#minimallyeschew

[chasholidays]

Happy holiday season I guess?? As always, thanks for doing these! I love your writing so much. I'd love an alternate POV of The Nature of My Game.

Original fic here!

The first time Bellamy thinks about going into Flower Hour, it’s the week The Force Awakens comes out, when the sign is, for once, not names that will never be his, and is instead something that might apply. But If your favorite Star Wars character is LEIA, come inside for a free flower! must go up on a weekend, because he didn’t see it and there’s no way they just didn’t feature her as a potential favorite. He refuses to believe Leia was just skipped.

Most days, he checks the sign out of idle curiosity. He knows, with absolute certainty, that he will never walk past and find that his name is on the sign, but he still finds it kind of fun to what they have put up. There’s generally some cool letting and decoration, and it’s not like it’s hard to see the sign. It’s just this idle thing. He doesn’t expect to ever interact with it, not unless they do another “if your favorite X is Y” kind of deal because, again, Bellamy is never going to make it onto whatever random name generator they’re using for this. And he doesn’t ever plan on needing flowers, so, yeah. Just a weird diversion.

But then, one morning in February, he’s going to school early to do retests, and he sees a cute girl in a knitted beanie doing touch-ups on the sign, which has been on a Hamilton theme all week. And, okay, he’s not completely shallow, but he was already curious, so if he can strike up a conversation with a cute girl and find out more about the sign, that’s definitely a win.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t actually have a plan for the conversation, which is how, once he gets back to the store after work and finds the same cute girl behind the register, he ends up saying, “I have a complaint about your sign.”

She cocks her head, frowning a little. “Which one? I have a lot of signs.”

“The one outside. If your name is Angelica–”

“That was my first guess.” She straightens up, becoming visibly more professional as he watches. “What’s the complaint?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the Hamilton theme. But you know how much those signs suck for people who don’t have common names? Or, even worse, people who have common names, but don’t have common names in the US.”

She thinks this over for a second. “My name is Clarke. With an e at the end. So I get some of that. Not the non-US names, but still. Did you have a suggestion, or do you just like complaining?”

It’s a valid question. “I do like complaining. How do you pick the names?” he asks, mostly to make conversation. “I know it’s not Hamilton every week.”

“How long has this been building?”

“You’re on the way to the train station.” She seems more annoyed than upset, so it feels fairly safe to add, “And I named my little sister and then spent my entire childhood getting blamed for how she could never find anything with her name on it at souvenir shops.”

“What’s her name?”

“Octavia.”

“Oh, wow, yeah. That one never hit my radar, honestly.”

“I bet you’re out of Bort license plates too,” he says without thinking, but she gets the reference and laughs. Which is nice. Clarke-with-an-e is getting cuter by the minute, and she might not even find his attempts to make conversation completely awful. Weird names apparently isn’t as terrible a conversation starter as he thought.

“I don’t think there’s any natural way I can use Octavia for my giveaway without looking like I’m specifically targeting your sister. Is she local? Is she cute? Would she appreciate it?”

He makes a mental note that she seems to be interested in women, which doesn’t mean she can’t be interested in him, but he shouldn’t assume she is. Not that he’s really expecting it to go anywhere anyway, but it’s a good thing to keep in mind. “She’s got a boyfriend, so I don’t think there’s much point in you trying to lure her in with a free flower. But if they ever break up, I’ll let you know.”

“So your outrage is theoretical,” she says, and he nearly laughs.

“You haven’t hit my name yet either. I doubt you’re going to.”

“What is it?”

“That would be telling.”

She gives him a somewhat patronizing smile. “That’s exactly what it would be, yeah. The general response to asking is telling.”

The normal, logical thing to do would be to just tell her. She’d probably put his name up, if she has any control over the whole thing, which would be kind of cool. He wasn’t lying; he never has seen his name anywhere.

But they’ve been teasing each other, so it feels a lot more right to say, “If you find it, I’ll be sure to get my flower. But, like I said, there’s no way.”

“Well, thanks for that useful feedback, then,” says Clarke-with-an-e. “I’m looking forward to continuing to not putting your name up on my sign.”

“Me too,” he says. “Definitely the highlight of my day.”

He isn’t really expecting anything special on Monday, the start of a new theme week at best, but when he passes by late after his department meeting on Monday, he sees the name, written in the usual clear, bold hand is Rumpelstiltskin, and it feels like that has to be personal.

There’s certainly no harm in stopping by to check.

Clarke is behind the counter, looking a little bored, but she perks up at the sight of him, straightening up and grinning as if she’s been waiting. “Did I get it?” she asks.

“So close.”

“Getting warmer?”

“Much closer than any of the Schuyler sisters. Did you get anyone?” he can’t help asking. He’s sure most of her names get at least a few hits a day, but sacrificing a whole day of it to a joke seems ill-advised. Even the Hamilton names were pretty common, except for maybe Angelica and Peggy.

“For what?” she asks, confused.

“I guess any of it,” he admits. “It’s a cute gimmick, but I’m wondering how much it works.”

She leans in close, a smile lurking around her lips. “Want to know the secret?”

He mirrors the movement. “Sure.”

“It can’t fail. It creates business because it’s cute and people like coming in to talk about it,” she says, which makes him feel a little less special. Apparently he’s not the only one. “I don’t check IDs or anything; it’s worth a few free flowers.” But then she adds, “Okay, I’d check yours,” and he’s back to feeling special.

He snorts. “Hey, I haven’t been lying to you. I’m telling you things aren’t my name.”

“I’ll still want proof.”

“Yeah, okay. If you ever find my name, I’ll give you proof. Seriously, how many Rumpelstiltskins?”

“Eleven. It was a good day for me. They all thought it was hilarious. The sign is great for foot traffic.”

“Glad it’s working for you,” he says, and before he knows it, he’s a regular. He goes in once a week, chats to Clarke, finds out what the most popular names were for the week, and, when she asks, starts giving her hints about his own name.

