#that missing clarke sometimes just hits a little harder

[lexa-griffins]

*sigh* its missing Clarke Griffin hours :c

[iphoenixrising]

The Demon You Know

Day 1 Urban Fantasy AU | Magical/Supernatural Creatures | Time Travel

So, something a little off the grid for my first day of DickTim Week 2021. Special thanks to my wonderful babe @vellaphoria for the beta and the incredible peeps on the Capes and Coffee discord (looking at you @themandylion, @strawberryjei and others). Also need to show my undying love for @chippon because babe, we are making it work.

**

When the sun creeps up over the sky in Gotham, then it’s time to GTFO. Capes in the daytime aren’t the usual for the city, and Red Robin has been playing it too late, staying out far past O’s warning to bring it in for the night. So, really, he’s only got himself to blame.

His penthouse perch has seen more use in the last few months since, welp, Gotham and the fact he likes to get away from the team mentality sometimes, like to return to his roots and run the rooftops like when he was still that Robin. His trips to the Manor had become more frequent since B was back in the cowl and things in the family seemed to be returning to some semblance of normal. 

Well, as normal as it could get, really.

But all that goodwill and positivity is literally ghost. Red’s hands are shaky and his inner calm is absolutely blown. He’s ducking into his perch to throw his suit off, grab his duffle bag full of sundries and fake idents, then he’s going to hit the airport as fast as he can get a flight the hell out of town, away from the terrifying sight.

(He should just call Bart or Kon or Cassie, tell them he needs an out faster than he can arrange it himself, he needs to get away from–)

He knows he fucked up when the slight sounds, small and metallic in nature, make it past his pulse thumping in his ears.

Like a horror flick, he slowly turns as the front door gives a groan and is pushed open by a very familiar palm.

Dick’s blue eyes fall on him like a ton of bricks, on Red Robin’s feet frozen to the floor, his suit only half on, and no way he can get far enough to throw himself out a window.

Fuck.

“So,” Dick keeps his voice soft, footsteps easy as he steps inside Tim’s penthouse and closes the door behind him, “you finally found me out.”

Keeping his mouth shut in times like this has really saved his ass before, so Red doesn’t say a word, keeps every muscle in his body ready to spring for the right second –

Watching the would-be robber struggle in Dick’s grip, watching the light show brighten overwhelmingly, seeing what had to be-had to be feeding.

“I figured it would be you if anyone, actually, so I’m not really surprised, just… disappointed.” Dick continues softly, only in jeans and a t-shirt since Nightwing was oddly missing from the patrol roster last night.

And Red is apparently the only one that knows why.

“But that doesn’t mean I can just let you go, Timmy,” Dick isn’t stopping, his whole body lax while Red is wound tight, backing away from the man he thought he knew. “I really wish you hadn’t found out like this. I...I had other plans.” 

Whirlybirds and pellets aren’t going to help him here. Hand-to-hand and martial arts, aerial acrobatics, none of it is going to make a difference. 

His throat goes dry when Dick’s eyes get more and more blue, when his former mentor doesn’t stop advancing, and Red Robin is running out of room to back away.

“I tried to save you, Timmy. I tried so hard to get you away, out of Gotham, even if you went because you thought you had to find Bruce, I’m the one that gave you the compulsion to leave.” The low laugh is edged with something desperate, “why the hell couldn’t you stay away?”

“This is my city, just as much as Batman’s. You taking my fucking cape wasn’t enough,” Red Robin bites out, back thumping against the kitchen counter, realizing Dick had backed him into the corner. “How did you keep it from him? Constantine, Zatanna, all the magic users he has on speed dial and he never figured you out? No one in the JLA or Titans did?”

That makes Dick pause.

“He never had to. He knew what my parents were before they ever died, Timmy. Haley’s Circus came to Gotham regularly. Bruce always knew.”

The information blast hits him painfully, that Bruce didn’t bother to tell him and look at where they are now.

“And he didn’t try to help you?” Red, Tim, gapes at the still silhouette that used to be someone he thought he knew like he knew himself. Someone that’s always had this secret. “He didn’t try to –”

“Cure me?” Dick’s mouth lifts in a semblance of a smile Tim knows. “There is no cure for this, Timmy. It’s what I am. What my parents both were, the curse of the Romain Bababiljos. It’s unfortunate for me both of them were cursed, that just makes the...the hunger two-fold.”

And it’s just a few more steps, a raised hand that makes Tim flinch back, but only a fingertip taps the edge of the domino, makes the whiteouts raise.

Automatically, with everything he’s learned, studied, experienced about supernatural creatures, he ducks his head so he isn’t looking directly into those eyes. That doesn’t stop Dick from bracketing Tim in, both hands on the counter, their bodies a breath apart.

Dick laughs softly, close enough for Tim to feel the breath on his face. “The Titans...I never had to tell them. By then, I could control myself, at least mostly. The JLA? I’m one of the Batman’s proteges. I’ve been fighting crime since I was eight. They believe in me. There was never a reason for any of them to look too deeply past the surface.”

“Wh-what do you mean mostly?” Tim’s heart slams in his chest, “how many people have you killed, Dick?”

“Do you have any idea how awful the hunger is?” And the lower Dick’s voice goes, the harder Tim’s heart starts to pound. “Surviving on hugs and family affection is tantamount to starvation for someone like me. It’s so easy to kill someone during sex because the hunger is so much I can’t control it sometimes. Anyone I’m with is in danger.  That’s why I couldn’t stay with Babs, she’s too human. The one time I came close–” 

Dick breathes again and all Tim looks at is the span of throat, thinking of the soft, vulnerable parts, anything he can use to get the fuck away.

“–but I didn’t. I have...willpower sometimes. I drained her so close, though. She was-was so fragile, Timmy, and I was so hungry. I’d been starving for so damn long. She was hospitalized for longer than she’d been when the Joker shot her, and I said never again. But Wally and Kory were...different. I could go further with him without killing them, I could get more full than I’d been in a long time. It was still dangerous for them, but I was so far gone by the time...”

“They’re both still alive. Babs is still alive. Does she–?”

“Remember? Of course not. None of them do. I made sure of that, Tim, so none of them would be afraid of me.”  And the air changes when Dick gets closer, his eyes get brighter, and Tim almost chokes with the almost touch to his body under his suit. “But, you are going to be different, aren’t you? I’m not going to be able to convince your mind that what you saw was a dream.”

“So what? You’re going to make me “disappear”? You’ll give Bruce some sob story about how I got tired of the vigilante life and left for college or some shit? Going to bury me where no one will ever find me?” He isn’t looking at Dick’s face, can’t see his own end coming, can’t believe he’d put all his faith and belief in this man only to have it all come to this.

Tim laughs wetly, blinking rapidly, and everything suddenly comes together. “He won’t ever come looking for me anyway. You made sure of that when you made Damian your Robin. Nice plan, Dick. No one is going to give a shit if I’m never seen again anyway.”

And it’s stupid not to at least try, not to duck and kick out, trip up whatever Dick really is, to break a window and fucking run, try to get Bruce, Clark, Kon and Bart and Cassie, to get anyone to listen to him about what Dick really is, to try to save himself.

(If you’d never figured out Dick was Robin, if you never put yourself in front of him, you’d be safe now. Miserable but safe.)

Even if it’s his own brain pan spitting this out, he knows it’s bullshit. 

If he’d never approached Dick Grayson with proof Batman was losing his mind, Tim Drake wouldn’t have reached twenty-one. The way his life was going, he would have probably hung himself long before getting to this stage in his life. If he’d never had Bruce or Alfred or Dick or Steph, if he’d never had Robin, never had Young Justice or The Titans, if he’d never had the Clench, never felt the rumble under his feet as Gotham had fallen, if he’d never had the agony of losing everyone in his life, if he’d never had the drive to prove his adopted father was alive…

The civilian Tim Drake wouldn’t have had the strength to make it through life alive.

So if this is the way he goes out, if Dick is the one that ends it for him–

There’re worse ways to go.

He’s not going to be the Joker’s next victim or Ra’s al Ghul’s heir with a mix of Lazarus Pit crazy. The HIVE, the Light, the mass of aliens he’s fought, any number of Rogue Gallery thugs, none of them will be the ones to take him out.

But this?

His career as Robin started out with Dick Grayson, so maybe...maybe it’s fitting this is the way it all ends. 

He sucks in a breath and finally tilts his head up, looks up into those electric blue eyes, and lets his breath out so so slow.

Because Dick is looking at him with watery eyes, with a grimace, with something Tim can actually recognize.

But those eyes light up in his penthouse perch, take on a supernatural glow, Dick snatching his wrists in bigger hands, pulling Tim closer, the heat getting through layers of Kevlar and Nomex. And just like that, he can’t pull away, can’t pull back.

There’s no way to defend himself when Dick pulls him in, when he expects to get his throat ripped out, his neck snapped, something important crushed, for the darkness to take over and his heart to slow down to a sad, weak pitter patter.

He can’t defend himself when Dick kisses him, opens his mouth, and stuns him into going completely slack.

“I told you,” Dick growls softly when he pulls back, bends enough to get Tim laid out over his shoulder, “I had other plans.”

But Tim can’t reply, can’t do anything other than lay across Dick’s back as the Romani love deamon strides down the hallway and kicks open the bedroom door.

**

And if Tim Drake survives until morning, shocking the hell out of the both of them, staring up at Dick’s surprised face and glowing blue eyes, if the soft touch to his jaw contrasts sharply with the bruises and red marks blossoming all over his body from an intense night with his supernatural mentor and best friend, if Dick doesn’t whisper, “finally, finally, my mate,” before kissing him. 

