you fit in. And even if we break up, I assume you’re still going to be a part of her life.”

“Of course,” he says. Half the point of being as careful as they’re being with the progression of their relationship as they are is to try to make sure the friendship survives. There’s no guarantee, but–he can’t imagine his life without Clarke in it. They’ll make it work. “If I’m not the cool father figure, I want to at least be a cool uncle.”

“You’re not that cool,” she teases, all warmth. “Sorry. You’re going to have to settle for dorky guy who talks too much about Latin and history.”

“I can definitely get a better vibe than that going,” he says, and she just smiles and kisses him and clearly does not believe him at all.

Which he can’t blame her for, really. Her knowledge of him as a parental figure comes from Octavia, whom he did name after a historical figure from Rome. There’s precedent at work, but he doesn’t have to be like that. He could, in theory, come up with a different gimmick, some other way to relate to Madi. It doesn’t have to be all fun facts about word origins and Roman emperors.

The nice thing about being the last one to meet Madi is that he gets to hear about her from everyone else first, like he’s prepping for a very weird kind of test.

“She’s cute,” Murphy says, with a shrug. “I don’t know, she’s a kid, what do you want from me? Clarke says I can’t tell her to start fires, which seems like a weirdly specific thing to worry about, so maybe she has a history.”

“She thinks you have a history of being a dumbass,” says Raven, which seems like the right reading of that interaction. “Madi’s cool. Smart, and she wants me to teach her about computers and stuff, so I like her.”

“Nate and I just brought Smash Brothers over, she liked that but she was getting frustrated.”

Bellamy perks up, turns his attention to Monty. “Yeah? That sounds promising.”

“You want to beat a kid at video games to make her like you?” Murphy asks. “You’d be better off telling her to start fires.”

“I’m not going to tell her to start fires. Or beat her at video games.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure Bellamy can beat an incompetent fifth grader at Smash Brothers,” Miller says. “Fighting games aren’t exactly his forte.”

“So that means Madi and I can work on it together,” he says. “I’ve already got a Switch, I can pick up Smash Brothers, Mario Kart–we can do video games together. That can be our thing. You guys are too good at it.”

“If you play video games, what are we supposed to do with her?” Miller grumbles. “Then we don’t have a thing.”

“Yeah, but Bellamy needs a thing way more than we do. We can just buy her stuff.”

“And once she’s good at video games, she can start playing with you guys. She practices on me until she’s ready to get her revenge.”

“Wouldn’t that work better if you were good at video games?” Raven asks. “So you could teach her?”

“Or she’ll be happy that we’re both shitty. And I’m good at some video games.” He finishes his drink. “This could work. Once I actually meet her.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Monty says. “She’s a good kid!”

“And everyone knows you and Clarke are you and Clarke,” says Raven.

“Nice–” He makes a face. “I was going to say tautology, but that’s not even a tautology, it’s just the exact same thing.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Just saying, I get why you guys are taking it slow with everything, especially with Madi, but you’re going to be fine.”

As one of the involved parties, he can’t have quite the faith in himself and Clarke that Raven does–he doesn’t want to get cocky and fuck it up–but he does think it’s largely true. His awkwardness around Madi is a consequence of timing, and in a year or two, he’s pretty sure they’re just going to be a functional family unit.

Which doesn’t mean he can’t screw it up in the meantime, so he’s still going to be careful.

Clarke’s had Madi for a month and a half when she says, “Should we start off with family dinner?”

“How did you start with everyone else?”

“Not with family dinner,” she admits. “They just came over to meet her. But she knows you’re different.”

“Maybe I could cook for you guys,” he muses. “Dinner and a movie, but at your place.”

She laughs. “It’s a little creepy that you’re adapting date ideas into stuff to do with Madi.”

“I’m good at cooking, it makes people like me. If she’s eating your food–”

“I’m doing fine!” Clarke protests. “But yeah, that would probably be good. Cook something kid-friendly, hang out. No sleepover.”

“I know.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know it’s complicated right now. I wish we could spend more time together, but I get it. And it’s not going to be like this forever.”

“No.” She leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet. “Okay, I have to go get her. Saturday, maybe? Come over in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Figure out what Madi wants to eat and text me. I’ll go to the store and pick stuff up. Is there a dessert I can bribe her with?”

“You don’t need to bribe her, she’s going to love you.” She pauses. “But it couldn’t hurt. I’ll see what she wants.”

“You’re the best. Let me know when you get home?”

“Will do.”

He doesn’t spend the next few days stressing about things, but he does spend the next few days planning. He buys Smash Brothers and plays it just long enough to confirm he’s bad at it, buys a bunch of cupcake toppings and experiments with frosting to make sure he’ll be good at it as a group activity, and then he calls his sister so she can tell him he’s trying too hard.

“Definitely. This isn’t an audition, Bell. And it’s not your only chance. If you come on too strong, you’ll probably just freak her out.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She hums, thoughtful. “My advice? Skip the cupcakes this time. Do a baking thing, like, next week. You’ve already got a ton of activities for this one, don’t overload her.”

“When did you get so good at this?”

“Ash’s second birthday,” she says, prompt. “I got over-competitive with some asshole mom from Mommy and Me because I wanted to throw the best party ever and I planned, like, fifteen more things than those kids could ever do. Or wanted to do. They burned out so hard. And it’s not like you want to set expectations that high. You want to just be a normal part of her life, right? Not the magical guy who shows up once a week with a Mary Poppins bag full of shit.”

“That’s true, I should keep her expectations low.”

“Just stop stressing, okay? Clarke loves you, her kid will put up with you no matter what, it’s going to be fine.”

“I want it to be good.”

“It’ll probably be good too. Seriously, just give it time.”

“This is still the most mature advice you’ve ever given me.”

“I’m actually a pretty kickass mom. And you were a pretty good big brother with too much responsibility, and Clarke’s going to be a good foster parent. Just let it happen.”

So Bellamy leaves his cupcake-decorating kit at home, goes to the store to pick up a pretty normal–albeit Madi-approved–dinner, and brings that and his switch over to Clarke’s house on Saturday afternoon around three.

Clarke answers the door, leaning up to give him a kiss. “Hi. You look normal.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I meant you’re not obviously dying of stress.”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, so–what does she know?”

“You’re my boyfriend, but we were friends for a long time before we started dating. It’s new but pretty serious, but I don’t want her to feel pressured to take on too much family all at once. You’re a dork who tries to hard, but it’s because you care.”

“That all sounds about right. I brought video games for us to play.”

“Am I included in that us?”

“It’s on Switch, so you can be if you want to be, yeah. Depends on how much of a family activity you’re looking for.”

“I’ll supervise for now.” She kisses him again. “She’s going to love you, don’t worry.”

Madi is in the living room already, her attention fixed on a book in a way that makes Bellamy think she’s not actually reading so much as avoiding looking at anything else. Not that he blames her, really; if he was Madi, he’d be trying and failing to play it cool too. That’s the ten-year-old experience in a nutshell.

“Madi, this is my boyfriend, Bellamy.”

“Hey,” says Bellamy, offering her a smile. She puts her book aside and stands, offering her hand, formal and a little stiff. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.”

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, it’s just for school.”

“Bellamy teaches high-school history,” Clarke says. “So he always likes hearing about school stuff.”

“And pretty much all books. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty good. Especially for a school book.”

“Cool. Well, if you want to keep reading, don’t let me stop you. I can read too, I’ve got stuff on my phone.”

“What did you want to do?” she asks, sounding a little wary.

“You met Nate and Monty, right? And played some video games?” She nods. “They beat me every time we play, so I’m trying to get better. Seriously,” he adds, before she can say anything. “I like role-playing games and stuff, I’m good at those, but I never got the hang of fighting games. I just button-mash. So if you want to practice on someone on your level, that would be fun.”

“He really does suck,” Clarke puts in. “Even I beat him sometimes.”

“And I really don’t get Smash Brothers.”

Madi’s still frowning. “So, you want to learn how to be better at video games with me?”

He shrugs. “And get to know you, but–video games would be a fun way to do that, right?”

“Depends on how fun it is to play video games with you,” she says, and that makes him smile.

“Yeah, fair enough. You want to find out?”

They start with Smash Brothers, which is a franchise he only vaguely understands. It’s fun enough and he’s played various versions with Miller over the years he’s known him, but he also knows there’s a lot of history he doesn’t get.

“I don’t even recognize half the characters,” he admits to Madi. “Like, Marth. Where did Marth come from? What is it?”

“Fire Emblem,” says Madi, to his surprise.

“What’s Fire Emblem?”

“It’s a tactical RPG series.” She worries her lip. “I really like video games? So I watch videos on YouTube and stuff, Let’s Plays or whatever? But I’ve never had a game system of my own to play on, and it turns out I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” says Clarke, sitting down on Madi’s other side. “Miller and Monty are sharks. I think they have fans online who watch them play. Just because you didn’t win playing against them your first time playing doesn’t mean anything.”

“We can definitely get better,” Bellamy says. “Especially you. But is this what you want to get better at?”

Madi shoots him a look. If nothing else, she seems fairly comfortable talking to him. That’s not nothing. “What do you mean?”

“Are there games you want to play more than Smash Brothers? Would you rather be doing Fire Emblem?”

“Smash Brothers is fine.”

“I’ve got other stuff. Breath of the Wild is pretty cool. I’m worse at Mario Kart than I am at Smash Brothers but it’s fun to play with Clarke, she’s so bad.”

“Shut up,” says Clarke, without heat.

“Breath of the Wild looked cool, but I like Smash too. I want to unlock more characters.”

He lets it go at that, and they spend an enjoyable afternoon playing together. Clarke gets in on it sometimes, but she also wanders off to do other things, leaving the two of them alone to get to know each other. Bellamy already knows the bones of Madi’s life from Clarke–parents died when she was young, sent to her grandmother and then into foster care when her grandmother couldn’t take care of her anymore–but it’s different hearing it from her, and sharing his own past with her in return.

It feels like it’s going well.

Over dinner, he asks, “So, what are your favorite games that you watch online? Or as Let’s Plays?”

She mulls it over. “I like watching people play Overwatch, but I don’t think I want to play it? Skyrim’s cool, and Fallout. I don’t know if I have a favorite.”

“Any you wish you could play? Or the ones you wish you could play most.”

Another pause. “Kingdom Hearts,” she decides.

“Is that the Disney one?” he asks.

Clarke holds up her hand. “The what?”

“It’s the Disney one, yeah. Square Enix,” she says, turning her attention to Clarke. “That’s a big gaming company. They decided to make a game with Disney, and it’s really fun. They have new characters too but they’re going between different Disney worlds. So you get to play in a bunch of movies.

"Have you played that one?” Clarke asks him.

“No, but I’ve heard of it. It’s on Playstation, right?”

