#reply or ignore whatever floats ur boat!!

[moxley]

Hey no offense!! But there is an issue with hcing a racial oppressor who is canonically such, as a part of a marginalized group he would oppress irl. Cullen is a creep to the fem mages in dao, going as far as imagining the individual who he was made to watch over (reminds me of that nazi/jewish person in concentration camp fanfic) as the whole desire demon tricking him *again* Cullen is uh... well he is apart of a group that can be considered by some as comparative to nazi-ism, white superiority... the police.... etc Hcing him as such is a bit... obtuse when he is in fact someone who is a horrible person towards these racial groups and never apologizes with both his writing and character blaming it on addiction.

as a poc myself, I understand taking characters and hcing them as ur race is really important! But in this case it seems exceptionally... well it sounds chronically online, but it's a bit shitty

theres a difference between a noncanon trans character who isnt transphobic being hced as trans, and a character being hced as a race he would be prejudiced against (even the characters coded in game as such he's racist against. but thats also racist writing)

i do see you’re well meaning and normal in sending this ask so i hope you take my reply in kind but i’m no good at this, i try to respond formally and courteously and i understand it kinda makes me sound like a cunt tbh … anyway i want to preface the point of my post which was about literacy around media terminology and not about the ethics or lack thereof around headcanons

so… yeah! you’re right. nothing you’ve said is wrong per se, cullen sucks. and you are completely right that it’s not a great thing to do, that it’s weird and just, whatever, in principle i agree with you and have never thought otherwise

but there’s two important caveats to this

first is that, whatever anyone thinks about that - including you and me - cullen was and remains a very beloved video game guy. i don’t get it, but whatever floats your boat, there’s a tonne of characters i love that are outright intentionally written as evil, which cullen is not. the narrative of dragon age is not intended for you to hate cullen, although your individual character or you may well do. i assume this person probably loved cullen. that doesn’t make it inherently okay, though, so bear with me

i _personally_ don’t believe it’s up to me, to comment on the ethics of an individual person making up headcanons about an individual character that reflects their marginalisation. if a muslim person (and i can’t comment the Facts because i haven’t seen the source info, but apparently the person in question was muslim) wants to headcanon their favourite blorbo as muslim, i’m simply not going to tell them not to do it.

this goes for anyone’s headcanon of a similar nature, which is not in fact about if the character is bad or good or predetermined by ethics. i just don’t believe in telling people that they can’t picture a character a certain way, most especially when that way aligns with their own life. to follow along with your example, if a trans person wanted to headcanon a transphobic (or otherwise real-life type of horrible) character as trans, it’s just not really in my purview to stop them. i’m also trans! and it’s unpleasant or even outright feels bad, but it doesn’t do any lasting harm, because it’s one persons headcanon, it doesn’t form part of the text, and for my own joy i could also block that person.

it’s genuinely fine to disagree with this, but this is the way i choose to operate online, which is that some idiot with a bad headcanon in some corner of the internet is pretty easy to ignore. again, not disputing the headcanon is bad. i’m just not going to argue with the person who had it.

(happy to clarify any meaning in this post cus i wrote it on mobile)

[edwardboyne]

@fatherfoxhound: "the ones we love have the power to inflict the greatest scars."

( flashback; 1844 )

as they leave the orphanage together, edward lets himself get a little distracted—he only half listens to laurents and what he’s got to say, feeling awfully tired (but at the same time, awfully grateful) thanks to the day he’s had. but a sentence like this was bound to catch his attention so he turns his head to face the other, with questions arising behind his eyes, coming through in his expressions, questions he isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask. they aren’t friends, after all. they’re friendly, but they aren’t friends. 

but then again, ed isn’t particularly known for sticking to rules, social customs included. he almost stops walking but the second-long hesitation in his step soon dissolves; stopping would make this conversation feel to serious, too solemn. and besides, it’s too cold.

“and are you speaking from experience?” he asks; for a second, edward hopes that the answer is yes—they should have something else in common then. because if their roles were reversed, that’s what his answer would be. he thinks about his family, his past love, both lost—and that’s possibly where most of the hurt comes from, from the absence of them.