Which is actually really fucking difficult, as it turns out. He’s never put much thought into the name Bellamy before, and now he feels as if he has to learn absolutely everything about it, which mostly just teaches him that, to the extent that Bellamy is a first name, it’s usually a woman’s first name, and Clarke is definitely never going to figure it out.

If she didn’t seem to be the most stubborn person in the entire universe, he’d consider just telling her, but he thinks if he did, she’s just be pissed at him for not giving her the chance to guess herself. Still, with the information she has–his year of birth, the etymology of the last name Bellamy, and his ethnic background–he thinks she could go for thirty years without even coming close to figuring it out.

So it’s probably good that she gets a little help.

It’s a fairly unremarkable day, just a random Sunday in March. In theory, he knew that Clarke closed early on Sundays, because he’s seen her hours in the window, but it’s not the kind of thing that he considers relevant to his life. He still hasn’t ever interacted with Clarke outside of the shop, after hours, or over the weekend, and he has no idea how to start. It seems weird to ask someone out when, after five months, she still doesn’t even know his name.

So he was not expecting to run into her at the park, especially not with Miller.

Miller only knows about Clarke because alcohol exists and Bellamy has been lamenting a little about how there is this smart, gorgeous, funny girl he’s definitely into, but does not know how to interact with further. Miller’s response to the situation is always, “I really can’t tell you anything about how to flirt with women.”

Which makes him a deeply unfortunate witness for their first non-store interaction.

It is, at least, in part Bellamy’s own fault. He’s the one who throws the frisbee in deliberately the wrong direction, and he’s the one who sees it hit the water.

They both run over to survey the damage, but Bellamy gets there first; he has to admit, he’s kind of proud.

“I got it really far, right?” he calls over his shoulder, and Miller glares.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Blake!”

“Takes one to know one, Miller,” he shoots back.

Miller catches up to him at the lake shore and shakes his head. “Dude. What the fuck.”

“It was an accident,” he lies.

Miller scowls at him. “I’m not getting it.”

“You want me to get it? I’d rather just give it up for dead. Buried at sea. Viking-style.”

“It’s my frisbee.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. It’s fucking fifty degrees. That water would give my hypothermia. You’d miss my junk if it froze off.”

In theory, he knew that other people were around, and he even noticed there was a person on the bench. He’d just sort of assumed that he didn’t know them and that they weren’t paying attention. No one is supposed to care about his shit-talking.

But then he hears Clarke says, “You’d have to stay in pretty long to get hypothermia.”

He jumps and turns, hoping against hope that he’s wrong, that he won’t actually see her there, but of course there she is, sitting on a bench with a sketchpad, smiling smugly in his general direction.

Miller loves it, of course. “Thanks for the medical advice, bench girl. See? It’s fine.”

“That’s Clarke,” he says, and adds, “She doesn’t know my name,” because that should clear it up. And prevent Miller from calling him Bellamy, as a bonus.

“Wow,” she teases. “I always wondered how you’d introduce me. That was even more awkward than I thought it would be.”

He focuses on her because he knows if he looks at Miller, he will probably just throw himself in the lake. He knew the whole Clarke thing was weird, but it was so much easier to pretend it wasn’t before anyone else was witnessing it.

So he gives her a sheepish smile and says, “Hi. Sorry about–everything about this.”

“Dude,” says Miller.

“Shut up. She runs that flower shop by the train station,” he adds, mostly so Clarke won’t think he’s been talking about her.

But this is Miller, so of course that just makes it worse. “Oh, you know he’s obsessed with your signs, right?”

Clarke grins. “Yeah, I was getting that impression.”

There’s nothing to do but try to get the conversation back on track. “So, uh, what are you doing here?”

“The correct line is Do you come here often?” says Miller.

“Go jump in the lake for your frisbee and leave us alone,” he says, glaring, and Miller actually listens. At least to the extent that he leaves, even if he doesn’t jump in the lake. So apparently his massive crush on Clarke is just as massive and obvious as he thought, and probably just as hopeless, given Miller is trying to help, for once “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I just–I didn’t think you lived around here.”

He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, except for his entire life, but Clarke doesn’t call him out on it. “Why would I ever live close to my work? Makes no sense.”

“Assume I’m really bad at thinking through basically every interaction I’ve ever had with you.”

“I got that impression too. I’m drawing and pretending it’s warmer than it is,” she adds, scooting over on the bench in clear invitation, and he joins her.

“Yeah, we were playing frisbee and pretending it’s warmer than it is.”

“Until you threw the frisbee in the lake.”

“By accident,” he protests. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it. “Miller’s the one who didn’t catch it.”

She grins. “Clearly entirely his fault. I don’t think your junk would actually freeze off, by the way. You’d come out relatively unharmed, with all your, uh. Vital organs.”

He’s pretty sure his entire body flushes, including all of his vital organs. “I’m still sorry, by the way.”

“I’m not. It was funny.”

“I guess that’s about the best I could hope for. What are you drawing?” he adds.

“Nothing special. Just some sketches.”

“They’re really good,” he says, truthfully. “Not that I didn’t–you do the signs, and those are good, so I knew you were good.”

“You know you don’t actually have to feel weird, right?” she teases. “I’m happy to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“If I didn’t like talking to you, I definitely wouldn’t encourage you. I would have just told you I didn’t care what your name was and told you to leave.”

“That seems like bad customer service.”

“Okay, not in those exact words.” She drums her fingers on her sketchpad. “I definitely scared away the guy who gave me the idea for the if your name is sign.”

“Really?”

“He was a douchebag! Just a douchebag with a good idea. In his honor, the featured name will never be Chad. So if that was your name–”

“Definitely not Chad, no.”

She hums, noncommittal, like she doesn’t totally believe him, which he doesn’t understand until he passes the store on Monday and sees her sign: If your name is BLAKE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, come inside for a free flower!

Miller did call him Blake, now that Bellamy thinks of it. He doesn’t always, but whenever they’re doing anything even vaguely resembling a sport, Miller switches into jock mode. But she couldn’t think that’s his name. It’s so normal.