“Yeah, and it’s kind of like Smash Brothers too because it’s got characters from other games too. The third game in the main series is supposed to be coming out soon after, like–a really long time. I think the second one came out before I was born? But there are a lot of spin-offs too, so it’s not like there’s been nothing.”

“I’ve got a PS4 too,” Bellamy muses. “I could probably get Kingdom Hearts, right?”

“You don’t have to,” Madi says quickly. “I didn’t mean–”

“I’ll see how much it is. It sounds fun, and I’ve always been kind of curious about it. You could play and I could watch and try to help you figure out what to do.”

He can see her struggling with what to say, the urge to minimize her own wants at war with how much she does want it. Bellamy’s not rich or anything, but he’s more than financially stable enough to buy a video game, especially one his girlfriend’s foster kid will like. He’s impulse-bought games for way worse reasons.

“If you want to,” she finally says, and he smiles.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Clarke washes the dishes while he and Madi play a couple more rounds of Smash, and then they watch a movie. Madi makes it to the end, but just barely, and Clarke sends her to bed after that.

“It went okay, right?” he murmurs into her hair. He’ll have to go home sooner or later, but he’s opting for as much later as he can manage. “I didn’t push too hard or anything.”

“I don’t think so. Are you getting the game?”

“Yeah. I might ask Monty and Miller if they have any old game systems she can have too. If you’re good with that.”

“Yeah, that would be great. I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Did she know she liked games so much before?”

She shakes her head, smiling a little. “No, that was new. She must really like you,” she teases.

He kisses her hair, settles in closer. “I hope so.”

He spends the next morning lost in the incredibly confusing tangle of Kingdom Hearts wikipedia pages and comes to the conclusion that if he can get Madi a PS3, she should at least be able to experience Kingdom Hearts I and II, if not all of the confusingly named and numbered side games.

“Probably,” says Miller. “Honestly, Kingdom Hearts is so weird, I assume there’s a spin-off you can only play on the back of Japanese cereal boxes.”

Based on his morning reading, Bellamy would believe that. “So do you have an old PS3 you’re not using?”

“You know can get them on PS4 too,” he points out. “You don’t need to get an older system to experience them as they were meant to be experienced.”

“Not for me, for Madi. Apparently that’s the number-one game she wants to play, and if I go out and buy her a PS4, that’s definitely trying too hard.”

“Yeah, definitely. Does it have to be a PS3?”

“Not if you have something else that can play it instead, I guess. Don’t tell me you guys have an extra PS4.”

“No,but I think we have some old PS2s. I think Monty might even have Kingdom Hearts around. We can take a look, make sure everything’s working, but as long as it is, Madi’s welcome to it.” He pauses. “Do you get credit for being the cool boyfriend if we’re the ones doing all the work?”

“I’m coordinating,” he says. “And I’m going to help her.”

“With what? You’ve never played Kingdom Hearts.”

“It’s an RPG, I’m good at RPGs.” He pauses. “And I was going to buy it and play it on my own so if she has questions I can answer them.”

Miller eyes him. “You probably don’t need to work this hard, you know? She’s a good kid, you’re a good guy, you’re going to be fine.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “I’m not an expert or anything, but I remember after my mom died, I always felt like an after-thought to people. Especially adults. So I want Madi to feel like she’s our top priority. Put in the effort for her. In a non-creepy, not trying too hard way,” he adds. “So asking my friend if he’s got an old game system she can use seems fine.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty normal. Downloading the game so you can be her guru is–” He pauses. “Actually, yeah, that’s cute. You’re going to be a great dad. Or whatever else you and Clarke end up calling it.”

“That’s the plan,” he says. “Thanks for helping out.”

He shrugs. “What can I say? You need to work a lot harder to be cool than I do.”

According to Monty, the Playstation 2 is fully functional and the Kingdom Hearts games work as well on it as they ever have. Then he gives Bellamy a long list of tips and a rant about the game’s lore, so he definitely has a resource of his own to go to if he can’t figure it out without Madi.

But Clarke doesn’t see it that way. “I really don’t think you should play on your own.”

“No?”

“I get the impulse, and it’s cute, but the internet exists and is right there. If she can’t figure something out, you guys can work on it together and google it if you have to. But if you’re playing on your own, there’s no reason for you to play with her, right? If you’ve never played, you’re discovering it together.”

He smiles. “That does sound good. Do you think I’m working too hard at this?”

“No. I think you care about it, so you want to do it right. That’s good.”

“Here’s hoping Madi thinks so too.”

“I think she will, yeah. She’s still kind of–it’s a lot for her, I think? Having so many people who are working really hard to make her like them. She’s not used to people caring about her opinion so much.”

“Local thirty-somethings very invested in ten-year-old’s opinion,” he says, making her laugh.

“Pretty much. But we had a talk about how long I’ve been waiting for a foster kid and how much I want one, and how supportive all you guys are, and I think she gets that she’s a big deal for us. Even if that’s weird.”

“Does she know I want to be a part of the family some day?” he asks, which is, admittedly, something of a roundabout way of asking if Clarke gets that, too. In case he hasn’t made it clear enough.

“Honestly, I think she doesn’t get why you’re not a part of the family already. I said you’d probably be coming by once a week and she was like, that doesn’t seem like a lot.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Clarke bites the corner of her mouth. “What happened to slow and careful?”

“Maybe we can focus on careful, but not slow. If I want to play Kingdom Hearts with her, it would kind of suck if I was just around once a week, right?”

“It would.” She leans up to kiss him. “I could see you more.”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you could.”

While Clarke goes to pick Madi up from her social worker’s appointment, Bellamy gets the old Playstation set up and makes sure the game is working as promised, fools around with it just long enough to make sure everything’s in working order before making himself stop and focus on anything else.

It’s a nice surprise and she’s going to like it. He did good here.

“Hey, Bellamy,” she says, when she gets in. It’s their fourth time meeting, and he’s looking forward to the day when that’s something he stops being able to count on one hand. “Are you not coming on Saturday anymore?”

“Clarke and I thought I could start coming more than once a week,” he says. “If you’re good with that. Plus, I’ve got something for you.”

She looks surprised, but pleased. “What?”

“I told you Monty and Miller have a ton of games, right? I thought they might have some old ones they didn’t want, too. And when I asked about Kingdom Hearts, they said they had a Playstation 2 and an old copy of the game you can have. So–” He falters, voice melting away and leaving only what feels like a very sheepish smile. “It sounded pretty fun when you talked about it, so I thought maybe you could show me.”

Her own smile blossoms like springtime, warm and bright. “Really?”

“Yeah. I got it hooked up and checked to make sure it worked, so you should be all set.”

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft and genuine. “This is–I’m really excited.”

“Me too,” he says. “Let’s boot it up.”

She finishes the first game and is a week into the second when she says, “You have a PS4, right?”

“At home, gathering dust, yeah. I figured I’d bring it over soon. Why?”

“Because once I’m done with this one, I’m going to want to play Kingdom Hearts III, and that’s on PS4. So it would be a lot easier if you were just already here already. You and the PS4. Like–all the time.”

“Are you asking me to move in for Clarke?” he asks, unable to keep a grin off his face.

“Well, she’s not doing it, so someone has to.”

“I guess when you put it like that,” he says. “And I wouldn’t want to miss out on Kingdom Hearts III.”

She settles against his side, smiling like she won some great victory instead of asking him to do exactly what he’s been wanting to do basically since the second he and Clarke started dating. “I thought not. It’s going to be really fun.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I bet it is.”

[motiveandthemeans]

Prologue: History Always Repeats Itself

A pair of sea glass green eyes surveyed the London skyline; taking in her sights, smells and sounds. Cataloguing the different bus routes and tube stations, the families pushing prams, the couples holding hands and Rugby players prowling from bar to bar. The oppressively hot afternoon had given way to a gentle summer breeze, teasing her dark auburn locks.

It had been a riotous day, full of celebration and merriment. Her best friend had just graduated medical school and has agreed to take run of Watson & Watson Surgery, the practice her father and mother started together. The rooftop of 221 B Baker Street was a welcomed escape from the downstairs festivities.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know. I know you’re upset I’ve taken up at surgery.”

Amelia Elizabeth Anne Holmes looked over her shoulder at her blonde counterpart. “Mmmmm, do you now, Watson? How very astute of you. Must be some sort of record.”

“No, no we agreed!” Rosamund replied, walking to stand beside her leggy friend. “I need to hone my practice before we go traipsing across London solving crimes and getting ourselves in sticky situations.”

The brunette scoffed, crossing her arms with a pout. “Where is your sense of adventure, Rosie? You can’t honestly tell me the idea doesn’t appeal to you. We’ve been solving crimes together since we were seven and eight years old.”

“Yes and if it wasn’t for Greg Lestrade, God rest his soul, we’d probably been arrested by 11 and where would we be then?” The good doctor replied triumphantly, downing the rest of her champagne.

Amelia’s bow lips frowned. “That’s completely irrelevant. We cannot entertain hypotheticals, we must examine our lives as they are before us.”

“Mercy you sound like your father.” Rosie laughed, slinging her arms across her brunette friend’s shoulders a bit drunkenly. “Don’t fret, Holmes. It’ll all work out.”

“Ever the optimist, Watson.”

“C’mon, our mothers are drunk and I have a feeling our fathers are eager to get them home.” Rosie laughed, taking her friend by the arm and dragging her away from the rooftop garden.

“I distinctly remember the last time that happened I ended up with a baby brother.” Amelia grumbled, elegant long strides outpacing Rosie’s petite steps.

Rosie Watson groaned, burying her head in her hands. It was 12:05 on her 295th day at Watson & Watson Surgery and she was already weighing the benefits of strangling herself with a stethoscope versus continuing on with the next impending case of strep throat or chlamydia.

“Rosie, dear, your twelve o’clock, Mr. Clarke, is here.” Heather, the medical assistant said in her sing-song tone. “Says he’s got ‘hot pins in his pecker when he pisses.’”

She gave her a tight smile. “Great. Thanks a lot Heather. Be there is a jig.”

Heather shut the door to her office and Rosie let out an exasperated sigh and rested her forehead against the desk. She went into medical school with the notion of excitement and joy at the idea of being a doctor. Her father always gushed about how rewarding it was to be there for a person at their lowest point. She understood paying her dues, but was this all really worth it? Graduated top of her class, with honors. All for the Chlap?

“Ah, Watson.” A new voice interjected into her train of thought. “Love what you’ve done with the office. Very…”

“Quaint?”

“Small.” Amelia scrunched her nose up, settling in the chair across from her. “Or cozy, which ever you prefer.”

“What do you want, Mia?” the young doctor grumbled. “If you’re trying to snag a prescription for morphine, I’d remind you we do them electronically now. So your knack for forgery had now been antiquated.”

“Oh please, like that would stop me.” She replied nonchalantly. “I need your help. I’ve come across a rather curious case that is out of my range of knowledge.”