If the power Dick drains from him doesn’t kill him, doesn’t do more than give him the most amazing span of unending multiple orgasms to ever happen, if Dick isn’t fully satisfied for the first time in his life. If Dick doesn’t call them both off patrol for the next three nights, carts Tim back to his apartment, refuses him clothes and computers and tech, tells the Titans they’re taking a break from crime fighting while Tim is tied and gagged in his bed, sated enough to listen hazily with half-mast eyes. 

If Dick doesn’t hand feed him while he’s getting feeling back in his legs (finally) and give him the full run-down about his parents. If the strange mark on his abdomen doesn’t get warm whenever Dick’s hand is on it, fingers tracing the edges, making those blue, blue eyes dilate in possessiveness. If Tim doesn’t eventually escape with his sanity intact and a little terrified how much his body craves only to have Dick chase after him with single-minded purposes to convince him they’re meant to be.

Then only the man with cameras all over Gotham, waiting and watching with bated breath and fear for his Robins, unmitigated relief when his theory proves true, would be able to give all the details.

[ambssssssssss]

part 2 

Lena spent the drive to L-Corp trying to remember everything she could about what was going on with her company when she had first moved to National City. She remembered missing the Venture launch, and the explosion at the re-branding ceremony, but only because those events were so closely tied with the beginnings of her friendship with Kara. It was telling, Lena thought, that most of her memories of her first year in National City were intrinsically linked with her relationship with Kara, both as herself and as Supergirl. Still, it should be easy enough to familiar herself with L-Corps current projects and financial standings. Afterall, Lena had already dealt with this one before. 

That reminded her that she should review her personal finances at the first opportunity. The sooner she could get Watchtower up and running, and by extension a lab that she could use to work on the projects that would help keep Kara alive, the better. She would take extra precautions to make sure that the property was not tied to L-Corp in any way, just in case. Even with the benefit of hindsight, Lex was still a genius and Lena would be a fool to underestimate him. 

Jess was waiting for Lena just outside the elevator with a coffee in one hand and the first batch of paperwork for Lena to review in the other. Lena felt a surprising jolt of relief at the sight of her old assistant. Jess had always worked just as hard as Lena did, if not harder, and Lena had missed her greatly when she’d left. Having Jess back as her assistant again provided more comfort that Lena was expecting. 

“Good morning, Ms. Luthor.” Jess greeted as Lena stepped out of the elevator. 

“Good morning, Jess,” Lena accepted the coffee her assistant held out and gestured to the paperwork in Jess’ other hand. “What are we starting with?” 

“Incident report,” Jess handed over the papers. “One of the technicians was working late last night in Lab C and they dropped a beaker. No one was injured and nothing was contaminated.” 

“Good.” Lena began to make her way past Jess towards her office. “Call the technician responsible and have them meet me in the Lab in ten minutes.” 

“Yes, Ms. Luthor, but what about the Venture launch? You need to leave in half an hour to make it to the launch site on time.” 

“I suppose watching the launch on the news will have to do.” Lena offered Jess a kind smile. “Duty calls. Please draft an apology to the Venture Corporation.” 

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.” 

Knowing that Jess would do as Lena requested, the CEO made her way into her office. As the door swung closed behind her, Lena was accosted by her memories. 

There isn’t a part of Lena’s office that doesn’t have a memory of Kara attached to it. Not the couch, where they had shared countless lunches and even a few dinners when Kara joined Lena for her nights working late in the office for no other reason than she wanted to keep Lena company. Many heartfelt conversations had happened on that couch and there had been more than one occasion where Lena was only a breath away from confessing her feelings to Kara only for someone to come in and interrupt them. The desk held similar memories but most of those were more oriented to the work that Lena and Kara would do together. Sometimes it was Kara interviewing Lena for an article, sometimes it was Lena using Kara as a sounding board as she worked through some issue with her latest projects, and sometimes it was both of them doing their own work as they shared Lena’s desk space. 

Standing just inside her office door, Lena let the memories wash over her. For a moment Lena considered reaching for her phone to call Kara and invited her to lunch. Then Lena remembered that she and Kara hadn’t even met yet in this time. It felt exceedingly weird to think that that person Lena loved most in any world was now no more than a stranger to her. 

Shaking her head to pull herself out of her memories, Lena continued on her journey to her desk. She put her purse, and thus the notebook contained therein, in the secured drawer of her desk before settling in to review the incident report. If all went as it had gone before, the next time Lena stepped into her office, it would be in the company of her favorite Kryptonian. With the reassurance that she was only hours away from seeing Kara again, alive and well, Lena left her office to begin her day in earnest. 

Dealing with the incident report and reassuring the technician that they would not be losing their position at L-Corp took up the majority of Lena’s morning. She missed the beginning of the coverage on the Venture launch but tuned in time to see the explosion. Just as she had done that morning, Lena couldn’t help but stare in awe as Kara, Supergirl, swooped in to save the day with the help of Superman. Lena knew intellectually that her mission to travel to the past was a success, she had ample proof of that all around her, but she wouldn’t truly believe that Kara was alright until she saw her in person. 

Which, if Lena remembered correctly, would happen in the next half hour. 

Lena lingered in Lab C for long enough to ensure that the incident report was filed properly and then to help ensure that the technicians involved were back on track with the work they had been doing before she made her way back to her office. Thankfully alone in the elevator, Lena used the time travelling between floors to prepare herself for seeing Kara for the first time. She knows that she won’t be able to completely temper her reaction but as long as she can keep herself from acting like a blind woman seeing the sun for the first time, she figured she would be able to muddle through. 

The elevator door opened with a soft ping and Lena stepped out. Her gaze immediately landed on the cardigan clad form of the woman she loved. Kara stood next to the strong, sure form of Clark Kent. A contrast to Clark’s easy confidence, Kara nervously played with the metal rings that bound her notebook together. Lena’s heart clenched painfully in her chest at the sight of Kara and it took every ounce of her will to keep herself from throwing her arms around Kara never letting go. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Kent?” With her expression schooled into a carefully neutral yet welcoming smile, Lena stepped the two guests in her office. She caught a whiff of Kara’s perfume as she passed and the familiar scent almost had Lena falling to her knees. Resolutely, she walked on with the two Kryptonians following behind her. 

“Ms. Luthor,” Clark greeted her kindly, though Lena could tell his smile was a bit forced. “We just had a few questions for you about this morning.” 

“The explosion on the Venture, you mean,” Lena poured herself a glass of water from the tumbler on her sidebar. She kept herself from looking at Kara by keeping her back turned to her until she was once again sitting behind her desk. Although she was speaking to Clark, Kara had commanded most of Lena’s attention. “You wouldn’t be asking me about this if my last name was Smith.” 

“But it’s not. It’s Luthor.” Clark’s eyes are somewhat cold as his gaze stays fixed firmly on Lena. Lena spares another glance in Kara’s direction and finds her fiddling with her glasses. Lena conceals a fond smile at the familiar sight. 

“Some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena says wryly. “Why don’t you ask me what you really came here to ask?” 

“Why weren’t you on the Venture this morning?” The question was one that Lena would have expected even if she wasn’t having the same conversation for the second time. She sat back against her chair and crossed her legs. 

“There was an accident in one of my labs. You can check the report yourself.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Kara spoke up for the first time. Lena couldn’t help the way her heartbeat increased at the sound and she wondered if Kara noticed. There was a barely noticeable tilt to Kara’s head and her brow was just barely pinched together, not quite enough for Lena to see the infamous crinkle but enough for her to know that Kara was concentrating on something. Lena fought off another smile at the familiar sight and the burst of warmth that flooded her being. Once again, right from the start, Kara was already jumping to her defense. 

“And you are?” Lena fought to keep her tone even but curious. 

“Kara Danvers,” Kara introduced herself. “I’m with CatCo.” 

“I didn’t think CatCo was known for their hard hitting journalism.” A flush covered Kara’s cheeks as she mumbled an excuse. Lena indulged herself in her the sight for a moment before speaking again before she could do something idiotic, like kiss Kara right then and there. “I came to National City for a fresh start, for me and my company.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing that.” There was that hint of steel in Clark’s voice again. Lena bristled slightly at the tone but refused to let the tension seep into her shoulders. She knew when she started this that she would have to win everyone’s trust again, not just Kara’s, but god she wished the process could be a little faster. 

“I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family.” Lena spoke imploringly.”Can’t you understand that?” 

“Yeah,” Kara’s agreement was followed by a soft smile. It wasn’t Lena’s smile yet, not the one full of unspoken promises, but it was perhaps the beginning of that. 

“Alright then,” Clark said after a moment in which Lena realized she had simply been staring at Kara. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Luthor.” 

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Kent.” Without conscious effort, Lena’s gaze softened as she looked at Kara. “Ms. Danvers.” 

Both Krytponians heard the clear dismissal in Lena’s tone and began to make their way out of her office. Clark walked back to the elevator without pause but Kara hesitated in the doorway. Lena realized that Kara was still there and looked up from the paperwork she had turned her attention to. Their gazes met across the empty space of Lena’s office and, just for a second, Lena felt as though she was looking at her Kara. The Kara who knew all parts of Lena, good and bad, and loved her even so. Kara’s final words to Lena floated through her mind. 

I’m always yours, Lena, even when I’m not.

“Is there something else I can do for you Ms. Danvers?” 

“No, sorry,” Kara blinked twice and looked down to hide the blush coloring her cheeks. “Just...have a good day Ms. Luthor.” 

“You as well, Ms. Danvers.” The smile Lena gave Kara as she bid goodbye was perhaps softer and much more loving that was appropriate for a woman she just met but Lena couldn’t bring herself to worry about that. Kara returned Lena’s smile and then made her way to where her cousin was waiting. 