He’d been booking it to make it before she closed, and from the way her whole face lights up when she sees him, she must not have been expecting him to show up.

“I should have said, the play is kicking into high gear, so I’m going to be scarce this week,” he explains. “Probably the whole month. Play then spring break. I’m going to be a mess until April.”

“So you’re not just running away because I finally figured out your name.”

She sounds so smug, he feels bad correcting her. “Yeah, uh–that’s my last name. Sorry.”

There’s a pause as she thinks this over, finally settling on, “So, your first name is some obscure French last name, and your last name is–Blake.”

“Yup.”

“Wow.” She cocks her head. “You ever consider switching them?”

“I like my name.” He wets his lips. “You know, last name is really pretty good. That basically counts as–”

“Nope. I got a taste of power. I’m going to figure out the first name.”

“You know, I honestly believe you. Even if I’m not sure Miller calling me Blake counts as figuring it out,” he can’t help teasing. She’s so competitive, it’s impossible not to bait her.

“You didn’t tell me. So it counts. Blake,” she adds, thoughtful. “Something Blake.”

“Something Blake,” he confirms. “Getting closer and closer.”

She waits until the play is over before she does a French last names theme week, which is so hilarious he can’t help stopping by on a Saturday, for the first time ever, just to see what she throws up. It’s busier than it usually is when he comes in, not shockingly, and Clarke doesn’t even notice him until he’s been browsing for ten minutes.

“Your name isn’t actually Mercier, is it?”

“No. But you know I don’t always come by on weekends, right? You could get it and we’d never know.”

“I was going to tell you on Monday.”

“I feel like it doesn’t count if I don’t see it. What’s tomorrow?”

“Lefevre.”

“I can confirm none of those are my name. Have you gotten any Merciers? Are people still coming in?”

“I’ve mostly gotten last names, and I’ll give flowers for last names.” She leans on the counter. “Almost recovered from the play?”

“Almost. Just in time for spring break.”

“Which is a bad thing.”

“It’s going to be fun, we’re going to Italy. But I’m going to want to murder the kids after about six hours.”

She hums, thoughtful. “I’d probably put up with a bunch of kids if I got to go to Italy.”

“Yeah, that’s basically what I’m telling myself.” He sighs. “I know this is pointless to say, but if you ever want me to just tell you my name, I will.”

“I can just call you Mr. Blake, right? That’s part of your name. It’s close enough.”

“That’s what students call me, please don’t.”

She laughs. “I’m going to get it. I keep telling you.”

“You do keep telling me.” He wets his lips. “So, I’m here, I want to relax. Anything I can do?”

“Your idea of relaxing is asking me if I have work for you?”

“I hear a lot of people use gardening to relax,” he says, with a shrug. “If there’s anything you need–”

To his relief, she looks pleased, not weirded out. “I think I can find you something, Mr. Blake.”

He very nearly screws up and says, Call me Bellamy, but he remembers at the last moment. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to have fucked this relationship up yet. There’s no reason to start now.

On Friday, she asks if he’ll be in on Saturday again, and he tells her, regretfully, that he’s got to get ready for the trip.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, have fun. I’ll see you when you get back?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Have a good week.”

“You too.”

He does, of course. He complains to his sister non-stop about everything, but that’s how he and his sister prefer to communicate, and he wishes he’d asked for Clarke’s number so he could send her pictures and tell her stories, just so he could talk to her.

His crush might be bigger than he thought, and he already thought it was pretty big.

When he gets back, he for once has nothing to do after school, so he can actually go right over to Clarke’s and say hi. It’s hard not to feel like he’s maybe making too big a deal of it, missed her more than their relationship really warrants, and then he sees the sign: If your name is BELLAMY BRADBURY BLAKE, come inside for a free flower!

He takes a picture, just for posterity, and heads inside to see Clarke rearranging rows of potted flowers. She perks up at the sound of the bell, breaks into a brilliant smile and, yeah.

He definitely has a shot.

“Were you stalking me while I was gone?” he teases, leaning against the wall next to her.

“Yup,” she says, unrepentant. “Did you know Bellamy doesn’t make the top one thousand last names in France? I was never going to figure it out.”

“Nope. I did try to warn you.” He frowns. “How did you?” Now that he thinks about it, it is kind of creepy. Maybe she tracked down Miller.

“Found your sister.”

That probably should have been his first guess. “So, actual stalking. Nice. I guess did give you her name.”

“I just put it on the sign. For three days,” she admits.

“I think it would have been easier to just ask me.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t really excited to see your name on that board.”

He’s going to make the picture his new facebook profile picture, probably, so he can’t deny that.“Yeah, okay, I was. Is it weird if I say I missed you?” he asks, looking her up and down. Her hair’s kind of frizzing out and she looks tired, but gorgeous. “When I was gone.”

“I put out a beacon for your sister,” she points out. “I think it’s pretty safe to say I missed you too.”

“Awesome. Can I get a free flower, or do you need to see my ID first?”

“ID, definitely.”

He hands it over without complaint, watches her check it. “So, yeah. I’m Bellamy. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Bellamy.”

He swallows hard, but–she’s not going to mind. She can say no. “So, this might be too soon, since we just introduced ourselves, but I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me sometime.”

She smiles, bright and beautiful. “Yeah?”

“Maybe Friday. If you’re free.”

“I’m free, yeah. Dinner would be great.”

It is great, and she comes home with him after, which is even better, and the next year, on their anniversary, the sign’s out again: If your name is BELLAMY, come in for a free flower!

“I’m probably going to be your only taker for that one,” he tells her, leaning down for a quick kiss.

“That’s okay,” she says. “I figure it never gets old, seeing your name on the sign.”

She does it every year for their anniversary, and she’s right. It never does get old.

[stevetomjohn]

minimallyeschew replied to your photo “I don’t think I’ve ever looked cuter or more Rochesterian in a photo”

is this a real restaurant serving garbage plates while it's light out?

yes? is that shameful or something

[ponyregrets]

minimallyeschew replied to your chat:during "burn"

OMG so i saw it last week and I started to cry during Burn (and then for the rest of the show tbh) and the dude sitting next to me turned to me after the show and was like “yo…are you ok??” and I was like “NO!!!! HOW COULD I BE OK!!!!”

