#our little dorito shaped man

[happybird16]

A lot of shots of Levi make him look thin and childlike because of his stature, but I’d like to remind everyone of this:

Shame we never got this scene animated, but just look at how WIDE he is.

[the-moon-files]

I love the idea of humans being space orcs. I’ve always wondered about the potential differences between Hylians and Humans some of my ideas include:

Humans are heavier than Hylians (they have bird-like bones)

Hyrule is the lightest of the links since is half fairy (personal hc)

A hit that would break a Hylian’s bones, just majorly bruises a human

Reader can carry multiple small links or a bigger link

They are limited by the size of the Link being carried, not weight

Reader is shorter than Time (personal hc), so it’s a little awkward carrying him in smaller spaces

Can double carry (piggy back one Link on their back, carry another one on their front) easily

Will carry both Four and Hyrule, going through portals and after since they both get sick (personal hc)

I feel like Twilight would initially be the Link most resistant to being picked up, shaped as a Hylian or Wolfie, when they are first picked up. They just freeze for a solid minute or two before relaxing. He loves it after that.

More resistant to weather (heat & cold)

Have iron stomachs (compared to Hylians)

Humans can eat pretty much every plant and not get sick unlike their Hylian counterparts

Can easily eat Hyrule’s cooking, it may not taste as nice but it’s still edible

Wild pouring in Gordon spice is still palatable, like eating a dorito (not really spicy, just adds flavor)

As a population, humans expand faster (more fertile, pregnancy is shorter than Hylians)

It’ll blow their minds if you have 2+ siblings

I mean, is there even a large Hylian family (I think once I saw a family with 3 kids once?) (imagine if they saw the show 19+ kids and counting)?

Resistant to magic, but also can’t use any

Hyrule’s magic healing does nothing, good thing humans don’t get injured easily

It’s okay Rulie, it’s not your fault

Humans heal slower than Hylians (since in Wild’s world they can eat and instantly recover)

Hylian metal is thin compared to what humans use

I don’t know why, but I just imagine it like thick aluminum foil, very pliable, but resistant to cuts and stabs

Could you imagine human!reader finding a dent in Times armor, and just smoothing out the dent with their bare hands

Four is probably swooning in the background

Also shows how dangerous their enemies are compared to humans

Earth doesn’t have Hylian monsters, all of Earths monsters are just evil/bad humans

Wind is astonished you can swim against the tide with ease

Their Hyrule’s ocean currents are 1/2 as strong as Earths

Think of Hyrule’s stormy oceans as swimming in a strong lap pool (you know those small long skinny pools with a current so you can swim straight in them and go no where?)

To end all of this, could you just imagine, the Chain and human are fighting a group of monsters. Human’s sword breaks (one of Wild’s), so human throws the sword away, they look defenseless so the monsters target the, all Links are freaking out, so what does human do? They start punching, kicking, and decking every monster in the face. Turns out humans are Hylian One Punch Man (/men?). Their punches are lethal if it hits the right spot. Link (all of them) is dumbfounded, how are they that strong? Are our monsters weak to them? How strong are their monsters? They don’t have any?-well it makes sense,if all humans can do that then they clearly eradicated them all!

Sorry for taking all of your time and spamming you with my thoughts, I just love, love, LOVE, the idea of humans being space orcs to Hylians!!!

AHHHHH I cant believe so many ppl (like 3?) are into the humans are space orcs to Hylians AU :’)

erratic bits i wanna add on to ur incredible list u got going on here

Sun: Masc/Male!Reader (he/him)

Orbit: ERRATIC Headcanons, ADHD-influenced headcanons, if you will

Stars: little bit of all the Chain

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild typical loz violence, mild cussing, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

I SUBCSCRIBEEE TO MAMMAL BASED HUMAN ANATOMY VS. AVIAN BASED HYLIANS

like how tf else u livin in the sky?? lol

or riding all those birds and creatures, like ofc u weigh on avg exactly 8 apples lmao (btw i got this from botw, where someone tested how much Link weighs for game physics and it was about 8 apples i think)

smth about u being a game nerd boy, may or may not be that fit, and yet goes to take a blow for a Link that had them all wincing, only to walk away with a nasty bruise like,

yes pls be impressed by me literal versions of Link from Legend of Zelda, along with now being real life heroes who have literally fought evil itself and won <3333

would literally start flexing my (nonexistent) muscles like LMAOO

that's going straight to my head ngl

like can u imagine the amount of times you have to resist just sweeping a Link up to princess carry them around?? like poor boy you've always done the princess carrying, allow me 🫴 (gentlemanly bows with hand out for him to take) LMAO

Gay tension thru the ROOF one time u playfully did this lol

some of them rlly out here trying to find a reason not to be picked up like??

Twilight: look u can pick me up, but im too big compared to you so it just wont work out…

You, seconds away from ur dream of picking up Twilight Princess Link, not about to stop now: SO WHAT ur bigger than me? All the more room to get a good hold on you babieee >:)

and Time,

Time: i have armor on, and im taller than you. itd be awkward, i can just lean on you until we can splint my ankl-

You: u think the little details gonna stop me? cute, get on my back rn. 😐

on another related carrying Links note,

BRO U BEAT ME TO IT!!

I thought as soon as I posted other ask abt this abt how Rulie/Four get sick and how others have had to carry them before,

but with you here??

Rulie and Four are livvinggggg >>>

so if we go on bird hylians theory, they actually have a higher body temp (bird base contribute to burning thru food quicker too? birds have a higher metabolism too right? would make more sense with how they consume food a lot for both healing and bc they hungrier more often than humans)

so u know that feeling of being nauseous, laying stomach down on the cold bathroom floor or smth and suddenly all ur problems are solved?

Hyrule and Four getting carried by u, their lovely Guide become physical, after portals ^^^

getting carried by u/physical affection from u is by far the best thing to come out of you becoming physical, all links have secretly decided lol

so unlike previous posts, if we’re being more true to humans are space orcs/australians tumblr side, i think I've heard over there abt eating/human diets being radically different a lot!

like how originally caffeine/capsican (the spicy part of peppers) was poison, or kept animals from eating that plant bc that was their defense,

then humans came along, said, “hm, makes my mouth tingle, more energy, i like it.”

and then made coffee, energy drinks, and a million spicy dishes/snacks worldwide lmao

anyway the Links are scared lol

esp after u talk abt stuff like this, or try Goron spice

my fav scifi idea thing i ran into somewhere was how these aliens gave their human meat to eat, human got curious (which, human curiosity a whole different beast of a post to get into, so many ideas)

and tried to gnaw on bones, like u do with stuff like ribs u know, and then broke the bone, found the marrow tasted great, and then the bone was so flimsy/broke down so much that they ate it too lol

So now, imagine the Chain did that to you LMAO

Four/Wild/Wind are fascinated by ur bone/jaw strength, Wars/Hyrule/Sky/Twi are mildly horrified but cant look away, Legend and Time are surprised but also at the stage of just acceptance of ur human bullshit lmao

unrelated to above, abt the fertility thing

one side of my family is super big (mom is 1 of 5, one of which is her identical twin) then each of them had about 3 kids, then some of my cousins are now having their own 1-2 kids, along with some of my adopted cousins thrown in/somebodies stepkids or like divorced situation where they sometimes show up to this side of the family, like 💀

Chain want to hear everything about ur family ngl if ur in a situation like this lol

the absolute shock on their faces after u tell them about twins/triplets/quintuplets/etc. existing lol

Bro, the amount of things I could talk abt with magic resistant reader pros/cons, like have u ever seen that in animes before? where it'll have a character who can negate stuff?

its so OP, it might just be worth not being able to use their magic much in hyrule

so i included that gif bc a scenario i can totally see happening that i didnt get to include in other posts is a guardian firing a laser at you and it just,, bounces off

or gets kinda absorbed, like maybe you got the equivalent burn of like touching a hot pan, stings for like an hour then is gone by the end of the day

Wild would literally not let go of you or let you out of his sight if he saw that happen poor thing ToT

Guardians were already so tricky for the Chain, esp black blooded (robots have blood? unclear)

then ur ass shows up all heat resistant to their world, and ur slow ass gets got by the beam, everyone’s horrified and poor boys are regretting you ever getting a physical form, bro you think your dead-

and then u just sit up, chest kinda burny, but just like described above, not even a real burn

even better, the guardian takes out ur weapon and u just have to like, square up to a guardian ASFHLJSL-

tbh most battles ur absolutely set,

u got magic resistance, so like wizzrobes who are all magic-based do nothing to you, u can literally punch ur way out a situation, as long as u keep ur guard up ur good, but even if u get hit physically, like u said, bruises at worst, bc at worst in a battle you'd get a broken bone

maybe if something had the strength to like, sever a limb, a step up from broken bones, then they manage to actually bruise u badly + cut you or smth

so basically ur biggest challenge in battles is working up the courage to get into them LMAO

like u know that thing from Oot with the bloody hands and shit?? dead hand or redead or smth?? skulltulas???? (esp if u have phobias related to it, like having arachnophobia like me for skulltulas💀)

Chain: Charge! cmon Guide!

You: I got your back girl! …from over here!

ur so perfect for fighting and ur biggest obstacle is just how fucking terrifying fighting that shit irl would be 😭 😭

the Links don't give u battle advice really, they instead just have to encourage you so you'll be less afraid and can fight LMAO

(makes sense to them tho bc ur world doesn't have these same monsters, most of them tbh would've had a harder time relating before this adventure, bc now they get to a new hyrule with entirely diff monsters they can relate more lol)

(Oh, and yes. Four is honest to god falling in love with you all over again seeing you sharpen edges of swords by pinching ur fingers, or dipping ur hand in lava casually to help the harder metals soften, or smooth out dents in armor. Time may have also felt some type of way the first time you reached out and smoothed a dent right in the middle of his chest.)

☆

could've said SO much more, but my ideas sometimes go too quick for my fingers to type, so this was all i could catch for now

dw ill never shut up about this AU so ill prob get them all out eventually, GOD i wanna write a male!reader fic with this so bad

but i keep forcing myself to at least finish 1/3 fics im updating rn before i launch into another lol

TYSM for this!!

I LOVE hearing ppls idea abt this AU, esp if u include male/gen neutral reader, like just take my heart ig <333

Sorry abt the late reply btw!! :’(

Peace out Daicinia,

🌙

[sroloc--elbisivni]

"so how's the vacation writing going" well i made progress on a couple of the Actual WIPs i have posted and then i also saw this art by @wtf-a-psychoanalysis for space leosagi with usagi in the slave leia outfit and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i blacked out and came to with 2800 words typed up on my phone in the Notes app. anyway. love to commit sexual violence against a man via application of aliens amiright. went in a different direction than jabba the hutt, this is far future in the space bodice ripper au when the guys are running around having space adventures. cw: implied sex slavery.

“Well?” Leo hissed, prodding one of Donnie’s feet.

Donnie kicked him, face intent on his wrist computer. “I’m working on it. The camera network in this place is stupid big. Are we sure this is a guy and not an AI?”

“We’re not even sure he has the thingamabob we want,” Leo said. “Hence, you, hurrying up, in our near future, please.”

“Um,” Mikey said, peering through the slats of the maintenance tube exits. “Is this a bad time to mention—“

“Probably,” Donnie said, not looking up.

“—that the guy I saw earlier is standing right there?”

“What do you mean right there?” Leo shoved him out of the way for a better look and got an eyeful of draping black cloth and white furry leg. “Oh. Right there, right there.”

“Yeah,” Mikey said, pointedly.

“Listen, guys, I got this,” Leo said, and shoved the maintenance hatch open. “Heeeeyyy, sorry to ask, but do you mind just moving down the hallway whiiiiii…”

He got about halfway through his sentence before he pried his head out to talk with this stranger and convince him that they were just a couple of maintenance guys doing very important work who should not be interrupted. This was about when he got a good look at the man—very much a man—and lost his entire train of thought.

The legs that were uh, pretty muscly actually, revealed by the drape and cling of rich black silk shot with gold, led up to a belt of gold hanging low on some shapely hips. Trim hips. Put all your weight behind a solid punch shaped hips. The torso crowned with wrapping curls of gold around the shoulders and pecs was also muscled, in that really nice dorito-shaped bulk way. Scars crisscrossed the soft-looking white fur in more than a few places—a starburst on this hip, a slash on that shoulder, a scattering of burns like a meteor shower across the torso. Leo really wanted to touch all of them.

The look on the guy’s face said if Leo did that he probably would only get to enjoy it for like. Three more seconds before his untimely demise. He was some kind of rabbit alien, ears bound on top of his head and draping down like a fancy hairdo. There was one more scar over his left eye, arcing like an extra eyebrow and lending some punch to his glare.

“While what?” he asked.

“Um,” Leo said. Words. He could do words. Eventually.

The rabbit rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall and bracing his elbows in a way that showed off his abs. “Listen. Whatever you’re up to, I don’t actually care. If you’re going to try to kill Hikiji, I’ll have to stop you, but until you’re at his throat? Not my problem.”

“We’re here to rob him, actually,” Mikey chirped, sticking his head out of the tube next to Leo’s torso.

“Great. I mean it. Please, rob the bastard blind.”

“Do I. Uh.” Leo shook his head dragging his tongue back into place. “Who are you?”

The rabbit smiled. It didn’t look like a happy smile. “These days? No one.”

“Nice to meet you, no one,” Mikey said, and Leo elbowed him back into the vent so he could pull himself up and get on eye level with the rabbit.

“So, do you maybe wanna help us?” he asked, hopefully. If they could just get this guy to come with them, a little longer, maybe he’d loosen up a little bit. He probably had a nice smile, when he was happy.

For the moment, the rabbit loosened up enough to blink and snort. “What the hell, sure. What do you want to know?”

“Where’s the vault?” Donnie yelled from inside the vent before Leo could embarrass himself by asking for this guy’s number. “This map is useless!”

“He has fake copies of the blueprints on the servers. The real ones are metal engravings in the engineer’s quarters and can’t be photographed.”

“That’s—horrifyingly impressive. I hate that.”

“So do the engineers,” the rabbit said, dry. “Which vault? There’s three, but I don’t think you want the one for alcohol.”

“Wherever he keeps the, the,” Leo snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

“The Mambrino basin,” Donnie said. “Smallish, gold, contains a code only activated when a certain fluid is poured over it?”

“Oh, that. That’s in the leeward vault. You’re about three floors too far up.” He pointed down the hallway, and Leo admired the pretty blue crystal on an elaborately wrought bracelet he was wearing. “There’s a ladder that’s been locked for the last year, but if you’re blocking the cameras, you can probably bypass that too.”

A brief squabble ensued as Mikey and Donnie both attempted to leave the vent at the same time and tangled up their limbs. Leo ignored them with long practiced and grinned charmingly at the hot rabbit, trying not to look at where the smooth arch of his hipbone jutted out beyond the edge of the skirt-thing. “Sooooooooooo…wanna come break into a leeward vault with us?”

“I’ll pass,” the rabbit said, but he looked softly amused. “You all are really going to do this, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” Leo swept a little bow. “Stealing from rich bastards is one of our specialties.” He straightened and winked at the rabbit. “Along with daring rescues, if you know anyone in the market for one?”

Oop. Wrong tactic. The rabbit gave this horrible sad little smile and looked away. “Plenty of those needed out in the galaxy, I’m sure.”

Donnie and Mikey had finally worked their way out and stumbled upright. Donnie looked the rabbit up and down and said “Your outfit is derivative and tacky, I could do better. Call me if you ever need a stylist. Where’s the ladder I’m opening?”

“I’ll—” The blue gem on his bracelet flashed three times, accompanied with three chiming tones. The rabbit straightened immediately. “Down the hall, that way, third door.” He jerked his chin, didn’t point. His pointing hand was too busy wrapping around the bracelet, which had started to blink.

Leo grabbed up the rabbit's wrist—he was clutching it like he was in pain.

This was obviously a mistake. The rabbit’s eyes flashed and he jerked back.

“Let me go,” he snarled, and Leo was startled enough to drop his grip entirely.

“I—sorry,” he blurted. The rabbit was already turning around and striding away, black cloth swishing between his legs.

Leo hated to see him leave, and somehow, he didn’t much like watching him go either.

“C’mon,” Mikey said, tugging at his elbow. “The next person who catches us out here isn’t going to be that nice.”

“Yeah,” Leo said, staring at where the stranger vanished. “Sure.”