Once Kara was gone, Lena let herself slump back in her chair with a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat. Lena couldn’t decide if she was more relieved at seeing Kara alive again or if she was more scared that she would fail in the end and all of this would have been for nothing. 

But no, even if Lena did fail, which she was more than sure that she wouldn’t, no time spent with Kara would ever be for nothing. Even if they were only ever friends, Lena would be content as long as Kara was alive to be her friend. She could earn Kara’s friendship back, at least, but could she actually save Kara? Only time would tell and that was the scariest part. 

In the meantime, there was much to do, both to help Kara and to bring L-Corp back up to the levels that Lena knew her company to be capable of achieving. And, Lena thought gladly, her next appointment would aid her with both of those tasks. 

[potionsprefect]

Away in D.C

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x Victoria Clarke

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Ethan has to leave for a medical conference and the family learn to deal with it.

Rating: General Audiences

Category: angst, fluff

He ended the call and put his phone down, running a hand over his face.

It was confirmed he was needed in Washington D.C for a 4 day medical conference.

“Confirmation?” Victoria said from her spot on the bed.

Ethan looked at her. “Yes, 4 days in Washington.”

Victoria gave him a small smile as she moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. “We’ll be okay. You’ve had to do this before.”

“That was when they were really small. They’ll remember this one.” Ethan replied.

“It’ll be ok. I’m here and I’ll make sure they have the best time whilst your away.” Victoria said leaning in to kiss Ethan’s neck.

“I really don’t want to go though.” Ethan sighed.

“I know you don’t baby. But you have too. It’ll be over before you know it.” Victoria said.

The older the twins got, the harder it was to leave them. The last time Ethan had to go away for a conference, the twins weren’t old enough to remember. Now they were at an age where they would realise Ethan wasn’t around and it would hit them hard.

“Come on, let’s go tell them.” Victoria said getting up, gently grabbing Ethan’s hand pulling him up. The two made their way downstairs where their two young children were playing with their toys.

“Hi Mommy, Daddy.” Luke smiled up at them. Lily was concentrating on her Barbie dolls.

“We’ve got something we need to tell you. And you’ve got to be very grown up about it.” Victoria said sitting down and pulling Luke into her lap, Ethan did the same with Lily.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, noticing a change in mood.

“I’ve got to go away for a few days. I have something really important to do.” Ethan said.

The twins looked between Ethan and Victoria, Lily cuddling against Ethan the more she looked at him.

“Is it to do with work?” Luke asked.

“That’s right. But I’ll be home before you know it.” Ethan said.

“And I’ll be here to make sure you’re both okay. We’ll have the best weekend ever.” Victoria replied.

Luke smiled although Victoria could tell he was forcing it but Lily seemed to be taking it the hardest. She buried her face into Ethan’s shoulder, his arms tightening around her tiny waist, holding her close.

Victoria could sense that Ethan would talk to Lily so she turned to Luke. “How about we go find Jenner?” She suggested. Luke jumped up at that and raced into the kitchen. As Victoria followed him, she briefly looked back and could hear soft sobs coming from Lily.

“I found Jenner!” Luke exclaimed as the golden retriever licked his face making him giggle.

“Thats great. Mommy needs to ask you something.” Victoria picked him up and sat him at the kitchen table. “Are you okay with Daddy going away? It’s okay if you’re not, Mommy’s here to help you.”

“I know he’ll be back. Daddy always comes back.” Luke said, pretending to race his car along the kitchen table.

“It’s great that you think that. Lily’s a bit upset by it all so you’ll have to be extra nice to her and we can both cheer her up. I know! Shall we make a list of things to do this weekend and then we can tell Daddy all about them when he comes home?” Victoria suggested.

“Yeah!’ Luke grinned. Victoria grabbed a notepad.

“How about we have a pyjama day on Saturday? We can watch all your favourite tv shows and films?”

“Yeah! And can we have pizza?”

“Why not? How about ice cream as well? And on Sunday I’ll cook you your favourite meal.” Victoria said.

“Yes spaghetti!”

Victoria laughed as she made notes, this also included time on their climbing frame in the garden and going to the park as well as endless amounts of cuddles.

“Mommy will Lily be ok?” Luke asked.

“She’ll be fine. She’s just a little sad that Daddy’s going away but he won’t be long.”

Back in the living room, Ethan was comforting Lily who was holding onto him as if she didn’t want to let go.

“I don’t want to go away either Lil. But Mommy’s here and she’ll look after you.” Ethan forced Lily to look at him.

“I don’t like it when you’re not here.” Lily said.

“I don’t either sweetpea. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t really want to do.” Ethan replied stroking Lily’s hair.

“Like when Mommy makes me eat vegetables?”

“Yes exactly like that.” Ethan chuckled. “I’m gonna miss you too, but we can FaceTime with Luke and Mommy every evening. Does that sound okay?”

Lily nodded, a smile forming on her face. “When do you go?”

“I leave tomorrow night and come back Monday evening. I promise you the time will go very quickly. How about we do something tomorrow before I leave? Just you, your brother and me?” Ethan suggested.

“What about Mommy?”

“I already asked Mommy and she said it was a great idea.” Ethan smiled. Truth be told, Ethan knew Victoria would say yes because it would mean her having time to herself.

“Okay.” Lily smiled throwing her arms around Ethan who hugged her just as tightly back.

“Shall we go and see what Luke and Mommy are up to?” Ethan asked.

“Okay.” Lily replied. She hopped off Ethan’s lap and headed to the kitchen, Ethan following shortly behind her.

— — — — —

Ethan made his way down the stairs, luggage in hand and set it down by the front door. It was pitch black, the outside being lit by the street lights.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you off at the airport?” Victoria asked coming out of the living room.

“No it will just make the goodbye even harder.” Ethan sighed wrapping his arms around Victoria.

“Try not to have too much fun.” Victoria smiled leaning against his chest.

“Impossible without you.” Ethan chuckled slightly leaning down to press a heated kiss to Victoria’s lips.

“Text me when you land.”

“Of course. I better get going.”

As if on cue, the kids ran into the hallway, throwing their arms around Ethan as he bent down to hug them.

“I’ll miss you both so much, promise me you’ll be good for Mommy?” Ethan looked at the twins.

“We will. Promise you’ll think about us?” Lily looked at Ethan, green eyes staring into blue.

“All the time, I promise.” Ethan smiled. Ethan gave the twins one last big hug before standing up and opening the door. “I’ll see you all in a few days.” Ethan headed out the door.

“Bye!” The twins and Victoria chorused before they shut the door.

“Go to the window and wave to Daddy.” Victoria instructed. The twins ran into the living room and climbed onto the sofa waving as the taxi pulled out the driveway and round the corner.

Once the car was out of sight Luke went back to his racing car whilst Lily flopped down onto the sofa and cuddled her teddy.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Victoria picked Lily up who rested her head on her shoulder.

“Mommy pick me up too!” Luke said holding his arms up. Laughing, Victoria picked him up and carried them up the stairs.

It didn’t take the twins long to get ready for bed. As they were brushing their teeth, Lily asked “Mommy can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Is your bed not comfy enough?” Victoria knelt down so she was eye level with her daughter.

“It is. But Luke and I don’t want you to be lonely.” Lily sighed.

“We don’t?” Luke said, a mouth full of toothpaste. Lily nudged him, silently urging him to play along. “I mean yes we don’t!”

“That’s very sweet of you. And I don’t see why not.” Victoria smiled.

The twins grinned as they finished brushing their teeth and made their way to Ethan and Victoria’s bedroom.

“Did you both enjoy your day at the petting zoo with Daddy?” Victoria asked as she tucked the twins into Ethan’s side of the bed.

“Yeah we saw lots of animals.” Luke said.

“He even bought us something from the gift shop.” Lily replied.

Victoria smiled as she listened to their stories of today. It wasn’t long before both of the twins began to drift off to sleep and with a final kiss on each of their foreheads, she quietly crept out the room.

Victoria tidied up the living room and turned on the TV. She watched a few episodes of a new crime drama that was airing, until she felt exhaustion creeping up on her a few hours later and decided to go to bed.

Victoria slipped on her pyjamas and brushed her teeth before quietly making her way into her bedroom. Her heart swelled at her two young children cuddled up against each other fast asleep.

As Victoria hit the pillow, her phone lit up with a notification.

Landed safely, speak to you tomorrow x

Smiling, Victoria fell asleep.

— — — — —

The early morning sunrise woke Victoria up the next morning. Luke and Lily were still fast asleep as Victoria quietly got dressed. When she went back into her bedroom she gently roused the twins from their sleep.

“No Mommy I’m not awake.” Lily pulled the duvet over her and Luke.

“Sounds like you are to me.” Victoria chuckled.

“It’s too early.” Luke whined.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just eat all the pancakes.” Victoria pretended to walk away.

“No I’m up, I’m up!” Lily jumped out of bed and ran to Victoria, Luke not far behind her.

“Okay then let’s go make some pancakes. Do you want to hold my hand?”

“No we’re big now we can do it ourselves!” Luke replied.

The three made their way downstairs to the kitchen, Jenner jumped up and licked the twins’ faces making them giggle.

“Mommy can we have blueberries with them?” Lily asked.

“Of course you can.” Victoria smiled.

“Daddy let’s us have syrup as well.” Luke said.

“Luke! That was meant to be a secret!” Lily cried.

“Does he? Well I’ll be having words with Daddy.” Victoria pretended to be stern.

“Don’t be angry with Daddy Mommy. He was being kind.” Lily looked up at Victoria.