HOW DO YOU NOT CRY

[capfly]

1, 19, 40, 69, 97

hey jordan!! i love that u asked me questions that make me think about nice things

1) What images do you have set for your desktop/cell phone wallpapers?

home screen , lock screen . my desktop photos are a rotating set of paintings i love and some cool photos of musicians and soccer players. another time i’ll upload them as a set.

19) Do you believe in God?

this one is tough for me. i believe that people are connected in ways, and more deeply, to each other and the earth than can always be explained. sometimes i think of this bonding force as “god” and sometimes i don’t.

40) Do you believe in aliens?

i def do, but i think that probably aliens have never been to earth so while they’re out there (space is so gosh darn BIG), i don’t think we’re ever gonna get to meet any.

69) What's the most memorable class you've ever taken?

so back in the spring i took three courses that i still think about all the time that were so meaningful and engaging to me. Film Theory, Race in America, Cultural Feminism: Fashioning the New York Woman. i had professors that were thoughtful, caring, and made me participate a lot, which is something i often struggle with. and i learned so much.

97) Is there anything you're really passionate about?

sometimes i think i’m a little to passionate about media? for a long time i’ve been so focused on movies, music, culture, literature, politics, sports, podcasts, tv, comedy, fashion, art, anything visually or audibly i can consume. there has got to be a point where i do a better job at creating my own life to be passionate about, and i’m working on it a little. lately i’ve been getting back into hiking. this past week i journaled a lot. i love playing nerdy board games and improv games with my friends. i love when people do kind things for each other. i can talk for hours about certain movies and albums and pop culture moments but i’m working on being able to get excited and passionate about more immediate things.

[chasholidays]

Yo! I'd love a fic from the The Way That Light Attaches to a Girl universe, using the word "award!" You're so great for doing these and for doing all the awesome fics you do year round.

Takes place during the first fic! Series here.

“This really ins’t something you need to be nervous about,” Clarke says.

Bellamy doesn’t look convinced. If anything, it makes him look more nervous, and Clarke tamps down on the wave of fondness before she can do anything stupid, like kiss the costar she isn’t even supposed to be dating at the Kid’s Choice Awards.

It’s not her fault she likes him better than Finn.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “You do these all the time. We’re presenting. How do we present?”

“We rehearsed it, remember? Just do what we rehearsed and you’ll be fine.”

“What if they slime me? That’s this one, right? The slime one.”

“They don’t actually surprise you with the slime.” She pats his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”

He lets out a breath, closing his eyes, and Clarke takes advantage of the moment to check him out. Dressing up for the Kid’s Choice Awards isn’t really a huge thing, especially for guys, who have more trouble finding a happy medium between t-shirt and jeans and black-tie event, and Bellamy struggled with it. But he’s wearing a nice navy button-down and jeans that look more expensive than they are, his hair artfully distressed.

He doesn’t really look better than he usually does; he just looks good all the time.

“You think I’ve actually got a shot at winning?” he asks, finally.

“Definitely. I keep telling you, you’re way more popular than Finn.” She pauses and adds, “I voted for you.”

“Really?”

“Anya emailed me when voting went live for my reference, so I went and checked all the nominees. I figured I might as well vote for you while I was there.”

He lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Well, now I feel bad I didn’t vote for you. But I’m pretty sure Octavia and her friends organized a whole campaign at school to get the show votes, if it helps.”

“So much. You know my ego isn’t actually tied to winning a Kid’s Choice Award, right?”

“That’s because you already won one.”

“That must be it.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Seriously, you’re going to be fine. Do you have a speech prepared?”

“Yeah. If the show wins, I don’t have to talk, right?”

“Nope.”

“Awesome. Then, yeah, I’ve got a speech.” He lets out a breath, like he’s psyching himself up, and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “How pissed is the network?”

“About what?”

“You’re showing up with me, not Finn. Doesn’t that screw up your dating narrative?”

“We’re phasing it out. Once he kissed me, I was pretty much done. Well,” she corrects, “I was done before that. But that got us on the same page. It’s awkward to fake-date someone you refused to real date.”

“It’s awkward to fake-date anyone,” he grumbles.

“Don’t knock it til you try it.”

“At what point are we trying it?” he asks, sounding curious. “I really don’t know how this works. Is showing up with you to the Kids’ Choice Awards enough, or does it have to be the Teen Choice Awards to be official?”

“People’s Choice is the real test of any relationship,” she tells him, affectionate. “That hits our whole demographic.”

“How many non-children-or-teen people care if we’re dating?”

“Don’t underestimate the nostalgic college students who pretend they’re watching ironically.” She loops her arm in his, casual, and starts guiding him toward the red carpet. Or–well, it’s a carpet, and there are cameras. “And stop trying to distract me. You’re not getting out of this.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t want to blow off the Kids’ Choice Awards and got get pizza instead.”

“You know the food here is free, right?”

“Good point.” He lets out another long breath. “Right. Stay close, okay? Don’t leave me.”

She has to smile; it’s one of her favorite things about him, the lack of ego, the way he doesn’t mind admitting when he needs help. He’s a very smart, very competent guy, but he knows that this is more her world than his, and he’s happy to follow her lead when he doesn’t know what’s happening.

Also, he’s terrified of the Kid’s Choice Awards. Which is really, really cute.

“I won’t,” she says. “We’ll be fine.”

*

They meet Jasper and Monty lingering by the entrance, apparently waiting for backup before they go in, and that helps Bellamy too, having other people to fret over instead of just worrying about himself. The four of them go in together, but she and Bellamy end up lagging, because people are more interested in talking to the leads than to the comic relief. If Monty and Jasper seemed upset, Clarke would try to get them involved, but they seem relieved to be able to dash off to the food and leave her and Bellamy behind.