They got all the way down the ladder before he persuaded Donnie to follow the guy on security cameras all the way back to the main throne room of this big evil villainous castle on a meteor they were infiltrating to pass the time.

The rabbit walked in from a side door, not the big front one, and headed right for the big fancy dais where a human-looking alien in black and gold and brown was sitting like he owned the place.

The rabbit walked up to him and dropped to his knees. The guy, who had to be the Lord Hikiji they’d come here to rob, waved one hand for the rabbit to approach his fancy bench throne. When he came in reach, Hikiji took his chin in one hand, possessively, and held him in a bent-forward position that looked like it would be murder on the back.

The rabbit had his someone-else’s-untimely-death look on again, but he wasn’t…doing anything. Just standing there while Hikiji was saying something they couldn’t hear.

Hikiji turned his gripping hand into a caress down the rabbit’s throat and let him go. The rabbit moved to the side of the bench and dropped to the floor, leaning his back against Hikiji’s legs and staring at the wall. HIkiji rested one hand on his head like a Bond villain stroking a cat and seemed to forget about him.

“Hey, broskis?” Leo said, staring at the tiny screen like this might be the day he developed the ability to kill things with his eyes. “Change of plans. We’re going to destroy this guy.”

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Related Posts

Total War: Warhammer III Seemingly Costs Little More Than 0.24 USD On The Indonesian Epic Games Store

Netflix Releases A New Trailer Extraction 2 Showing Chris Hemsworth Back In Action

Be sure to read the article till the end to see how you can participate in the giveaway!

Event Details 

As part of the Live from PS5  Global Campaign, SIE will be setting up a special Installation for Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 at Lot 10 in front of the H&M building at Jalan Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur. This installation will be available today on 2nd March and lasts till 14th March from 10 AM to 10 PM.

Hey there! We’re happy to announce that in a new partnership with our friends at Doritos®, you will have the chance to win a PlayStation®5 console*. 

Our “Find All 4, Win a PlayStation®5” competition officially kicks off Monday, September 28, 2020 across select countries in Europe**. Purchase a promotional pack of Doritos® and enter your details on the promotion website to get a chance to win a PlayStation®5 console or one of 1000s of PlayStation prizes. 

But that’s not the only way to win! Doritos® are also offering you the chance to take part in an Augmented Reality quest with multiple prizes to be won. Your goal is to track down virtual Doritos® bags (“Bag Vatoms”) hidden around your local area***. Discovering bags will win you either one of 1000s of PlayStation instant prizes or could unlock one of the four iconic PlayStation symbols. Find all four chip symbols and you’ll win a PS5™.

And entry couldn’t be simpler: 

    Buy a pack of Doritos® featuring the below competition packaging:   

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    How to enter for a chance to win during the Instant Win Promotion period

o    Visit www.doritos.co.uk/PlayStation5 to enter your details and your pack promotional code which can be found in the backend seal of each promotional pack, then click on “enter now” to find out instantly if you have won a prize.

    How to enter for a chance to win during the AR Quest Promotion period

o    Visit the Doritos® Quest website at http://doritos-quest.com/playstation5 and create a Vatom wallet to be eligible to participate. Participants must either register directly or continue as a guest user to create a Vatom wallet. Click on the ‘How to Play’ and ‘FAQ’ Vatoms for more details. Users will be able to locate Doritos® Bag Vatoms by viewing nearby Vatoms on a map. As soon as a user finds a Vatom, they can tap on it to pick it up and claim the prize or collect the PlayStation® Shapes in order to try and collect all four PlayStation® Shapes. 

Be warned though: Participants and rewards are limited and there are only a finite number of PlayStation® Shapes to be collected****. So, you better be quick for a chance to enter and win. 

To find out more about the competition, as well as the full terms and conditions, including entry rules, please head here for UK & Ireland, here for Belgium, here for Netherlands, here for Nordics and here for Spain. 

*Winners will receive their console after the PlayStation®5 console launches in their country. 

**Competition available in: UK, Ireland, Belgium, Netherlands, from September 28 – December 31, 2020; Spain from November 2 – December 20 2020; Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Iceland from November 2 – December 31, 2020. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i just recently followed you and i just wanted to genuinely know why you like Jade so much 😅

Welcome, welcome~ to my humble little nest on the internet! ^^

... You have no idea what kind of monster you’ve just unleashed............................... .......... . .... . . .. ...

***INTENSE BRAIN ROT BELOW THE CUT, GONNA RIP THE BAND-AID OFF NOW AND WARN YOU THAT MY BRAIN ROTTING SELF AND MY NORMAL SELF ARE TOTAL OPPOSITES 😭 I’LL DO MY BEST TO STAY COHERENT BUT I’M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY DAMAGE DONE TO YOUR PSYCHE IF YOU CHOOSE TO READ—***

Let’s start off small and simple and work our way to the... darker, more depraved stuff later in this post 😷 I’M GOING TO TRY AND MAKE EACH SECTION SHORT AND TO THE POINT OTHERWISE THIS POST WILL LITERALLY NEVER END.

Shallow Waters

The first thing you notice about Jade is his appearance, right? He just???? Catches my eye................ 😳 I don’t think I’ve seen a character design quite like it (Floyd excluded)? The cut of his hair, the angular and short bangs, that black stripe, the turquoise/teal color of the main hair???????? It’s very unique, even among all the wacky anime characters I’ve seen.

I’ve never really had a thing for characters with pointed teeth, but asdjasdadlabd it works surprisingly well on Jade?????? Because you almost never see them, but when you do, they really make an impact??? D BHJCKVADVGFLHAIAH SH AR P ENOUGH TEEFS TO TEAR INTO M E E HBEFHALBHDFALIFALDUASI

AND HIS EYES ARE JUST.A BALSVIAVFAVYFOVGUOVEYGOWUVYIEAOBP;LGUOVDSYILBFVDSLIYFH;IHB OKAY OKAY I enjoy the heterochromia, but I meant that the shape of the eyes is nice??? Like they’re sharp and they point upward, which kind of lends him a sly, fox-like look. They go really well with his high, slightly angled arch of his brows, too. I really like that even the eye and eyebrow shapes lend themselves to his personality.................

adsbkDBFIFIEVYAGVIDQEGIOVYAQEGVIYOOQEGVYAFILFLIAVGVOYQEFOVUVOGSYIIYOAADFIPYAFDIP BUT ONE FOT HE BEST THINGS ABOUT JADE IS JUST. HIS MOUTH????????? The way Jade’s lips are always curled slightly upward, and it has that noticeable dip at his cupid’s bow, and the lower lip is nice and plump................... hBLIYFIVYAGLIHAFIPAFAFPIAF IT DRIVES ME CRAZY ITR MAKES ME GO IN SANE I SWKJBFIUABSAEFLIYVAEFILUAFVILAFSISAF

AND ASDHLADVLYFLAIYVADFLIAFLDI I’M NOT GOING TO GO INTO PAINSTAKING DETAIL ABOUT EVERY SINGLE PART OF HIS BODY, BUT I’M JUST GONNA SAY THAT JADE IS WELL CONSTRUCTED OKAY He has dexterous and nimble hands for all the hard, sweaty labor that Azul puts him to, plus delicately handling his little shroomies halsdbasilbda THE COVETED DORITO BOD................ AND SHAPELY THIGHS FROM ALL THE MOUNTAIN HIKING AUYAEFVYUFQVIYOGWOVYEWOVFQYEAVLAIFDAFVL I’m not going to comment on his boobs and butt from the Beans Camo card but hey I’m sure they’re nice too--

THAT HEIGHT, TOO. I don’t think it really occurred to me just how tall Jade really is until I clocked in his number in a website for height comparisons but. MAN. MAN OH MAN IS HE SO TALL HE’S A SKYSCRAPER QREHQGVUFOYAFVAFIADYAOUPAHUIOVAIFLUAVDIFAIDB THAT’S. THAT’S SO SCARY?????? BUT ALSO KINDA HOT NGL PERFECT SIZE FOR CUDDLES AND ALSO FOR KICKINVPOEOPL INTO THE DIRT

I also want to add that, style-wise, Jade checks off a lot of marks in my book. I really adore characters that are properly buttoned up (and ESPECIALLY in formal wear like suits). OOOH AND THE GLOVES..... . . . . . .... . . . . .. . . . J WORD TUGGING THE GLOES OFF WITH HIS SHARP TEEFS..... . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .The single dangly earring is a nice touch since that’s an aesthetic I think is really fun and fashionable. (I’ll go into more detail about why Jade showing less skin actually makes me go BARKBARKBARK more than if he showed more skin on a regular basis later, so stay tuned--)

Wading Out

At first glance, Jade seems like a very polite, caring, and altruistic type! It’s the type of personality that lends itself well into “helping/serving others”, which plays nicely into the good ol’ BUTLER trope. He even has that BUTTERY SMOOTH AND DEEP AS THE SEA ITSELF ASMR VOICE THAT SETSE YOU AT EASE OTL QEFUQEVUFAIYVAFL HAFIAFIAEFVIAFE M-MY WEAKNESS............ . . . . .. . . . . .... . . . . .. . . . . . I’m someone that has a lot (a LOT) of trouble falling asleep, so I usually play ASMR videos to help me akhwbdiyoasdyiasda AND I GUESS THAT JUST CONDITIONED ME TO GRAVITATE TOWARD CERTAIN KINDS OF VOICES. Jade also has a very eloquent and refined way of speaking which just aefyuadovfuavyfvfhaieueyafefvaie IT MAKES ME SOB IT’S SO NICE I THINK BI G WORDS ARE SEXY HOT 

MAN. AND THE POTENTIAL FOR TEASING>??????FA JHFLDIYAEFYIEAKGUVLIHFKVIUKVGADSLHFK GOD JUST ASFAFS GKJFADHVLADFIHOADFLUADGVULADFGVUADFSILDFSL SKILL ME NOW WHY DON’Y YOU JAJGBHALDFGOVDSUIADFHLGOAVIHBLFOUGVHLAFSDIGDFLHAKBVGLHKFADLH KN ZDIHLASIYVDALID HE’S SO GOOD AT TWISTING WORDS AND USING THEM TO HIS ADVANTAGE HE’S SO CHARMING HE CAN LIE HIS WAY INTO ANYONE’S HEART AND THAT’S SO HOT SKJABLBILASIDBSAD HUFFF HUFFD AYOFBOAUIDBLHAGOLHK GHUFUFF SAHBDFIADLBFADIBOADF

Before Jade, I had a preference for butler/bodyguard types of characters anyway sooo by design, Jade was already appealing to me from the get-go. The appeal of the butler trope is that????? They just take care of you asdhlbasdfiadfal and admittedly, that is something that I also have issues doing. Life is hard, life gets busy, and unfortunately you don’t always make the time to relax or to actually take care of yourself. Some days your mood is so bad that you don’t have the energy to do anything. Self-care is hard. I forget to eat, I forget to sleep, I just stuff my head into my work and do it until I forget about hunger and sleep and even stress. THAT’S WHY IT’S MY FANTASY TO JUST HAVE SOMEONE ELSE DO ALL THAT PESKY SELF-CARE FOR ME.

Another trope I really like (that Jade also plays well into) is the whole Househusband thing. Jade’s generally reliable and competent in EVERYTHING, and he seems to have pretty good domestic/homemaking skills so asfjgbasldbasdasd I think he’s ideal for a lot of wholesome fluff in that kind of a setting. Househusbands also do the self-care for you, so asdbhasoydayfaasfba YEAH SOMETIMES WHEN YOU’RE A HOT MESS THAT CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO MANAGE THEIR WELLBEING, IT’S JUST EASIER TO COPE USING AN ANIME EEL

Jade has sooo much potential for ashldblasdbasibd cozy feels 😌 sdbgksavtiudsa He can make you a nice tasty meal adgkufyayvafa or just go out for a little hike and just soak up nature asd habsdfufgtiuewveqofyilvuoaiyldvlibaf HIS HOBBIES ARE SUPER CUTE AN D RELATABLE TO ME OKAY LIKE ASDGKJBASYDUVADAKUFVASD MUSHROOMS ARE COOL AND SO DIVERSE IN LOOKS AND PROPERIES, TERRARIUMS ARE TINY AND CUTE IM sO HAPPY THER’ES A CHARACTER WITH THE SAME NIChE INTERESTS AS ME 

I also really adore how composed he is??? It creates this air of mystery about him, like you never quite know what he’s thinking, yet he never lets his troubles get to him...... . . . . .... .. . . . . .  .. IT ADDS TO HIS ALLURE ASDHASHU9DPABFIFOUYIAGPEOEUYIFHEOUGVIBASLV;BI I LIKE ME A MAN THAT HAS HIS SHIT TOGETHER OTL

And not to mention?>?>?????? *slaps a hand on J word* SINCE HE’S SO WELL ALIGNED WITH THE BUTLER AND THE HOUSEHUSBAND TROPES, HE’S ALSO PRACTICALLY GOT LOYALTY BUILT INTO HIM and for someone with massive trust issues like me, it’s so easy to retreat to that for comfort.

The Deep End

... Okay, now that the ‘normal’ simping is done, let me get into the... slightly questionable stuff. Note how, in the previous section, I screamed about my adoration for what Jade’s personality initially comes off as. Loyalty? Kindness? BITCH, WHERE????????????????? 😂 THAT AIN’T TRUE ONE BIT. THIS MAN SIT S ON A THRONE OF LIES AND I ST I LL LOVE HIM FOR THAT ADFHBLAHFBAFOUQEYIFVIEUAOIYFVITUOIY

ASDBHADFIYAUFAOIAF THIS PUTS ALL THE STUFDF I SAID EARLIER INTO A TOTALLY DIFFERNT CONTEXT ASBHLFALBHDIABLFILVFADB;SA JUST IMAG INE HIM  SMILIN G ASHLDFHABLFDIABHLADS WHILE HE TELLS YOU HOW DISGUSTEING HE THINKS YOU ARE ASDBHLASBHLDFHFAOVFDOVASBIFA LIK E A COCDK ROACH OR JUST LOOKING DOWN MAT YOU WITH A STUPID HOT  SMIRKMKK FCYJCSBLHASVDHLAISBKDA is it obvious that I’m a M yet

dbkalihfiadbllihliadfibadf LIKE ITR TURNS OUT EVEN HIS CUTE TERRARIUM MAKING HOBBY IS JUST SO HE CAN FEEL LIKE HE CAN SATISFY HIS SICK GOD COMPLEX AND F EEL LIKE HE HAS TOTAL CONTROL OVER A SMALL WORLD OF HIS OWN????????? BITCH ME TOO ME TOO SOMEITMES I WANNA MAKE SOMETHING MINATURE SO I CAN CRAM IT INTO MY DISGUSTINg MOUF AnD CHEW IT LIKE A jELLYBEAN TO FEEL SecURE

AND HE HAS THAT SUS A SS EEL MERFORM ????????ADFHADBGIYLdbsila like WHAT DO YIU WANT ME TO DO WITH THIS KNOWLEDGE????????????????? LOOKA T H IM HE’S BLUE AND HE HAS FINS AND A LONG TAIL AND OH YEAH E E L  A B S A RE NOW VCANON???????? OTL THE FIRST TRIME I SAW THAT ON MY SCREEN I HAD TO JUST PUT IT DOWNA ND TAKE A DEEP BREATEH AND SCREAM INTRO A PILLOW *sobs why are mermaids my aesthetic* HE CAN GLOW IN THE DARK AND SNAP ME LIKE A GLOWSTICK WITH HIS TAIL HE CAN DRAG ME DOWN BELOW AND TAKE A HUGE FAT BITE OUT OF ME HFR CNA CAN ADWBKHLIYOAFIYAFAEFYILADFHAFDOUVAFVSGVSVGO

I’M NORMAL

I’M NORMAL

I’M NORMAL I SWEAR I AM

I

I’M NOT HERE TO DEFEND J WOR’D’S MULTIPLE RED FLAGS

I

i’m h ER E TO AJK DHAHLDASBLIADS ADMIRE HIS INTELLIGENC E

h i s b-bbbbb-b-b-b-b-b-b-bb-b-bbrain foldies... .. .. . . . . . ........ . . . . . . . . .