Victoria crouched down so she was at her height. “I can’t stay mad at Daddy for too long.”

The twins giggled and Victoria dished them up their pancakes, which they ate at lightning speed.

“Can we go watch a film now?” Luke asked.

“No Luke we have to get dressed and brush our teeth, right Mommy?” Lily sternly told Luke.

“Actually Mommy has decided we can have a pyjama day today, but you do need to brush your teeth.” Victoria said.

The twins raced upstairs and quickly brushed their teeth before they hurried back downstairs.

“What film do you want to watch?” Victoria asked.

“The Lion King!” The twins excitedly said. Victoria chuckled as she put the DVD into the player.

Victoria sat in-between the kids who snuggled up against her. As the film played, Victoria phone pinged, it was a message from Ethan.

How are you doing?

Smiling Victoria replied all okay, watching the Lion King for the millionth time.

I usually watch that with them, guess they’re missing me.

They’re not the only ones.

“Who are you texting Mommy?” Luke asked noticing Victoria was looking at her phone.

“Daddy. He wants to know if you two are ok.”

“We are! But tell him I miss him.” Lily said.

“I will sweetheart.”

The twins continued watching the film as Victoria text Ethan. Has the conference started?

It didn’t take long for a reply. In 5 minutes, are the kids behaving?

Victoria laughed a little as she text back. They are, and they miss you a lot.

The three little dots appeared at the bottom of the screen before Ethan’s message popped up. I miss them too. And you as well.

Victoria’s heart swelled at the comment. She knew Ethan wouldn’t be away for long but she missed him terribly nonetheless.

Luke and Lily continued to cuddle up against Victorias side as the film played out. The last time Ethan went away they weren’t old enough to realise but Victoria definitely noticed a change in mood between them and the minute Ethan walked through the front door, their tiny faces lit up.

Victoria knew they would have the same reaction when they reunited with Ethan on Monday.

— — — — —

Sunday soon rolled around and Victoria was currently reading a medical journal as Luke and Lily played with their toys.

“Make way for Captain Destroyer as he captures the Barbie palace!” Luke enthusiastically said as he crashed his action man into Lily’s Barbie palace.

“No! My Barbies! What did they do?” Lily hugged her Barbies to her chest to protect them.

“They’re mine now!” Luke went to grab them.

“No! Mommy!” Lily looked at Victoria.

“Luke leave her alone.” Victoria looked up from her book.

“But-“

“I’d think carefully about what you’re about to say.” Victoria said sternly.

Luke huffed and threw his toy onto the floor. “I’m bored.”

“I know. How about we build a fort? I used to make them all the time with Uncle Will and Auntie Sarah.”

“Yeah!” The twins jumped up.

“Okay. The first essential for a great fort is blankets. Can you go find some for me?” Victoria asked.

The twins eagerly ran out the room and up the stairs as Victoria took some of the cushions from the sofa and moved some of the furniture so it was closer together. The last time she has made a fort was when she was a kid. She had forgotten how fun it was.

“We’ve got them!” Lily said running back into the living room.

“Where’s Luke?” Victoria asked, noticing the young boy wasn’t with his sister.

“I’m under here!” A muffled voice said. Victoria pulled the blankets off him chuckling.

“Why don’t you put them under there and I’ll grab some fairy lights.”

Victoria headed upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms and found some old battery operated fairy lights. She brought them downstairs and hung them around the fort so there was more light.

“Wow it looks so cool!” Lily said looking round.

“Are these the kind of forts you built with Uncle Will and Auntie Sarah Mommy?” Luke asked.

“Yes. We used to build forts all the time as kids. Although Uncle Will didn’t like it when we brought lots of pink things in there.” Victoria laughed.

“Have you and Daddy ever made a fort together?” Lily asked.

“Ah well, I’ve always tried to persuade Daddy but so far I haven’t been able to. Maybe the three of us can persuade him one day.”

“How did you and Daddy meet Mommy?” Luke said cuddling up against Victorias side, Lily doing the same.

“I met him when I first started working. Although he didn’t really like me at first.” Victoria put her arms around her children.

“Why not?”

“He thought I was annoying and I thought he was very grumpy.” Victoria said which made them giggle.

“But Daddy is always so funny.” Luke said looking bewildered as if his Dad could be anything but fun.

“That’s because you two are his angels and he always saves his best features for us three.” Victoria tickled them making them laugh. “I know. Shall we take a picture and send it to Daddy?”

“Yeah!”

Victoria grabbed her phone and held it up. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” The twins grinned.

Victoria looked at the photo. “What do you think?”

“Great!” The twins beamed. Victoria sent the photo.

“How about I get started making the spaghetti?”

“Yes!”

Victoria chuckled as she headed out into the kitchen, As she put a pan of water on to boil her phone lit up with a notification.

Wishing I was with you x

— — — — —

Much later on in the day, the twins were fed and bathed and were in their pyjamas watching TV.

“Look who’s calling.” Victoria said holding her phone up in front of the twins. Their eyes lit up when they saw Ethans name.

“Daddy!” They cried when Victoria accepted the call and Ethan’s face popped up on the screen.

“Hi guys! How are you?” Ethan smiled.

“We’re good. Mommy helped us build a fort and then we ate spaghetti!” Luke said.

“I see. And how is Mommy?” Ethan chuckled.

“Mommy’s fine.” Victoria smiled.

“We miss you Daddy.” Lily said in a quiet voice as she cuddled her teddy.

“I miss you too sweetheart. I wish I was with you.” Ethan smiled.

“You’ll see Daddy tomorrow night Lil.” Victoria cuddled her.

“Daddy are you having a good time?” Luke asked.

Ethan laughed at that. “As good as can be.” He then went on to explain everything he had been doing even though Victoria could tell he was exaggerating. However, that didn’t matter when she saw the excited look on her children’s faces.

Victoria could tell the twins were getting tired so she suggested ending the call, promising them Daddy would be home tomorrow night. She carried them to bed, gently kissing them on their foreheads.

“Wait.” Luke suddenly said as Victoria was about to shut his bedroom door. She watched him get out of bed and head to his dresser and pull out a framed photo. On closer inspection, she realised it was a framed photo of them as a family.

“Why have you got that?” Victoria asked.

“So I don’t miss Daddy too much. And so he doesn’t get lonely.” Luke snuggled against the picture.

Victoria’s throat became thick with emotion and she felt tears forming in her eyes. Blinking them away she quietly crept out the room and once she shut the door, she let the tears fall.

It was remarkable to see how grown up the twins were. Naturally they were sad, Victoria wasn’t expecting anything less and some of the time, she knew the smiles were hiding that they were missing Ethan. But they had been so mature over the last few days and Victoria was proud of them.

She knew she was raising them well.

— — — — —

After another day of parks, food and endless amount of cuddles, Victoria, Luke and Lily were in the car on their way to the airport to pick up Ethan. Ethan’s flight got in at 8 and Victoria made sure she left with enough time to spare. The twins were in their pyjamas, Victoria deciding they could win that battle but were wrapped up in their coats.

Luke and Lily were so excited that Ethan was coming home today. In the morning, they went out and bought some of Ethan’s favourite foods, the twins made him a welcome home card for him to see when they arrived back. They managed to tire themselves out at the park in the afternoon, Luke even went down for a nap but Lily refused (‘If I fall asleep Mommy I’ll miss seeing Daddy so I have to stay awake.’)

5 minutes before they arrived at the airport, Lily had begun to doze off.

“Go to sleep Lil.” Victoria said as she pulled into the airport carpark.

“But Daddy…” Lily yawned as she shut her eyes.

“Will be here when you wake up.” Victoria said smiling at her. She pulled into an empty space and got out the car, heading to Luke’s side first helping him out of the car then gently lifting Lily out of the car, pulling her close as the little girl laid her head on her mothers shoulder.

“Can we go now Mommy?” Luke asked tugging on her hand.

“Yes, hold my hand.” Victoria said, Luke obeyed immediately.

The family walked through the airport, heading to the board where the arrivals were updated.

“Can you see Daddy’s plane number?” Victoria asked Luke as the young boy looked up at the board.

“No. Where is it?” Luke said.

“I can. It says it’s arrived.” Victoria pointed up at the screen.

“Does that mean Daddy’s home?” Luke’s eyes lit up.

“Yes sweetheart Daddy’s home.” Victoria smiled.

The family moved towards where the arrivals would filter out. The automatic doors kept opening and closing, passengers reuniting with loved ones.

“He’s not coming!” Luke said looking up at Victoria.

“He will, you just need to be patient.” Victoria ruffled his hair, glancing at Lily who was still fast asleep in her arms.

More and more people walked out until Victoria saw the one face she had been waiting for. Luke had seen him too.

“Daddy!” Luke ran to Ethan, the latter knelt down to greet his son, pulling him into a tight hug. Victoria couldn’t make out what they were saying to each other but her heart swelled at the reunion.

Holding Luke’s hand in one and pulling his suitcase in the other, Ethan made his way over to Victoria.

“Someone tried desperately to stay awake all day but inevitably fell asleep.” Victoria chuckled gesturing to the sleeping Lily.

“I don’t mind She’ll have the best reaction when she wakes up.” Ethan smiled pressing a short kiss to Lily’s head then pressed his lips to Victoria’s.

“Good to be home?”

“Definitely.” Ethan replied. He picked Luke up and with suitcase in hand, the family made their way out of the airport. “Pass me the keys.” Ethan said once they had reached the car.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind driving.” Victoria asked.

“I want to. It’s the least I can do.” Ethan smiled.

Victoria didn’t argue with that. She put Lily in her carseat then climbed into the front. Ethan’s hand found hers, lacing their fingers together.