Bellamy’s honestly the main draw, from what she can tell; it’s his first major awards show, and fans are still delighted by his Cinderella story origins, this kid just like them who got plucked out of obscurity and now gets to live a life of fame and glamour.

“So, what are you most excited for?” one of the reporters asks him, grinning.

“Clarke winning,” he says, instantly, and the reporter laughs.

“What about you?”

“I’m sure she’ll win, I’m not sure I will,” he says, ducking his head. “But that would be cool too, I guess. Not to be a cliche, but it’s an honor just to be nominated. I guess the novelty will wear off eventually, but most days I still can’t believe I have this job and people want me to come to awards shows.” He glances at Clarke with a smile. “So, yeah. I’m mostly excited for her.”

“Which is going to be tough if I lose,” Clarke says. “Because he’ll be more upset than I am, so I’ll have to comfort him.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“What are you looking forward to most, Clarke?” asks the reporter, and it’s an easy hit to return.

“Bellamy winning,” she says, and he laughs.

“Get ready for disappointment,” he teases, and it’s just as easy to field that one.

“Being friends with you? I already am.”

Once they’re through the press, they make a beeline for Jasper, Monty, and food, and they check that out until it’s time to go in. They’ve got a few nominations between them–Favorite TV Actor for Bellamy and Finn, Favorite TV Actress for her, and Favorite TV Show for Princess Proper–and they’re presenting for Favorite Animated Movie. She and Finn aren’t up for Cutest Couple, which is a relief, and she’s looking forward to a fairly laid-back show, once she’s done with presenting. She can give award speeches in her sleep at this point, which feels a bit conceited to say, but she’s popular with her target demographic. It’s not her fault. It’s just a fact.

Their presentation is fairly early, and it goes off without a hitch; Bellamy says all his lines clearly and correctly, no one gets slimed, and they make it back to their seats without incident. Clarke’s between Monty and Bellamy, which is a fairly safe place to be, except for Bellamy’s under-his-breath commentary making her snicker.

But that’s pretty great too.

Her category hits first, and she hugs Bellamy, and then Monty, and then Bellamy again when she wins. She inserts all the right new names into her fairly standard speech, thanks Kane for giving her such a great opportunity, all her coworkers for being so great, and adds, “And thanks to Bellamy for giving up his awesome life as an average high-school kid to hang out with me instead. I really appreciate his sacrifice.”

She’s backstage getting her picture taken with her blimp when his category comes up, and she excuses herself to go watch by the curtain, stupidly anxious, and her stomach drops when the win goes to some guy from Nickelodeon.

At least it wasn’t Finn. That’s something.

“Are you going to give him your award?” asks one of the reporters, and Clarke flashes a mostly genuine smile for the camera.

“Nah,” she says. “He’ll get his next year.”

*

They do win for best show, which makes her more annoyed that Bellamy didn’t, but he seems genuinely and completely unconcerned. She offers her condolences, low, when they get back to their seats, and he rolls his eyes and asks if he can see her award. He flies it through the air once, shrugs, and returns it with a, “Yeah, I don’t really need one of those,” and she finds she believes him.

She still wants him to get one, but it is his first year. He’s got plenty of time.

There are a few more photo ops after, and then more food. Bellamy lets himself be separated from her for the first time when Monty and Jasper drag him off so they can show him all the best complimentary swag, which obviously he’s very interested in, and Clarke watches with a fond smile on her face.

“I was wondering when I’d meet your new protege.”

Clarke turns only half of her attention to Ontari Allen, leaning against the wall next to her. Ontari played her best friend on Band of Bros, a terrible casting choice, given their off-screen relationship could most generously be described as frenemies. If you were being really nice about it.

“I didn’t know you wanted to,” Clarke says, just as mild. “If you wanted an introduction, all you had to do was ask.”

“He’d be very popular if you stopped hovering.”

“He told me to hover,” she says. “Was there something you wanted, or just wanted to be weird?”

“I was looking for something to do after this,” she says. “I thought he might be a good choice.”

“Okay, so, weird, got it.” Bellamy glances at her, cocks his head like he’s worried, and she clears her expression to smile at him. “If you want to try, knock yourself out. But I don’t think he’s your type.”

She gives up after that, and it’s so obviously an attempt to get a rise out of her that Clarke can’t bring herself to care even a little. She doesn’t know much about Bellamy’s romantic inclinations–he said he likes chests, in girls, that’s about the sum total of her knowledge–but she can’t imagine him going for someone like Ontari. Not for anything more than a quick night of fun. And if he wants one of those, it doesn’t really matter if Ontari is a horrible person.

It’s the others who are more upsetting. Nice, completely unobjectionable girls asking Clarke about Bellamy tentatively, feeling out if the two of them are an item and, if they’re not, if he’s available. It’s only when Bellamy’s gone, and they clam up as soon as he’s back, and Clarke feels only a little bad for not telling him how popular he is. But it’s not like he isn’t getting hit on; he just doesn’t seem to care. He’s more interested in finding and sampling all the free cookies he can, and stealing all the swag and food he can for his sister.

Ontari might want a date after this, but Bellamy seems content with just hanging out.

She’s just finished telling a very nice girl on a PBS show about teenage time-travelers who go to different points in history who’s probably exactly his type that, no, she and Bellamy aren’t together, when he shows back up, gives her a cookie, and says, “Seriously, can we leave yet? I’m so bored.”

“How can you be bored when you have that many cookies?”

“It was a surprise to me too.” He gives the girl a smile. “Sorry for interrupting. Want a cookie?”

“Oh, no, thanks. Good to see you, Clarke,” she says, and bobs away.

“You’re really ready to go?”

“I don’t have a blimp to keep me occupied,” he teases. “Also, there was a ton of food here, but I’m worried about O. And, fuck, I just want cheap, greasy pizza. How do the Kids’ Choice Awards not have cheap, greasy pizza?”

“They’re trying to be fancy.”

“Fuck that. Let’s get out of here and watch cartoons.” When she doesn’t immediately respond, he blanches, clears his throat. “Uh, unless you’re having fun. You can stay. I’m pretty sure I can get the driver to take me home without supervision, so–”

She laughs. “No, no. That sounds way better than this. Let’s definitely leave.”