OKAY OKAY ONE THING I LOVE ABOUT J WOR DIS HE RELIES ON HIS SMARTS INSTEAD OF HIS STRENGTH I mean, he’s still strong but he doesn’t immediately jump to brute strength or violence to solve his problems! He’s strategic about both how he composes himself and how he uses his magic, and he knows how to manipulate a situation and others around him to get what he wants WITHOUT THEM EVEN REALIZING IT?????/ TEHAT’S SO SESXY ADFHUASBBHLFABFADBFODAPVIYFU;OABHDFPIUOAD;BFOIADFPOGV LIKE THAT TAKES SO MUCH PLANNING AND ANTICIPATION AND KNOWING WHAT OTHER PLEOPLE WILL DO, HOW THEY’LL REACT ASDJVADFALDFIYADOFVILAFULAHLVBFADJHLBFAS I LOVE HIS BIG BRAINS OTL

IT’S EVEN EBETTER BECAUSE IT’S SUCH A SHARP CONTRAST TRO HOW FAKE NICE HE IS, THIS MAN WILL LITERALLY BLACKMAIL AND LIE AND MANIPULATE AND CHEAT AND GASLIGHT YOU INTO SUBMISSION BUT THERE’ES ADS, UHDASASDBAD SOETHIONGWEIRDLY COOL TO ME Jade could very well easily choose to just go the quick route of beating other people up until they talk, but he makes a conscious decision to go the slower, harder route instead????/ THAT TAKES GUTS, SKILL, AND CREATIVITY NO MATTER HOW FUCKED UP HIS METHODS ARE  AND THAT’S ADMIRABLE IN IT’S OWN WAY

I DON’T KNOW I JUST GET BORED REALLY EASILY AND I KNOW I’D NEVER BE BORED WITH J A DE 

Jumping the Shark Dolphin

A major draw of Jade for me is the stark ✨ c o n t r a s t ✨ between how he initially comes across as kind and helpful, and his true nature, which is much more sinister and ill-intentioned. He LOOKS so well-put together, but he also knows how to make you crumble and beg for mercy with a few words. He KNOWS he has this terrifying power, but he never really fully unleashes it upon you, because he also has the wits about him to use it only when he needs to. He always keeps you on the edge of your seat, quietly stringing you along with sweet nothings and promises of all your wishes coming true, and it’s such a perfect fantasy he creates for you that by the time you realize you’re slowly GETTING THE LIFE SUCKED OUT OF YOU AND YOUR WALLET it’s too late, he has everything and he’s running out the door with it and--

EVERYTRHING ABOUT HIM JUST HITS A BAJILLION TIMES HARDER BECAUSE HE ACTS SO FAKE NICE AND BUTTONED UP ALL THE TIME IT’S SO JARRING??????? BUT ALSO ODDLY SATISFYING TO SEE THE PAYOFF, IF THAT MAKES ANY SENSE AT ALL.

It hurts more to be backstabbed by someone you once trusted, with that kind and gentle face. If someone you already knew was an asshole was cruel, it wouldn’t be THAT bad by comparison because you expected it. With Jade, you don’t—so it feels less like just a knife driven into you and more like he LEFT the knife in you and keeps twisting it around MMMMMM HURT S SO GOOD

It’s scarier when the one that’s always calm and composed snaps and finally goes apeshit, GOES ABSOLUTELY FERAL. You have to walk on eggshells because you don’t know when he’ll lose it, but when he DOES lose it, you know it’ll be insanity. AND HIS UNHINGED SMILE JUST HITS DIFFERENT ASKHDABSFUIPBAOUGIYELAFOIADUOLFOGUAILHDLHFABDFADHL THAT SOFT CHUCKLE THAT SIGNALS YOUR IMMENENT DOOM..................... . . . . ... . . . .. . . . . . . . . .

It’s more attractive when someone that is normally so covered up exposes like a single centimeter of flesh BUT NO, J WORD JUST GOES BUCK NAKED MERFORM IG UESS????????? OTL THAT BIG JUMP JUST ASDASHLFIHBAFAFAOGFIGAOVFODUPAGVOFQEHA IT CASUGHT ME OFF GUARD ARENBFEALHFEAVUAIDBVGDULIADAUDLVI;BADGUVIA;DFLDIGS;LGS JUST THAT CIRCDLE OF EXPOSED PALM INN HIS DORM UNIFORM GLOVES AKJDBIHLASDBSIABLIHAFAFSAFSLAFS ITR MAKES ME START SALIVATINGF LIKE AW VICTRORIAN MAN SEING AN EXPOSED ANKLE MY PORO R HEAR T WAS NOT REAYD FOR THA TAILHFHADLBIADFAVLDFADFAEFIFD;BDFHBA;FNIBFA;NFDDF I HAVE VICTORIAN MAN ENERGY Js dshhlaslhafadfadvfadvfLDgvuFSGLFSVAV

It also works the opposite way! Because of how brutal you know Jade can be, it makes his moments of softness all the more adorable. The same eel man that’s capable of killing you is also just. Being wholesome and lovingly tending to his mushrooms? Stuffing his face with good food? Sadistically getting off on his classmates struggling and suffering around him? AND HIS NON FAKEASS SMILES ARE SO GOOD, JUST LOOK AT HIS LABWEAR GROOVY ADUYUOADASVDUASUFABSLD THAT’S JUST THE POWER OF GAP MOE, B A BY 

Sinking into the Fathoms Below

To summarize, J word is a topic of morbid fascination for me and all the words I vomited in this post is just an extremely ABIRDGED version of what goes on in my mind when I think about him, IT’S LIKE A HAMSTER TAKING A SIP OF ENERGY DRINK AND RUNNING AROUND ON ITS WHEEL FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT.

If I had to liken my thoughts on Jade to something, many, MANY images come to mind.

Find a light at the bottom of the sea and trying to chase it, only to wander further and further into the darkness... a siren’s song at the stroke of midnight, luring you out into the waters until you’re fully submerged but the hypnotic sound still has a firm grip over your brain, coaxing you into the deep blue until you finally lose yourself completely to the sound... fungus spores floating by on the breeze and unknowing lodging themselves into your brain until the hyphae sprout and seize control of your mind... a tender kiss spiked with poison, so sweet that you never want it to break, even as it slowly kills you... trying to solve a puzzle, but the more you attempt to find the answer, the more tangled and complicated the puzzle becomes, but you still foolishly press onward... an Eldritch horror that fascinates and entices you and slowly drives you into madness as you sink further and further into the dream... playing the part of the fool to gain the favor of the crown, and you know he’s only there to sneer at you as you pathetically flop around like a fish on land BUT YOU’RE HAPPY SEEING HIM SMILE ANYWAY SO YOU KEEP ON CLOWNIN’................. .. . . . . ..... . . . . . . .. . . . ..... . . . .. . . .... . . .. . . ... .. . .. . . . . . . ..

BSFBvyvofavuofoyvfaoifLI  THERE’S SO MUCH MORE I WANN A SAY BUT I FEEL SLIKE THIS POST IS ALREADY TOO DAMN LONG AND SAYING ANYTHING EXTRA WILL JUST TARNISH THE PRISTINE ANd PROPER IMAGE Y’A LL HAVE OF ME IN YROUR HEADS  OR AJ SOMTHEING HTIN  DJ;FANDFAFBIHABHFAD SO IM JUST.

I’ ‘M GONANa FINIsH OFF BYSAyIMG

GET YOU AN EEL THAT “TAKE YOU OUT” IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.

... Anyway.

Before formally closing this post off ❤️ I want to take this time to reiterate that I am, indeed, normal and that I want Jade to step on me.

I hope you got a lot of amusement out of reading my terminal brain rot~

For Further Reading:

L*ve Letter to J Leech

Overanalyzing every J Leech Card and Groovy (poses and clothing) up to Feb 20th 2022

You might as well read the entire Jade Leech thirst tag at this point

[lunarblazes]

OKAY SO. slb lore. cracks my knuckles lets go:

this lil blue bitch right here? their name is strive. their planet (moebius, yes named after the famous artist) is dying because these crazy triangle ship things stole all the starlight from them and now everything’s dying. the thieves are named The Void.

^^ seen here. they’re being bastards, killing planets, stealing stars, and fighting wars. that’s The Void.

anyway strive’s all sad about the stars and shit but THEN. A STAR APPEARS. AND THEY RUN AFTER IT WITH AN ANGSTY GLANCE BACK AT THEIR ELDER.

(again if you compare them to my grian design i’ll kill you that’s bullying you’re bullying me)

strive goes to investigate the fallen star and finds Holy Shit! That’s Not A Star! it’s a whole ass void ship that’s crashed down into their front yard! they touch it and BOOM they get sucked inside of it by some Magic and it shapes itself into a custom ship for them and blasts the fuck off. bye moebius rest in fuck i guess.

strive goes through a GOD DAMN SHIP GRAVEYARD that surrounds moebius when they get a message from a smiling mustache guy! it’s the intergalactic band members of twrp and the brigadiers who are fighting the void together!

lookit them all at this table. isn’t that nice. the robot one is havve hogan, the orange traffic cone man is doctor sung, the ninja one is ninja brian (he’s not in twrp but it’s complicated), the furry is commander meouch, and the red one is lord phobos! they all have lore too but it’s insane and not related to the mv SO we’re moving past it. (the lady in the helmet is an unnamed oc for the video; in the fandom we called her captain elle, after the animator who designed her— elle power!)

oh SHIT The Void is attacking. that’s not good! the brigade assumes attack position! everyone fights The Void fleet with everything they have to prevent more stars from being stolen. interestingly, strive’s ship is the only one without weapons (the rest of the brigade has weapons and controls tied to their instruments, i believe), and so they have to resort to making the voidships fight each other. the brigade tries to find their way to destroy the Main Dorito, but there’s a shield! oh no! strive is shot down and legit fucking dies.

like legit fucking dies. but it’s an anime death and they’re fine and they wake up all glowy and cool with Sick Anime Hair and enough power to ram the FUCK out of that Dorito Shield.

they get in! and then they’re all sucked INTO the Ultimate Dorito and have to fly through so that’s pretty crazy.

look at how crazy that fucking shot is. they’re going through what i like to call “the black and gray” because it’s a line in the song :^)

anyway the Ultimate Dorito is no match for the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP. that shit explodes and all the stars are returned to the galaxy! strive is accepted as part of the now intergalactic hero band: THE STARLIGHT BRIGADE.

and that’s the BASIC plot. i have like a billion hcs but that’s the gist of it! some details from the patreon posts:

strive is meant to be somewhere around 16-21 but they could be any younger or older depending on the viewer’s interpretation!

the void is controlled by a huge hivemind that commands all the ships. there aren’t any void pilots for this reason, though some people do suspect that there is a queen.

moebians are based on starlings, and have little feather-styled ears! (NO GRIAN. NONE WHATSOEVER. I AM BEATING MYSELF W A STICK.) they can have different facial markings and skin tones. the crystals in their chests are suspected to be tied to their hope or starlight intake; either way, strive is the only one whose light is still intact at the time of their departure.

THERE’S MORE BUT I GET HCS AND CANON MIXED UP A LOT. WHEN I TELL YOU THAT WE MADE OUR OWN CANON WE REALLY REALLY DID.

[bastardsunlight]

Shaking up your inbox with this one for all your married muses:

You get pinched on the butt by your partner, wyd?

//This answer is so long (like my dick), I'm not tagging it with more'n the essentials god bless.

Cable – Would actually be surprised if Wade didn’t pull Some Shit Like This™… and that’s without telepathy.

Gavin Reed – When he was married, he would jump and cuss at the top of his lungs—flailing and hissing, the whole bit.

Harley Quinn – You know that squeal she makes? That. She jumps and it’s pretty much the cutest shit ever, zero homicide. She loves her Pammy.

Jim Kirk – Honestly it’s RARE, but our beloved Captain (sometimes Admiral) does his level best to maintain dignity.

Johnny Cage – In all verses, across all timelines, he whips out a classic charmer line and his spouse HAAAAAATES him for it, but they should’ve known better.

Kung Lao – Eyes wide, lips pressed together, holding back a yelp. He knows who it is—nobody else but Liu Kang would have the moxxy to pull that shit, but it surprises him every time.

Matt Horner – Okay if it’s Mira, he’s screaming and moving away quickly, possibly pulling a firearm. Valerian, he’s still going to scream, thinking it’s Mira, but when it isn’t and the Emperor is feeling frisky, all bets are off.

Mileena – She goes red, hisses, and pretends she doesn’t love it. Tanya knows better.

Mordecai – is just impressed Brick found enough cheek to pinch.

Noctis – Squawk. I don’t know what other word describes that noise—plus he goes red to his big ol’ ears.

Piccolo – Grunts a little then makes a crack about being impressed Vegeta could reach. Violence ensues, but dw they’re into it.

Raiden – Quiet intake of breath at the audacity of it, but Shang Tsung is nothing if not audacious—one must be, if one is to wed and bed a god.

Rayden – Gives it right tf back—usually with a crotch grab so beware. Porno moans optional, depends on how much of a goblin he feels like bein’.

Sandman – “Hey!” Followed by the dumbest old man dad grin you’ve ever seen.

Scorpion – “THIS DISHONOR WILL NOT GO UNANSWERED.” Violence. It’s Shirai-Ryu tradition probably.

Holmes – Actual surprise???

Snake – “Hrrn, Otacon…!” They then proceed to fumble about and then make slow, languorous love. It’s pretty great when love blooms on the battlefield, innit?

Shiro – Like, the cutest “EH!” you’ve ever heard out of a dorito-shaped man.

Twisted Fate – “Well ain’t you cheeky? Gunna finish what you started, big man?” Or some variation on that theme. He is very in love with his giant dingus husband (which is fortunate because Graves is very in love with his twinky dingus husband, so it all works out)

Valerian Mengsk – A surprisingly Anime Gasp™ for a man his size.

The Boss – A comical scream that sounds so much like Nolan North you’d swear it was Nolan North, but that’s crazy… right?

[buckysforeverprincess]

Winter Wonderland-Christmas Tree

Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 486

Warnings: More fluff

A/N: Welcome to day 16!!!! I’m super excited that I’ve kept up with this challenge. And thank you to all that have kept up with the fluff that is Steve Rogers and Reader. The tree in this fic is based off my own Christmas tree, which this year we decided to get a real one for the first time in 10 years.Enjoy!!

“Oh, Christmas tree… oh, Christmas tree…,” you sang as you walked through the large tree lot, bundled up from the cold.

 “What about that one?” Steve pointed to a tree that was about six feet tall. From a distance it would appear there was some space between the branches that made for some large gaps and that didn’t fit your idea of a perfect tree.

 “Nah, not that one. Let’s keep looking.”

 The two of you continue to walk around hand and hand, searching for the perfect tree.

 “You know… I find this ass backwards.”

 “Oh?” You ask and stop in front of another tree with a little more definition than the last one. “How so?”

 “Well…,” Steve begins assessing the tree, trying to determine if this one’s any better, “... we decorated on the first of December. You’d think we would’ve gotten a tree first before doing so.”

 You walk around the tree and see this one is a lot more promising than the last, but it doesn’t quite sit right with you.

 “No one ever said we’re traditional. Let’s keep looking but come back to this one if we don’t find anything.”

 Your husband nods and you walk off hand in hand, scoping out the trees in the next row. There’s a couple that could potentially be good but neither Steve or you were feeling either of them would be a good fit in your decorated living room. Honestly, you were ready to give up and go somewhere else. You did pass a ‘U Cut’ sign on the way in and you’re pretty sure your husband would look sexy af swinging an axe.

 There’s a tugging on your hand, and you turn back to see Steve stopped, eyes wide staring at a tree.

 “This one…,” he whispered, “... this is our tree.”

 In front of Steve is a perfectly shaped six-foot-tall tree. Stepping back to look, this tree is picture perfect and needs no trimming. It’s full at the base and has the shape of a Dorito, reminiscent of your husband's body. Steve was right… this was your tree.”

 “It’s beautiful!” You lean in and wrap your arm around Steve’s mid-section. “Let’s take this one home.”

 “Stay here and guard our tree. I’ll go find the guy!” He kisses you on the head and takes off to find the attendant.

 With Steve gone you step closer to the tree and inhale a deep breath, taking in the scent of the pine. “You’re gonna make the best addition to our home this Christmas. This will be the bestest Christmas ever!”

 “What was that?” Steve comes up behind you with a man in tow.

 “Just saying this is gonna be the best Christmas ever!”

 Steve bends down, his lips connecting with yours in a soft kiss. “Every Christmas is spectacular when I’m with you. Now let’s get this home… we’ve got some decorating to do.” 🎄

Tags:

@thefanficfaerie​

Forever Tags:

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[internalsealpanic]

Explosive Chemistry

Summary: Chemistry labs can be a bit tedious. Nothing laser vision can’t fix though. 