“So tell me. How boring was the conference?” Victoria grinned as Ethan found the interstate.

“Almost as boring as all the other ones. I certainly won’t be going to anymore anytime soon.” Ethan chuckled.

“I’m glad. We’ve missed you. They’ve been good as gold though.” Victoria smiled as she looked behind her. Luke had also fallen asleep.

“I knew they would. And it wouldn’t be a trip away if I didn’t have a present to bring back.”

“Another piece of memorabilia.”

“Of course.” Ethan laughed. “It’s good to be home though. My place is right here.” Ethan squeezed Victoria’s hand.

Smiling, Victoria relaxed back in her seat as Ethan drove their family back home where they belonged.

— — — — —

I have all the feels after writing that 🥺🥰

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed

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@choicesficwriterscreations

[bigfan-fanfic]

Who is Batdad closest to outside Wayne manor? Does he have much of a life outside of the Wayne's? Who would Batdad consider his closest friends besides his family?

Honestly, Batdad doesn’t have much of a life outside of the Waynes. He doesn’t really have anyone other than the League to talk to. Clark would probably be his closest friend outside of his family because in a lot of ways they are similar.

Okay, let me talk about this. ( I came back up and decided to answer more concisely above and put this under a read more because it’s very, very long, and I cried three times while writing it and I have never had any visceral reaction to what I write ever before... oof. Just be warned if you ever feel anxiety or pressure that basically, that’s what follows)

Batdad basically denies his own wants and dreams because he wants to help Bruce. What this means is that no matter what Batdad wanted to be before (maybe he and Bruce were dating and he confessed his desire to be a writer and Bruce allowed himself the fantasy and said they’d buy an island somewhere, and Bruce would lounge on the beach and supply Batdad in kisses while he writes the best book ever), by the time Bruce gets back to Gotham from his training, Batdad has had to become what Bruce would have been if Thomas and Martha were there. 

He’s a public figure and philanthropist, carrying the legacies of Martha and Thomas on his shoulders. He has to keep Martha’s business running - no, not just running, thriving - and deal with corrupt officials, corporate espionage, and greedy businesspeople all but threatening him to take Wayne Enterprises public so they can trade stock, all while making sure Thomas’ charities are well-funded and the money is actually going where it should (see earlier greed, corporate and personal). This is all while having to attend galas and functions and fundraisers and events or risk pissing off any one of these people who can turn his life into hell - missing one event can lead to being blacklisted and then that means nobody goes to a charity gala, which means that there’s no hospital built for those in the Narrows.

All this and also consider that everybody in high society sneers at you because the only reason you’re there is because you’re engaged to Bruce and you lived with him ever since Martha and Thomas died. You’re besieged on all sides, because the snobs hate you, the press wonders if you’re even qualified to run a business, and there’s always envy and hatred from below because why aren’t you doing MORE to help them? You haven’t been trained in this - your parents were upper-middle-class at best; you met Bruce by chance, so it’s just you and Alfred and this crushing, all-consuming PRESSURE and the fact that none of it is enough, you aren’t doing enough, it’ll never be enough.

Oh, and at this point, you’re probably only in your mid-twenties at the latest. And it only gets harder because Bruce is back and crime fighting and now you have to worry about him dying on patrol, so every night you’re there to assist him (sleep? don’t know her) and patch him up and support him every day even though he pretends a little too well to be a drunken boor and a cheating asshole (sometimes he isn’t even pretending) and help him when he gets frustrated and then you adopt a kid after your first day off in years (day off, what’s a day off, you haven’t slept enough since you were eighteen and Bruce left you and Batman came back but you haven’t said a word about it) and now there’s school and making sure Dick eats enough and is happy and doing good and doesn’t get overworked on patrol and stressing on whether or not Dick is okay whenever he leaves the Manor and again, none of it is ever enough.

You feel like you’re in your fifties by the time you hit thirty and the Justice League forms and that means SO much more work not just physically but emotionally because Bruce can’t meet anyone new without determining a thousand different ways to kill them if necessary (except for Talia, apparently. And Selina. And Silver Freaking St. Cloud. And Julie Morrison. And any number of dalliances Bruce has had because somehow they’re all smarter. or stronger, or maybe he just has a weakness for tall women who don’t take his crap. Is that what you do? Is your loyalty and consistency and unconditional love actually what lets Bruce walk away so often to a woman’s bed? Is it because he knows you will still be there? Is it because you have put so much of yourself into this life, into your children, into the Wayne Legacy of Perfection and Excellence that it would kill you to leave? Is it because you’re just another tool to him, one that will be quickly replaced when you succumb to sleep-deprivation, or that thing you’ve heard about in the news where people are dying from overwork so often the Japanese have a name for it, or the fact that you’re doing the work of ten, no, twenty people and not once have you ever complained to Bruce or begged him like any reasonable person would to stop this vigilante nonsense and actually LIVE), but now you have to coordinate meetings and a thousand different secret identities and make sure everything’s kosher and nobody’s fighting and of course Bruce has a beef with the nicest freaking guy in the League and Clark keeps coming to you to see if you can help them work it out.

Oh, and then there’s Talia, aka the thorn in your existence and her child who literally has tried to murder you for the crime of being married to Bruce years before he had even heard of Talia, and now on top of all the above, you have to balance getting to know the kid and be reminded day in and day out by him that you aren’t enough, that Talia has such a deeper connection to Bruce, that you are an obstacle to his happiness, that she’s so much smarter and stronger than you, that you are weak and everything you touch becomes weak and tainted by you. And not to mention that you still aren’t doing enough because Gotham’s underprivileged are screaming in pain from everything they deal with and at least you are fed and clothed and you have a family you can support and you are rich and you need to be doing MORE. 

And nobody else in the League can even come close to understanding you because wow, you do so much, do you ever take a break? You come this close to crying when Oliver remarks that if he had to do that much work, he’d go back to the island he was stranded on for five years because he’s joking. For anyone else your life would be a living hell and he’s joking. How do you do so much; do you ever sleep; hah, Bruce, your husband is showing you up! And this is when they even acknowledge you, and you feel like a major-league prick for even thinking these thoughts because Bruce and the League put their lives on the line every day (oh god they’re always in danger and the stress of losing your boys - which has happened to you already - and Bruce and your friends who are the only ones you can ever actually talk to without worrying that you’ll give away someone’s identity) and you’re complaining about a little bit of paperwork? You get to go to parties and meetings while your husband fights to save lives and you’re complaining? How selfish are you? All you do, everything you do, it isn’t enough, it’s never enough, there’s always MORE MORE MORE and it never ever stops.

Jason is dead, Jason comes back, Dick is beaten within an inch of his life, the Joker kidnaps Tim and you are hanging by a thread because the last time the Joker took one of your kids and you couldn’t find them meant that there was an empty bed and too many memories but no time to grieve because Bruce threw himself into work without a care and you needed to do even MORE because you can’t lose him too. And even the League was supposed to help with this but it doesn’t because you can’t bear to lose anyone, because they’re family and not only that, the world has gotten careless because the supers will save them and crime is actually going UP somehow and if even one of the League dies, a city could be overrun by now because the police and government are all but useless and the skies are filled with supervillains and the only thing stopping the world from falling into utter disrepair is the League, and thus you. And through all of this you have to be doing better, have to be doing MORE because every new thing means all the rest of your work becomes that much harder and you haven’t slept properly in a decade now and you feel ancient but still, you can’t complain, you haven’t earned the right to complain because you are never hungry and you never go without and there are so many people who need your help and charities that depend on you to function and kids that need fatherly advice and affection and a League that needs managing and you don’t have time for a breakdown because if you’re gone for too long everything collapses and everyone you love suffers and forget about therapy because who the FUCK could you ever talk to about any of this without either revealing a hundred secret identities and putting everything at risk or sound like a whiny crybaby?

Selina and Talia are back and hovering around your husband again and they flirt with him like you don’t exist and it’s not his fault and you love him but you see Talia every day in Damian’s voice and manner and don’t even think about talking to Bruce about his infidelity because he has so many more important things to worry about and he’s already apologized profusely and anything else makes you feel selfish and you HAVEN’T SLEPT in what feels like all your life and every moment not filled with work is filled with stress about work and worry because every time you don’t see your boys is a moment they can be dead and you don’t know it and every moment Bruce isn’t at the Watchtower is another moment Lex Luthor has to enact some horrifiying plan or the Joker gets ahold of a nuclear weapon or something else unforseeably terrible happens and it is TOO MUCH but you still need to be doing MORE because it isn’t enough and you aren’t enough and nothing is ever enough.

Is there even a you anymore? There used to be a kid there who just wanted to help his friend when he lost his parents. A kid who got left behind to stay with that friend. A teenager with dreams and hopes and wishes and a sweet boyfriend who could maybe get past his grief and lead a good life with you. A young man with the chance to stop his lover from leaving, to stay with him and not give in. Where did he go? Is he still there, underneath the years? Or is he gone, and this being made of stress and fear and feelings of inadequacy and stifled complaints and sadness gone unsaid and trauma left to fester all that you are? That kid you once were gets further and further away with everything you do to help, every time you keep silent  because what good would it do to scream the way you want to, the way you’ve needed to for so many years but never let yourself?

And yes, your boys and your husband make it better, make it worthwhile, but it remains that you feel old, you’ve been tired since you were still 19. Your days are consumed with stress and your nights are filled with fear. And you can never say this now because it has been years, and you’ve lost that chance. The guilt would throw Bruce off his game and if he’s off his game, he could die and all of this would be for nothing. Quite against your will, you’ve been trapped in a no-win situation, and even death is no escape because you know that without you, it all comes crashing down and game over. You are Atlas, holding up the world and knowing that you have just enough strength to hold it up for eternity. And no one will release you from your prison.