[emprcsario]

@fatherfoxhound​ : "I ask you, can the ends ever justify such wretched means?"

“where is this coming from, father?” there’s a sneer delivered with the last word—kane could never say it with a straight face or, god forbid, affection—no matter the context. a seed of panic has been planted deep in his gut though, because what if his brother found another victim to speak to from the dead? what if this time, he told someone the truth? his ghost gets more daring with each second. 

the end justifies the means—one could easily consider it the words kane lives by. the end? him, miles ahead from everyone else because he deserves it. and whatever happens to those standing in his way? they deserved whatever they got, too. abel deserved it. and kane will repeat the words until they ring true again. “besides, you’re asking the wrong man. i’m the last to consider things like this. whatever means necessary, that’s the way i handle things.”

“what about you? you can’t tell me that selflessness gets you everywhere. you can’t tell me you’ve never acted a little cruel to get what you wanted.”

[heavenly-roman]

Trust In Me

Plot: “Deceit decidedly didn’t care if his name was revealed to the light sides. In fact, he’d told Virgil he was more than okay if he told the three instead of himself, of which Virgil quickly declined. But Thomas? Deceit had wanted to tell him himself. He had a whole plan, for god sake. And Virgil ruined it.”

Warnings: crying, deceit being bitter for two (2) seconds, sympathetic deceit

Pairing(s): platonic anxceit (could be seen as pre-romantic? whatever floats ur boat)

Word Count: 795

if you liked this, consider buying me a coffee?

(ao3 link!!!)

+++

It was an accident. He promised he wouldn’t do it. He’s not that type of person. Except now he is .

And to make matters worse, it was during a video .

Deceit decidedly didn’t care if his name was revealed to the light sides. In fact, he’d told Virgil he was more than okay if he told the three instead of himself, of which Virgil quickly declined. But Thomas ? Deceit had wanted to tell him himself. He had a whole plan, for god sake.

And Virgil ruined it.

“Oh my God, Ethan, just get out of here!” He had shouted, not realizing his mistake until-

“Ethan? Your name is Ethan?” Thomas’ mouth was ajar, finally getting the name of the side he’s known for years.

Deceit - Ethan - stiffened and nodded sharply. “Yes, that is my name. Now I believe a certain anxious side wanted me to leave, and therefore I will.” And before anyone could protest, Ethan was sinking out with Virgil following quickly behind.

Appearing in the common room in the mindscape, Virgil watched as Ethan’s capelet swooshed around the corner and up the stairs, out of sight. The anxious side sighed and chased after him, not ready to give up so easily.

Slightly out of breath, Virgil made it to Ethan’s bedroom as the door slammed in his face. The golden D decorating the door morphed to an E , and Virgil winced. “E?” he called through the door. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, Virgil,” came Ethan’s muffled reply. “Are you going to reveal someone else’s biggest secret? Seems to be the only thing you can do.”

The harsh words stung, but Virgil supposed he deserved it. “I’m sorry, Ethan. Can you let me in?”

“No,” he said, despite the lock clicking and the door swinging open to reveal a disheveled Ethan. His hat and capelet had been removed, and Virgil could see his puffy eyes and red nose, despite the lying side’s clear effort to disguise his crying.

Virgil’s heart broke as he took in the sight of his best friend, upset and crying because he screwed up. He pulled the shorter side in for a hug, smoothing down his hair as Ethan began to softly cry onto Virgil’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whispered, his eyes threatening to spill his own tears and willing them back because he needs to be strong for his friend. “I’m so damn sorry, it was an accident, it just slipped out, but I’m sorry.”

Ethan said nothing but hugged Virgil tighter, which then prompted his tears to start falling. Still holding him, he gently nudged Ethan into the room and closed the door, before bringing them to sit on the yellow covered bed. They sat like that for a while, holding each other, with Virgil occasionally humming a soft tune.

Eventually they broke apart, Ethan quickly whispering, “I forgive you, V.”