“Please tell me you didn’t flirt with the pathology students again to gain access to Bart’s morgue? You know your mother hates when you do that.” Rosie admonished, standing to put on her fancy white coat, a gift from her parents upon passing boards.

Her dark haired friend smirked. “Ask no questions, I will tell no lies.”

“Cheeky, Holmes…” Rosie flipped open her iPad, reviewing her patient chart. “Well, what’s the question? And be quick about it. I’m betting Mr. Clarke’s got a nasty case of Trichomonas.”

“Riveting.” Amelia said dismissively. “Suppose a man was found dead on a pool deck in the middle of the hottest summer in 20 years, who upon examination was found to have died of hypothermia. Time of death is around 2 in the afternoon.”

Rosie raised a quizzical brow and tried to bite back a grin that for all the world reminded Amelia of her Aunt Mary. “Do you have any other information?”

“Perhaps. Interested?”

“No. I’m perfectly content in learning my chosen trade of medicine but you won’t leave until I give you my opinion so let’s just get on with it.”

Amelia produced a file seemingly out of thin air.

“Hmmmm, hematocrit is increased by five percent, plasma potassium levels are definitely out of range, glucose below 40…all labs point towards hypothermia.” Rosie said. “So how does a person die during the hottest part of the day, on a public pool deck, of cold stress?”

“Still not intrigued, Rosamund?”

Rosie stared down the taunting look in her best friend’s sea green eyes. “No. But if I were you I’d look into blood recently stolen from the blood bank.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s on the transplant list, waiting on a kidney.” She said. “Perhaps there was something haywire with his dialysis.”

“Curious case indeed! But who would want a special education instructor dead?” Amelia mused with morbid glee. “Oh yes, this case in improving by the hour!”

“Improving? The man’s still dead, Mia!”

“Yes well that’s not really the point though is it?” Amelia replied. “Come along, Watson. There’s work to be done.”

“Mia, I have a job. I can’t just drop everything and leave! It’s patient abandonment.”

“As you wish. I’ll keep you informed of my progress.” The brunette said placidly, walking out of the office. “Give my best to Mr. Clarke!”

“You’re welcome!” Rosie called after the closing door. With another angry huff, she gathered her things and prepared for her appointment with Mr. Clarke.

She looked at the clock: 12: 13. The day just wouldn’t end.

Amelia Holmes paced the length of 221 B Baker Street. She knew that the victim, Mr. Halliwell, had been killed by one of the medical professionals he’d come into contact with. Only the nurse who had administered the blood in dialysis swore up and down that she’d warmed the blood before administration. Amelia had seen no lie her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but why am I here?” Her youngest brother, Theodore, asked confusedly from the couch where he was reading a textbook on mammalian anatomy.

“Because I need inspiration.”

“On why someone’s been murdered?”

“Obviously…” She drawled as if it was the most obvious conclusion in the world.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asked off handedly. “Mummy will be terribly cross if you start losing weight again.”

“Your point?”

“Well, I go back to university in the September. I can’t be in three places at once, keeping an eye on you is a full time job in that of itself.”

Mia frowned. “I’m going to miss having you here.”

Teddy gave her a sweet smile. “You’re just saying that because I make better tea than you do.”

“Figured it out, have you?” She smarted back with a wink. “Well, in any case it seems I’m in need of a flatmate.”

“It’s twins!” A new voice said triumphantly. “I know it!”

Amelia looked over at the doorway to see a flushed Rosie, still in the smart clothes she’d worn to surgery. “Don’t you have work? It’s only 4 o’clock. Your last patient isn’t till six.”

“He’s got a twin brother that’s been sleeping with his wife.” Rosie continued. “I went to the school where he works, she’s not exactly bereaved by the loss of her husband of 36 years and she looked awfully cozy with his brother at the funeral. I followed them to a posh French restaurant just down the road. They’d only started on wine when I left.”

“You went to the funeral?” The youngest Holmes asked, bewildered at her audacity.

“It’s never twins, Watson.” Amelia deadpanned. “Have you learned nothing from Sherlock?”

“You can call him Dad, you know.” Teddy said amusedly, setting aside his book and moving to the kitchen to start tea. The apartment looked much the same as it had when Sherlock and John had lived there, except the kitchen table that had once occupied lab equipment now played host to several monitors, CPU’s, laptops and GPS.

“I prefer to call father by his name when working in a professional capacity.” She said retrieving her black Chanel bag and Burberry trench. “Don’t wait up Theodore!”

“I never do!” He called back. Amelia smiled at her brother’s cheek.

“Wait, you’re not suggesting we actually stalk them?” Rosie replied indignantly.

“You followed them to a funeral and you think going to the same restaurant is over stepping bounds?”

“Well, girl’s gotta have a code.” She shrugged.

“Come along, Watson.” The consulting detective smirked. “The game is on.”

“Well, that was quite invigorating!” Amelia announced loudly, an exhausted Rosie dragging her feet into Baker Street at 2 am. “I never would have suspected the wife would be in cahoots with the sister-in-law to kill the husbands for a measly state pension.”

“If I were writing a blog, I’d entitle this case A Study in Fuchsia.” The blond yawned. “I’m beat. I’ll sleep in Granny’s room.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t run into Cedric.” Amelia waggled her brows salaciously.

Rosie rolled her eyes. “I’m over that childhood infatuation.”

“Whatever you say.” Amelia intoned.

They stood quietly in the entryway, the heaviness of the situation palpable.

“Look, Amelia. This doesn’t mean that I’m going to quit surgery. It was a one off.”

Amelia nodded. “Goodnight, Rosie.”

“Night, Mia.”

Amelia walked out of 221 B at 3pm the next afternoon, having not slept for quite some time while on the case. In the chair that had once been occupied by her father, Rosamund Mary Watson sat drinking tea and reading her iPad, dressed in ironed clothes and fresh make-up. She spied several suitcases by the door, though they weren’t Teddy’s luggage.

“Ms. Holmes, I hear you’re in need of a flatmate.” She said, setting the tea cup down.

“Word travels fast.” Mia grinned. “Could be handy having a doctor around.”

“Is there a vacancy?” Rosie teased with a sly grin. “I hear every consulting detective needs a physician with a penchant for writing.”

[juki-ronin]

...oh...wow, you guys I just noticed this.

I just...wow.

About a year ago I started this blog with the intent of practicing writing for a story featuring Clark as the main character.  During this time, I learned a lot of things:

I learned how to trim fluff writing for my posts.

I learned that talking to your RP partners shouldn’t be something you’re afraid to do mid-RP.

I learned that I shouldn’t be so conscious about posting my face for Mundays (which I swear I’ll try posting more often for).

I learned that posting Musings is actually a very good way to get the creative juices flowing.

I learned that it’s OK to be bummed when I hit a dry spell of activity, and that no lack of activity lasts forever.

Most of all though, I learned that...you guys are really amazing.

I know that probably 10% of the blogs that follow me are dormant, and I know that 500 of my posts aren’t dedicated to strict RPs, but...idk guys I just feel grateful to have made an impact here.

A long time ago on Tumblr I tried making an ask blog with a similar premise and it bombed.  It didn’t help that I was a huge dork at the time, with NO idea on how to socialize since, most of my socializing online was with very close friends and I didn’t know how to dial it back for people I was just meeting (needless to say I was socially clueless).

But now I feel like I’ve grown as a person, at least a little, and the fact that...well idk how else to put it, the fact that you cared enough to follow me and interact with me...

I’m really grateful.

I don’t plan on stopping this blog anytime soon, nor do I feel like I have a reason to.  Even when I finish Clark’s story I’ve enjoyed this blog too much to let it go.

I’m really sorry if this sounds super sappy, right now I’m in a “do or die” scenario this semester at college (TLDR, vague instructions, grades are up in the air, if I don’t pass my grandma flies to see me graduate nothing, big mood amirite?), and this news put me in such a good mood.  In fact, I’m shouting out to all the mutuals I’ve RP’d with so far, because you guys deserve it:

@stinging-redemptixn-deactivated - I REALLY wish I knew what your main blog was cuz no lie you really helped me out confidence wise when it came to public RPing, even if we only planned an RP, I really look forward to when you have the time so we can get it off the ground, you’re an awesome person and I hope everything’s A-OK in your life right now!

@spears-specials/ @i-always-watch - Dude, plotting out Clark and Takuma’s first encounter (hopefully the first of more to come lol) was insanely fun.  I really appreciated how much you liked my ideas and how fun it was chatting with you, we need to talk more man! lol

@moonlightsn / @omgderpington - I legitimately love how much care you put into your muse’s backstory, and hearing about stuff you like (Like F13) is really engaging!  I really do appreciate the time we RP’d together and hope we can continue whenever you’re free.

@master-glass - I know you’re AFK from tumblr rn but dude you’re the fuckin’ best, I love having you as a friend in general.

@bubblemom - Sweet, fun, creative as hell, idk what to say you’re legit one of the nicest people I’ve seen on tumblr and you don’t deserve bad days.  IDK if Clark and Caesar will ever interact again but regardless It’s just a huge pleasure knowing you just, for real, thanks a lot. =D

@stillwouldhavesavedyou - Your Bruce is SERIOUSLY one of my favorites of all time man.  And hey as a person you’re really cool, you’re easy to talk to and fun to plot out stuff with.  I appreciate you taking a random guy during an Open Starter and running with it, you actually inspired some big ideas I had for Clark, seriously man, thank you!

@darkestxsidexofxthexmoon - We didn’t RP much, but for real, I loved the concept of your muse and his stand, and did enjoy what we did RP.  IDK what else to say you seem like a real cool person. =)

@on-crimson-wings - You had me hooked at “Raven’s Bizarre Hiking Adventures”. XD  Made even better that Raven herself is an amazing character, and I really enjoy her and Clark’s interactions with each other!  And hey, takes an amazing person to write an amazing character, I need to answer more of your memes I feel baaad.  Just, thanks for existing (oh and for Finnigan haha).

@moonlitocs - OK so technically we haven’t RP’d yet but it wouldn’t feel right NOT mentioning you here.  I appreciate how smooth plotting went for our characters meeting, you have a lot of great ideas!  And honestly, it meant a lot that you wanted to RP with me, considering how small this blog was compared to most JJBA blogs at the time.

@askpredator / @purplepimpryda (IDK why it’s not mentioning you apologies, tumblr is dumb sometimes) - Shadow is an GREAT muse, and the I really like not only the interactions he and Clark had, but your writing style in general when describing his side of the RP.  You inspired me to be more flexible when it came to how he crossed over with other muses, and inspired me to watch a legitimately good action/thriller film lol  While Shadow’s on indefinite hiatus, I wish you the best in life and your other blog w/ your other muse. =D

@pressurecooked - I legit love Mio as a character and was so endeared by her most recent post.  She’s someone I’m so excited to learn more about, and I feel bad cuz I wanna interact with your muse memes but her and Clark barely said a word to each other directly so it’s up in the air what their relationship is like ugh idk I just really like where this RP is headed and excited to see where it DOES lead.