But you have to endure it, and smile while you do so because if Bruce ever knew (or if he even cared to look), it’d all go falling down. You are the support, and the support’s support, but no one ever thinks that you might need assistance. What do you have going on? Being a dad? Working? Attending parties? It isn’t enough and you know it isn’t enough and everybody knows that it isn’t enough and they always, always need MORE.

I wonder now how Batdad does it. How he doesn’t break down crying. And part of that is because he is fictional, and I never thought about what it would be like to go through that level of pressure every day of your life. I hope someday Bruce comes to his senses. That even if he doesn’t let go of his grief, maybe he stops being Batman. And stops training Robins. Because yes, he gave them a home, but he manipulated them into being what he is. Who knows what good Dick could have done if he had just been Bruce’s adopted son. Maybe a philanthropist. Maybe he just would’ve had a happy life instead of one where he could die every day. Where he constantly has to reopen the wound of his parents’ deaths to convince him to keep at it. I want them to realize that they don’t have to, anymore.

But they won’t. Because they aren’t real. And they exist for our entertainment. And because we’ll keep reading the comics and watching the movies and playing the games, Bruce will always be Batman and never come to terms with his parents’ deaths in a healthy way and there will always be more threats to existence and even just to him personally.

And Batdad too, is trapped.

[henry-cavill-baby]

To Study (Insects) │ 1

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Connie and Clark, two peas in a pod. She didn’t know if it was his soft blue eyes or his Mother’s sweet blueberry pie that had caught her eye, but boy howdy, was she caught. 

A/N: Nothing! Enjoy!

The best thing about living in Kansas was that nothing ever happened.

There was a mile wide sprawl of corn that was breathtaking to few; it had started out as nothing much but rows upon rows of dirt that now bore sprawls of golden richness that could truly blind any tourist with its beauty.  Most of it was picked and sold—Kansas was full of rural farmers and farmers markets, but some just stayed for show.

And the Farmers Market typically consisted of stay-at-home mothers trying to sell their overpriced sugary sweet lemon bars to any sucker who would pay seven dollars for four measly pieces.

Most of the teens at the local high school got rides home from their parents, but Connie Mayfield knew that you couldn’t pay her Father, Walter, to pick his daughter up from school. If he did, then he’d no doubt miss a rerun of Baywatch, and that simply couldn’t happen.

A tune that rivaled the airiness of a flute flew from the 14 year olds mouth on her long walk home. Connie Mayfield whistled a nonchalant melody as her uneven pace took her closer to home. 

The young girl had a lot on her mind; there was a test on Friday that was covering another form of division that looked to confusing to follow, and Alice’s birthday party was on Saturday and getting a gift for the little girl who had everything was harder than it seemed. The years of gifts consisting of dolls and bright hairbrushes were long over. Maybe she’d like a new bracelet or a set of earrings.

An irregular rock bumped against the tip of her shoe and she grinned, lobbing it off into the cornfield, a little thud echoing through the golden maze. 

It was tempting—the idea of taking the not so short shortcut through the tall stalks, if just to feel a little more free for just a moment, but the sounds of distress just up ahead had her little sneakers speeding up. She turned to the bend and grew furious at the sight of three boys throwing around her friend.

“Hey!” she bellowed, running closer before screeching to a halt in front of the teen holding up her friend by the lip of his shirt, “Leave him alone!”

Isaiah Matthews grinned with his fist still clutching the younger boy's shirt, “Oooo, is this your girlfriend, Kent?”

Clark Kent sneered up at the taller boy, fists clenching in rage. 

“Leave her alone,” he grit out, watching Isaiah sneer with confidence.

“I didn’t take you for a pussy, Kent, but I guess I was wrong.” He dropped Clark with a grin and sauntered to the near growling girl. 

“Connie, right? My dad says you Mayfield’s are trailer trash, and I can see where he gets that from.”

His eyes gave her a visible up-and-down, “No wonder only a freak would like you.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Clark launched himself onto the back of the bully, pummeling him to the ground with hateful eyes. The two other lackeys ran, but Connie went and pulled Clark back before he did something he’d regret. The two of them fell away from the older boy, watching him with guarded eyes.

Isaiah spat at ground near their feet, “Fucking freaks.”

Connie waited until he was out of sight, turning to Clark and frowning at his disheveled appearance. “You know, I’m not always gonna be here to save you, Clark.”

He wiped away the sheen of dirt and sweat covering his upper lip, refusing to meet her eyes. “I didn’t need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh yeah, you totally had it under control,” she mocked with pursed lips.

He frowned at her sarcasm and picked up his dirtied school bag, looking down the path home. It was a quick walk to the farm, and mom had probably already started dinner, which is why it made no sense when he turned and muttered, “Can I walk you home?”

Her eyes went wide at his question, upper teeth nibbling on her pink lip, shrugging, “Sure, if you want.”

They both nodded and started a slow walk to the Mayfield’s. Connie’s fingers twitched at her side while different conversation starters nearly passed through her lips every few seconds. The urge to ask why he never fought back, why he let people call him a freak raced through her mind, but only silence hung between them. It was almost annoying that he never stood up for himself.

There was something mysterious about Clark that intrigued her 14-year-old brain; no one had ever let him live down that time he’d locked himself in a closet (and torched the doorknob till it was bright red). 

He was just the guy who kept to himself most of the time.  

And still she kept on eye on him the entire time, watching his own twitching fingers pick at the loose lining of his jeans, lip biting in a matter similar to her own, brows furrowing in thought, though they always did that. He looked cute when he was deep in thought.

Cute? I think Clark is… cute?

A deep redness flooded her cheeks and her lips pursed into a thin line, trying not to visibly speed away from the other boy, but Clark noticed everything. There was something keen about the way his mind worked; almost predatorial. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, the cute furrow in his brow deep as she faced him while willing away the redness of her juvenile cheeks. 

She nodded but didn’t meet his blue eyes. They were like oceans—I’d swim in Clark’s eyes if he’d ask—and her stomach always fluttered when he looked at her.

She expected them to fall back into silence, now halfway to the Mayfield farm, but Clark piped up, “Are you excited for the field trip tomorrow?”

A flutter of excitement rang through her veins, but she held back and simply nodded. “It’ll be a nice change from sitting inside all day.” Clark nodded along with her running words, “I heard the museum has a section on insects and their habitats, and I hope they have a butterfly display. Or—or maybe a real entomologist will be there.”

Now bugs- those were cool. Anything from crickets to butterflies to beetles, each one more interesting than the last…except arachnids. You could keep those eight-legged freaks as far away as humanly possibly.

Clark slowed their pace but kept his distance, “Is that what you wanna be when you grow up?”

She grinned and tried to slow the internal monologue of bug talk.

“I think when I grow up, I’ll leave this place behind and follow my dreams.” She said.

“And I guess those dreams do include insects of all types. They really do get a bad reputation sometimes. I think they’re just as delicate and interesting as humans.”

“Really?” Clark wrinkled in his nose, “My dad sprays the fields for bugs in the summer.” She hit his shoulder as he let out a snort, “I think I’ve squashed a few flies for mom too.”

She shook her head and couldn’t see Clark staring at her golden locks as they shined in the sun. “You’re the worst, Kent.”

The both chuckled and came to a halt in front of the Mayfield farm. It was more run down than the other houses in the area and the roof could’ve been mistaken for caving in, and she knew it looked worse on the inside. The moldy green color of the roof had seen better days, and the porch could barely hold the old rocking chair that her dad liked to sit on in the mornings. Clark would never know how the inside looked even worse.

“Do you know what you wanna be when you grow up?” She asked with a soft smile, taking no offense as Clark tried, once again, not to meet her eyes. The swoop of his brown hair was nearing the tops of his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t inclined to cut it. He didn’t buzz his hair like the other boys.

“I…” He paused, foot kicking the uneven dirt under his shoes. He bit his lip lower lip and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, met her honey eyes.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath and lightly shrugged, “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know who I am. I think I wanna figure that out first, ya know?”

No, she didn’t know but asking Clark to explain how he felt could feel like pulling teeth. Golden honey stared into the aquamarine sea, two sets of young lips wet and wanting, and Connie picked at her pants, nails bending with surprising force.

The door to the Mayfield hold slammed with a grotesque force, and the two teens jumped away from one another as Walter Mayfield grunted his way to them, to Clark.

“’Thought I told you to stay away from my daughter, Kent!” Walter bellowed, nearing the fourteen-year-old clear-eyed boy who showed no sign of backing down with his head held high and chest jutted out. 

“I don’t want you lookin’ at her, touchin’ her—“

Connie finally yelled, “Dad!” and stood between him and Clark, protecting her friend from the unjustified anger of her dad. She felt Clark’s fingers grip the back of her shirt and tug her closer, just as Walter stood over them with beady eyes and steam shooting from his ears.

“Get in the house, Connie.” Her dad growled, never looking away from Clark.

But she shook her head and pushed against her dad’s chest, ignoring Clark’s fingers still gripping the back of her shirt. “We weren’t doing anything, go back inside, please.”

A startled yelp left her throat as her dad’s strong fist lurched her forward by the front of her shirt, throwing her to the ground and out of Clark’s grip. The air left her lungs and the dirt felt dry under her fingertips, watching as Clark seemed to vibrate in place, glaring deadly at Walter.

“If I ever see you ‘round here again, Kent.” He spat, “I’ll make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

The threat hung between the adult and young teen, and Clark tightly nodded and stalked off down the dirt path, not once looking back at Connie, never seeing the tears in her eyes.