A/n: You can all blame @birdy-bat-writes​ for this fluff and @knightfall05x​ for the amazing mood board. This might feel a little rushed so apologies and Clark is kind of hard to write (ope). Anyway, here is your regularly scheduled comedy.  Thanks again to @knightfall05x​ for proof reading!

warning: swearing, reader’s terrible moral compass, and some injury

masterlist

You met Clark- Well, ‘met’ might be too formal a word for what happened. 

 You discovered Clark during a mundane Metropolis afternoon. Taking a break from your studies (read: a group project that had not been going smoothly), you hopped on to a trail car to go to your favorite sandwich shop right across from your favorite diner. 

 The sandwich shop itself was nothing too special, not in a good way at least. It was even what your delicately paletted father had politely described as ‘subpar’ which as far as you knew was the worst insult he could give. Frank- the owner- was, of course, inclined to disagree. You were, on the other hand, inclined to agree with the opinion especially after biting into a raw piece of chicken in one of their “famous” chicken sandwiches. But it was cheap and it offered the best view of the diner across the street. 

In truth, you liked the food at the diner better. Their blueberry pancakes were absolutely delightful, at least, on Mondays.  But more than anything you found more delight in watching its contained chaos. You’ve watched people propose, get divorced, have fights, and everything else in between. The sheer absurd theatrics of it all captivated you. It was people-watching at its finest. Frank just thought it was creepy to which you simply nodded and nibbled at your sandwich. 

As you watched the usual ensemble cast in the diner, you witness a tall, handsome guy with black hair and blue eyes get mugged. Ok, well, almost get mugged. He was a big boi so you weren’t entirely surprised when he was easily able to stop the scrawny knife-wielding assailant. What did surprise you were the proceeding events. To your utter disbelief (and amusement); instead of throwing the guy into the gutter as custom dictates, the buff guy just guided his assailant to the diner and had a chat with him. You chew your sandwich slowly as you watch them talk as if nothing strange had occurred minutes before, digesting the odd comedy unfolding before your eyes. 

 Moments later and a few tears shed, they parted ways. You frowned thinking that would be the end of it and you were about to whine to Frank about how anticlimactic that was. But then it just kept going. 

 He got mugged. 

 Again.

 And again. 

 And again.

 By the fourth time, Frank sat beside you to watch finally leaving the spot he was polishing alone. Repeated muggings were weird enough but the guy kept inviting them to talk. You choked every time but made no move to intervene, only nibbling at your sandwich and watching with near clinical interest.

 After the fifth mugging, Frank raised a challenging brow at you as you continued to chew on your sandwich. You shrug at him as if to say ‘I’m eating what do you want me to do?’. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave you even as another mugger approached the buff guy. You cut him a look and chew a little faster. For a guy running what is most likely a money-laundering scheme, he sure was noble. 

 Having finally finished your sandwich, you wave your hand halfheartedly to Frank, your middle finger extended skyward. Kicking the shop door open and jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets, you made your way to the other side of the street ignoring the cars driving past you, blowing and whipping the skirt of your dress every which way. 

 Neither of them pays you any mind as you approach them, which was just as well. You shifted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder deciding whether to use it. Your laptop was in there so probably not. You decide to christen your new flattops by giving the man a good harsh kick in his nether regions. He goes down with a squeak. 

 “Scram!” You snarl, baring your teeth. In a surprisingly well-coordinated motion, he does, looking honestly scared for his life. You pivot to the guy who you assume is some kind of tourist. 

 Most people would say that Clark towered over you but the truth was that no matter how tall Clark was he couldn’t really measure up to the height of you. Nothing about you was inherently intimidating, especially as you stand before him in flat tops, hoodie, and short dress, except maybe for your shoulders. But that had less to do with their actual shape and more to do with how uncommonly broad they were compared to the rest of your body.  Some people say it made you look like an angry dorito to which you unfailingly replied with something Clark would rather not repeat. At least, not in polite company. 

 You regard him with a pinched brow which makes Clark straighten as you openly assess him. You memorize the angles of his features, all the sharpness and corners of it not noticeable due to the softness of the way he carries himself in a typical hometown boy kind of way.  You note your university’s logo on the edge of his sweatshirt.

 You reach your hand out. “Y/n L/n but just call me Y/n”

 “Clark Kent” He answers, shaking your hands. You note the distinct midwestern shape of his syllables which explained a lot.  

 “Yanno muggers aren’t exactly good speed dating partners, right?”

 Clark smiled at the, admittedly, terrible joke. By the way, your eyes flash with interest, he’ll be seeing a lot of you. 

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Your foot bounced erratically against the metal bar serving as your stool’s footrest. You watched the thermometer with a pinched face and a ticking brow as the mercury in it remains unmoving. Your mounting frustration amusing Clark making him cover his mouth. You fix him with a look and the door actually whistles “innocently” and looks away, pretending to be intently reading the procedure as if you two haven’t been reading it for the past half hour trying to figure out why your solution wasn’t boiling. His baby blues none-too-subtly flicking in your direction. You give him one last scathing look, which he easily glances off, before turning back to your solution. His eyes have been flickering at you as if he’s been meaning to ask you a question. That question likely being ‘could you possibly stop looking like you’re going to murder the molecules in our solution’. His eyes flicker again to watch you seethe and pout at the liquid and it takes everything in Clark not to tease you about being cute. 

 Bouncing your leg again, you gently turn the hot plate’s nob until the screen reads 1000 F. Clark makes a choked sound, finally tearing his attention away from what you assumed to be a particularly interesting semicolon. Clark reaches over and turns the damned thing back down to 300 F. You glare at him before, violently, turning it back up to 1000. Clark just as quickly turns it back down. 

 Click

 Click

 Click 

 You two continue on like this for a while ‘til your instructor, pinching his nose, strolls over to your lab bench to politely tell you to knock it off. With a shrug, you two settle on 650 F as your compromise. You, however, continue to glower at the solution while Clark peruses through the next lab distinctly reminding you of someone in the waiting room of a dentist’s office which makes you scrunch your nose and worsen the impatient ticking of your limbs. “Glaring at it won’t make it go faster,” Clark chuckled in his Midwestern sweater voice. You had the urge to pour the hot acid of the flask on to him but you suppressed the urge mainly because it wouldn’t actually hurt and pouring it on him meant starting over and that just sounded tragic.   

 You place your hands primly on your lap and spin your chair towards Clark. “Not all of us can watch grass grow, Paul Bunyan.” You snip. Clark shakes his head at you, whether it’s from your tone or the nickname you can’t tell. All you could discern was that it irritated him and some petty part of you was satiated the way old gods were when someone made an acceptable sacrifice. 

 “Is that what you think we do in Kansas?” Your first impulse is to say ‘yes’ even if it wasn’t the truth. You thought better of it though. Picking a fight with Clark Kent was a terrible idea, superstrength or not. You were, of course, familiar with Kansas as a concept the same way you were familiar with Mars. Both seemed equally distant, equally alien, and equally irrelevant as such you never dedicated too much thought to it. The last one might have changed a bit with your chance encounter with Clark. You remember him mentioning going home for Thanksgiving Break. You also distinctly remember wanting to ask if you could come along. After all, you didn’t have much in the way of killing time during holidays seeing as most of your relatives were overseas and the relatives you did have here were indisposed either due to work or due to other families. You felt silly thinking about it now and even sillier contemplating how you would explain the special brand of unpleasantness of being bored over the holidays. Maybe you should get a boyfriend- your eyes flicker to Clark but you shake your head- or a girlfriend or maybe friends who weren’t either foreign exchange students or farm boys from Kansas with laser vision. 

 You whip your head to Clark who was mumbling something about not staring at the grass. He frowns at you, not finishing his sentence.

 “You have that look.”

 “What look?”

 “The bad idea look.”

 “I do not”

 “Ok, let me rephrase. The let’s do something stupid for science look.”

 You huff indignantly. Clark looks unfazed and a little smug. You did not have that kind of look and sue, you’ve asked once or ten times to use his powers to do something ridiculous but this was a matter of importance. 

 “Use your heat vision”

 “Wha-”

 “Heat vision. Flask. Go faster.” You punctuate each word with a wild flick or gesticulation of your hands. 

 Clark moves his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his sharp nose.“We’re not going to use my heat vision-”

 “-Yes, we are.” 

 “No, we aren’t. Do you want me to list the ways this could go wrong?”

 “Relax, my human shield is invincible.”

 “You’re horrible.”

 “Yup.”

 “I really can’t convince you?”

 “Nope.”

 “What if I just don’t?”

 “Then I dip out and break into a different lab to get a bunsen burner.”

 Clark laughs, shaking his head fondness seeping into his smile. It made your heart melt and your face heat. You know you’ve won when Clark moves his seat closer to you. For some reason, Clark always insisted on sitting just a little farther from you no matter the circumstance. 

 You two lean in. Clark gives you a side glance. “For the record, I said this was a bad idea.”

 “Fine, I’ll quote you on that once I’ve won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.”

 Clark snorts. He removes his glasses, the blue of his eyes shifting to an angry red. It makes your breath hitch every time being reminded just how dangerous your sweet, gentle best friend really is. 

 You watch the liquid in the flask begin to boil and you make a noise of triumph, throwing your arms up in the air in delight. Clark smiles at you and you feel a little embarrassed by your reaction but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear.   You both lean back and you toss him a smug smile. He huffs at you amused and rolls his eyes. 

 “Fine, not all of your ideas are-”

 Crack. 

 Shatter. 

 Shards of glass fly everywhere as the flask shatters. You yelp high and surprised. Clark pulls you into his arms shielding you from the glass and hot acid. You hiss when a shard cuts against the delicate skin of your forehead. You’re numb as you feel the blood trickling staining Clark’s shirt. Your senses were more focused on the way he wraps his arms around you and how safe you feel despite the graze on your forehead. 

 “Y/n, Clark, are you two ok?”

 You hear the frantic footsteps approach you but neither of you pulls away. You just focus on how tightly Clark holds you against himself.  You feel the flex of his large muscles as he pulls you closer. 

 “We’re fine sir but I think Y/n needs to go to the clinic.”

 Do you? 

 Your fingers rise up your forehead and your stomach drops a little when they come away red. You’re aware that you’re bleeding but it takes some time for the knowledge to fully sink in. Your professor is practically shoving you out of the room by the time you even make any move to react. 

 “Y/n, I-”

 “I swear to god if you say I told you so I’ll punch you in the face-” You look into his eyes, your voice amazingly calm. He opens his mouth again. “- and if you say I’m sorry I’ll punch you in the dick.” His mouth closes and you both fall silent even as you go down the hall towards the university’s health office which was just a glorified clinic with the addition of counselors and a waiting room with Rubix cubes instead of magazines. Clark doesn’t loosen his grip on your shoulder even as you wait for the nurse to come out and treat you. 

 Your mind feels far less frantic than it did a few moments ago. 

 “I told you it was a bad idea.” Clark jokes offhandedly.

 You snort at the remark and glare at him without any real venom. “You really aren’t as nice as people say you are.”

 “Nope.”

 “Jackass.”

 This draws a tired laugh from him. “Well, I’m sorry. Why don’t I make it up to you then?”

 “Unless you’ve got a Porsche in your back pocket”

 He winces. You snort again. 

 “How bout coffee?” You blink at him. “Or maybe dinner? This Friday?” He adds with a hopeful lilt. 

 “Just as long as you don’t invite a mugger to come along.”  

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THANKS FOR READING

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Friendly Encounters- Chapter Three

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: A friend challenges you to go out of your comfort zone and talk to one of the cute boys at the café. However, after attempting to flirt with one of them, they reveal that they are in a relationship with each other. It’s fine, though, because you’re all friends now!

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Romance

𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: Fluff

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Mentions of sex, language, mature themes, mostly safe but not suitable for young audiences below the age of 16, and binge eating if you are easily triggered by that.

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 5.8k+

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jimin x Yoongi x Reader

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“My boyfriend actually called me his wife today.” “Oh yeah, well mine already proposed to me, that’s right, five years since we've started dating!”

“Oh, Lyric, you’re lucky. My boyfriend only ever invited me to his family’s tree trimming party and we got blessings from all of his great-aunts, uncles, and other relatives. His parents even call me their future daughter.” You roll your eyes at how unrelenting these girls are. They won’t even stop talking about boys for one second and you’ve been at this sleepover for five hours. It’s supposed to be the last sleepover of the decade as seniors, for everyone since you and this tiny group started planning in the seventh grade. Just because you’re all girls doesn’t mean boys are the only thing you have to talk about! It’s not an obligation. This isn’t a disney movie where the prince is going to marry the princess at the end, it’s real life and everyone is too fucking clingy to realize it. 

“Can we not talk about boys tonight?” You finally ask out loud, earning a gasp from everyone in the vicinity, including Bae, who happens to be a lesbian. Even she was enjoying the boy talk. 

“Why? That’s literally what sleepovers are about.” Your other friend, Joy points out. You sigh in frustration, falling back on the carpeted floor while hugging your soft ladybug plushie.

“Looks like someone’s having a bit of drama, we heard from Jessica. Now, tell mama River what’s really going on.” You take in a deep breath before slowly explaining your situation with the boys.

“And these boys are a gay couple?” Bae asks in a questioning tone.

“They are! But...after a certain encounter, I’m not really sure what to think. They’re older, and in love with each other, but I feel like I’m just intruding at times, you know?” Another girl that goes by the name of “Temoshika-san,” which is her japanese name nods in agreement, holding out a tray of foods for you to snack on.

“Eat. I binge whenever I’m stressed.” She says after you take a tiny bag of doritos. 

“Hon..I’m gonna say something but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Your most sensible friend, Toriel (oh yes I named her after an undertale character) says after a long moment of silence. 

“Shoot. I’ve already made plans with them for next week to see a concert so there’s nothing that can surprise me now.” You bite your lips. It’s been an entire month since that day when Yoongi demanded you to lick ice cream off his boyfriend’s cheek and things escalated from there. 

You didn’t have sex, but it was a close call. Your heart almost ran away from you. Yet, they don’t bring it up, so it’s safe to assume that they felt nothing from that encounter. 

Maybe Jimin didn’t anyways. Or maybe he was feeling just as horny as you! Who knows? No guy has ever looked at you that way before, so you wouldn’t even know.

“I think that both of these boys might be catching feelings for you. But they’ve probably never had feelings for a girl before, so they don’t know how to go about it.” Her theory makes sense. Suddenly, all of the pieces click in your mind.

“You’re a genius, Toriel!” You give her a hug before whipping out your phone to text Jimin. Right on cue, you get a text! But you’re surprised to see that it's not from Jimin.

“Damn, that's some cold shit right there. I didn’t know what you did to piss him off so much.” Bae chuckles at your misery as you put your phone away.

“Wanna spill the details?” A girl by the name of Cleo asks. You roll your eyes.

“It was just Yoongi. He said he and Jimin wanted to talk to me. As if things haven’t been awkward enough.” You feel like you’re walking on eggshells with the two, as you’ve stopped hugging Jimin for longer than 10 seconds. 

And you’ve stopped your musical obsessions with Yoongi as well, keeping the fangirling to a bare minimum. You just want everything to go back to normal, so you can continue onto your adult life without holding on so much to the past. And they aren’t the only things bothering you, but Jungkook has been desperately trying to fix your relationship.

Jasmine won’t so much as breathe in your direction, as she doesn’t need you anymore. She has everything. The popular clique, a hot boyfriend, and perfect grades. She isn’t bothering you at all, but you are tempted to scream in her face about keeping her boy toy in control. He keeps wandering out of her lane and onto yours. Which you think you can use to your advantage.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep with him or anything, you just think it’s the perfect opportunity to take back what was rightfully yours. And in this case, Jungkook is the perfect trophy. You don’t like objectifying people, but at this point you don’t even care if he used your name to impress a couple of underclassmen, you feel honored, actually, but you don’t actually care about him. He kissed you too, while he was dating her. That’s a sign that things aren’t looking too good for them. 

Who are you kidding?! You should let them go. As if you have the balls to actually sneak around Jasmine’s back and snatch her boyfriend from her.

“Girl, just talk to them. I advise you to tell them as soon as possible what type of feelings you may or may not have for them. It’s gonna be okay.” Toriel pats your back as you recover from the growing anxiousness in your gut. Something tells you, everything is not going to be okay.