@foxglcved - You are a cool person.  While Clark and Hikari really haven’t had any substantial interactions, you’re just a real friendly and legit nice person that I feel honored you followed me considering how well-written your muse is.  Seriously, super-creative, super entertaining, I look forward to RPing with you in the future.  Seriously you’re super cool.

Honestly I just really just appreciate the time you’ve given me and appreciate how far I’ve come as not just an RPer but as a writer.  Writing is my passion in life and I’m only able to practice my craft thanks to people like you.  Again maybe i’m just in a very sappy mood but, for what it’s worth.

Thank you guys, I couldn’t ask for better mutuals.

[midnightiscoming-kasabian]

*Noel [Gallagher Fielding]

DIY Magazine, August 2017

Kasabian: Forever having the last laugh

Much loved and misunderstood in equal measures, Kasabian are still the band your mother warned you about. 

Keep reading

Back in 1998, when Tom Meighan was 17 years old, he stepped out onto the stage of The Shed in Leicester in front of a group of friends and family and began Kasabian’s first ever gig as though he were headlining Glastonbury. “I remember hiding behind the stairs and then appearing like it was some fucking [arena]. That’s the level my head was at then,” he recalls. “It was all our mates in the crowd, so everyone’s gonna tell you you’re good. But we knew we were good anyway. We knew we had something special.” Fast forward 16 years and four Number One records later to 2014, and Kasabian were headlining Glastonbury for real. This month, now with yet another Number One (current LP ‘For Crying Out Loud’) to add to the tally, they’ll headline Reading & Leeds for the second time. Tonight, they’re headlining Glasgow’s TRNSMT to 50,000 people. Taking top billing alongside Radiohead and hometown heroes Biffy Clyro, theirs is the only day to sell out.

Undeniably, Kasabian are one of the biggest bands in the country, sitting in a top tier cohabited by the likes of Arctic Monkeys, Muse and very few else. It’s a mountain they’ve scaled while being hit with endless criticisms along the way – for their lyrics, their ethos, their entire ‘schtick’; surely no other band of their stature has received such a media mauling as Tom, co-conspirator Serge Pizzorno and bandmates Chris Edwards and Ian Matthews. But through it all, Kasabian have always had two indisputable weapons in their arsenal: a world class live show capable of silencing even the most po-faced of doubters, and a twinkle of the eye that suggests they’re forever having twenty times more fun than any grumbling muso slagging them off. “We’re a big band. We sell albums. People don’t like it, that’s the way it is,” intones Tom, plainly. “We’ve never been arse-licked; we’ve grafted, me and Serge, to where we’ve got. Everyone hated us when we came out and we’re still here. I don’t regret any of [our choices]. It’s all tongue in cheek, you know? That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

Our whirlwind 36 hours within the Kasabian machine begins the night before at Glasgow’s O2 Academy. The band have hired out the venue for a final rehearsal and, despite their flights from Estonia being cancelled the night before, meaning a time-consuming re-routing and a police escort to get them on a train to the city, they’re trucking on regardless. Flight cases emblazoned with the group’s logo fill up the venue and two delivery drivers bearing stacks of pizza boxes higher than their heads arrive to fuel the touring party; when the band appear just before 9pm, Serge recalls how he was bottled the last time they played here, requiring six stitches and leaving bloodied hand prints down the dressing room corridor walls. It’s fair to say that almost everything in Kasabian’s orbit is bigger and madder and more quote-worthy than normal life.

Their reasons for tonight’s additional run through, however, are impressively un-starry. Kasabian don’t like to go into a gig cold - “We’re trying to get this collective mass of people and take them somewhere, but if we have three or four days off, I feel like it takes half a set to get there,” explains Serge. “Whereas now I think, well, we were here last night so we just carry on” - and so for two hours, on the eve of one of their summer’s biggest shows, they play some of this decade’s most hedonistic hits to a handful of non-plussed roadies in an empty room. There’s possibly none more fitting a picture of Kasabian’s strange dichotomy – excessive and purposefully ridiculous yet grounded and down to earth – than watching them blast through a live karaoke version of ultimate sesh anthem ‘Fire’ (Tom’s ducked out by this point) to precisely no-one.“The thing is though, we really care,” enthuses Serge the next day, red roses stitched onto his tracksuit as he lounges with a cup of tea back in the band’s country house hotel. “There’s a responsibility when you’re at the top of the bill to end the night on a massive fucking high, and we’ve built a reputation for that. Anyone who’s indifferent to us and doesn’t get it, misses the jokes and misses the point, they see it live and at the end of the gig they understand. It’s really important to us that people go away thinking…” He pauses. “Well, we try and change your life.”While Tom bats away any mention of the band’s detractors with the dismissive attitude of a man who genuinely doesn’t give a shit (“Nah. Done it. Can’t do anything else. Headlined Glastonbury; got six albums; probably do another 10 more. That’s how it is”), Serge is more frustrated by people’s frequent misconceptions of his band. It’s indicative of the yin-yang personality types at the heart of the duo.

In conversation, Tom is gregarious and hyperactive, with the attention span of a six-year-old on Christmas Day. He says exactly what he thinks and is already distracted by the next thing before you’ve even processed the answer. Serge, meanwhile, is a generous conversationalist, ruminating in depth on any topic he’s given. On stage, Tom, says his bandmate, has been “exactly the same from day one. He was quite a powerful character [even] at school; he’d walk into the year area and you could tell his presence.” Serge, however, has only more recently come to embrace the thrill of the stage. “I didn’t feel the need to be Freddie Mercury - that compulsion some people have to perform,” he explains. “But there was a moment when I realised I can just fuck about. I think about what I can get away with to make the other lads laugh in front of all these people. It’s ridiculous standing on stage, so you should embrace it.” But while Tom and Serge might come from different angles, both have always been united in the pursuit of fun and playfulness, of keeping things just that little bit silly. During the campaign for 2014 LP ‘48:13’, they performed backed by a series of flashing slogans including ‘Free Deirdre’ and ‘Maggot Munch’. When they headlined Glastonbury, their only ‘special guest’ was pal Noel Fielding dressed as a cartoon vampire. Joyously irreverent, theirs is a humour entrenched as much in a Young Ones-esque tradition of eccentric British comedy as one of boisterous British bands. That’s the bit that so many people seem to struggle with. “One of the most frustrating things is when people miss the humour. There’s so much piss taking in everything we do,” begins Serge. “We’re in on the joke, that’s the thing that people don’t seem to understand.” The oft-quoted stereotype, we suggest, is of Kasabian as a kind of real life Spinal Tap, dialling up the rock’n’roll cliché to 11… “It’s that middle class, apologetic, broadsheet opinion,” he replies, getting slightly rattled by the thought. “Kings of Leon: that’s Spinal Tap. Kanye getting stuck on a fucking digger truck at Glastonbury: that’s Spinal Tap. I mean, hearing Kanye singing Freddie Mercury out of tune at Glastonbury is as Spinal Tap as anything anyone else has ever done, so… it’s rich, is what I’m saying. The parody and the ridiculousness of being in a band is all nonsense. It doesn’t matter what kind of band you’re in; it’s all nonsense.”

Back in the early days, around 2004’s self-titled debut, Serge admits that Kasabian embraced all the “nonsense” rather a lot more. “We didn’t think it was gonna last longer than one album, so we decided that we were gonna experience everything we could,” he grins, with the look of a man who’s seen a few detention slips in his time. “We’d turn up to festivals and just fucking go through people. Run in dressing rooms, off our fucking heads – honestly, we were so fucked. No-one liked us. We were just fucking horrible little shits, which was perfect. I love The Stooges and those kinds of bands… We wanted everyone to fucking hate us. It was great. It’s all part of the show.” If social media had existed back then, he notes, “it would have been disgusting”. Now, both Tom and Serge are fathers and in their mid-30s. Five albums after releasing the debut they thought would be their only record, they’ve settled into a space surprisingly far down the other end of the rockstar bullshit spectrum. Say what you want about the on-stage swagger and lairy bangers, but underneath it all Kasabian have kept remarkably grounded. “That’s the thing, we’re just not fucking like that. We live in Leicester with all our families and all our pals and that’s because we saw through the fakeness from day one,” Serge shrugs. “You could reel off the people who’ve turned into dicks and that’s fucked them, but that’s just not us. We saw through it. How can I write music for the people that I relate to if I’m not around them? 50,000 people aren’t gonna relate if I stand around with a load of supermodels opening envelopes. No one gives a fuck about that guy.”

Cut to later that evening and 50,000 people are most certainly giving all the fucks. Having spent the hour before stage time blasting out Beatles songs and milling among a small and unanimously entertaining group of pals including Trainspotting legend Robert Carlyle and a perma-sunglasses wearing old friend only known as The Turtle, Kasabian take to the TRNSMT stage to a deafening roar. “It’s about anticipation, it’s like a boxing match,” notes Tom about the build up to stage time. “We’re like monkeys in a cage, and it’s my job to rattle the cage. I go from Clark Kent to Superman. BANG - like that.” The set, as always, is huge and cathartic and powerful; a 90-minute, all-consuming escape from reality that has the entire field uniformly losing their minds in unison. To paraphrase Serge’s own words previously, even if you don’t get it before, by the end of the gig you’ll understand.Off stage, enjoying a post-show beverage or two, we notice that Serge is wearing not one, but three identical gold Casio watches up his arm. The theory, he explains with that twinkle in his eye, is that casually observed on stage, they’ll look like a standard bit of bling. “But then when you look closer…” he chuckles, with a wink. It’s exactly the kind of weird and wonderful thought process that characterises the songwriter and his band of childhood pals. Some people will scoff and chalk it up as another example of the band’s rockstar buffoonery, but Kasabian have always known it’s far more fun, having a laugh down here with the people. “I genuinely just think life’s too short,” smiles Serge. “The odds of any of this happening. I mean, just to be born in this country alone, you’re already dreaming - then to have the life I’ve had. So I figure, I’ve been given this, and I can’t explain why, but man, I’m going out in a blaze of glory. And I figure if I worry and hide, then what a waste. I’m gonna have the fucking time of my life on that stage. I’m gonna have it so big. And maybe that’s what people see in us? Like, you know what? They’re living it.” 

[thedeadflag]

Here’s more of the Oh No There Is Only One Bed What Do clanya AU

(Part 1)

Part 2 below

Content Warning: transmisogyny, transmisogynistic slurs, transphobia

"I'm just saying..." Clarke argued, a yawn breaking up her statement. "...I mean, that food was delicious. I'm making an excuse to come back soon."

Anya rolled her eyes and led her sluggish tagalong back towards the hotel. "Good for you, Griffin. There's always tomorrow morning. I suggest stopping by sometime after the breakfast rush ends at nine."