Walter stared down at his daughter with a sneer, “Get inside. I won’t say it again.”

The dried dirt caked under her nails as she scrambled to stand and bolt inside, not taking note of the woman asleep on the couch that she’d never seen before, or the beer bottles covering the kitchen counters. The stairs creaked as she fled upstairs and shut her bedroom door, clicking the latch in place. A heaviness sat in her chest as her backpack thumped to the floor.

Beaded tears fell down her thick cheeks and light cries sounded through the room.

“—I want that boy away from my son!” the mother of Peter Ross screeched from the Principal's office. “Am I the only one who understands the situation? That boy lifted a bus from a lake. A bus! What kind of monster are we allowing to walk with our children?”

The meek father of Alice pepped up, “But—But he did save them, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Martin. I don’t feel safe with him here, and neither should any of you.”

Martha Kent hung her head and left the Principal's office, ignoring the calls from the desperate parents. There was nothing else she needed to hear from them, especially insults about her son. The door shut with a click, and her heels clipped the floor with each step.

She did her best to smile at Clark, but he’d always seen right through that. He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes, his soft voice rivaling his posture, “How did it go?”

She knew Clark had heard every word already and that lying would only make him defensive. “About as well as you’d expect, honey.” She patted his shoulder and ushered him to stand, “C’mon, let’s go home.”

The car ride was silent aside from the tapping of Clark’s blunt nails on the fabric of his jeans, and the shaking of his leg. He was such a nervous boy—her Clark—and it pained her heart to see him to try to hide how this whole thing was tearing him up inside. They normally played the radio, Clark usually flipped stations and rarely settled on just one, but silence was all they heard.

Jonathon Kent watched his wife pull up, and frowned as Clark bolted from the passenger seat and fled into the backyard. He stepped outside just as Martha shut off the car and gingerly stepped out, walking into her husband’s arms with a deep sigh. Exhaustion ran deep in her veins, and Jonathon wished he could take it away.

“That bad, huh?” He muttered into her brown locks, feeling her nod into his chest.

“Talk to him.” She begged, trying to keep the tears at bay, “I think…I think it’s time he…” They both turned to face the barn with heavy hearts, knowing this would be for the best.

Jonathon nodded and released Martha, shooting a thin-lipped smile her way as he made his way to the backyard. His heart thumped as he eyed his son, whose legs were hanging off the back of his pickup, shoulders hunched in his blue hoodie. As he got closer, he could hear the sniffles from his son.

“Clark.” His son turned and wiped away the wetness on his cheeks. “I just want to know what happened. I’m not mad, I promise.”

Jonathon sat next to his son and watched his boys lip quiver. His words came out with a thin veil of pain, “I wasn’t thinking, Dad.” A hiccup escaped his throat. “She was so scared… I just couldn’t let her die."

The water was rising too fast—it was cold and soaked the kids instantly— and Clark watched as Connie grew frantic in her efforts to open the window enough to crawl out, or maybe she was trying her best to keep the water from flooding the already half submerged bus. Cries and screams rang through the drowning bus, and Clark swam, trying his best to make it to Connie

“Connie!” He yelled, reaching forward to snag her shirt and pull her away from the stream of flowing water.

“Oh god, Clark! We’re gonna die!”  Her screams were shrill and almost hurt his ears, but the smell of her fear mixed with the smell of tears and piss coming off the other students had him looking for a way out.  

But the water was nearing the top of the bus, and all he could hear was her cries.

“Son, I thought we talked about this.” He started, patting his own thigh, “We have to keep what you can do a secret.”

“They were all going to drown, how could I have done nothing? They didn’t deserve to die.”

“Clark, I just—“ Jonathon paused, watching the sunshine across the cornfield that spanned miles upon miles. It was an array of reds that shined upon the old graying barn. 

“I just want to protect you, son. And sometimes, when people see something they don’t understand, they get scared and lash out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

And finally, Clark asked the question that Jonathon had known would always come.

“Why am I like this, dad? Why am I so different from everyone else?”

Memories of finding their son, raising him to be the young man who sat at his side—through all the times he’d been different than the other kids, and knowing all of the hardships that were yet to come. It was almost enough to make him cry.

Almost.

Jonathon stood up from the truck and stood in front of his son, placing both hands on his small shoulders. “I’m going to show you something, son, and it may make things make a bit more sense. But no matter what—“ He pressed his palm to his sons chest and smiled,

“You are my son.”

Part 2

[csykora]

After ‘84, Igor felt the pieces were beginning to fall off the Red Machine. 

He hated being called a robot as much as he hated being called a soldier. He didn’t know what the world wanted the Green Unit to do on the ice or off it, how they had to behave, before someone would believe they had feelings. On the worst days they were too tired and numb to feel anything else.  

When he’d met Bobby Clarke, who he thought looked like a hockey angel with a blond halo and no teeth, Bobby commented about the Soviet presence in Afghanistan. Igor didn’t know how to say that he’d definitely never been allowed to go to Afghanistan, and under the uniform he didn’t deserve to be a soldier, for good or bad. The national team was a tool of the Soviet government: at the same time it was a comfort for ordinary people in cold little apartments in mining towns where the players grew up and also a prop in the illusions that kept everything how it was. 

The illusion went skin deep: every time they left Russia, Igor was issued a snappy winter coat and brand-name Western clothes, so no one would think the Soviets looked poor.

[A black and white photo of the Green Unit posing, smiling except for Igor, in matching windbreakers with saddle shoulders and bold stripes. This was a hot look, about 10 years before the Soviet Union Costuming Department thought it was a hot look]

Underneath the coat or the beautiful red sweater, everything was a mess. At one point, at a tournament in Canada, a Canadian player would hit Igor from behind. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except the Soviet management hadn’t provided enough hockey pads. Igor was wearing a partial set he’d borrowed from a high school team that played in the host arena earlier that day. (Across Europe and Canada I bet there are grown men, still hockey fans now, who have no idea they once owned game-worn gear from the world’s top scorers. To Igor’s fans those pieces might be worth as much as he ever earned in his CSKA career.) He would play the rest of that tournament with broken ribs.

The only outsider he’d met who seemed to understand, however briefly, was their friend Vanya. Asked what it was like playing against those Russian robots, Wayne said, 

“Robots don’t hurt when they lose.”

By June 1985, Slava was recovering from that knee injury that had sidelined him for half the last season. He and his little brother Tolya, now a CSKA rookie, drove back for the start of training. Their car was hit, and Tolya was killed. Slava thought about leaving that season, but their parents told him to keep going, and just try to live for two people.

In November, the players at Arkhangel heard a rumor: someone had written an article, in a Soviet paper, that criticized the hockey program. Anything that wasn’t awe was criticism. Someone got their hands on a copy, and Igor, Vova, Sergei, and Slava huddled around their usual table that evening, hiding each other as they read it in turns. Igor reread it twice. He’d read Canadian and American papers that dragged the Soviet system, but never something like this, that got it--almost--right. It didn’t have all the details to understand the illusion--how they trained, how Tikhonov acted behind Arkhangel’s walls--but it guessed some.

Glasnost was beginning, a long rustling cracking thaw opening new streams of information and communication like Igor had dreamed. The Canucks drafted him that year, and then Vova. The Devils had dibsed Slava and Lyosha a few years before, and the Flames wanted Sergei. There was a place for them, waiting, if they could ever get to the NHL. But there wouldn’t be any thaw in Arkhangel as long as Tikhonov ruled it.

The ’85 World Championships were held in Prague, and ’86 in Moscow. Igor played both, and nothing else. For two years, no one saw him outside the Soviet Union. 

In December of ‘85, CSKA was supposed to tour North America. Igor was dressed and ready. Then he heard his passport, which he had used a hundred times before, had run into problems. Coach told him not to worry, but to stay behind in Russia and--how convenient--keep training for the championships in Moscow. Igor woke up at three in the morning to watch the games he was supposed to be playing. He learned that Canadian journalists were asking about him: apparently, he had tonsillitis. Igor wasn’t entirely sure where his tonsils were. 

Two months later CSKA played in Sweden. Strange, how his tonsils still weren’t better, and his passport was still missing. Two nights before they were set to leave Tikhonov called him into the office, in front of the team, and told him so. But the next evening Tretiak, now a more senior officer, came out to visit the barracks. He hugged Igor and promised him he would do what he could to get the passport by the time they were supposed to leave the next morning. Igor went to bed hoping. At 4:30 AM the coaches woke him just to tell him the passport wasn’t there yet, so the team really would be leaving without him. 

The third time it happened, he was told to go back to the passport office to file everything all over again--maybe he had fucked up his passport. He didn’t bother. Taking away travel had been one thing. But doing it in front of the team, in front of the Green Unit, so that he knew that they knew that he had let them down somehow, broke his heart. 

He was still allowed to play inside the Soviet Union. As long as he was with CSKA, the other Greens treated him the same as always. If they had known how bad things were going to get, Igor thought they would have done more sooner, but he knew that they didn’t understand what was happening. In between games, he spent his days in office buildings, being grilled about suspicious activities like listening to rock music, calling his mom too often, or kissing Canadians. 

“I was at fault all around. That I gladly gave interviews to journalists. That I liked the NHL...that I like rock music. That the living standard there impressed me. All this was raked up into a pile. I was the enemy. Because, you see, if I liked the American way of life, then in general I was an American by heart. All of this they said about me.

By nature, I am clearly a Russian. I do not like everything in America. It cannot be that somewhere is as in a fairytale, and somewhere else is total darkness.