“Moving onto our next sleepover activity….horror stories!” 

                         ༻• The Next Day, At Your House •༺

You sneak into your home early in the morning, around 7 or 8, to be exact, hoping that Jimin and Yoongi were away at work. Your mom is already gone, as she texted you that she would be going on a business trip this particular week. The slumber party kept you awake all night, and the girls had really scary stories to share so you weren’t exactly calm...even now you are on edge as Jimin frightens you from behind.

“Hi.” You jump back, startled because of how quiet and swiftly he came up from behind you.

“H-hey. I thought I was home alone.” He gives you a sweet smile, the same comforting grin you saw that day in the cafe after you almost embarrassed yourself while asking for his number. Those were the good times, when you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. A friendship with anyone of the opposite sex is complicated, after all. You convinced yourself of this since Yoongi and Jimin are 100% gay and show no signs of any lust or extra thirst after you but you still had awkward tension. Hell, even now after Jimin walked up from behind you like that, you still have a strange feeling in your gut.

“You thought wrong! Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about

 how you almost peed your pants after I gave you a scare.” The mood is mellow, and you’re both comfortable around each other. Maybe Yoongi was the problem. But you don’t want to upset Jimin, as he’s your best friend at the moment and he’s been for you a lot more than anyone has been in the last decade.

“So, what’d I miss?” You ask, leaning in to give your best friend a hug. You inhale his strawberry-fresh scent, a little bit in awe as you’ve never gotten a waft of a nice-smelling boy. Jimin is an angel, a perfect exception. You hope you can find a man who’s as caring and attentive as he is, in the future.

“Yoongi and I have been thinking a lot about you recently, mainly how you opened up to the two of us about your life and leaned on us so easily, really it was crazy how you trusted us so easily when you barely knew either one of us,” You laugh sheepishly, mentally scolding yourself for being so childish in the first place. “But it was so admirable. And we thought, we could do the same for you. So you can learn more about the kind of people we are. We don’t like looking back on the past, but there are some parts that we just can’t leave behind. Like for example, our two exes,” At first, you think little of this. ‘He must mean the people that he and Yoongi dated before they found each other.’ That was your first thought. Just like he’s reading your mind, he answers your question, “We’re open to polyamory.” Your mouth drops to an “o” shape, and then you rack your brain for the correct answers.

You got nothing. You have no clue what the fuck a polyamory is.

“What’s that?” He chuckles at your innocence just as his boyfriend comes down the stairs.

“Hey, Yoongz, wanna explain what polyamory is to our good friend here?” You look up at the older man with curious eyes. You want to know.

“Multiple people in a relationship. Basically, Jimin and I used to invite over two other guys and we used to go on dates and do other stuff but it was really chill, nothing too serious.” You gawk as the two lean into each other for a kiss and then Jimin crawls into Yoongi’s lap before turning his head to stare at you. Two pairs of eyes are just on you, and you feel so vulnerable with all the attention on you.

“Anyways, I wanted to mainly apologize for what happened that night with the ice cream. You looked like you were enjoying yourself, and I thought I was too, until I realized I was gay. I just needed a reminder, I guess. So I thank you,” You don’t know whether you should laugh or cry, Yoongi’s expression was hard to read.

“Hyung...why do you gotta do her like that?” Jimin’s words throw you off guard. “You know what, instead of beating around the bush, I’ll just tell you: I’m bi, Yoongi was pan when I met him.” He rolls his eyes at the boy.

“Wait, didn’t you say you came out to your parents?” You ask curiously.

“I did. As gay, but then I ended up having a one night stand with a woman and after that I realized I liked both.” You take in the information very well, not letting it affect you one bit. “You know what, I’ll let you two figure out your shit…” You give Jimin a panicked look before turning to Yoongi with a fake smile plastered on your face.

“I don’t care what your sexuality is,” Your statement throws him off guard as his eyes widen quickly. “I just know what I felt was real. There was a weird connection, a moment where I wanted to kiss you.” He coughs before spreading his legs on the couch and putting his hands in his lap. You’re not gonna lie, he looks hot.

“Then why didn’t you?” You let out a small giggle before realizing that he’s completely serious.

“Because you and Jimin are dating...and I don’t like cheating.” He crosses his arms, this time scooting in closer to you. 

“But we were both there, and the vibes were all right.” You feel a slight pressure on your inner thigh when you realize that Yoongi is touching you. His hands are wandering up your thigh in broad daylight. You luckily have a blanket covering you, but the look of fear on your face is a dead giveaway.

“It’s because you wimped out.”

“You should’ve just done it anyways. I probably would’ve kissed you back.” He starts kneading your thigh, giving you an almost-massage, and just as you’re about to let out a moan, Jimin comes back, holding a bowl of popcorn and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Surprise movie night...er day.” He sits next to you, oblivious to what his boyfriend is doing. You glare at Yoongi when you feel his fingers pulling your leggings down and they wander into your panties. You’re damp. Completely soaked because of this stupid man that you’re attracted to and the fact that you basically just confessed to him. He smirks when he sees your eyes roll back in your head when he reaches your g-spot, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. You cling to him, pretending that you’re simply cuddling him as Jimin’s eyes stay trained on the screen, but you fail horribly at keeping things discreet when you moan into his ears. The movie blasts at a loud volume, so the speakers drain out your groans as Yoongi drives you to an orgasm.

“Come for me, babe. Don’t want Jiminie to see, is that right?” Yoongi knows the boy would probably just join in if he actually noticed. He still manages to upset you, as with all your might, you try not to scream from pleasure.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna come.” You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out the softest but sexiest moan he’s ever heard, as his fingers twist inside of you and you climax right then and there. He leans in and finally, you get a taste of his sweet lips. 

“Let’s continue this later?” He whispers to you, winking at Jimin as you sink into his arms, panting heavily and recovering from your intense orgasm. And yes, the boy knows what his boyfriend was doing under the blanket the entire time. 

After the movie, you quickly run upstairs to take a shower. You didn’t expect to get fingered on your couch. You didn’t think Yoongi would actually kiss you. And you certainly didn’t think things were going to return to normal ever again. They already had girls. How many did they date in the past? Obviously having a third partner didn’t work out for either of them so what difference would it make if you were part of the equation? You step out of the shower to find Jimin in your bedroom, playing games on his phone as he waits for you. You clench your towel, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you step into your bedroom, closing the door.

“Hey! I wanted to see what you might be wearing to the concert, have you picked out an outfit?” You walk past him, motioning him to come to your closet as your finger picks and chooses the cute dress you found at the mall.

“This one.” You can see his eyes lighting up at the thought of you wearing that dress, but then his gaze darkens when he imagines you out of it. Speaking of...there was only a thin towel wrapped around your body, even then it wasn’t enough to stop his imagination. You have nice boobs, can you blame the poor guy?!

“Nice choice. I’ll just uh...step out so you can get dressed.” Also known as code red: he has a boner. You quickly throw on some shorts and a sweatshirt, as you don’t dress modestly at home. You check yourself in the mirror, making sure it’s not too much in case the boys feel uneasy. 

Today’s a slow day. You finish up your homework before making your way to the kitchen for an evening snack. It’s only 5:00, yet you’re starving. What you see next surprises you, as Yoongi is on the counter while Jimin kisses him breathlessly. How do people kiss so long without breaking for air? As you observe, Jimin breaks the kiss, smiling at you as his boyfriend turns to look at you as well.

“Come here, darling.” Your feet are jello as you stumble to the two, trying to ignore the way Yoongi’s bulge is sticking straight up as Jimin’s hands are on either side of him.

“Wh-what?” You blush, unable to help yourself as the blue haired god in front of you looks so good. “I like your hair.” You whisper quietly.

“Thanks, although I’ve had this hairstyle for a while,” He removes his arms from his boyfriend, putting his attention on you. “Now, you’ve been a dirty girl, fooling around with my boyfriend when I’m not looking, is that right?” You swear if you weren’t holding onto the counter you would’ve fainted.

“What? Cat got your tongue? You have quite a mouth on you when my fingers are buried in your pussy but you can’t say a word when my boyfriend asks you a perfectly valid question?” You’re shocked, frozen, freezing. 

“Answer me, sweetie. Did you like it when he fingered you earlier?” You blush and nod, evading his gaze. “Look at me when I talk to you, Y/N.” When he says your name you look up, your eyes meeting his as you do. Five seconds barely pass when he smashes his lips against yours, in a desperate manner. Yoongi’s just watching, patiently waiting for you to break the kiss so he can continue the conversation.

“Y/N, we need to be honest with you. We’ve...taken a liking to you.” You don’t know how to process this information. But Jimin’s look of pleading is enough. They both want you.

“So please, will you consider joining our relationship?” You purse your lips. Every fibre of your body is screaming yes, but your mind is telling you to be reasonable, and think through this. You don’t need this right now in your life. You’ll hold them back, they’ll hurt you later, this is setting yourself up for failure.

Yet you want it so bad.

“Can I think about it? Please?” You don’t want to reject them right away.

“Of course. Take your time.” Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand before leading him to the couch. You hope they won’t ask you before the concert.

                                        ༻• At the Concert •༺

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The men brought you to a freaking J-hope concert. Not just anyone but the J-hope. He’s the most popular solo act on the planet. After he broke up with his boy band BTB, he went all crazy and started rapping about sex, and fame, and real life issues. Everyone loves him.

Including your two friends who dated him back before he was famous.

Yeah, they have a history together.

“You like it so far?” Jimin asks, leaning in while cracking open a can of pepsi.

“Are you kidding? You got premium seats to see the J-hope?” He gives you a cheeky grin before turning to Yoongi and conversing with him. You can’t seem to take your eyes off the two of them, even if you are at a J-hope concert. You feel lucky enough to be breathing the same air as him, but it’s thanks to the couple sitting beside you. Not to mention...they even dated him at some point.

“This last song goes out to two dear exes of mine…” You thought you imagined it, but he seemed to look up at your row, as if he was staring straight at Yoonmin.

“Last summer when you told me you weren’t feeling well, I thought it was just a little bump in the road, But now I know, It was all because of her, Ohhh my love, How I loved you way back then, But I was too blind to see, You really didn’t care at all,”

You don’t know how to react. Should you clap? Or laugh, or cry? It sounds like whoever he’s singing about cheated on him...with a girl.

“Now I don't care, it's all choices by my fate,  so we're here, Look ahead,  The way is shinin’, Keep Going Now,”

The song suddenly gets more upbeat and then the crowd goes crazy as he has an outfit change with a snap. Also, this man is glowing. The lights are perfectly bouncing off his slightly tanned skin, making him appear more heavenly. God, how did they live through this?

“That’s My Ego!” He sings the chorus cheerfully before finishing off and then fireworks light up the night sky, making some audience members cry. Jimin and Yoongi are both staring at you, though, as you watch with wonder. You look so innocent, and you’re so small...the two of them are already whipped for you, can’t you see that? Oh wait, you do.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask them, and they simply smile at you. As if that wasn’t heart-melting enough.

“Nothing. Let’s go backstage.” You blush as they both take either of your hands, leading you out of the crowded stadium so that you can visit J-Hope backstage. You were about to meet a celebrity, while being held by two guys that confessed their feelings to you just a few hours ago! As if things couldn’t get any better.

“J-HOOOOOPE!!!” Yoongi grins, throwing his arms around the celebrity as he walks into the room.

“Hey Suga. OH JEMIN!” Jimin and J-Hope share a handshake before hugging as well, and then he turns to you.

“Who is this beauty?” He turns to look at you, kissing your palm softly in greeting.

“Y/N.” You answer him, trying to conceal your uwus.

“Wow. You’re even more perfect than how they described you. You know, I’ve never seen them like someone more than they like you.” He whispers into your ears. You’re a little bit distracted by the fact that an IDOL is whispering in your ears right now. His breath smells so good. His sweat smells expensive, though.

“Y-you really think?” You ask.

“I know so.”

“Okay, if you’re done hitting on our friend, how about you tell us what you’ve been up to?” J-Hope holds up a finger, revealing the engagement ring to all of you.

“Who…?” J-Hope blushes before turning to his mirror.

“Remember that one producer? The girl who was older than me by 10 years or something?” Everyone nods, except you, who has no idea what’s going on.

“Turns out she was my soulmate all along. She proposed to me, and we’re getting married next month.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” You clap for him as the two men beside you look at you with love in their eyes.

“I’m so excited. She’s just a bucket of sunshine. Oh shoot, I’m almost late for the wine tasting. Bye guys.” We wave as the celebrity packs up his things for the day. “So, it looks like you guys lowered your standards for me.” “Oh, stop, he wasn’t even well-known when we met. And now, we’ve all moved on. The three of us are together and that’s what matters.” Yoongi cuts you off before you even start. When you get home, you’re less than amused that your mother is getting ready for the stupid marriage meeting in her room. She ushers you to change, greeting the boys but whisking you away from them just as quickly. You wave goodbye to them, in a dreary mood. “Remember to behave, poise and manners, Y/N. You want to look like a good wife.” “I don’t want to get married. I’m only 18, ma.” She brushes your hair, looking at you with teary eyes. “Your dad wants you to. And he gets what he wants. No matter what.” You sob the entire car ride, your father didn’t even bother coming home as the purpose of this stupid meeting was to make himself look good. You look up to see that the boy before you is an overgrown specimen of child. Not even a man, but just a buff baby. “Hi, how old are you?” You ask politely. The boy lowers his eyes. You already know where this is going even though you’ve barely said a few words. “15, you have nice tits.” You’re in shock, uncomfortable, lonely, and worst of all, your mom won’t even look at you. Your dad presents you like a trophy and then forces you to tell the other parents about your academic achievements before forcing you to sit down. You want to cry. But you don’t. Instead, you call Jimin. “Hey, what’s up? Is the dinner going well?” Your voice starts breaking before you even talk, making you suck in deep breaths before looking out the bathroom window. “No, Jimin. I can’t stay here. They’re gonna force me to marry a 15 year old that just said my boobs look nice. I have to get away, do you guys think you can get me away from my parents? I’m 18, so they can’t legally do anything about it.” You hear him talking to someone in the background, presumably Yoongi.

“It’s me, Jimin just told me...I’m so sorry. All of that is awful, but is running away really going to solve anything? I know things seem bad now, but wait until your mom knows about us, I’m sure she’ll be accepting.” Yoongi sounds confident in himself, so you don’t feel like putting him down.

“Her, maybe. But not my dad. He’ll disown me.”

“Y/N, you are no object. They can’t just marry you off to anyone. And if they do, we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. You should be allowed the choice of marrying someone you love.” You frown, seeing the tears falling out of your eyes.

“I’ll go out with you.”

                                       ═══ 🅣🅘🅜🅔🅢🅚🅘🅟 ═══

Your first date is at the cafe where it all started. The boys make sure to take time off at the same time so your schedules match up. It’s not the most conventional date, as the three of you start discussing where you’ll move in together after you run away from home.

Your dad hasn’t even spoken more than a couple sentences to you. Wow, so caring. You have no reason to stay with them anymore, as he literally forces you to go to stupid dinner parties and sets you up with boys that are too young for you. Even a 12 year old, like what the fuck?

“How was dinner last night?” Jimin asks. You roll your eyes.

“Horrible, as always. These boys are nightmares. I feel bad for their future partners.” You comment.

“Who cares? It’s just dinner. And you’re dating us now. Talk to us, babe.” You like being called “babe.” Especially when Yoongi says it, because he’s just so closed off to everyone else.

“Do you like it when he calls you baby? Because I’m pretty sure he likes it too.” Jimin giggles. Being with your best friend is really no different, except now you can kiss and hug and show affection romantically. He’s just a lot more cuddly with you. And Yoongi doesn’t mind it one bit.

He actually sometimes joins in, hugging you and Jimin lovingly. He’s so protective of you two. You love it.

And they’ve started picking you up after school, to take you out so you can be away from your house for a bit. But at the end of the day, you can always count on crawling into bed with them and dreaming your troubles away. You’ve been sleeping better with them cuddling right next to you. 

Sneaking into bed with them has become a habit of yours, and you especially don’t make it clear around your dad that you have feelings for them. Although, lately everything has been striking a nerve. He often calls you to awkward dinner parties and you can’t do anything about it.

Even your boyfriends agree that it’s a bit too much. So much, that one day, Jimin decides to suggest something crazy.

“Let’s make your dad think that you’re ruined.” This catches yours and Yoongi’s attention.