"Pshh. You can't avoid me that easy." Clarke shot back with a laugh as they entered the hotel lobby. "Besides, breakfast is always better with company."

She hastened her pace towards the elevator, knowing she'd spent too much time around Clarke already. Even if Lexa might want them rooming together, Anya couldn't spend every waking moment with Clarke attached to her hip. "Who knows what tomorrow brings?" She noted, getting in a vacant elevator, practically punching the button to their floor as Clarke meandered over to the railing and slumped against it, letting out another yawn into the back of her hand.

"Yeah, yeah, so you say. Wait and see, Anya." Clarke mused, eyes slipping shut as they ascended.

It was all Anya could do not to sigh, wondering what fantasy Clarke was concocting in her imagination. Sleepy minds did tend towards the adventurous.

Thankfully, the elevator doors opened seconds later, letting her make her exit down the hall, Clarke falling sluggishly in pursuit. By the time Clarke caught up, she was seated at the side of the bed, checking her phone messages.

"You...you need to slow down, woman." Clarke let out with a huff, fighting for her breath as she strode to the bed. Anya patted the space beside her, waiting for Clarke to predictably take a seat before pushing her over. "Hey!"

"Time for that food coma to kick in. I'll come get you when it's time to get up." Anya asserted, cocking an eyebrow at the downed girl. "Get some rest."

Anya was halfway to the door when Clarke called out after her. "Anya!" Her name was tired and strained as it spilled from Clarke's lips and spread through the room. "Anya, I can't sleep. Not until I know."

There she stood, the hotel room door maybe six or seven feet away, knowing she could leave and hang with Lexa for a while instead of laying it all out there. Sure, she wanted to get it over with, she wanted to take that burden off her shoulders, but at the same time, it'd make her vulnerable, detailing exactly how Clarke had hurt her.

Clarke hadn't earned those details or that sort of intimate trust, but at the same time, it was tiring holding onto those memories and feelings, bearing their complete weight. Still, she didn't have to let Clarke see the full scope. Maybe just the basic details, the facts.

Anya took a deep breath, counting up to five and back down before turning on her heel, talking slow deliberate steps until she stood at the end of the bed, Clarke blearily gazing at her from the headboard she sat up against.

"After I came out, I found I didn't have a lot of friends. We live in a polite enough area that most refused to speak bluntly about me, but most of my friends just vanished overnight. Lexa was the only one who stayed, Costia was still more of an acquaintance until later in first year, and I met one new friend in Nyko. He was big, burly...intimidating, maybe, if you didn't know him. He was genderfluid, and was comfortable in that even if it wasn't a hugely widespread bit of knowledge. He was the only friend I had who could relate to me like that, and I was his only friend like that. In the second half of grade nine, Bellamy Blake and his friends decided to torment him." Anya started, taking a second or two breather to tamp down on her emotions, those old memories still feeling fresh in her mind.

"They'd taunt him, mock and insult him, make up lies about him. Blake would get his friend Murphy to attack him. Nyko was big, but he was a gentle giant, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Wasn't in him to even look at anyone the wrong way. School did nothing, especially given all the complaints Blake and Murphy filed against him. His parents weren't supportive so they did nothing, but we had each other." She continued, that burning feeling in her gut only growing with each word.

"Anya..."

"And then you went to the principal with a complaint that he sexually harassed you. Of course, boys will be boys, so they let Bellamy and Murphy's aggressions against Nyko fly, but someone they thought was a 'boy' harassing a girl? A pretty blonde girl whose mother donated a good chunk of the school's extracurricular budget? Well, they couldn't have that." Anya continued louder, not wanting Clarke to try to speak over or interrupt her again. "And I know Bellamy came to you asking for a favor. I heard the tail end of his little speech to you about how Nyko creeped him, Murphy, and the rest of the guys out and was a perv. And that you going to the principal would help everyone out, and that he'd owe you. But you didn't even hesitate...you didn't even speak to Nyko. You didn't know him, and you sure as hell didn't pay attention to the daily bullshit those assholes put him through. You were a good little girl and did what Blake wanted you to do, and Nyko got expelled. And then his family moved across the country. We both lost our only trans friend, we were both isolated because of you."

Anya held her glare at Clarke, refusing to feel any semblance of emotion over how Clarke's eyes welled with tears. No, she'd be strong, holding her hand up and lifting a finger. "That's the first transphobic fuck-up."

"I didn't know, Anya. I...I was just a kid, I..." Clarke started, voice thick and strained, but the way it tugged at Anya's heartstrings only made her angry. Clarke didn't deserve that reaction.

"So was he. So was I. You were old enough to know better. You'd already started towards establishing a GSA for the next school year. Of course, it also didn't help that in your GSA, you let some of those so-called 'allies' in, like Bellamy. And Finn, who literally knew I'm trans and repeatedly mocked and insulted me over it in the halls, not to mention whenever he and others could get away with it in class. Not to mention the times he'd grab at me in the halls. Here's a fun fact...Lexa only started going to your GSA meetings because Costia dragged her to it, and she only became your friend because she wanted you to have some non-toxic people in the group in hopes of eventually creating a safer environment. Which didn't work, but it was a valiant effort on her part." Anya continued, blood pumping and body on edge as soon as Clarke postured up midway through her spiel.

"Okay, I get you hate Bell and Finn and the guys, but they're better now. They've changed. The GSA helped make them better people." Clarke argued, and while her words were entirely ridiculous and had Anya laughing, just the notion that Clarke believed them wholeheartedly stung her enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Anya shook her head, trying to control her fury, her rage, her anguish, but she knew some of what she felt was leaking out of her as she placed her hands on the bedposts. "So when they paid Ontari two hundred dollars last year to date me long enough to grab some clothes of mine and some candid nudes...you're saying they were changed men? When they passed the pictures around between their friends and the rest of the school? How about when they gave one of my stolen dresses to Finn to wear in the student's council assembly...an assembly that you organized and planned out, by the way...in a blatant act of mocking me and reducing me to a man in a dress? During an assembly with mandatory fucking attendance...you're telling me they were better people?"

She'd honestly hoped to feel some satisfaction as Clarke's composure crumbled away to nothing, the girl reduced to a crying, confused mess. That she felt absolutely nothing in the way of relief only had her own tears threatening to spill over in the frustration of it all. If venting couldn't make her feel better, then what good was it?

"And don't give me shit about you not knowing I was trans. The jokes were blatantly transmisogynistic, Finn's character was named goddamned 'Asia', it doesn't take a genius to know who, or at least what kind of people he was targeting. And besides, you clapped along with all the rest of the crowd, and praised their antics as if they hadn't taken a baseball bat to my dignity." Anya seethed, grabbing her phone and setting an alarm for later that morning. "Not to mention your segue to the next skit, the whole 'speaking about mysteries down under' shit when you lead into Ontari's act? That's some cissexist bullshit, straight from the source."

"Anya...I...I..."

"Shut up, Clarke! You...look, there's a bunch of other smaller shit, like the genderbend days that were total transphobic horseshit, but you...you were supposed to be one of the good ones! You helmed the GSA and you took the side of our fucking abusers, you couldn't even tell that your friends were hellishly homophobic and transphobic! Hell, you enabled them whenever they needed it, and you couldn't see anything wrong with what you did." She ranted, setting her phone down on the dresser across from the bed, taking a deep breath or two to calm herself, at least temporarily, before things got out of hand. Her emotions were already spiraling out, so she needed to end it.

"Maybe you're not a monster like Bellamy, Murphy, Ontari, or Finn, but you dated two of the three guys, and you unleashed them whenever they asked, so what does that say about you as not just our school's LGBT rep, but as a human being? And you helped them out with hurting me and others like me whenever the opportunity came up, so yeah, Clarke. Of course I don't want to share a damned bed with you, I can hardly stand being in the same room as you." She finished, shaking her head as she marched off and out of the room, ignoring Clarke's heaving breaths and avoiding another glance at her.

Her composure fell away piece by piece with every step closer to her destination, leaving her barely holding it together by the time she gave her standard triple-rap at Lexa's door.

She couldn't see who answered the door for the tears in her eyes, but she didn't have to when the aroma of Costia's usual jasmine and green apple moisturizer washed over her, her friend's arms wrapping around her and shuffling her inside.

"It's gonna be alright, baby girl. Whatever happened, we've got you." Costia softly whispered as Anya let out her grief into Costia's neck, sobs coming out hard and fast, heart twisting in agony.

"Let's get her over here where it's comfier." Lexa added, another pair of arms guiding them deeper into the room, eventually helping sit Anya down on the bed. "I'm sorry, Anya. Whatever I hoped would happen, it wasn't this."

Anya shook her head as she slumped back against the pillows, fighting to steady her breathing as Lexa and Costia settled in at her sides. "I...I told her. About ev...everything." She let out, white-knuckling the covers. "And nothing changed. It still hurts the same. Still burns the same."

"I'm sorry, honey. Is there anything we can do?" Costia asked, backs of her fingers grazing Anya's cheek.

"I can switch places with you tonight. You can sleep here with Cos." Lexa offered, but as much as that idea sounded wonderful, she couldn't be that selfish.

"No, no. This is your last full weekend together before Costia leaves for her internship out west. You'll barely see each other before you meet back up at University...no, you two sleep here. I refuse to split you up." Anya asserted, giving her head a slight shake before wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just...it sucks so much. Carrying this around for so long and then...nothing. Goddamn nothing."

Anya didn't resist when Lexa rolled her onto her side, arms slipping around her waist as her cousin shuffled in behind her. "I wish I could make it better."

Even if all her venting hadn't resulted in a drop of relief, even if her heart still felt so damn heavy, there was always something nice about being close with Lexa. And Costia, ever so affectionate with a kiss to her forehead, always made her feel a little warmer.

And maybe it wasn't what she wanted, or what she needed, but it was enough to lessen the ache, at least for a little while.

Anya would accept that any day.

Twelve paces behind. Enough to keep sight of her companion for the day, but enough to stay out of Anya's way.

It was a wonder she'd been able to even nap after the brutal takedown earlier in their hotel room. She'd underestimated her impact, having long since tired of Anya's hostility, but as it turned out, she was deserving of it all.

Hell, I deserved a lot worse than that...Clarke mused as she checked out some fan art in the marketplace. It was a mystery why Anya even bothered to collect her and let her tag along.

It'd been a good, solid day full of panels, seminars, autograph signings, and occasional trips by the marketplace between the slots of their planned schedule. She'd only really been interested in three things that day, two of which Anya had ensured they attended, and the third was later that evening, so she had absolutely zero complaints, often finding the events she followed Anya into surprisingly interesting. Compared to the previous year's breakneck pace she and the others set, she was having a relatively relaxing time, even considering the guilt and awkwardness between her and Anya.

Which, really, felt like terrible acid reflux, burning up her throat any time she considered talking, lingering as a deep-seated pit of nauseous remorse whenever Anya looked her way or was within touching distance.