The two smiled at each other, before they both felt the familiar tug of Thomas summoning them. Virgil left Ethan to make himself more presentable before popping up in his familiar spot on the stairs. Virgil briefly noticed the other three had left, as had the cameras, leaving just him and Thomas to wait. After a minute of awkward silence, Ethan appeared in Patton’s spot, apologizing for keeping them waiting.

“So,” Thomas started, looking between the two facets. “Your name is Ethan? And you knew about it?”

“Virgil and I are -” Ethan stopped and looked at Virgil for permission to continue, at which Virgil nodded and ignored the pain in his chest. “Virgil is my best friend. We’ve been friends since we were formed. So yes, he was the first one to know my name, I was the first one to know his name.”

“E gave me permission to tell the other three, but I refused. He had a plan to tell you and - and I ruined it.” Virgil smiled sadly at Ethan, who returned the smile, albeit brighter.

“Well,” Thomas broke them out of their moment. “We could just edit that part out? I know the damage is done and I already know, but if you really don’t want anyone else to see, we could always stage your name reveal.”

“Really?” Ethan’s face lit up, he hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“Really. Exactly how you planned it, too.” Thomas smiled as Ethan nodded.

“Thank you,” the lying side said, and he truly did mean it. He looked over to Virgil, only to find that the anxious side had already sunk out, leaving him and their host to have a heartfelt moment by themselves. Ethan began to sink out when Thomas stopped him.

“Ethan?” He called, and the side rose back up. “Thank you. For being honest with me.”

“No, thank you Thomas. For accepting me.”

[bellarkefanfiction]

Balancing on a Wire (Show me Your Desire)

*click thru to read on ao3

written by: M | @ahmren

prompt: ‘Clarke searching on craigslist for a husband and finds Bellamy’ (reversed) for anonymous 

word count: 3929

Scrolling through the pages, grimacing and shaking his head more often than not, Bellamy had mostly given up for the night when his mouse hovered over an ad that read ‘LF live-in fake partner’.

His first thought was that he wasn’t drunk enough for this. His second thought was that maybe he should get drunk enough. His third thought helpfully pointed out the no rent, notified in advance when presence is required and pda negotiable parts.

He drained the last of his Corona, decided that what the hell, he had nothing to lose, and hit the reply button before he changed his mind. Then Miller sent him a text about next week’s trivia night and he promptly forgot about the whole thing.

or

Bellamy is looking for a new apartment, finds Clarke and things are not real enough for his tastes.

Bellamy wasn’t even sure why he went looking on Craigslist. The last time he had tried to look for an apartment to rent, he had to squeeze through the bathroom's window and go down the fire escape because the owners weren’t taking a ‘no’ for an answer to their threesome offer.  

Miller had nearly pissed himself from laughing so hard.

But, well, Miller was moving out to live with Monty, and Octavia had been a permanent resident of Lincoln’s condo for well over three months now, and there was no way that Bellamy was going to sleep on Raven’s couch.

Not that he had anything against her couch – it was a pretty comfy couch – but Raven and Gina were in an on-again off-again relationship and it was already awkward enough with him and Gina being exes and still working together.

So Craigslist it was.

Scrolling through the pages, grimacing and shaking his head more often than not, Bellamy had mostly given up for the night when his mouse hovered over an ad that read ‘LF live-in fake partner’.

His first thought was that he wasn’t drunk enough for this. His second thought was that maybe he should get drunk enough. His third thought helpfully pointed out the no rent, notified in advance when presence is required and pda negotiable parts.

He drained the last of his Corona, decided that what the hell, he had nothing to lose, and hit the reply button before he changed his mind. Then Miller sent him a text about next week’s trivia night and he promptly forgot about the whole thing.

Bellamy had just finished cleaning the bar’s counter when Raven choked on her drink and sent water and spit all over the surface.

He glared at her and started wiping again.

“Are you trying to tell me that you answered a sugar daddy ad?” she gasped out, red in the face. There were tears at the corners of her eyes, but right now Bellamy wasn’t feeling sympathetic.

“It’s not a sugar daddy ad.” Bellamy frowned. “Somebody was looking for a fake partner to get their overbearing parents off their back.”