“Cool. If I had to talk to one more nice stranger, I was going to die.”

“Poor Bellamy. No one told you actors were supposed to be social, huh?”

“You didn’t. That’s your job. Teaching me how to be an actor.” He smiles down at her. “It wasn’t awful or anything. Just��honestly, not really an improvement on hanging out with you on the couch. I get to wear pajamas for that.”

“You could wear pajamas to this too. No one would stop you.” She loops her arm in his again as they leave, out of general affection. “I’m still making you come to these until you win one.”

“Shit. I better campaign next year. I never want to come back.”

“Come on, you had a little fun.”

“Yeah, when you won.” He gives her a grin. “Seriously, I don’t care about any of this celebrity shit. But–thanks for having my back. I appreciate it.”

It doesn’t really feel like she had his back, given she passed on contact information for none of the girls who were asking about him. But–she’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to talk to any more strangers tonight. Just go home and hang out on the couch.

With her. Hang out with her.

“I’m the one who got you into the whole celebrity mess,” she says. “The least I can do is make sure you survive it.”

“That is the bare minimum, yeah.” He holds the door of the town car open for her. “Coming home with me?” he asks. “Or you done?”

She has to smile. “Coming home with you,” she confirms. “Always.”

[ponyregrets]

yooooo if you wanted to write a fic that was like "we are wearing matching but also really obscure halloween costumes at this party right now, wtf??" i would be v v happy!!

THIS IS ALSO FOR @book-pirate, who asked for “Accidental matching costumes for bellarke?”

Clarke does not do matching costumes. She was part of a giant group costume in freshman year, where her and five of her friends went as a rainbow, because all she had to do for that was dress entirely in blue, and it really got out the “I’m not straight” message, which meant she got to make out with Raven Reyes for an hour. So it went pretty well, but Clarke still, largely, is not a fan of the whole matching costume thing.

Which is why it’s so fucking irritating that everyone thinks she and Bellamy Blake planned this.

“How does anyone even know who we are?” she demands. She knows it’s not his fault, but she’s going to yell at him because that’s kind of her default. Yelling at Bellamy is a way of life.

“You know we’re at Jasper and Monty’s party and you’re dressed as a Final Fantasy character, right? Did you think they weren’t going to recognize you?”

Clarke had chosen Celes because she was kind of hoping to get laid, and the combination of cape and no pants seemed like a pretty great way to get that message across. Plus, Wells dragged her to Otakon last summer, so she already had the outfit, because Wells is really into cosplay. And she’s played Final Fantasy VI on her DS like five times, so if any of Jasper and Monty’s comp sci friends try to call fake geek girl on her, she can kick their asses on like every level, which is always a fun thing to do at parties.

But Bellamy is Locke, which means not only are they wearing matching costumes, they’re warning (kind of) matching couples costumes, and considering most of her friends have already decided that their arguments are a cover for sexual tension, this is just--really not helping.

“I didn’t think anyone else was going to be a Final Fantasy character!”

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions, General. Are you gonna do an opera scene? How’s your singing voice?”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“How is this my fault?”

Clarke scowls, but she realizes she can’t actually find a way to blame this one on him. It’s actually not his fault that the two of them somehow managed to wear matching costumes to this party.

“Okay, fine, whatever. I’m going to get a drink.”

She pushes past him, and he lets her go, but he doesn’t really let her go. She’ll be chatting with someone and he shows up at her side, and somehow even the people who might not know they’re dressed as characters from the same video game still get a back off vibe.

“You know I wore this costume because I wanted to get laid, right?”

“So instead of just doing the classic scanty clothing plus mask or animal ears or whatever, you dressed up as a badass general from a twenty-year-old video game who doesn’t wear pants for no plot discernible reason.”

“I still wanted a cool costume, okay? And you’re just--hanging out, inexplicably cock-blocking me. Don’t you have something better to do?”

Bellamy takes a sip of his drink, like he’s thinking something over. “You know you posted pictures of yourself in that costume last summer, right? On Facebook. You were with some guy dressed as Edgar.”

“My best friend from high school, yeah,” she says, frowning. “We went to an anime convention.”

“I figured, uh--I thought you’d like the Locke costume,” he says. There are spots of color on his cheeks, and he’s avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t know you were wearing yours, I just wanted you to notice mine.”

Clarke wets her lips. “You made a Final Fantasy costume to impress me?” she asks. Her voice comes out even and natural, because she’s awesome.

“Also because it’s cool, but yeah. And then you were just pissed off, so--it was pretty hilarious, but not really what I was going for.”

“I guess it’s good you’re not inexplicably cock-blocking me,” she says. She glances at him. “So, everyone’s right, you’re just arguing with me because of unresolved sexual tension?”

“Nah, I’d probably still argue with you even if we resolved the sexual tension. But I do want to go out with you, yeah.”

Clarke has to smile. “And you decided the best way to convey this was a Halloween costume.”

“It worked, right? I told you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway, uh, yeah. I’ll let you get back to trying to get laid tonight, so--”

Clarke catches his arm. “We are wearing matching costumes. It would be a shame to waste that.”

So, as it turns out, Clarke is 2/2 for matching costumes getting her some great making out, and when she wakes up in Bellamy’s bed the next morning and he winds his arm around her and says, “Don’t go, I’ll buy you breakfast. That’s a date, right?” she has to reluctantly admit that, all things considered, she’s done pretty well with them.

[capfly]

it's always tough for me to think of things i want to write about but here are some writing prompts off the top of my head anyway

write about what you think trees want to say

write about the last time u bit ur tongue

write about an apology u thought u would regret

write about ur relationship with astrology 

write about an imaginary explorer

write about ur favorite shade of red

write bout putting on a band-aid

write about a bad hair day

write about naps

write about ur relationship with daytime vs nighttime 

write about something you learned within the last 5 days

write about someone real who's name u don't know

[chasholidays]

literally just any Bellarke fake-dating would make me super happy. I'm sure like 984539525235 people have prompted that already, but in case they haven't....