Clarke glanced to her left, where Anya was seemingly haggling with some comic book artist. It was hard to even glance at the girl, knowing what she'd done, knowing the pain she'd caused. Knowing how badly she'd let down not just her people, but all LGBT people of her school. She'd tried to be the good guy, but definitely fell far from the goal, given all Anya had told her. It'd been her job to provide safety and acceptance for others like herself, and she'd not only failed, but hadn't seen the harm her friends had caused, and in turn ended up prioritizing them as allies over the other students who needed her help and acceptance the most.

Her body had been wracked with a hurricane of emotions, but her brain had been in overdrive, trying to remember the past few years and all her decisions, all the things she said or did that might have hurt someone.

People she'd considered her friends, as flawed as she understood them to be, had led the charge in heinous acts, using her support to make things happen, and that made her sick to her stomach. How she'd been incapable of seeing the truth of their intentions, Clarke wasn't sure, but there was nothing but sincerity and anguish in Anya's eyes earlier. There was no reason to doubt her truth.

And that was a harrowing reality, leading her to scour her long term memory for much of the morning, at least until her physical exhaustion was matched by her emotional exhaustion, finally forcing her into a brief slumber.

Too brief, certainly, and she felt like a bit of a zombie, but it was hardly as if she could look forward to the end of the day. It was hard to imagine feeling worthy of sleeping on the bed when Anya had taken the bathroom floor the previous night and messed up her back in the process. Anya deserved the bed, but Clarke knew she couldn't fall asleep on the floor, if her mind would allow her sleep at all.

Which left her with precious few options, but she at least had the rest of the evening to figure that out.

At least I won't come away from today empty-handed...she mused, stashing an interesting looking fan graphic novel she'd purchased into her bag.

She was backing away when she bumped into someone. The market being busy, she turned and lifted a hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean..." She started, voice catching at the sight of Finn, standing there shooting her his usual sly grin.

"You know you're a hard girl to track down." He said, smile growing broader as Clarke glanced around, not spotting anyone else she knew except Anya. Which might have been a relief in another situation, but she was really pulling for Raven to be nearby to give her an easy out.

"Maybe it's because I've been a secret for so long that I just blend in now." Clarke sniped back, slipping past Finn and making her way towards Anya, who was much deeper into the market by now. "Go away, Finn."

Even with the din of the marketplace, she could still hear his usual tromping. "Come on, we need to talk about us, Clarke."

"There is no 'us'. There never was. Besides, you're here with your girlfriend, Finn." Clarke let out, holding back a frustrated groan at how packed the place was, making it harder to make a clean getaway.

"Raven's at a panel right now. And you know I love you, you know there's something here between us, something special." Finn argued, only motivating Clarke to push her way through a particularly dense part of the crowd.

"A pretty special lie, maybe. You need to..." Clarke countered, charging forward, hoping to put some distance between them, but a firm hand over her wrist stopped her dead in her tracks. "Finn, let go of me!"

"Not until we talk!" Finn yelled, squeezing harder when Clarke tried to pull her arm free, sending a ripple of pain up her arm. "Clarke!"

She winced at the volume of his voice, at the deep ache throbbing at her wrist. She could sense dozens of eyes on her as she pulled at her arm again, his hand not offering any give. "Let go!"

"Listen to her, Collins. I've called security, they'll be here soon." She heard Anya call out, breaking through the crowd, stepping in between them, her fingernails digging into Finn's hand. "Let go of her."

"This has nothing to do with you." He grit out, nostrils flaring as he stared her down.

Thankfully, he finally released his grip a second or two later, giving his hand a shake, but Clarke could hardly focus on that with Anya cradling her wrist with both hands, warm amber eyes full of concern as Anya met her gaze. "Are you okay?"

"I am now." She answered easily, before she really gave her words much thought. Still, Anya's relieved smile was worth it. "Let's get out of here. That panel you wanted to see starts soon."

"You can't just ignore me, Clarke!" Finn yelled as she ushered Anya away, his heavy footsteps following them down the aisle. "I love you, and you're choosing the shemale over me?!"

Clarke spun on her heel, thrusting a finger at Finn's chest as she glared up at him, aghast that he'd out someone like that, that he confirmed Anya's earlier assertions about his transmisogyny. "You're disgusting, how dare you! And Anya's a woman, she's female! Just because you're a raging transmisogynist doesn't mean I have to be!" She yelled, giving him a slight push. "And how fucking misogynistic are you to lie to me and start dating me when you've already got a loving girlfriend? Raven is amazing, and she loves you for whatever fucking reason, but three days after she moves to Boston, you're hitting on me, you gross misogynistic asshole!" Clarke ranted, letting out a sigh of relief as one of the con's security guards approached.

"Is there a problem here?" The guard asked, her eyes flicking between the three of them with caution and concern.

Clarke stepped closer to her and lifted her already bruising, swollen wrist. "He wouldn't let go of me, and he outed my friend over there when she tried to help me get away." She spoke, firm and quiet, holding the older woman's gaze.

The security guard looked at Anya, and then at some of the people nearby that had gathered. Clarke wasn't sure what the woman saw, but apparently it was enough, the security guard crossing the distance to Finn and removing his lanyard pass to the con. "Do either of you ladies want to press charges? I can have the police over here in a few minutes if you'd like."

Clarke looked to Anya, who gave a small shake of her head. "No thanks. We just...we just want him gone."

"Clarke, you can't just do this!" Finn pleaded, but his ugliness was clear as day.

She heard the guard detail something about him being escorted off the premises, but her focus was more on Anya, realizing that her focus had been on Finn and the guard after Anya was outed, rather than Anya herself. "I'm so sorry, are you okay? This is all my fault, it's just I was so angry, and I didn't mean to talk over you or ignore what that must have..."

"Clarke, I'll be fine." Anya interrupted, not looking entirely calm or alright, but still offering a smile nonetheless, even if it was clearly forced. "It's...it's never okay. Hearing that slur...being outed. Even if I'm already out back home, it's nice to blend in for a weekend and not worry so much, but still, it's...I've been through this before. I know how to handle it, it's nothing new from him. I'll be fine."

Still, Anya did look shaken, even a little distressed, so maybe Clarke kept close to Anya on their way to the panel. Maybe she sat a tiny bit closer for the event, and for the rest of the seated events that evening.

Even if she wasn't ideal company, she didn't want Anya to be alone.

Anya made her way down the hotel hallway as slowly as she could reasonably manage, not really looking forward to what waited for her inside. There was only so much of Lexa and Costia's alone time that she felt comfortable encroaching on while keeping the day's mishaps from them, which had her finally heading back to her room around quarter after eleven, hoping that Clarke was already asleep after such a turbulent day.

Not that her own had been a cakewalk, but Anya knew how to compartmentalize well enough. She was out back home, she was used to that, but Comic-Con was one weekend a year that she could just be Anya, the girl that loves sci-fi, combat choreography, fluffy lesbian romances, and whose crushes on Freema Agyeman and Bridget Regan could be considered a little over the top.

It was a big part of why she loved these weekends away, knowing that she could exist outside of being defined by her trans experiences. For a few days a year, she could be defined by other areas of her existence. It was a freeing feeling that she loved, and now even that was tainted.

Of course, she had University coming up, where she could be selective about who she disclosed to, but if she was open about herself there, she might have to find a new place to be free. Maybe she'd have to find the time and coin to get to San Diego's Comic-Con rather than the one in Polis, but she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

For now, she was tired as hell and ready to hit the hay as soon as she got a shower.

Of course, her short term plans had to be dashed as soon as she made them, the bathroom door closed and the shower running. Anya let out a huff and made a beeline for the bed, flopping onto it and avoiding the open laptop.

It was the closest to a comfortable rest she'd likely get that weekend, even if just for a few minutes, so she'd take it. Besides, the hotel stocked pillows were exactly her type, not too firm and not too squishy.

Wanting a more comfortable position, Anya rolled onto her back, stacking two pillows and propping her head onto them, allowing a content hum to escape. That hum tilted upward in curiosity as she focused on the laptop screen, more the fact that she recognized the website that was open, and could see a notepad file was open that had paragraphs of notes.

With her rather agile feet, she took hold of the laptop and brought it up, settling it on her lap as she checked the site and the browser tabs, finding they were all resources and pages she tended to refer people to for education on how to be an ally to trans folks, to help people understand what being trans was. It was a good first step, Clarke being proactive and not immediately riddling her with questions when there were plenty of pre-written resources online already to start with.

Still, if Clarke wanted to do research, Anya could make sure that she covered all her bases. It only took a few minutes to add a few more tabs to Clarke's browser, filling in the holes in her research just in case the girl wouldn't eventually stumble upon them on her own.

Once finished, she put the laptop back where she found it, deciding to enjoy the remaining time alone while she could, just breathing in the quiet solitude, letting it calm her as she relaxed.

After sleeping on a hard floor, it was so easy to just sink into the mattress and let the world fade away.

So very easy.

Anya's eyes fluttered open, a sharp sound from her left echoing in her mind as she gathered her bearings. It was dark, which was a distinct change from before. And she could feel the weight of the sheets folded over her body, unlike before when she'd been relaxing on the bed. She squinted towards the end of the bed, not seeing Clarke's laptop; being a very light sleeper, she would have woken up if it'd fallen off the bed.

All three bits of evidence led to the notion that Clarke had come out of the shower, caught her sleeping, and did what was possible to make her comfortable. Which posed the question of where Clarke was right now.

Carefully, she ambled out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, ears picking up a slight whimper.

"Clarke?" She asked, pressing a palm to the bathroom door, not needing to listen hard to hear the rusting of the sleeping bag's nylon shell. "Clarke, what are you doing?"

"Sleeping." Clarke muttered from the other side of the door. "Go back to bed."

Anya let out a sigh, not understanding how Clarke's memory was so short. "I told you, I don't have to like someone to not want them to hurt. You're injured, Clarke. Get out of there, you're sleeping on the bed."

"I got the bed last night. Your turn." Clarke grumbled, more rustling a sign of her probably shifting around trying to find a more comfortable position. Anya knew it was a fruitless effort.

"That's funny, because I had something else in mind. You're sleeping in my bag." Anya insisted, hearing the scoff clearly from through the door.

"What, this deathtrap? You hurt your back sleeping in this last night. No way." Clarke countered quickly, and Anya couldn't help but grin, knowing Clarke walked right into her trap.

Anya stepped back, leaning against the wall opposite the door. "So you admit it's a shitty place to sleep. Difference is, you're hurt and I'm not. So please, come on out."

"You know that's not happening." Clarke shot back. "I refuse to...I can't..."

The fear and guilt in Clarke's voice were palpable, and even in her post-slumber haze, Anya could put two and two together.  "For fuck's sake, Clarke." Anya let out with a sigh, walking back to the door, leaning her forehead against it. The last thing she wanted was goddamn cis guilt, a useless, selfish response that helped exactly no one. "You hurt me. You hurt any other possible trans people in our school. But you don't get to self-flagellate, no one wants a pound of flesh from you, so stop making yourself an unwanted martyr, stop making this about your feelings, and get out here."