She just smiled wickedly and leaned over the counter, not willing to let this go yet. “Yes, and in exchange for kissing and acting all in love with them you get a place to live in. Tell me how this is different from a sugar daddy?”

Bellamy was already regretting opening his mouth.

“They’re not giving me money or buying me stuff?” Raven just arched an eyebrow and mouthed try harder at him, so he tried again, “There’ll be no sex nor emotional commitment involved?”

“Sex doesn’t have to be on the table for you to be considered in a relationship with a sugar daddy.”

“But money does.” He squinted at her, suspicious. “It’s weird how well informed you are about this.”

“Please.” Raven rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers against the counter. “Have you forgotten that you’re talking to the smartest person you know?”

He threw the rag he was using to wipe the counter with in the bin under the sink and started stocking the display behind him with alcohol. “This is strictly a business proposal. The whole idea of it is that I’ll play the boyfriend part but it will be a ruse.” He sighed at last and checked the ice machine to his left. “It’s like that one time you dragged me to a cake tasting and we had to pretend to be engaged. Don’t make it sound like I’m doing something dirty.” He frowned and backtracked. “Not that there’s something wrong with being in a sugar daddy relationship. Whatever floats your boat and all that.”

Raven just kept on looking at him, amusement evident in the upturned corners of her lips. “They had butterscotch red velvet cake, Bell, and if I remember correctly you barely let me have a bite of my own piece, so it’s not like you didn’t have a good time.”

Bellamy flipped her off and turned his back on her, adamant to ignore the rest of her attempts to mess with his mind.

Less than twenty minutes later his phone pinged with a new text message, followed by two more:

From Miller:

19:48 selling ur body for money?!!! come live w/ me&monty

19:49 nvm we dont have a couch

19:49 just sacrifice urslf and buy us an island when ur rich

God damn it, Bellamy hated his friends.  

See, despite the few messages he had sent back and forth with the ad owner, one clrkgriff, Bellamy had forgotten to ask one very important thing–

“Oh, you’re here a bit early.”

–the person’s gender.

It wasn’t really a dealbreaker for him – he and Miller had one very memorable ‘we don’t ever talk about this’ night where Bellamy found out that while he did find guys attractive and kissing was fun, he leaned more towards the female-attraction end of the Kinsey-scale. And yet, he had jumped to the conclusion that the person behind the ad was male and he had been ready to deal with that appropriately. (He blamed Raven’s sugar daddy comments.)

The person that waved him inside the apartment – blonde, blue eyed, with streaks of paint going up her naked arms – was most definitely not a man.

She was a tad shorter than him and smelled of turpentine and lemons. It made his nose itch and he had to stop a sneeze.

She must’ve taken his grimace for something else though, because her eyes narrowed and her stance straightened from the relaxed, slouched position she had taken mere seconds before that.

“Hi,” her voice was pleasant if a bit sharp, “I’m Clarke Griffin and I assume you’re here for the ad?”

“Hi, yeah.” He cleared his throat when his voice came out a bit wobbly. “I’m Bellamy, Bellamy Blake. We, uh, talked on Craigslist for me to come and visit, see the place and talk about your proposal?”

She smiled, a tad tight around the corners of her mouth, and said, “I remember. You’re the bartender, right?”

Bellamy nodded and smiled crookedly, trying to dispel the tension. “Yeah, still can’t get a job as a museum curator and my friend owns a bar, and well, the rest is history.”

Clarke snorted. “That was a bad pun.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she grinned. “Maybe.” She looked down at herself as if just now realizing she had paint all over her arms, splashed across her threadbare grey tank top and smudged under her jaw. “Ah, sorry about this, I’m usually a bit more put together.”

“It’s–” adorable “–fine. If I end up pretending to be your boyfriend this is a sight I should be used to.”

And just like that they were back on track.

“Would you like something to drink? I’m pretty sure I’ve got a beer or two.” Clarke turned towards what Bellamy assumed was the kitchen and he followed dutifully behind.

The loft was a lot bigger than he thought it to be. The front door led to a cozy living room that opened up to a small kitchen and a hallway that Clarke confirmed connected the living space to the bedrooms. The ceiling to floor windows allowed a lot of light inside and Bellamy had no trouble imagining himself laying on the couch with a good book in hand, enjoying the view of the city the apartment had.