“What? What the hell are you going on about, Jimin?” Uh-oh, when Yoongi uses that tone and says his name like that, you know someone’s in trouble.

“I’m saying that we make her dad think she lost her virginity.” You cross your arms, gasping as Yoongi shields your face with his arms protectively.

“What are you saying? That’s absurd. Her father is already strict as is with us living here, everytime he sees us he crinkles his nose even more. We repulse him, Jimin. What makes you think that we aren’t gonna tick him off even more?” Yoongi makes a good point. Your father was very strict, and homophobic. Perfect traditional 1800s father of the year.

“He’s here because he wants to see his little girl get engaged, right? Well, what if she brought the engagement to him? Have him walk in on one of us sharing a moment with her and then having her dad say she has to marry us?!” You’re baffled. You didn’t think your boyfriend was that dense. 

“Idiot, he would probably disown her. And also, no. Maybe not marriage, he might just throw her out of the house altogether.” While you’re busy planning, what you fail to recognize is that your father leaves town again. He’s flying away, and you had no knowledge of it until your mother called you and you saw his packed suitcases as he hugged you goodbye. Looks like the meetings have come to an end.

“Jimin!!! Yoongi!!!! Come downstairs, I need to talk to you two about something.” My mother calls out to them.

“What?” Yoongi is the first to make his way down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with you.

“I’ve noticed the way you two have been interacting with my daughter as of late. The deep stares of longing everytime we sit on the couch and watch t.v together, the smiles of adoration that you only have reserved for special people, heck, even once I saw you holding her hands like she would disappear if you let go,” You can hear the nervous gulps come from the two men as they stare directly at your mom. This can’t be good. “You both have crushes on her, right?” Their eyes widen.

“What? No, I’m dating Yoongi-Boongi. My heart belongs to him and only him.” Jimin says a bit too quickly, making your mom raise her eyebrow in question.

“Your daughter is very pretty, I’ll give you that much, but I’m dating Jimin.” She clicks her tongue, not fully believing them.

“I know what it looks like when boys have a crush on a girl, seeing the way you act around her. So how about you tell me the truth straight to my face?” Jimin is the first to break under her intense stare.

“Fine, you caught me. I like her, okay?!” He says, blushing a brilliant shade of pink. When your mother sees that Yoongi’s expression is indifferent, she narrows her eyes at him.

“You know, don’t you?” He doesn’t say a word, instead taking your arm and pulling you beside him.

“Ma’am, I would like to get your permission to be your daughter’s boyfriend….along with Jiminie.” Considering you were secretly dating for weeks, now seems like the perfect time to ask. Go Yoongi!

“Yes, of course you can date her. You both are so caring and kind and I can’t imagine anyone more fit for the job….even though I didn’t expect two guys. It may be a little strange but I trust that you know your boundaries.” They nod, each of them hugging you tightly and giggling like children.

“We’ll make sure to treat our girlfriend with kindness and respect.” With Yoongi’s gummy smile, your heart melts. You really, really like him.

“You better, or else you’ve got another thing coming.” Your mother’s gaze is threatening enough, as the two men stiffen their backs and stand up straight.

“Loosen up, she’s just kidding. Right, ma?” She nods, laughing happily as she sees her ships coming to life before her eyes. She’s always wanted her daughter to be happy, instead of subjecting her to a life of unhappy arranged marriage. She wants to give her everything she didn’t have as a child.

“Yup. But seriously, break her heart and you’re dead.”

“Moooom.”

That night your mom leaves for work. She didn’t tell you, but you really noticed when you called out for her and she didn’t answer back, only leaving a text on her phone that she would be late. You knew this meant you were home alone with your extremely attractive boyfriends again for the second time this month. 

You’re excited, but nervous. The last time the three of you were in the house like this, they made out in front of you and then made you extremely horny. Now, you could only imagine what would happen with the three of you in an actual relationship.

“Y/N, come watch netflix with us!” Jimin calls you to his room, and your eyes widen. You’ve been in their room before, but never totally alone. Your mom or dad would be in the house, but now you’re stuck with these two. 

“What are we watching?” You penguin-walk to Yoongi, who hoists you up onto the giant bed. Immediately you fall back from the weight of his knees forming a little disbalance on the mattress. It’s just a tiny ditch. 

“I thought you were gonna fall, be careful.” He lightly scolds you, before sitting back and getting cozy with Jimin as you stay in the middle, right between them.

“You guys are so warm.” You inhale their scents, taking in their musk and surprisingly sweet cologne. The strawberry scent must be coming from Jimin. The axe must be from Yoongi. Either way, you’re comfortable.

“No, you are.” Jimin pulls you in between his legs, peppering kisses all over your neck. Normally, you’d be turned on in the situation, but it’s completely innocent. You giggle as he tickles you with his faded blue hair and then you both get lost in each other’s eyes. You love his crescent shaped eyes, how he is a perfect mix of masculine and feminine, breaking all traditional roles of what it means to be a man in the modern world of 2020. If anything, his soft features are what makes him more “manly.” There’s no correct answer. He’s perfect the way he is, and you love the way his lips form a tiny pout, even when he’s happy.

“Just kiss already.” You both look over at Yoongi, who is more concerned with the movie playing on the screen than his two partners sharing a moment right next to him. You give Jimin a look as he leans in and finally closes the gap between you two.

[miekasa]

the modern erwin concepts i have in my head are the ones that ring true to me, and i’m so glad you and so many anons here (shoutout to the other emoji anons, your headcanons make me so soft and make me holler at the same time 😭) have the same vein of understanding. i get the attraction to erwin and like the aesthetic, i mean big tall dorito-shaped guy with a CEO moodboard or something. but eh. a lot of times, i feel like his character is way too clean-cut and chiseled and is washed of any goofy and human elements in fanon to fit the moodboards, but that’s just me! i’m gonna be very honest, 100% of erwin’s appeal on the show for me comes from daisuke ono’s voice and voice acting!! i appreciate him as a character, but his fans honestly scare me lmao. (also, abolish the blue-eyed blonde hair complex, please, i’ve had enough of white men™️ getting magnitudes of hype. and he is definitely a white man™️, like that man would burn under the sun)

thank you for giving me a safe space to dump my ‘lil roommates au 😭 like i’ve never found any fandom space that really appreciated and understood levi’s character like you and yall do here!! truly the best place, best writer, galaxy-brained levi stan, you’re a blessing to the fandom. this is a little thing that i’ve been typing down in my notes app blurb by blurb every now and then, and it’s been a small escape and fun past time these past few months, and i’m happy to have shared it and that you liked it uwu 💓

your lippie recs!! i have fenty’s mattemoiselle plush matte in ma’damn (copped it because our local online store was on sale a few months back) and i love it because it’s one of the vibrant reds that look so good! i’ve never tried any NARS product because they’re not really widely available here, but i’m going to keep an eye out for that velvet lip glide. matte can be so drying, and i’ve been dying for a good red lippie with a different finish. that dior rouge oooh, what finish and colour do you recommend? i’m eyeing the satin one LMAO. also omg, you are so right on PMG products. i have one sole PMG lippie in mcmenamy that i copped for like 75% off because they went on a huge sale last year, and it’s my favorite dark lip that i own because it really screams deep burgundy with warm tones 😩 i know it’s the big name that makes their products so expensive, and maybe that’s a good thing so i don’t spend as much 😌

lemme grab that mattemoiselle plush in griselda really quickly because it’s literally $7 on sephora right now LMAO thank you for enabling me 😚 and i am v v v excited for the prince levi fic you’ve been talking about because damn, that is such a good plot, and it’s not the usual ranks or status of birth conflicts that we get in medieval AUs. even your summaries and tags alone are 🤤 (*whispers* and also for the iced tea sequel because...the pining 👉👈)

i hope you’re doing well, take care and stay healthy, mie 💕 -💉

PLEASE, yeah I agree about Erwin, especially in a modern setting; and honestly, even canonically, he’s not even that clean-cut, like he’s had his awkward/weird moments (arguably, the majority of them are), but yeah, Trader Joes trust fund track suit Erwin >> hard ceo Erwin any day. 

You and your ideas are always welcome here!! I’m so happy you think of it as a safe space, we all loved what you shared, and I’m so honored that you chose to share it here with us!! As for the lipsticks, yeah the satin Dior!! I... didn’t know it came in other colors but the bright red I have lmfaoo, but whichever one is most blue-red is the one, I have!! PMG is so damn expensive... but it’s so worth it imo like fuck that woman is a makeup genius. 

I am so excited for prince Levi too, so it makes me happy to hear that you’re excited!! I want to hopefully finish it by the end of this week or next week, even tho that’s being very optimistic, I just... really like that fic. It’s hard to write, but all the other components I’ve done for it so far make me wanna keep going. 

I hope you’re doing well, too, my dear!! Take care of yourself, and stay healthy!! 

[wordynerdygurl]

Ties That Bind

Summary: You love the God of Mischief even when his hi-jinks push you beyond your comfort zone. But there worse things than being tied to Loki.

Warnings: dom/sub, light bondage in a committed relationship, SMUT!!!!

Waking up with the god of mischief was still surprising. Some mornings found him curled around you, possessive and raw in his sleepy need. Others would find you reaching for a body that wasn't there, disappointed at the distance between you and your god.

On those days, when you awoke deserted, you were never quite sure when or where Loki would pop up. Maybe he'd hop out from behind the pantry door when you were humming to yourself, sneaking some cookies. Or he might grab hold of your ankle from under your bed and then laugh at your surprised shrieks even as you cursed him out.

And Loki really loved putting his hands on you when you weren't paying attention. When you were tying your shoe, bent over your laces and you'd stand up right into his arms with a surprised yelp. Or loading the dishwasher, your earbuds in, bopping along to 80's pop and suddenly you'd feel his hands under your shirt and you'd squeal.

To him this game was splendid. For you, always a bit jumpy, his hijinks were a test of your neverending patience. The truly frustrating part was the relief you felt once Loki's magical form did manage to spring out of a closet door or stealthily slip a wandering hand around you without warning. After your heart started beating normally again, of course.

No matter how devious his plans, you really couldn't stay mad at Loki. The trickster was so many things. Awful prankster, avid reader, savage kisser and daringly dangerous. Loki had that tall, dark and brooding thing down pat, too.

You had figured out long ago that Loki wasn't just "bad" or "angry" or "trying to bring earth under his heel". Loki was all those things, certainly, but he was also very sweet when he thought no one would see. The little trinkets that showed up on your bedside table, the vases of fresh flowers that crowded your dresser, pieces of stone that were shaped like hearts that Loki found on distant planets... gifts from the heart of a lonely god. For you.

And there was a lot to love about the raven haired mischief maker. You had been impressed by him physically when you first met him. Tall and lean, tightly wound but dripping with sarcasm. Part punk rock and part poet. You had been powerless against Loki from the start.

It didn't take long for the affection between you to grow. And now there was a deep and abiding bond connecting you to Loki which distance, both physical and emotional, stretched to the limit without breaking. A cord that bound you, body and soul, one that you had willingly and wantonly woven around your heart when Loki kissed you gently for the first time months ago.

And even when he tried your patience with his jump scares, swapped your salt for sugar or ate all your doritos, you knew there was no one else you wanted. Not when Loki's silver tongue could talk you into or out of almost anything. Right now he was trying to talk you out of your clothes.

"Dearest, you must know that there is no other being on this planet, or any other that I desire. In fact, if I didn't know your father was a car salesman and your mother a nurse, I would swear you were a witch."

You chuckled softly at the way he wrinkled his nose at the very earthly professions of your parents. But you stopped laughing when he tugged you to his side, tipping your chin so that your eyes were locked on his twinkling blue ones. With a rough whisper grazing your ear the God of mischief added, "I am under your spell, you see." A shiver rolled over you that had nothing to do with room temperature.

"Please be gentle with me, goddess of my heart." You could almost taste the earnest plea of Loki's declaration, sweet and soft, as if the man before you was a marshmallow instead of Mischief incarnate. Was it real? Too often with Loki the truth was buried, hidden behind hurt, anger or willful wildness, and yet... here he was, eyes blazing, asking for your mercy.

You tilted your head teasingly and hummed, "I didn't think you liked my being gentle. In fact, on more than one occasion I believe you have begged for me to take a firmer hand with you."

Throwing his head back with a bark of laughter, dark hair falling past his shoulders Loki hugged you to him

"You're so right, my bewitching lady. Maybe I should clarify. Be gentle on my soul... but my body, do with as you wish."

Now you laughed. His smile was so wide and boyish that you couldn't help yourself. The pair of you were grinning like fools in love, which you were, when a knock on your bedroom door followed by the rough voice of Thor interrupted you.

"There you are brother! My lady!" Slightly sloshed, which was the God of Thunder's usual state on a free weekend, Thor quickly realized his presence wasn't necessarily welcome. "It seems as though I have intruded upon you... I didn't mean to interrupt... I just... well, you see, the gang and I were all 'where's Loki' and I thought... Good Question! So, I came to find you... and... here... you... are." Thor petered out with sagging hand gestures and a slipping smile.

"Yes, it is amazing how you found us right where we were supposed to be. In our room, in our home. You are so very clever, brother." Loki deadpanned, which made you poke him in the ribs. Tension between brothers be damned, you didn't like seeing them at odds.

Loki shot you a smoldering look for the jab but didn't get the chance to continue since you added "You did find us, Thor! And I see you found the craft beers too. Maybe more than one?" Looking at the empty bottle in his hand as if seeing it for the first time, Thor flashed you a small smile. "Maybe..."

You sat on your bed, Loki standing beside you, and asked The God of Thunder, "So, what are Korg and Meek up to tonight?"

"Oh, they're playing video games... eating pizza. Do... do you want to play?" He held his hand out welcomingly and for a minute you were tempted. They were a goofy bunch for sure, funny and sweet, and sometimes that was exactly the right thing to distract you from your own troublesome god.

Loki snatched your hand up and started for the door. "No brother, she can't. We can't. We are going out." And with that Loki was swiftly ushering you out into the autumnal evening but not before you called out to Thor, "Rain check? Ok?"

You never heard Thor's answer, if there even was one, because Loki's grip on you propelled you through the night. "Loki? Loki... where are we going? I didn't grab a jacket and it's freezing out here!"

Here was New Asgard which was beautiful in the day, all lush green hills and dark deep seawater. At night it was soft fog diffused lights, lingering laughter from warm pubs and gently lapping waves under a star studded sky. In short, paradise, with slightly cooler temperatures.

Loki wasn't taking in the scenery though. He set a brutal pace that had you struggling to keep up. His grip on your hand never broke as you were marched toward an unknown destination.

The journey, however, wasn't as troubling as Loki's silence. A quiet god of mischief was a scary thing. It meant his mind was working overtime, trapping him in a tangle of thoughts, scheming and plotting his next move.

You were sure that Thor and his intrusion were to blame. No matter how innocent the thunder god seemed, Loki took it all so personally. If only he'd realize that not every word and deed from his drunken brother was a dagger aimed at Loki's open heart.

Lost in your own thoughts about mythic family relationships you found yourself stumbling to a stop right into Loki's wide back. You couldn't help the groan that escaped on impact.

"Ugh! Loki... where are we?" The salty tang of crisp sea air swirled around you, stronger here than at the Odinson homestead. But the night was dark and there were no lights this far from the village's center. "Clearly we are at the dock. And before you ask, this is a boat. My boat."

You couldn't make it out at first, then a faint glow caught your eye, closer to the sky than the ground. Your mouth fell open. Boat? Not hardly. It was a yacht and you marveled at its size. Sleek, black and sinister it rolled gently on the tide. To you it looked like a fearsome leviathan floating out in the dense mist of a Norse myth, a sight both wonderful and terrifying. A lot like it's owner, actually.

Somehow Loki's boat was both old fashioned and incredibly modern. It's ebony lines and tinted windows merged towards the bow which was adorned with a carved dragon. But this was unlike any wood working you'd seen in a Norse museum. This dragon wore a helmet of curved horns.

Practically dancing out of excitement, Loki asked, "Well??" Cool air chapped your cheeks pink as you huffed, "Impressive! Does your ship have a name, captain?"

Deflated, Loki wouldn't meet your eye. "That's it? 'Impressive'?" He mimicked your voice perfectly. Clearly your answer was wrong, at least by Loki's standards.