She listened as the sleeping bag rustled some more, a pained grunt following soon after. Anya took a step back and crossed her arms in anticipation, cocking her eyebrow as Clarke slipped out, head hung. She had a sharp-witted remark on the tip of her tongue ready to be slung out, but a single sniffle stole the words from existence, cluing Anya into the slightly trembling shoulders, the hand nursing Clarke's injured wrist, the hitched breathing.

Anya didn't have time to defend herself from her annoying maternal instincts, her hand reaching out, fingertips under Clarke's chin lifting her head enough to see her tear-streaked face.

"Shit..." Anya muttered, internally continuing to curse herself as her chest and neck strained with emotion. She could never quite say no to women or girls who cried. "Come here, let's get you settled."

Clarke shook her head, breaths coming out ragged. "I'm so...so..."

She surprised herself with how quickly she wrapped Clarke up and ushered her closer to the bed, Clarke clinging to her. "Shhhhh, I know. I know." She whispered, slowly maneuvering the both of them to the side of the bed, her hand combing through Clarke's hair repeatedly. "I need you to listen to me closely, okay?"

Clarke just cried, but by the slightly tighter grip, she knew the girl was listening. "You can't make it better. I...I yelled at you earlier, and I hoped it'd make it all feel a little better to let go, but it didn't. Nothing will. So just...don't even try, because you can't. You can't." She stated, a firm whisper at Clarke's ear. "But you can be better. And I don't need your tears for that, Clarke, I just need you to learn how not to hurt us. How to be safe for us. And I need that thing in your chest to keep you in check, because we're not always gonna be there to guide you."

"I will. I...I can do it. I promise." Clarke answered, still decipherable enough despite crying into her shoulder.

Anya let out a huff, knowing it was a start. Clarke, at least, had a track record of improving, given Lexa's past incident with her. This was a bigger ordeal, but Clarke was stubborn and decently empathetic. She had to hope that Clarke would keep her word.

"Okay, then. That brings me to my second thing." Anya noted, reaching a hand over, needing stretch a bit to turn the bedside lamp on. "Sit down and let me see your wrist, Clarke."

"You're not sleeping in the deathtrap, Anya!" Clarke protested alongside an angry huff, attempting to change topics, something she'd soon find wasn't so easy with her.

"Fine, I won't." She countered, quickly taking advantage of Clarke's surprise and slackened grip to guide the girl down onto the side of the bed. "Your wrist."

Clarke averted her gaze off towards the exit, but pushed through her reluctance a few seconds later, lifting up her injured arm, the lamplight revealing deep, painful looking bruising. "It's not a big deal. I just keep rolling onto it. I move around in my sleep a lot."

Anya stared down at the mottled, purple bruising, and then back at Clarke's gleaming, cerulean eyes, knowing she had the power to stop the pain, at least for tonight. At least to a manageable level.

It was a little scary, and it wouldn't be pleasant, but she could do it. It's what Lexa would want.

"Let me get a bottle of water for you. How long has it been since you took something for the pain?" She asked, holding Clarke's gaze as the girl cocked her head to the side, brow furrowing slightly as her lips curled into a frown.

"A few hours. My pills are in the bathroom. Why?" She could feel Clarke's eyes on her as she dug in her luggage for a bottle of water. It was room temperature, but it'd do.

A few seconds later, she was back at the bed with Clarke's medication and water. "Take some." She said, handing the items to Clarke, who just stared up at her like a confused puppy.

"You're not sleeping in the bathroom." The girl insisted slowly, downing two pills and chasing it with water.

Anya let out a sigh, climbing onto the bed and crawling past Clarke. "I know. I'll sleep on the bed. We can set up a median between us to keep you from rolling around much. Or..."

She let her voice trail off long enough for Clarke to peer over her shoulder curiously. "Or?"

Anya let out a huff, rolling her eyes when Clarke angled herself down onto the bed beside her, a weird sort of hope in her wet eyes. And maybe Anya couldn't help but wipe some of the residual wetness from Clarke's face. "Or I hold you tonight. I don't really move in my sleep, so I'd keep you from hurting your wrist. And you'd owe me breakfast. And lunch. And something else to be determined."

Clarke's teeth sunk into and pulled at her lower lip, those blue eyes turning all soft on her. A reaction she might have expected if she'd offered it without condition. "I choose the option two. Breakfast at the diner?" Clarke asked quietly, earning an easy nod, because duh, she'd made her plans clear earlier. "Always better with company."

She ignored the call-back to their previous conversation and got up from the bed, moving to the dresser for something to sleep in, since going to bed in jeans wasn't advisable. "Settle in, I just need to change." She noted, grabbing some shorts and a camisole and heading to the bathroom.

Anya quickly went to the washroom, changed and cleaned up, applied a bit of moisturizer, downed a splash of water, and headed back out. Clarke had straightened out the covers and turned out the lights, but even in the dark, she could see Clarke tracking her movement as she got to the bed.

"What's more comfy for you?" Anya asked as she slipped under the covers. "Curling up in front of me, or against me on my back, or me curled up with you on your back, or spooning? Your call."

Clarke shot her a sheepish smile as she reached back and turned off the lights. "I just don't want to wake up from pain, so...whatever's the lowest risk. Probably spooning."

"Fair enough." Anya noted softly, waiting for Clarke to roll onto her side before scooting closer and slipping one arm under the girl's waist, holding her close there. Carefully, she reached her other hand over, trailing it up Clarke's injured arm until her palm was resting over the back of Clarke's hand, knitting theirs together and pulling it in to nestle against Clarke's chest. "Is this okay?"

"I sort of kick a lot in my sleep." Clarke mumbled hesitantly, sounding on edge, as if Anya would retract her offer of aid.

Without much thought, Anya flung a leg over Clarke's and tangled them up a bit more thoroughly, knowing she could sleep in any position so it didn't really matter. Still, the feel of her bare leg smoothing over Clarke's was something she had to purge to the back of her mind lest it keep her awake all night or haunt her dreams.

"Better?" She asked before letting out a yawn into Clarke's neck, the girl's body heat already sending her drifting towards slumber. She'd never needed long to zonk out.

"It is. Anya...thank you." Clarke whispered, but Anya could barely focus enough to parse the words with any real timeliness, not with a sleepy, comfortable haze descending upon her quickly.

She nuzzled her nose into her bedmate's neck and let out a sigh, settling her body in for the rest of the night. "Mmmn 'ts fine, dear. G'night."

Something niggled at her brain, feeling something was a little off, but she couldn't remember what. Warm, cozy, and exhausted, Anya decided to just leave that potential problem for the morning.

[keiraknighted]

eyes wide, oh you’re so naive

Summary:  Clarke decides to try getting herself off for the first time while Octavia Blake, the girl she's babysitting, is asleep upstairs. Bellamy comes home at exactly the right time. (warning: underage sex)

Written for the 2017 100 Kink Meme

AO3 // ff.net

Clarke hasn't been able to stop thinking about the conversation she overheard while she was in the bathroom at school all day. It was a couple of older girls chatting, probably hadn't even realised Clarke was in there. They were talking about sex, which had piqued Clarke's interest so she'd stayed to listen when she should have been heading to English class.

"Murphy's really hot and everything but he doesn't know what he's doing," one of the girls complains. Clarke thinks her name is Emori. "He's never even once given me an orgasm."

"You just have to teach him how," the other girl says. Raven, Clarke is pretty sure. "You've given yourself an orgasm, right?"

"You mean like…" Emori lowers her voice, "masturbating?"

"Obviously," Raven says dryly.

"Never done it," Emori admits.

"You should," Raven tells her. "Then you'll know what to tell Murphy to do. Trust me, when Finn and I first started having sex, he had no clue. Plus it feels great and helps me unwind sometimes."

"Huh," Emori muses. "I guess I should give it a go."

The conversation was over then, but Clarke couldn't help but dwell on it.

She's never masturbated before, doesn't even really know how to. But now she's sitting on the Blake's couch, replaying the conversation replaying in her mind, and she thinks now might not be a bad time to try. Aurora's not scheduled to be home for another hour. Octavia, the kid Clarke is babysitting, is upstairs in bed already.

Clarke looks around hesitantly, though she knows she's alone, before tentatively stroking herself over her jeans. It doesn't feel like much, just what it is; her own hand touching her jeans. Nothing sexy about that. She pops open the button and slips them down, feeling a little nervous as she peels them off and discards them on the floor, leaving her in just her white cotton panties and Taylor Swift concert t-shirt. She slips her hand into her panties feeling along her slit, hoping to feel something.

Clarke tries to finger herself, but her opening is tight and dry and it's not working for her. She has no idea what she's doing. Is this supposed to feel good? She feels herself growing frustrated and rids herself of her panties in a last ditch effort to get herself worked up. She closes her eyes and lays back on the couch, legs spread, hand between them, her fingers trying but failing to give her some kind of sexual sensation.

She's about to give up, but it's a second too late, as the front door swings open, and Clarke's eyes fly open to see a boy stepping into the living room. Except he's not a boy, really, he's a man. He's got to be at least five years older than her. And now he's staring at her open legs, her pussy totally exposed to him.

Clarke shrieks and leaps off the couch, trying to pull her shirt down to cover her nakedness, only it's not quite long enough, so she ends up just cupping her pussy to shield it from his view. Her face is bright red and she has no idea what to even say, she's so embarrassed. Honestly she feels like it would be less embarrassing if it had been Aurora who walked through the door.

"Who are you?" the guy asks, his voice deep and rumbling, making her feel a little twinge between her legs that she hadn't felt while she was touching herself. He must be Octavia's brother, Clarke thinks. Octavia talked about him a lot. Bellamy, his name is. And fuck, he's hot. He fills out his t-shirt perfectly, and Clarke wonders what his arms would feel like.  

"Cl-Clarke," she stammers, still clutching her pussy. She's frozen in place, unable to grab her panties or her jeans to cover herself. "I'm Octavia's babysitter."

"Where's Octavia?" he asks, glancing around, as if Clarke would be on the couch masturbating if Octavia were in the room.

"Upstairs in bed," Clarke says, swallowing. His eyes flick down her bare legs and she feels herself grow hot all over under his scrutinising gaze.

"Did you finish?" he asks her, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Pardon?" Clarke asks uncertainly.

"Did you make yourself come?" he asks, soft but demanding. Clarke shivers. She shakes her head a little shyly. "You can finish if you want," he tells her. Clarke's stomach lurches. Does he want to watch her? And why does she kind of want him to? "I'll go upstairs," he nods, making towards the staircase.

"I can't," Clarke says abruptly. Bellamy turns back to look at her. "I…" she starts again. "I don’t know how," she admits. "I don’t know what I'm doing."