Clarke rummaged through her fridge and clicked her tongue. “Is orange juice okay? My best friend seems to have drank my last beer.”

Bellamy pulled out one of the high chairs that sat next to the breakfast counter top and let his backpack slide to the floor. “Juice is fine,” he said absentmindedly as he looked around some more, liking the mix of the pastel coloured walls and the dark wood of the floors.

Clarke put a glass in front of him and leaned over the bar, and he found himself liking that too. She was far from hard on the eyes and if this was a night in Gina’s bar, he was sure he would’ve hit on her. As it was, he pushed back the low strings of attraction and focused on her face.

“So, you’re looking for a pretend boyfriend?”

She hummed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “More or less. I had a bad breakup recently and my mom decided that the best way to get me out of my funk is to set me up with as many children of her colleagues as she can. It’s getting really frustrating and I need to do something about it before I explode in her face.”

He took a sip of his juice. “Would that be so bad?”

Clarke shrugged and chipped away at the dried paint on her left arm. “She’s trying to make up for some stuff in the past and I don’t want us to go back to not speaking to one another.”

Bellamy let his fingers gather the condensation that had formed on the outside of the glass and pulled his hands away from Clarke, suspicious of the tingle in his fingers that made him want to slide his hand up her neck and clean the speck of paint teasing him from underneath her jaw.

The silence stretched out and Clarke drummed her fingers, almost nervously. “I just need you to show up to a few dinners with my parents, play the loving boyfriend part and convince my mom that I’m doing fine and her concern is appreciated, but not needed. In return, you get to live in my spare bedroom. No rent, but I expect you to pay for your half of the utilities and clean up after yourself.”

“So like a roommate but with a slight twist.”

She laughed and shook her head. “For a moment there I thought you were going to say benefits.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting and Bellamy smirked, attraction rearing its head from where he had pushed it back in his mind. “Hey, from my point of view not paying rent is a benefit.”

She pushed back from the countertop and circled around. “So, you’re in?”

Bellamy turned around everything he knew about the offer in his head, aside from the play pretend part, Clarke seemed like a person he would get on well with and he was getting a decent place to live in for quite cheap for few months, enough for him to save enough money and move out once Clarke was ready to “break up.”

Not exactly what he had in mind when he started apartment hunting but still better than most offers.

“I’m in.” He offered his hand for a shake. “Shall we discuss boundaries?”

Her hand slid into his – small and warm, grip tighter than her stature hinted at – and nodded, “Let's.”

Living with Clarke was surprisingly easy once they got over the first few awkward days after Bellamy moved in.

It had been quite a while since Bellamy had to learn how to live with a stranger. He had shared a living space with his sister most of his life, and Miller and he had bunked together the moment they both got accepted into the same college. It took some maneuvering and compromises on both ends for him and Clarke to get comfortable with one another.

He learned early on that she wasn’t a morning person, barely coherent before her first cup of coffee, and had a strange love-hate relationship with the afternoon sun that would be either too bright or not bright enough.

In turn, she had to start looking where she was sitting because Bellamy’s books had the tendency to spill out of his room and take every available surface, and his growing collection of cacti had commandeered some of the window ledges that she was used to perching on and watching the sunset from.

Then there were the casual touches: a brush of fingers over his shoulder to get his attention, a nudge of her knee against his when she wanted the tv remote, a push of her elbow when he was hogging the kitchen sink.

Clarke called it getting acquainted with one another; after all they wouldn’t be able to sell this whole relationship thing if they were skittish and jumpy around each other. Bellamy called it torture.

His last relationship had been too long ago and he had missed the casual intimacy between lovers with intensity and hunger that left him shaking when Clarke leaned her head against his shoulder when they sat down to watch a movie. Bellamy thought that it would get better with time, that more exposure to Clarke would sate the emptiness inside him but if anything it only got worse.

It was scary how easy it was to forget that this whole thing was play pretend.

Then, few weeks into this relationship – arrangement, Clarke pushed his legs off the couch and sat next to him, hands tapping away at her phone.