Defending yourself you scoffed, "Well it is. And you are. And I will be more delighted when I'm not frozen solid!" Your hands were pulled into the sleeves of your sweater but your nose was numb. Moving into his warmth, eager to feel your nose again, you prompted, "So... the name?"

Blinking down at you hard he murmured, "Of course. Frigga, after my mother."

"I should have guessed that, I suppose." You answer with a shy smile, your cropped hair tousled by the windy night. "Loki, she really is beautiful."

Pulling you closer, his chin resting on your crown you hear, "Oh, she truly is..." and you know he is talking about you not his floating water palace.

Snuggling into his heat, you ask, "Do I have permission to come aboard, Captain?"

"Ug. Please, please do not call me captain."

"Oh... right." Avengers were a sore subject for your trouble maker. "Do I have permission to come aboard, Loki, God of Mischief, Lord of my heart, sir?!" You mock, throwing a salute his way.

Those words were the right ones. Wickedly smiling before biting his lip, Loki says, "You are most sincerely invited to come on board."

It's such a loaded sentence and coupled with his teasing grin you can't help but laugh because it's so cheesy, a god laying pick up lines on you. And terrible ones at that. When he pulls lightly on your hand you follow him closer to his new toy.

Once you step on board Loki is all over you. He pushes you in front of him, guiding you further into his ocean lair, while pressing hot kisses along your neck. His hands never stop moving. You feel him across your chest then over your tummy. He pulls you firmly to him, letting you feel just how much he wants you.

Lifting your arm to reach behind you, you pull his hot mouth to you, his hard body against yours. Loki's hands roam down your sides and over your denim clad thighs and you reward him with a deep purr. Then his magical hands are pulling you closer as he sucks your earlobe between his eager lips. Grinding against him, you moan tightly, "You're not playing fair!"

Panting himself, he answers, "Why would I ever play fair?" Under your sweater, a hand pushes on your lower back, drawing you deeper into the belly of his floating beast. When he gently tugs at your top's hem you lift your arms and hear your heavy wool sweater hit the polished floor.

Against the dark wooden wall of Loki's luxurious cabin his dexterous fingers wrap around your waist. Covering your meaty ribs, his hands hold you still as his thumbs brush under your bra band. Your tight grip of his forearms helps steady you as his tongue fights yours for submission.

Just being near Loki is enough to make your heart race. Whether it's the slight rocking of the water under your feet or the brisk fall night, you feel yourself wanting more of him than you thought possible.

With a throaty groan he pulls away from your bee stung lips to plant his left arm against the wall. His right slides down your soft belly to the buttons of your jeans. Pressing your foreheads together you feel the top rivet pop open. Exhaling a breath you didn't know you were holding, Loki's grin widens. "Don't tell me that you're already wet, darling. We've barely started!"

Snapping your head up defiantly, your eyes blazing, you challenge him. "Hardly." But your flushed chest and hardened nipples betray you, plus your mind reading man knows the truth.

Smirking Loki leans closer, asking, "So you're telling me that if I touch your quivering quim I won't find you dripping and ready for me?"

Your body flushes at the thought, proving Loki right. His vulgar words make you moan as you feel your jeans open further. Before you articulate an answer your head rolls back to rest on the posh wall behind you. "Loki..." It's meant as a warning but your need turns it into a plea.

"Yes, pet? Did you need something?" Exploring fingers move over your panties and across your hips before squeezing your bottom. Loki is an expert in touching you everywhere but the place where you need him most.

"Hmmm... yes... more of you!" Your fingers comb through Loki's locks, pulling him to you, eager to get his mouth on yours once again. Only the God of Mischief denies you. Instead he uses his left hand to gather your wrists above your head. "More? My my, little miss greedy is what I'm going to call you." He chides as his clever mouth kisses down your neck and licks across your collarbone.

Those long, searching fingers of his right hand crept under the waistband of your panties this time. Rubbing delicately against your mound Loki whispers, "I knew it."

Snapping at him you snark, "Shut up, Loki!"

"That's no way to talk to the man who holds your pleasure in his hands." And that's when his delicious game of denial begins in earnest. Your jeans bunch at your thighs but he has enough room to graze against your soaked skin, not entering you, just brushing his knuckles back and forth across your swollen lips. Goosebumps break out across your body as an aching groan tumbles from you. You arch away from the wall, from your trapped hands, chasing the friction of his touch. Chuckling at your eagerness, Loki brushes a lock your hair off your forehead, "See, isn't this better than video games?"

Your eyes widen. "I knew it! You know Thor was just being friendly! He wanted to spend ti..." Your words stall as Loki's hand wraps around your slender throat. His grip is firm and his index finger forces your head to tilt higher until you are nose to nose. "You're allowed to say one name tonight. Just one. Mine." He tips your head back one touch more before adding, "Or you'll regret it, my dear."

Your eyes locked on Loki's ice blue stare. "Do we understand each other?" You swallowed roughly and nod your assent, "Yes Loki..."

Power games were nothing new to you and Loki. So many times you were the one calling the shots in your intimate relationship, Loki enjoying the feeling of being bossed around by a midgardian full of fire like you. Tonight though Loki wasn't just taking the lead. He was going to drag you where he wanted, you just had to hold on.

"Hmm... compliant. I love that!" He rewarded your submission with a searing kiss that clicked your teeth together. Your mouth was invaded by his searching tongue, your lungs gasping to catch up as Loki ferociously fed on your lips. "Who do you worship?" He growled against you, hot and hard and punishingly close. "You... oh jesus christ, you!"

Pushing away from the wall, Loki peered down at you. It took you a moment to register the loss since your eyes were shut in ecstasy and that was one moment too long. "Loki?" You weren't panicked, not yet, but something was certainly wrong. "What?" Your eyes connected.

Shaking his head Loki said, "Jesus Christ, huh?" And he had the audacity to look slightly crestfallen, disappointed you, even. Releasing your wrists he held up his finger. "One name. One god. It's too bad you can't follow simple rules."

Your voice faltered, "Loki! Oh, come on... I mean..." "Yes... that's it. Convince me how you didn't speak another's name. Please enlighten me." Loki wore a smirk that showed just how much he was enjoying this game and also how serious. Raising an eyebrow as both of his hands circled your wide hips under your jeans, he was waiting for your words.

"Well...?" Your mouth started moving when the strangest thing happened. A garbled gasp left your now gagged mouth. Your eyes went wide with shock and you tried to raise your hands to remove the offending fabric but your wrists were bound together in front of you.

Struggling to make yourself heard you fought against the silken ropes, anger and fear bubbling up inside of you. How dare Loki limit you like this? And for what? If you could only get your hands free!

Eyeing you warily, Loki's smile dropped. "Don't be mad. I told you there would consequences dearest." Loki kissed your strained jaw and nuzzled into your neck. "Trust me, goddess of my heart and I will be merciful." His tender ministrations work, even though you were still upset and despite your initial fears, your body relaxed.

With little effort Loki picks you up and brings you into his luxurious cabin. A bed covered in deep green satin welcomes your bound form and you feel the cool liquid of the sheets against your hot skin.

Standing over you as he might a conquered people, Loki wastes no time with removing your clothes. Why bother taking them off when he knows a charm that strips you bare? But he takes his time undressing himself.

It's delicious torture watching Loki's body be revealed. His black sweater is tossed off first followed by a fitted tee. Pale skin, tight over the muscles in his arms and chest, is luminous in the dusky light of the boat's interior. Riding low, exposing the cut of his hips, Loki's black denim trousers are the next to go. "Caught you looking..." he teases then laughs softly at your wide eyed desire. It's clear that Loki is ready for you, his boxers can't hide his straining erection. If your mouth were free you'd be biting your lip in anticipation. Shimmying out of his undies, you can't help the clench of arousal that pulls at your core upon seeing Loki, perfect and naked and hard.

"Nothing to say, my dear?"

And when you try to form a word over the silken gag he smirks, "I am truly sorry but I couldn't quite make that out."

With you naked and at his mercy, Loki renews his sensual assault by lightly rubbing against your slit. He's looking at you the way you look at tacos, desperateand hungry. It turns you on even more knowing how much he wants you. "You are so ripe, darling. Is all of this for me?"

All you could manage was a nod before you shouted into your gag. Loki had plunged three fingers into your molten core, knowing you could take it. "Do you like that, little one? Stretching around my fingers to feel how tight you are? I do love how responsive your tasty cunt is... even now I can tell how close you are. Can you tell me? Tell me, baby, are you going to come on my fingers?..."

But of course you couldn't tell him how hard you were biting into the rope at your lips, desperately seeking relief from his delicious torture. You could grunt and groan which meant nothing to the god now working you over with two of his fingers buried inside you while his thumb strummed over your clit.

Your arms strained against the black silk ropes that held firm, struggling to participate in your own pleasure. Removing his hand from your fiery center, he licked his fingers savoring your flavor before leaning over you and whispering, "I know what you want. You want to touch me and rush me and greedily lap up your satisfaction. But not tonight, dear one. Tonight I will take what I want from you. Every moan, every yelp, every drop of you is mine. And only when I am satisfied that you are ruined for all others, then will I release you."

Emphasizing his point, Loki took your right nipple in his gentle mouth and sucked it rigid. You gasped into the gag when you felt his teeth pull the flesh tight. When Loki bit into your bud you were grateful the gag muted your scream.

Loki's hands were everywhere, over stimulating your senses. They squeezed your tender breasts, rough palms grating against your over sensitive nipples. They ghosted over your clit, never lingering long enough to release you. They brushed against your inner thighs, close to your slit but not close enough.

All you could do was moan softly at the denied pleasure you were feeling. Raising your hips when Loki's touch came nearer to your clit only to be refused your release.

Straddling you now, Loki's narrow hips stretched over your middle, his rigid cock grinding against your abdomen. Folded over you Loki mocked, "Doesn't that feel nice, love? I so wish you would tell me how this feels!"

His hands slip down your sides and you reach for him, failing to connect due to the bindings on your wrists. Lifting his eyebrows to you Loki questions innocently, "You want to touch me?" All you can do is nod. Yes, yes, yes your head bobs.

Loki slides down your body, his slim frame nestling between your thighs. Resting his chin on your belly it looks to you like he actually considers letting you join in the fun. Your hope dashes as he shakes his head sadly, "No, I don't think so."

That's when he lifts your hips off the bed, using his strong forearms to anchor your legs open wide. He is going to lick you, you know it and still you groan and grind onto his tongue which has found it's way into your liquid center. Desire in overdrive, your body starts to flood, readying itself for your lover. Loki hums his appreciation at your biology which makes you quake under his eager mouth.

Since you can't move away from Loki's oral attention and you can't shout his name everytime he does that thing where wraps his lips around your tender clit, you really have to lay back and just accept your fate. It's driving you crazy because Loki is pulling out every bedroom trick he knows.

Despite the torturous tongue lashing you were holding onto your sanity, barely. Yes, you wanted release, but you and Loki had always enjoyed sharing your climax, one of the many reasons you loved loving Loki. Drawing deep breaths around the gag you were struggling to hold back the rising tide.

"So, you aren't going to cum for me? Even after all that?" Loki's chin glistened from his hard work at your core. Again you started to speak as if the gag wasn't in your way, explaining your need to cum together.

"Hmm... it sounds like you want to tell me something... what is it darling?? Should I stop?" Your trussed arms raise again in frustration.

"So I'll continue, shall i?" You felt the fullness of two slender fingers inside of you curling against your most sensitive spot. Groaning an unheard curse into your gag you felt your hips buck for more friction from Loki's fingers. As you tried to coax him into giving you more pleasure Loki resumed his oral attention on your lower lips. Small bites, gentle sucking, tiny nips at your most intimate flesh had you sliding closer to the edge of your orgasm.

When Loki sucked your clit harder than ever, shaking his head back and forth like a dog with a bone, your body broke into a wave of pleasure that crashed onto Loki's shore. You screamed his name. Loki knew it and he never let go of you. Riding the swells of your post orgasmic trembling, Loki whispered sweet calming words, gently bringing you down from your cosmically elevated bliss.

"There there sweetest. Let's get rid of this..." and as fast as it came, your silken gag was gone.

Shuddery and shaking you whined, "Loki! Please..." You held your bound wrists out to him, eager for freedom and delirious in your desire to touch him, to return the pleasure he had forced on you tonight.

"First, something to drink." Hoping off the bed with a thump, Loki popped out of the room for an eternity, which was actually about 3 minutes. "You suck, Loki, you know that?!" Shouting at him made you forget about the bindings still holding your arms together. "You don't play fair!"

Leaning into the door frame, naked still, hard still, holding a frosted glass of water Loki bit his lip before starting, "it's not a game, love. You're mine... and I'm not nearly through with you yet."

Gulping you squeaked, "could you please untie these? Please? I... I need to touch you baby." Loki joins you on the bed, his arm under your shoulders so that you can sip at his water glass. Musing he asks, "Are you truly ruined for all others? Have I fulfilled my filthy promises for the evening?" Mewling you cry, "yes... yes! I could only ever want you!! Please...?"

Crashing his mouth to yours, Loki claimed you over and over again. He pulls your short hair back hard, baring your throat to his greedy lips. Your body responds so eagerly to his slightest touch that in moments your panting and needy once more. "Sorry love, the ropes stay on."

You could cry in frustration, the tears are there, hot and waiting. Instead it's a low moan that you release as Loki raises your legs up, bending your knees into your chest. Cool air caresses your pussy lips for a moment before Loki's erection teases you.

Your useless arms fall against your chest as Loki slowly fills you with his hard heat. You're spread wide by him, wanton and waiting for his movement to begin. Wrapping his hand around your bonds, Loki pulls you closer which pushes your hips open a fraction further and allows him to penetrate deeper inside you. "Loki!! Jesus Christ!!" The exclamation explodes from you at the contact.

"Language, dear, or I'll bring the gag back!" You shudder a groan at that. "Loki! Sorry! Shit!!" When Loki grinds deeper into your core instead of pulling out you grunt which makes him chuckle at you. "What was that, pet?"

"Happy sound... promise. You... you... you better not stop Loki!" You're stuttering out sentence fragments that you want to sound tough, unaffected by him, but it is not working.

"I wouldn't dream of it, dearest!" Thrusting into you now, Loki bites his bottom lip in concentration, focusing on the way your walls clench around him. The rhythm he starts is slow at first, pushing, grinding then retreating but soon he's driving into you furiously, seeking your combined climax.

You feel it first. That telltale fluttering, low in your belly, growing into ripples of electricity. "Loki... I'm close... I'm gonna cum!" You warn.

"Not. Yet. Not. Until. I. Say." Each word is punctuated by his piercing need.

Whimpering you nod, squeezing your eyes shut, focusing on not letting your body win. "Look at me, girl. LOOK AT ME!"

Snapping your eyes open at Loki's command, your trapped in his sweltering gaze. Dark hair hangs into his face, sweat has collected on his brow, but his smirk is still daisy fresh.

"Cum for me. Right now."

You do. You watch his eyes widen as your body collapses on his cock. It tears through you, hard, unraveling both you and Loki.  He's locked inside you by your orgasm, tripping his own climax, unable and unwilling to prevent it. Loki shouts in a language you don't know but the meaning is clear. God damn.

Waves of pleasure roll through you both as your body accepts everything Loki gives you. Still lost in each other's eyes, your breathing starts to slow, and you reach up, wrists still tied, to brush that stray lock of raven hair behind his ear.

"Wow." There's really nothing else you can manage to say. You're wrung out, legs limp even though Loki is still holding your calves open. A small aftershock rushes through you and Loki moans. "You can say that again...", he grins. "Wow."

Loki reaches for your bonds once more. You hear the metallic slink of his dagger as it extends from his hand by some form of magic. The cold blade shreds the black ropes in a flash.

"Look at that!" You softly exclaim. "Free at last!" You flex each wrist a little, letting the blood flow to your hands. And you can't stop yourself from reaching for your boy.

Still inside you, Loki leans down to capture a kiss. It's soft and sweet. "Thank you for trusting me. I know you were the one in ropes tonight but don't you see, I am the one bound to you?"

You flush pink at his sugared words. Loki, God of Mischief, ruiner of days and jump scare master, had let you capture his heart. He was a trickster, truly, and your love for each other was intense, testing and teasing but it was yours.

You roll your hips gently which earns you a shattered groan from Loki. "We are tied to each other, Loki. Let's make sure we don't cut that cord, ok?" Grinning down at you Loki answers, "Not a chance, queen of my heart. No way."