It starts out as a joke. Not even a joke, really; Octavia just finds some post about a guy who went on Craigslist and offered his services as an obnoxious boyfriend for people looking to piss their families off on Thanksgiving, and she forwards it to him with the message “is this u.” He replies with a middle finger emoji, but, honestly, it sounds kind of fun. Octavia is doing Christmas with her boyfriend this year, and Miller is going home, so Bellamy is going to be pretty much alone. It doesn’t bother him; he doesn’t care much about the day, specifically, and he’ll do plenty of celebrating at non-Christmas times.

But he’s not doing anything else for the holidays, and the ad is hilarious, so he figures he might as well throw one up and see if he gets any bites. Maybe someone wants to piss off their conservative relatives. He could totally piss off asshole relatives, and maybe get some free food. So he writes up a quick blurb about how he’s a very liberal half-Filipino high-school teacher who is willing to be either a total boorish asshole or just a well-informed interlocutor for anyone who wants to alienate conservative family members at holiday parties. Worst case scenario, he’ll just gets some very weird spam.

But it’s only a day before he gets an email from clgriffin@gmail.com asking if he’s for real.

From: bblake@arkhs.orgTo: clgriffin@gmail.comSubject: craigslist scam?Yes, I’m for real. You can look me up on the Ark HS website, I’m a real person. I teach history. My sister is out of town for the holidays, so I’m going to be bored and I hate cooking. I can provide email addresses of friends or selfies or whatever you want for proof that I’m really who I say I am.

What are you looking for in a date to piss off your family? Or were you just curious if this was a real thing?

From: clgriffin@gmail.comTo: bblake@arkhs.orgSubject: craigslist scam?Oh, wow. You really are real. My friend works at Ark and not only does he know you, he’s apparently dating your sister? So I guess now your sister might find out you’re doing this, sorry. I just figured I’d ask Lincoln if this was something you’d do or if someone was stealing your identity, but I guess in retrospect I should have realized this might be a weird thing for people to find out about.

My mom is making me go to the holiday benefit at the hospital where she works because I haven’t been since my dad died and people are starting to think it reflects poorly on her. I hate going to those and want to make sure I’m never invited back. I hadn’t really thought of hiring someone to fake date, but I had a really angry girlfriend up until last month and I figured she’d piss people off all on her own. But now I’m single and want some backup.

From: bblake@arkhs.orgTo: clgriffin@gmail.comSubject: craigslist scam?It was my sister’s idea, don’t worry about it. Or, well, she sent me an article that gave me the idea, so close enough. Do you want to get coffee or something and figure out if this is a good idea? This is my first time offering to be an asshole on craigslist, I usually just do it on an amateur level.

Which is how he ends up meeting Clarke Griffin at the coffee shop around the corner from his apartment. Octavia texted him what is wrong with you as soon as she heard, which he ignored, mostly because he thinks there’s too much wrong with him to really give a comprehensive response via text. Also, he’s going to get free food and help out some girl who knows Lincoln, so that’s good, right? Lincoln is cool, his friends are probably cool. And a hospital benefit has got to be pretty swanky.

She sent a picture, so she’s easy to find, already at a table waiting for him wearing a black coat and a white hat, with her fingers wrapped around a giant mug of coffee.

She’s pretty, which doesn’t really matter, but it’s impossible not to notice. She looks like the kind of girl who goes to fancy hospital benefits; it’s easy to imagine her in a fancy dress with a glass of champagne, charming people. Then she catches his eye and smirks and it’s even easier to imagine her with hard liquor, raising hell.

“Bellamy, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, hi. Let me just–” He jerks his head toward the counter, and she nods, still smiling. He doesn’t know why he feels vaguely unnerved, considering nothing surprising has even happened, but–it’s somehow not what he expected.

When he gets back with his own coffee, she’s lost the coat and hat and she’s playing with her phone, but she puts it down and gives him a pleasant smile. “So, you’re Lincoln’s girlfriend’s brother.”

“And Lincoln’s coworker, yeah. How do you know him?”

“We were in the same Masters program,” she says. “Arts Education.”

“What do you do?”

“Middle school teacher.”

“Jesus, better you than me,” he says, and regrets it for a second, but she laughs.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She tilts her head, considering. “So, seriously, how do you get on Craigslist offering to be a terrible date?”

Bellamy explains about the article Octavia sent, his lack of Christmas plans, and his love of free food and arguing with douchebags, and she looks amused, maybe even a little charmed. She’s so fucking pretty.

“How did you get on Craigslist looking for a terrible date?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I didn’t, actually. My friend Raven found it and emailed it to me because I was complaining about going to this thing alone. And before you ask, she found it because she runs a tumblr that just posts weird Craigslist shit, so she’s always on there looking for stuff.”

“Did I make it on there?”

“You did.”

“Awesome.”

“Have you gotten any other emails?”

“A couple, yeah. I’ve got a Christmas party in three days where I’m supposed to be a terrible, asshole boyfriend because this girl thinks it’ll make her office crush make a move on her.”

“That doesn’t seem like a great plan,” says Clarke.

“It’s hers, not mine,” he says. “Again, free food. I’ll go with it. What do you want me to do? Pick fights with board members? Hit on your mom?”

She bites her lip, like she’s maybe embarrassed. “Honestly, I think you can probably just be yourself, if you don’t mind. I’m pretty sure they’ll piss you off enough to pick fights with them without you having to do anything special. I really just need someone cool to hang out with for company.”

He feels himself blush a little, which is wildly embarrassing. “So, you just want me to pretend to be your regular boyfriend? Not your embarrassing, overly combative boyfriend?”

“Oh, you’re definitely going to be overly combative,” she says, bright. “But I’m guessing you won’t have to put any special effort into it. But if that’s, um–you can do an act if you want. I guess this is kind of like, I don’t know. We’re kind of friends, right? Lincoln’s awesome, your sister’s awesome, you must be awesome too.”