“Hey, Bell, you have the day off tomorrow, right?” She said it in such a nonchalant manner that it instantly made him suspicious.

Going over his working hours in his head, he nodded in agreement. “Yes?”

“My mom invited us over for dinner and I said I’ll check in with you about when you’re free.”

“That’s–” scary, worrisome, fucking hell, what I signed up for, “–cool.”

She glanced at him, uncharacteristically shy, and locked her phone before turning around to face him, one leg tucked under her ass while the other touched the floor, and leaned against the back of the couch.

“Guess it’s time to see how good of an actor you really are.”

They had traded childhood stories and tidbits about one another, had taken pictures together and of one another, had made it Facebook official, but this was the first time they were actually going to act like a couple for few hours straight, in front of her parents no less.

“Ready for it?”

He put the book he was reading on the coffee table and ruffled his hair. “Only one way to find out.”

Clarke bit her lower lip and his eyes zeroed on the shiny tint it had when her teeth released it. She cleared her throat and his gaze snapped back up to safer territory.

“There's only one more thing.”

Bellamy frowned. “What?”

“We haven’t kissed yet.”

He nearly choked on his spit. He wiped his palms on his sweatpants as stealthily as he could manage and mirrored her pose. “Yeah, we should probably do that before meeting  your parents.”

She nodded and leaned forward, only to stop. “God, this is awkward.”

“Tell me about it.” Bellamy chuckled and pushed some of her hair away from her face, letting his hand linger on her jaw. Ever so slowly, he used his hand to pull her face towards his, his eyes looking for the smallest hint of discomfort or hesitance on her part.

But then she relaxed and closed her eyes, and Bellamy leaned in, his dry lips brushing over hers, more of a peck than a kiss. She breathed out against his mouth and he kissed her again, his mouth lingering, fingers sliding down and tugging at the hair at the back of her neck, angling her head just so.

Clarke’s hands gripped his biceps and Bellamy decided fuck it, he had to make this one feel real, and he used his other arm to pull her closer, until her legs were bracketing one of his and she gasped. He used the opportunity to nip at her lips and tease her with his tongue until her mouth opened wider and his tongue slipped inside, and dragged out the softest sighs and whimpers he had ever heard. It was slow and hot, and Clarke kissed him as if she could draw out every breath out of his lungs if she tried hard enough.

Her hands slid down to his chest, over his wildly beating heart that felt like it had just ran a marathon, and she broke their kiss, lips bruised and cheeks rosy. Her hair was a mess from his wandering hands.

“I think we got that part down.” Her husky voice sent shivers down his spine and Bellamy forced himself to pull back, to let her slide off his lap and on the other end of the couch.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

She laughed and waved him off, mumbling something about calling her mother to confirm the dinner.

And Bellamy was left with the tingling in his lips and the taste of her mouth at the back of his throat, his arousal simmering warm and low in his belly. He rubbed at his jawline, scratched at the stubble there and let his head fall back against the couch, groaning at the ghost-like feeling of her legs wrapped around him.

What was he thinking agreeing to be her fake boyfriend to get her mother off her back, when he knew he was attracted to her. Living with her just begged for him to develop feelings beyond lust and Bellamy feared that maybe the domesticity of it all had gotten to his head too fast, too soon.

As Raven would put it so eloquently, he was fucked.

Abigail Griffin was the type of person that made Bellamy grit his teeth and smile in attempt to weather the instinctive urge to snap back at every jab he received. It had been a while since somebody got on his nerves like that, but Clarke’s mom had the uncanny ability to hit where it hurt with little to no effort, and the only thing that was stopping him from firing back some truths of his own was Clarke’s hand on his elbow.

On the other hand, Jake Griffin was a man of smiles and warmth, and had no problem welcoming Bellamy in their home with a hearty shake and a good beer, more often than not steering his wife away from being too harpy-like in their conversations and sending him apologetic looks.

Despite it all, Clarke and Bellamy slipped into their pretend relationship like two well oiled pieces of a machine, meant to work together as if they’d known each other their whole lives, as if that was their only purpose.