Sliding out of you, Loki lays on his side, toying with your nipple. "That tickles, Loki!" You laughingly push him away as he flops his right arm across your chest and says, "I think my ship is the quietest one to ever set sail."

Turning to face him you ask, "Have you already taken her out?" You're eager to hear about it when the sound of a horn honks through the night.

Raising his eyebrows with a wicked grin, "You could say that!" "Jesus Christ, Loki!" You shout your favorite curse word at him.

In a flash Loki pulls you on top of him, his hands firm on your forearms. Somehow he seems more lethal under you than over you. Loki growls, "One name. One god. Or have you already forgotten??"

"How could I forget?" It's your turn to smirk as you lean down to capture his full lips in yours. "I promised to go easy on your soul, but your body was another matter all together."

Loki groans out a curse in ancient words as your mouth finds his growing erection. "Bewitching... you truly are." Popping off of him you answer, "and totally yours." With a shaky swallow Loki whispers, "Yes... You're mine and we are bound together."

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[orangeoctopi7]

A Small Setback

@stanuary Here with week one. The Theme is “Burn” and I’ve got a sequel to last year’s oneshot “A Minor Inconvenience”

***

It had been a few days since the elder Pines twins had received definitive proof that little bits of Bill were still floating around in Stan’s head. Ford had immediately set a course for the nearest land, a Norwegian island called Spitsbergen, where he was planning on doing some more in-depth research. He had already collected all his notes on the Dreamscape and Bill, as well as contacted Fiddleford for more data on the effects of the memory gun. When the old inventor asked why his old friend needed this information, Ford simply replied it was to help Stan with some unforeseen side-effects. 

What sort of side-effects? Fiddleford’s next email replied. I’d have a better idea of what data to send you if I knew what he was experiencing. 

He’s asked me to keep it confidential. Ford replied back. Just send everything.

The next email Ford got from McGucket contained an attachment so big, it took over 24 hours to download with their limited internet bandwidth at sea. 

The old researcher also asked his brother to start keeping a dream journal, and routinely asked Stan to recount all he could remember of his fateful encounter with Bill last summer. By now, Stan was getting a bit exasperated by it all.

“Seriously, it was over six months ago!” he whined, “I don’t remember any more of it now than I did yesterday! Can we just drop it?”

Ford looked ready to argue, but he must have changed his mind before he opened his mouth. “Ok, ok, if it’s frustrating you that much, I’ll stop asking.”

“Thank you.” Stan sighed. 

“We'll just have to find another way to figure out what happened.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. Of course he wasn't free to go yet.

“I've been going through the data Fiddleford sent me. The memory eraser doesn't actually erase memories, it just subliminalizes them by severing the main neurological connections.”

“... Meaning?”

“The memory is still in your head, you just can't recall it.”

“Great. What good does that do us?”

“I might be able to find access to the entire memory through your dreamscape.”

Stan grimaced. “So you wanna go digging around in my head again?” 

“Well I don’t want to, but it’s our best option to learn how Bill survived.”

“Didn’t he tell you the last time you were in there? Something about Tylenol?”

“Xolotl,” Ford corrected, “An Aztec god of death, among other things. I’m having trouble figuring out exactly how it’s connected to Bill. Which is why I need to know exactly what happened.”

“Alright, fine.” Stan consented. “But no more reading outta your nerd textbooks!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be needing that.” Ford assured him. “I need you awake this time.”

Stan raised his eyebrows curiously. “Didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely certain it will work.”

“... should I be worried?”

“No, no, worst case scenario, I recite the spell and just stay in my own head.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Stan sat in the middle of a ring of candles glowing dimly in the perpetual darkness of the arctic winter. Ford extinguished his match and stood behind his brother. Stan turned in his chair to watch.

“Don’t pay any attention to me.” Ford instructed. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on what you can remember about beating Bill. Tune me out.”

“Heh, got plenty of practice doing that.” Stan chuckled nervously.

“Concentrate.” Ford reminded him.

Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There wasn’t much he remembered, and it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. For the most part, all he remembered was blue flames, Bill begging for his pathetic life, and then punching the filthy dorito out of existence. More than anything, he remembered how he felt. Fear, then determination, a grim sense of satisfaction, and finally, acceptance. He tried to focus on those feelings and ignore Ford reciting the incantation. 

***

Stanford really hoped this would work. As he finished the incantation, there was a blue flash of light, which was a good sign. He opened his eyes, and sure enough, he no longer saw himself in the darkened galley of the Stan’o’War II, but back on the deck of Stan’s mindscape. There was a major difference this time though: Stan was actually standing there, clutching a treasure chest in his hands. It was severely damaged, blackened and burned. It seemed as though it might fall apart if someone looked at it the wrong way, but streams of blue light leaked out of it.

Ford reached out and lightly touched Stan’s shoulder. The old con man jumped like someone had cracked a whip at him.

“It’s ok, it’s just me!” Ford reassured him. 

“Where are we?” Stan asked.

“This is your mindscape, and that,” the old researcher pointed to the charred chest in his brother’s clutches, “Should be the memory we’re looking for.”

Stan gulped and cracked open the lid. Blue flames seemed to pour out of it. Ford placed his hand on top of his brother’s and opened the lid all the way. They could see the memory of Stan sitting in his favorite recliner, Bill growing more and more desperate and panicky every moment, but it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying or doing over the crackling, spreading blue flames that obscured most of the scene.

“What was that?” Ford asked suddenly as Bill started to glitch and contort with increasing rapidity.

“I think he’s tryin’ to get out.” Stan replied tensely. He didn’t like revisiting this memory.

“No, listen!”

Stan listened carefully over the crackling of the flames. “It just sounds like gibberish.”

“I think it’s an incantation!” Ford exclaimed, his voice caught somewhere between excited and scared. “Can you play it back again?”

“It’s a memory, not a video tape!” Stan glared at his brother incredulously.

“This is the mindscape, Stanley, you--”

“--Can do whatever I want, yeah yeah, I know.” Stan rolled his eyes and concentrated. The vision in the treasure chest skipped back a bit, to when Bill started warping. 

Ford listened carefully, but he still couldn’t quite make out Bill’s incantation.

“It’s no good, I’ll have to go in.” He sighed.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Stan eyed the dancing blue flames.

“It’s not real, it’s just a memory. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going with you, then.”

“Technically, you’re already there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Alright. We should be able to just reach in…” Ford thrust his arm into the chest...

...and found himself in the cozy living room of the Mystery Shack. The blue flames flickering around the edges of the room were frozen in time, and there, floating in the center, was Bill Cipher. Ford felt his body tense up and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, ready to fight or flee for his life. 

“He’s not real, remember?” Stan said reassuringly from his recliner. 

Ford took a steadying breath and nodded. “Try not to change anything.” he advised, “Just let the memory run its course.”

“That’s gonna be hard with you here.”

“I’ll do my best to blend in.” Ford imagined himself invisible and ducked behind the recliner for good measure. Next he imagined a little camcorder, so he could go over the events in detail later, and placed it besides the chair, where it wouldn’t be noticed. 

The flames began to dance again as Stan started concentrating on the memory and time around them started to flow normally once again. Ford watched with some satisfaction as Bill looked around frantically. The panic was obviously starting to kick in now. 

“LET ME OUTTA HERE! LET ME OUT!!” the demon waved his arm, trying to create a portal to escape through, or a door to slip into a safer part of the mindscape, but nothing happened. There was nowhere to run to. “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!”

Stan stood and drew himself to his full height. Although his heart was racing, he felt confidence and determination surge through him. He was going to teach this triangular jerkwad a lesson, and this time he knew how it was going to end. 

“Hey, look at me. Turn around and look at me, ya one-eyed demon!” He barked. Bill could do nothing but turn and look as the flames rose higher and higher. “You’re a real wise-guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family!”

“YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! MONEY, FAME, RICHES, INFINITE POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY!” Bill pleaded, “PLEASE!” 

Once again the demon began to warp and glitch, changing forms more and more rapidly like he was losing control. Ford watched and listened carefully, although it was getting harder to concentrate as the azure flames closed in around them.

“NRUTER YAM I TAHT REWOP TNEICNA EHT EKOVNI I! NRUB OT EMOC SAH EMIT YM! L T O L O X AAAAAAAAAA!” Bill screamed, cycling through forms faster than ever. With the last of his strength, he reached out. “S  T  A  N  L  E  Y…”

Stan wound up and socked Bill straight in the eye with a powerful left-hook. Bill shattered into millions of pieces, the shards scattering everywhere, only to be licked up by the flames within seconds. The ring of blue fire was closing in on them now. It was weird. It didn’t feel hot, but the closer it got, the more Stan felt like things were… ebbing away. 

Ford could feel it too. “Heh, good job Stanley.” He chuckled nervously, reappearing and picking up the camcorder. “Let’s pause things here so we can take a closer look.”

Stan tried to concentrate on the beginning of the memory again, but the flames surrounding them refused to budge. They just continued to close in around them. He tried to imagine a way out, but he couldn’t imagine a place to escape to. He couldn’t even recall where they’d been before they got here.

“Something’s wrong!” Stan panicked. “Ford, you gotta get out of here, now!”

“What? What’s wrong?” his brother asked in concern.

But Stan could tell he didn’t have time to explain. This wasn’t his first experience, and he knew Ford’s window was closing. He imagined one of the few things he could still recall clearly: an imposing metal structure in the shape of an inverted triangle, with a glowing white light pulsing in its center. He pushed his brother into the last possible exit.

This has happened before, hasn’t it? Was his last thought before he woke up.

***

Ford found he had stumbled to the floor when he awoke. His temper flared as he picked himself up off the floor. Why? Why would Stan ever think it was ok to recreate that moment, even in the dreamscape?

“Stanley, what were you thinking!?” he demanded. “What just happened?”

Stan came out of his trance groggily. He seemed to have a hard time focusing for a moment. He glanced around like he didn’t recognize his surroundings. “...Who… what?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh. “Do you even remember what just happened?”

“Uuuuh, no.” Stan said simply. “Who’re you?”

The old researcher’s blood ran cold. “That’s not funny.”

“‘Snot a joke.” Stan replied. “Seriously, you look familiar, but I’m drawing a blank. Help a guy out here.”

Ford clamped down on his emotions best he could. He couldn’t panic now, panicking would only make things worse. “I-it’s me, Stanford, your brother.”

“Stanford…” Stan repeated, as though the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he’d heard it before. “But I’m… wait, no… no that’s… but you… ugh, this is making my brain hurt!” He rubbed his temples.

Ford took his brother’s hand in his and interlocked their fingers. “You’re Stanley. And I’m Stanford.” he explained as patiently as he could, although inwardly he was freaking out. “We’re twins. Dad… heh, dad couldn’t be bothered to come up with two different names.” 

Stan just stared at their intertwined hands as though they were a particularly difficult puzzle.

“Just… just wait here.” Ford said firmly as he could while his voice hitched. “I’m going to find something to help you.”

“Uh… ‘kay.”

The old researcher dashed out of the galley and into the storage room, searching desperately for the scrapbook Mabel had made them. He’d had to use it a few times when Stan had memory lapses before, but in all those instances Stan still remembered up to some point in his history. Still remembered Ford. It had never been so bad that he’d forgotten everything. Not since…

“No, nonono I can’t do this again!” Ford moaned, pulling at his hair as he continued to search. He finally found the scrapbook, which helped him get a lid back on his emotions. “No. Get a hold of yourself. This is going to work. It’s worked before.” And if it didn’t, he was willing to commandeer a plane and fly them straight back to Gravity Falls if he had to. He knew that Stanley could recover from this, it was just a question of when and how.

“Uh, you ok in there, Sixer?” Stan called from the doorway. Ford turned and stared at him in shock. “S-sorry! That was rude. Dunno why I said that. It just kinda slipped out. I-I’ll go sit back down.”

“No! That’s fine!” Ford assured him with a soft smile. “That’s your old nickname for me. We don’t use it as much anymore because someone kind of ruined it for me… but that means you’re already starting to remember!”

“Oh. Good.”

“Come sit over here.” Ford motioned towards a long padded bench besides the table with the scrapbook in his hand. “It’ll be much more comfortable.”

***

Thankfully, it seemed that Stan hadn’t forgotten everything this time after all. He had forgotten a lot, and what he did remember was quite muddled, but at least there was something to start with. 

“So I was living under your name for thirty years… while I was trying to bring you back home?” Stan recapped as the reached the end of another section in the scrapbook.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah…” Stan nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, that explains it. I was kinda confused when I first woke up, cuz I thought I was Stanford, but that makes sense.”

“Do… do you remember that?” Ford asked hesitantly.

“I remember… a lot of long nights working on that portal.” Stan said slowly. “And worrying about you. Wondering whether or not you were still alive.”

Ford managed a weak smile. “Believe it or not, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

“Well, I survived, in any case.” The old researcher turned the page. “And here we have--”

“The kids!” Stan finished, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Yeah! How could I forget those little firecrackers? The glitter-bomb and the nervous know-it-all.”

“Do you remember their names?”

Stan’s grin faltered. “Yyyyno. Look, I’m not doing great on names today, cut me some slack!”

[lunarblazes]

OKAY SO. slb lore. cracks my knuckles lets go:

this lil blue bitch right here? their name is strive. their planet (moebius, yes named after the famous artist) is dying because these crazy triangle ship things stole all the starlight from them and now everything’s dying. the thieves are named The Void.

^^ seen here. they’re being bastards, killing planets, stealing stars, and fighting wars. that’s The Void.

anyway strive’s all sad about the stars and shit but THEN. A STAR APPEARS. AND THEY RUN AFTER IT WITH AN ANGSTY GLANCE BACK AT THEIR ELDER.

(again if you compare them to my grian design i’ll kill you that’s bullying you’re bullying me)

strive goes to investigate the fallen star and finds Holy Shit! That’s Not A Star! it’s a whole ass void ship that’s crashed down into their front yard! they touch it and BOOM they get sucked inside of it by some Magic and it shapes itself into a custom ship for them and blasts the fuck off. bye moebius rest in fuck i guess.

strive goes through a GOD DAMN SHIP GRAVEYARD that surrounds moebius when they get a message from a smiling mustache guy! it’s the intergalactic band members of twrp and the brigadiers who are fighting the void together!

lookit them all at this table. isn’t that nice. the robot one is havve hogan, the orange traffic cone man is doctor sung, the ninja one is ninja brian (he’s not in twrp but it’s complicated), the furry is commander meouch, and the red one is lord phobos! they all have lore too but it’s insane and not related to the mv SO we’re moving past it. (the lady in the helmet is an unnamed oc for the video; in the fandom we called her captain elle, after the animator who designed her— elle power!)

oh SHIT The Void is attacking. that’s not good! the brigade assumes attack position! everyone fights The Void fleet with everything they have to prevent more stars from being stolen. interestingly, strive’s ship is the only one without weapons (the rest of the brigade has weapons and controls tied to their instruments, i believe), and so they have to resort to making the voidships fight each other. the brigade tries to find their way to destroy the Main Dorito, but there’s a shield! oh no! strive is shot down and legit fucking dies.

like legit fucking dies. but it’s an anime death and they’re fine and they wake up all glowy and cool with Sick Anime Hair and enough power to ram the FUCK out of that Dorito Shield.

they get in! and then they’re all sucked INTO the Ultimate Dorito and have to fly through so that’s pretty crazy.

look at how crazy that fucking shot is. they’re going through what i like to call “the black and gray” because it’s a line in the song :^)

anyway the Ultimate Dorito is no match for the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP. that shit explodes and all the stars are returned to the galaxy! strive is accepted as part of the now intergalactic hero band: THE STARLIGHT BRIGADE.

and that’s the BASIC plot. i have like a billion hcs but that’s the gist of it! some details from the patreon posts:

strive is meant to be somewhere around 16-21 but they could be any younger or older depending on the viewer’s interpretation!

the void is controlled by a huge hivemind that commands all the ships. there aren’t any void pilots for this reason, though some people do suspect that there is a queen.

moebians are based on starlings, and have little feather-styled ears! (NO GRIAN. NONE WHATSOEVER. I AM BEATING MYSELF W A STICK.) they can have different facial markings and skin tones. the crystals in their chests are suspected to be tied to their hope or starlight intake; either way, strive is the only one whose light is still intact at the time of their departure.

THERE’S MORE BUT I GET HCS AND CANON MIXED UP A LOT. WHEN I TELL YOU THAT WE MADE OUR OWN CANON WE REALLY REALLY DID.