"I'm sorry to hear that," is all Bellamy says. She's pretty sure he knows what she wants, which is impressive because she's not even totally sure herself, but he's also not going to be the one to suggest it. She's going to have to ask him. Which is humiliating in itself, but there's also the even more humiliating possibility of him saying no.

"I think there must be something wrong with me," she says quietly.

"I'm sure there's not, Clarke." She likes the way he says her name.

"Will you help me?" she asks, biting her lip nervously. Bellamy considers her.

"You're a little young," he says, but he doesn't look entirely convinced by his own words. Clarke drops her hand from between her legs, exposing her cunt to him again, and his eyes darken.

"Please?" she says softly. His jaw tightens and he sighs, but then he's crossing the room to her until he's standing in front of her, looking down at her. He takes her hand, the one she'd been trying to finger herself with, and runs his thumb over her fingers.

"You're not even wet," he notes, and Clarke blushes, because no, she hadn't been wet when she was trying to finger herself. But she's pretty sure she's wet now. Bellamy drops her hand and slips his own under the hem of her t-shirt, his fingers ghosting over her skin.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Clarke?" he asks her, and she nods. Bellamy leans into her, his lips covering hers, teasing her lips open with his tongue. Clarke welcomes his tongue into her mouth, tilting towards him, letting him explore her mouth with his tongue. She's been kissed before, of course, but she's never been kissed like this. She can feel herself getting wetter, and it feels like there's an invisible piece of string between her lips and her pussy, twanging urgently.

Clarke whimpers when his lips leave hers and he slips her shirt over her head, then deftly removes her bra, so she's naked before him.

"So pretty," he tells her, stroking her breasts with his thumbs. Clarke flushes at his words. She wants him to touch her more, wants his fingers between her legs, his mouth on her tits, but she doesn't know how to ask him. "You don't know what you like yet, do you?" he asks her and Clarke shakes her head. "I guess we'll have to figure that out. Are you wet yet?" He drops a hand between her legs and she parts them obediently as he slips a finger tip between her pussy lips. He smirks at her, and god, that's sexy. She gives an involuntary noise of protest when he removes his finger and his smirk grows even wider.

"You have such pretty tits, Clarke," he tells her, cupping them in his hands. "So big and heavy, such pretty pink nipples, all hard for me. I wanna put my mouth on them. Do you want that?"

"Yes," Clarke breathes, and Bellamy drops his head to her cleavage, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of her breast before running his tongue over her nipple. He hooks one arm around her to keep her upright while his other hand fondles her other breast, making sure her nipples get equal attention, sucking them and rolling them between his fingers.

"You like having your nipples sucked?" he asks her, popping her nipple out of his mouth.

"Yes," Clarke whines, hating that he's stopped. She presses her chest against his, dragging her pointed nipples over the fabric of his shirt.

"Does it make your pussy wet when I play with your tits, hm? You like having my mouth all over these big tits?" Clarke nods. "I wanna see those tits jiggle, baby, come on. Bounce them for me." Clarke obeys his wish, bouncing up and down so her tits jiggle as he watches them, his eyes full of lust. Clarke feels herself blushing again as she keeps jiggling her tits for him, desperate for his approval but also feeling a little silly. Despite her slight embarrassment she can feel herself getting even wetter and her pussy throbs, aching for him to touch her there. She rubs her crotch against his leg, desperately needing friction.

"Bellamy," she whines. "My pussy," she says, unable to keep herself from blushing as she says the words. "I need…" she trails off.

"What do you need?" he asks her.

"Your fingers," she tells him. "Please touch my pussy. Please."

"Oh, you want me to touch your pussy?" he teases, letting his fingers drop to her thigh, lightly stroking her but not yet touching her where she most wants to be touched. Clarke nods. "Like this?" he lets his fingertips ghost over the outside of her pussy lips. Clarke wriggles against him, trying to get his fingers inside her. He chuckles and slips his fingers between her folds, but it's still not enough. He's not doing enough.

"Please finger me, Bellamy," Clarke cries desperately. "I need your fingers inside me." But instead of obliging her, he removes his fingers completely and Clarke whines in frustration.

"Sit down," he commands her firmly, and Clarke quickly obeys, dropping to the couch, her legs spread wide, ready for him. It occurs to her then that she's totally naked while he's still fully dressed, but the thought only turns her on more. Bellamy drops to his knees, and gives her a mischievous glance, and Clarke thinks he's finally going to put his fingers deep inside her. But instead he drops his head between her legs, his tongue making contact with her clit for the first time and she can't help but buck against his face, a moan escaping her lips.

Clarke fists her hands into the couch cushions as Bellamy's tongue licks along her slit and swirls around her clit before sucking it gently into his mouth for a minute. She can feel herself reaching breaking point as his tongue delves into her folds and then the waves of pleasure are crashing over her and she's gasping for air, grinding against his face her pussy clenching as she rides out her orgasm.

"You like that, huh?" Bellamy smirks up at her, and Clarke manages to nod, though she feels completely boneless. That probably should be it. He helped her with her orgasm like she wanted, and now they should probably forget this ever happened. Bellamy gets to his feet, still looking at her naked body, obviously wanting, but not willing to do more without her explicit consent.

"I want you to fuck me," Clarke finds herself saying. Her thirst for him is not yet sated.

"What?" Bellamy chokes, his eyes widening.

"I want you to fuck me, please," Clarke says, giving him her best doe-eyed look. "I've never had a cock inside me." Bellamy groans, covering his face with his hand, conflicted.

"I want to fuck you so bad, Clarke," he tells her. "But you're what, sixteen?"

"Fifteen," she corrects him.

"Fuck," he swears.

"Please, Bellamy," she begs him. "I want my first time to be good." Bellamy looks at her, uncertainty in his eyes. But then Clarke slips her hand between her legs again, biting her lip as she touches herself, and his resolve is gone. He pulls his shirt over his head, kicking his shoes off before removing his pants. "We don't have long until your mom gets home," Clarke tells him while she watches him undress. She wants to run her tongue across his hard chest, but she knows they don't have time for things like that.

"Trust me, this won't take long," he tells her and she watches in anticipation as he pulls his underwear off. He stands naked in front of her, and she's pretty sure she's never seen such an image of perfection. His cock is big, and Clarke doesn't have a lot of experience with penises, but she's pretty sure it's larger than average. Her stomach flips over at the sight of the thick head, and her juices start flowing again when she imagines it entering her.

Bellamy finds a condom in his wallet and rolls it on and Clarke watches in fascination.

"You sure you're ready for this?" he asks her, and Clarke nods. "Tell me if you want to stop."

"Okay," Clarke whispers, and then he's joining her on the couch, and Clarke lies back across the couch as he positions himself above her, his cock gently knocking against her thigh. He lets the tip slip between her folds ever so slightly, gathering her juices on the head before pushing into her a little further. He pushes the head into her opening, and Clarke whimpers at the thickness of it, stretching her open.

"You okay?" he checks.

"I'm okay," she confirms, and Bellamy pushes into her another inch. Clarke moans and Bellamy groans slightly. She can tell it's taking all his self restraint not to just thrust his entire length into her and fuck her hard. He inches into her slowly, his cock stretching her, and just when she thinks she can't take anymore he pushes in the last inch, filling her completely. He pauses then, as Clarke breathes heavily, letting her get accustomed to his girth.

"How do you feel?" he asks her, and it occurs to her that he's being much gentler and more careful with her than he was when he was just using his hands and mouth.

"You're so big, Bellamy," she pants. "I feel so full."

"You want me to fuck you now?"

"Yes," she says enthusiastically. "Yes, fuck me." He pulls out of her just a little before thrusting into her again, and god, it's the best thing she's ever felt.

"Yes," she moans again. "Like that. God, Bellamy, your cock."

"You like that?" he chuckles, thrusting into her again.

"Yes," and she doesn't know if it's a response or a cry of pleasure, but it works either way. He starts fucking her in earnest then, and she can feel his huge cock pumping in and out of her, hitting her deep inside, sending her closer and closer to her climax while she makes incoherent noises of pleasure. She clutches at him as he fucks her hard, his earlier gentleness giving way to his lust. Clarke's orgasm hits her by surprise and she cries out, arching up towards him while he continues to fuck her, until he reaches his own climax, moaning as he comes inside her.

It takes him a minute to pull out of her and stand up. He walks into the kitchen and comes back sans condom.

"You okay?" he asks her.

"Better than okay," she smiles and Bellamy grins back at her.

"I'm glad," he says. "Better get dressed before Mom gets home," he says gently, bending to pick up his clothes. He dresses and Clarke somehow manages to do the same, pulling her shirt over her head about thirty seconds before Aurora opens the front door.

"Oh, Bell, you're home," she says in surprise.

"Just got here," Bellamy says gruffly.

"I've got Chinese. Have you eaten anything?" Aurora asks, Bellamy glances at Clarke and she tries her best not to blush.

"Nothing substantial," he smirks.

[noulaikkwelnes-blog]

🍩 + me? also + nineteenminutes, basiicphysics andddd othcrsidex

POSITIVITY !!

um where do i even begin with all of you

@wildmoored listen... i Love you and i Love garrett??? so much?? i’ve never been into marauders rps though i’ve seen many of them, but you fucking GET godric. you’ve built him into not just a character but a person which is so, so hard to do. and i love how you make garrett so similar but also shaped by a modern world in very distinct ways. because it’s true; when you’re born shapes a whole lot of who you are. i just love seeing that portrayed in your threads tbh. and don’t get me started on garrett/clarke and how we scream about them bc I WILL DIE

@nineteenminutes mun and muse are both?? angels sent from heaven??? i’ll be honest i didn’t pay as much attention to harper when i first watched the show as i should’ve. but this blog has given me SO MUCH APPRECIATION for a character who i’d previously overlooked. this harper is so nuanced and smart and strong but also the sweetest fucking sunflower and she and monty deserve all the happiness in the world

@basiicphysics A GEM!! A STAR!!! literally i’ve admired sofia literally from when i started following her. i kinda pined to write with her for FOREVER because i care about monty green so much. and sofia understands monty. she understands him so fucking much and she cares about him and it’s honestly so uplifting??? and i love that she gets that he’s a full PERSON and doesn’t subscribe him to just the “cinnamon roll” perception that the fandom can boil him down to. plus she’s sweet and fucking hilarious ooc and i love reading her liveblogs of the episodes.

@othcrsidex listen... maddie’s like... the older sister i didn’t have who gets into trouble sometimes but is still cool as shit. like i feel like anybody could tell maddie anything and she’d roll with it. her “mama” title is not for nothing either because she’s so fucking supportive of everyone in this community. and she CARES ABOUT JASPER SO MUCH it’s really contagious. seeing her passion for jasper gives me passion for jasper and??? the amount of representation and thought she puts into her writing of him gets me highkey emotional. like look guys i love maddie