It made him pause the first time she pushed her mushrooms over to his plate, stealing a few pieces of asparagus in the process. They’d only lived few weeks together, as glorified roommates seeing each other briefly in the mornings and the evenings in between their jobs, yet she had remembered that he liked mushrooms while she found them revolting, and that asparagus were his least favourite vegetable. And it wasn’t only that.

It was her arm hooked around his elbow, her palm that smoothed down his dress shirt when he took off his jacket, it was her perfume – a soft blend of lemongrass and bergamot that he had commented on as being his favourite of the few she owned. It was the way she looked at him, all warm and affectionate, her lips twisted in a grin when she caught him hiding yet another sigh at her mother’s antics.

Her touches came freely and generously, and they were messing with his head more than usual.

“You’re living together? Don’t you think you’re moving a bit too fast?” Her mother’s question was delivered with the perfect concerned tone of voice in juxtaposition with the hard look in her eyes.

“Maybe we are, but I think that’s the best way for us to find if we’re really compatible and family material.”

“Family material?”

The way her hand clenched around her fork filled Bellamy with a vicious sense of satisfaction, and he had to hide his smirk behind his beer bottle when Clarke covered up her laughter with her napkin.

“Stop it, mom, it’s not like we’re engaged or anything.” Clarke sneaked a glance at him, a mischievous glint in her bright blue eyes, and Bellamy put his beer down just in time for Clarke to add, “Yet.”

Jake coughed and opened a second beer for himself. “So, Bellamy, where was it that you worked?”

The conversation moved to safer territory from there, Clarke leaning against his arm once they were done with dinner and he was regaled with stories of her childhood adventures. By the end of the night, Bellamy was relaxed enough that he parted ways with the Griffins with a genuine smile, his hand glued to Clark’s back, soaking up her warmth through her thin dress.

“That went better than I expected,” she said once they were back to their loft.  

Bellamy watched her kick off her heels and flop on the couch, grumbling when she had to dig out his copy of Hypatia of Alexandria that was poking her from in between the cushions.  

“You sound surprised.” He hung his jacket on the coat and leaned against the wall, taking in the pretty picture she made all laid out before his eyes, the dim light from the city painting shadows across her legs and cleavage with a painter’s precision to entice and enchant the onlooker. “Doubting my acting skills?”

Clarke wiggled around until she was sitting and frowned. “I–that–no,” she managed to say at last, her expression closing off as she stretched her legs out and looked down at her colorful toes. “If you can fool my mom that you’re in love with me then you’re a damn good actor, Bell.”

There was something in the hollow way she said it that made Bellamy’s heart stop and then start again, beating a drum of hope against his ribcage that had him stepping forward until he could kneel before her.

“Hey, Clarke.” He waited until she looked at him. “I think I should start paying rent.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s–I thought you were happy with our arrangement.”

“I am. I was.”

“Why though? I can’t pay you to be my fake partner. That’s the reason why you’re not paying rent, you know.”

He shook his head and let his hands rest on her hips, dragging her forward until her open legs we bracketing him on both sides.

“Let me rephrase myself. I want to pay rent.” Her breath hitched and she braced herself on his shoulders. “I like kissing you and I like hearing you talk about art stuff and musicals and your rants about the unnecessary female sexualization in comic books. I like you and I’d like to date you, this time for real.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Art stuff?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and poked her in the ribs. “That’s all you heard from that?”

Clarke grinned and tugged gently at the curls framing his face. Her legs tightened around his ribs and she pulled him closer. “What I heard was that I have to put up with your cacti obsession, permanently.”

His grumbled, “It’s not an obsession, but a small collection,” got muffled by her mouth against his and Bellamy was happy to let her have this fight.

After all, Bellamy won a much sweeter prize.

(“I’m serious, Bellamy, no more cacti. I nearly sat on one yesterday morning.”

“I bet I can convince you otherwise.” He sucked a few biting kisses up her neck, breathing hot air against the sensitive shell of her ear. “I’ve got pretty good oral skills.”

“Oh? Let’s see them then.”

(Clarke ended up getting him more cacti, a lot more cacti.))