“Yeah, no,” he says. “I don’t mind. Just tell me when and where.”

*

“Oh, um,” says Clarke, as they’re walking to the hospital. “I did come up with one thing, if you’re willing.”

“Hm?”

“My mom hates PDA. Like hates it. She thinks it’s, you know, inappropriate and classless and crass. So, um–how do you feel about making out?”

He chokes on a breath. “Uh, does anyone not like making out?” he asks. “Making out is awesome.” He wets his lips. “Just whenever I feel like?”

“Honestly, as much as you’re willing to touch me would be great. If you’re not arguing with someone, be, like–hugging or nuzzling or kissing.”

“You sure?”

It’s hard to tell with the dark and the cold, but he thinks she’s a little pink. “If you don’t mind. Not, like–you’re cute, it won’t be a hardship.”

“Thanks,” he says, feeling stupidly smug. He knows he’s cute, it’s not news. But he didn’t know she thought so. And he gets to touch her the whole time.

She sheds her coat once they get inside, and she’s wearing a killer red dress. He cleans up pretty well, and he slides his arm around her as soon as their stuff is checked, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Like this?” he murmurs.

“Perfect,” she says. “Showtime.”

He gets into a fight about healthcare reform before they’ve even gotten drinks, without even trying; it’s just really hard to talk to doctors without thinking about how shitty his childhood was and how long he went without insurance because he couldn’t afford it, and Clarke is already fucking beaming like this is the best night of her life.

“I’m going to introduce you to so many people,” she says. “We’re probably going to get into a fistfight.” She flicks her eyes to him. “Can I make out with you? I’m totally going to want to make out with you.”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, mouth going dry. “Pretty much whenever you want is fine with me.”

They grab drinks, fight with a guy with terrible hair about immigration, which is basically amazing, and then she drags him in for a sloppy kiss, which is even better until she murmurs, “That’s my mom,” against his mouth. “Make it good.” So he wraps his arms around her and gropes her ass a little, for good measure.

Even with how over the top it is, he almost forgets what they’re doing, because he’s making out with a hot girl he kind of actually likes. Luckily, someone clears their throat nearby before he can get too carried away, and when he pulls back, there’s an older woman frowning at them.

“Oh, hi, Mom!” says Clarke. “Sorry, Bellamy was totally crushing stupid republican ideology, it’s a real turn-on. What’s up?”

Clarke’s mother’s jaw works. “I thought you had a girlfriend. Lexa?”

“Oh, yeah, we broke up. This is Bellamy, I met him on the internet.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bellamy says, offering his hand. “I haven’t really heard that much about you, but it was all awkward.”

“I know you were reluctant to come,” Clarke’s mother starts, and Clarke snorts.

“I told you I hated these, I’ve always hated these, I just came to them when Dad was alive because he hated them too and needed company. But you don’t want me here. Believe me.”

“If you’re going to be immature about this–”

“Yup,” Clarke says. “I am.”

Bellamy wraps his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. “So, you’re a doctor, right?” he asks her mother. “How shitty is healthcare in our country? If your answer isn’t super shitty, we’re going to have problems.”

Clarke beams at him. “I’m so glad we came.”

*

They manage to stay for almost an hour before Clarke drags him out, her mouth firmly attached to his.

“I don’t think this was in my ad,” he says, finding his jacket and pressing her up against the wall of the coat check for another long, hot kiss.

“Nope,” Clarke agrees.

“I’m never going to be able to come back to this hospital again, am I?”

“There are other hospitals,” she says. “How many more Christmas dates do you have?”

“Two. Why?”

“Need to take you to dinner. A movie. Actual dates.”

“That wasn’t in the ad either.”

“So you don’t want to?”

He nips her neck. “I’m just saying, I’m a hot commodity. Lots of girls are looking for total assholes who will piss of their families. I’ve got options.”

“Mm,” she agrees. “Are they going to buy you dinner? Do they want to make out with you in public?”

He flags down a taxi and tugs her in after him, giving the driver his address and squeezing Clarke’s hand. “I’m free tomorrow night. I’ll even throw in yelling at anyone in the restaurant who’s a dick to the waiter, free of charge.”

Clarke grins and snuggles against his side. “It’s a date.”

[capfly]

6, 13, 27, 32, and 50. GO.

Six - Where do you wish you were right now?

i wish i was on a back porch with people that can turn off the outside world and make bad decisions and maybe smell like smoke and be honest enough to say i love you to friends and it feel both meaningful and ordinary all at once.

Thirteen- What are you really good at ?

I am good at crying during movies. i am good at losing my sense of direction. i am good at turning off my phone and lying on the floor while listening to the same song 5x in a row. i am good at knowing when to eat an avocado. i am good at imagining a moment from my childhood and realizing that 3 hours have goon by. i am good at caring about too many things to the point where i feel like i am underwater. i am good at staying hydrated throughout the day. i am good at Starbucks stamp card maximization. i am good being really anxious and leaving everyone alone. i am good at kicking a soccer ball up and down and dribbling it past my rivals. i am good at remembering my own middle name.

Twenty seven - What are you listening to?

I'm listening to the album Weird Sister by Joanna Gruesome it's killer and heavy and chill it does cool things 2 me.

Thirty two - Who was the last person to make you laugh?

undoubtedly, unequivocally, me 

Fifty- Lyrics to the song you’re listening to?

as i was writing i finished the album so now i'm listening to St. Vincent's cover of These Days:

I've stopped my ramblingI won't do too much gambling these daysThese days...These days I simply think aboutHow all the changes came about my wayAnd I wonder if I'll see another highway

[juicesthejuices]

oh my gosh, my log in screen for tumblr was your picture!!! I took a screenshot if you wanna see!! woah. CRAZY.

wHAT 

POST IT OR SEND IT TO ME SOMEHOW

AAAAHHHHHH

[capfly]

minimallyeschew replied to your post “.”

i've done literally nothing but work on my website tonight and i think i am going to explode

take a break do something silly u deserve it i don't want u to explode