Particularly, it seemed, my [friendliness] offended the preservers of government secrets….I also knew a little English. Therefore I had the possibility to rub elbows with whomever I might come in contact: hockey players, journalists and even immigrants. And, they assumed, to each of them I could give important information--everyone getting an equal share, no doubt, in order to be fair.”

He couldn’t talk to his friends from other countries, or his Russian friends either when they traveled without him. On the street outside between the rink and the party offices, none of his former fans would speak to him, except to ask or tell him their opinion if he really was a traitor.

He was wanted everywhere but home. Obviously, no other country believed that a 25 year-old athlete who had been the best in the world six months before had been brought down by tonsillitis multiple times in a row. There’s only so many tonsils a person can have. Obviously, every other country thought Igor must want to defect, the one thing he did not want and couldn’t convince anyone of. So each host on the international hockey circuit was bouncing on their toes, first Canada, then Sweden and so on, thinking maybe the Soviet Union would slip up and let him come to their tournament, he'd defect, and then they’d get to keep him. Obviously, the Soviets noticed that, and squeezed tighter.

Each time the team left on tour, he was told to spend his time alone training harder and hope. If he was good enough, maybe he’d make the next tournament. His body, always a battle-ground with Coach Tikhonov, became a hostage situation. The more Tikhonov told him to train, the less he ate. Eventually he was eating mostly fruit, and restricting his water intake. 

He stopped pretending to defer to anyone.  He used to be the sober one between his hot-head wingers, and now he egged every fight on. Sometimes he faked an American accent, calling Coach “Tikhonoff” the way American broadcasters had at the '81 Olympics.

One day at the rink he bumped into figure skater Lena Batanova, who “knew nothing about hockey and could not have cared less.” She had been through worse training than he had growing up, only to win two World Championships, and then be slighted from a third. They understood each other without having to say anything.

[Igor washing dishes in their Moscow apartment, turning to glance at Lena pressing up him.]

That summer he stayed up late talking with his friends, and realized he wanted to marry Lena. He asked her the next morning, and she said yes. Behind Igor’s back, Slava, Vova, Sergei, and Lyosha went to Coach Tikhonov’s office, and told him that they would play every other day of the year if they had to, but they would be going to Igor’s wedding. Coach wouldn’t allow the three days for a traditional Russian wedding, but he had to give Igor one.

Waking up the morning after the wedding, Igor checked the mail and found a summons to appear before the Central Committee of the Communist Party. His friends, who I imagine lying hungover on his and Lena’s new couch and floor, rushed for their unused books to help him study up on Communist doctrine, in case he got quizzed. This is presumably when Lena woke up, realized she’d married a whole line of hockey players for their one communal brain cell, and rolled back over. Igor reported the next morning, probably with flashcards Vova had made for him in his pocket.

The Party officials congratulated him on getting married and gave him the wedding gift they were sure no one else would have gotten: his passport. We have to guess the logic here, if there was one. It’s possible the Party thought he wouldn’t risk his wife, or that two years had just been enough to realize the team wasn’t working without him. 

But he was allowed to go to Canada for the Calgary Cup before the end of ‘86, and everyone had questions about his two years of tonsillitis. Igor, for the first time in his life, didn’t talk. But that just left the hockey world to gossip. Two months later it was announced he’d be in Quebec City for another tournament, and right before they arrived a Quebec newspaper printed a version of the night out with Gretzky--with quotes, they claimed, from Wayne. This time the tournament organizers called someone from every team up for a pregame presser. I imagine Igor shrugging at his KGB handlers and sliding away to the stage: nothing could stop him talking now.

Except the Canadian journalists. They wanted to interview Team Canada first. Igor stewed, and then looked up to see an oncoming Wayne. Someone had asked him about the alleged quotes in the article, which Igor had snagged a copy of to read the second they let him loose in Canada. Apparently Wayne hadn’t. 

“‘Believe me, Igor,’” Igor remembers Wayne blurting out. “‘I didn’t say what was printed in the paper. I’ll tell them it didn’t happen! But what is your position now?’”

“‘Do not worry,” Igor promised him. “‘Now, everything is okay.’”

“Oh, awesome,” (I’m assuming again) Wayne said. “So do you want to come over later and hang out in my mom’s basement?!”

“If the KGB pulls a gun, then call me.” --Wayne Gretzky

Weirdly, I’ve never seen this inspirational quote cross-stitched on someone’s wall. 

The next Canada Cup was held in August ‘87 in Hamilton, Ontario, which is like, basically next door to Wayne’s parents’ house. So the afternoon before the first game, Wayne sent his dad Walter to the hotel where the Soviet team was staying. Walter asked in Ukrainian if he could chat with Igor, who had to come down to the hotel lobby to meet him, since visitors were absolutely not allowed to wander up to players’ rooms. Walter invited his son’s friend over for dinner. Igor cut eyes at the KGB agent in the corner, and said he had to go upstairs and ask Coach. Tikhonov said no before Igor started talking.

Igor came back downstairs and apologized to Walter, who thought hard for a minute. He told Igor to ask what if the whole Green Unit went to Wayne’s house for team bonding? Coach Tikhonov considered, and said no, and Igor went back to Walter. 

Walter hitched up his suspenders, and announced to the KGB that he would talk go to Coach Tikhonov now.

He told Tikhonov he would be honored if Coach came to dinner at his house that evening, and if Coach felt like it, he might bring the boys over too. Tikhonov said he’d love to. 

Tikhonov, Igor, Vova, Sergei, Slava, Lyosha, and a KGB operative spent a delightful half hour packed in a car together driving to the Gretzkys' house, where Walter and Phyllis were throwing a cookout. Walter and some of his local buddies had barbecue and corn on the cob on the grill, and Phyllis had quizzed her son about his Moscow trip before throwing up her hands in despair and making a big batch of her mother’s Polish dumplings and sausage.

Nothing makes me happier than the image of Wayne Gretzky, beaming from ear to ear, handing famously fussy little Igor Larionov a piece of barbecued corn on the cob. Igor had to explain that yes, they had corn in Russia, but they ate it on a plate and not like squirrels. Walter offered him a beer, and Igor looked to Coach Tikhonov before saying no. Tikhonov allowed the players to have a soda.

Wayne started asking him how everything had been since the last time they hung out, and didn’t get why his friend wouldn’t talk to him at first. Igor might answer one question, and then act like he didn’t understand. Sergei and Vova really didn’t speak English, and kept elbowing Igor to explain what was going on and why Wayne was smiling at them like that, but Igor was still pretending he only spoke Russian and hesitated to translate for them. Finally Wayne realized Igor was clamming up every time Tikhonov got within earshot.

Wayne went to Walter to change the game plan. Walter would use his Ukrainian to ask Coach Tikhonov about his many amazing accomplishments, while Wayne told the whole party he wanted to show the other boys his medals, which were all down in the basement. Unfortunately the Gretzky family’s basement was very small, and housed Wayne’s many, many medals, so only two people could possibly fit down there at a time: one Gretzky, and one Russian. Tikhonov thought about it, decided he didn’t care about someone else’s medals, and gave the okay.

 Just in case, Wayne deputized his dad’s buddy Charlie, who did not speak Russian or anything like it but was somebody’s dad from suburban Ontario, to chat up the KGB agent.

So Wayne began to escort the Green Unit, one by one, down to his family’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he handed them a beer. The two of them chugged their beers together, trying not to take suspiciously long or laugh too loud, and then ran back up to change out for the next boy.

Nothing happened that night. It didn’t change anything, except that Tikhonov never found out. The Greens had been able to get one over on him, because they didn’t have to do it alone.

Main

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[taschas-clexafix]

Letters to Lexa

Dearest Lexa, 

You filled so many hearts with love. On this day we honor you and your legacy. You will forever live on through all of us. We will continue to make art and stories that bring all that you are to live on for generations. You brought so many people together you taught us to be strong. You showed us how to love and be proud to love. You shined a light into the hearts of people who felt alone and brought us all together. There are not enough words to describe what you have done for us. One person can and did make all the difference. The world today is better because of you. No other soul will ever shine as brightly in our hearts. We are so blessed to have you in our hearts and promise to forever remember you, honor you, and love you.

    -Forever and Always Love ClexaKru

Heda/Nomon Lexa,

It has been a while since I wrote to you Nomon. Clarke still cries in her sleep and I always hear your name on her lips like a whispered pleading to have you back. She tries to hide it but the pain is so clear on her face. She talks about you all the time and says I am turning out to be just like you! She showed me how to do your war paint and everything she calls me her little Raccoon or Snacha when I wear it, not that I ever need it. Peace has been so nice! You are going to love it! Oh and Clarke cut her hair really short and let me color it pink in spots with the berries! We also tried on my hair but it is hard to see. Nomon you will love it trust me. Mom is so pretty and she has no clue! I wish I had blonde hair but at least I have her eyes! She always talks about how beautiful I am and how I am the spitting image of you, which of course I use to my advantage. My pouty face would destroy yours according to her! Oh and guess what Mom finally let me drive the truck this week and I am of course a pro. I can show you it’s not hard although I wish we could find some horses! Mom says you love horses. She drew me some pictures and I think I would like them too. I can’t wait for the day I finally get to give you all these letters, even the ones when I was little and was just practicing writing. Mom says I have gotten way better, I hope it shows! She doesn’t know I still write these. She thinks it is just my diary, she says it's good for me to write about my life and that she used to when she lived in space. I like writing to you best. I have to go soon. Mom should be back with fish and I promised to make dinner for two weeks to be able to do our hair coloring. I hope she is in a good mood. I think she is missing everyone but you especially. She is starting to give up hope that we will ever meet you again but I stay strong for both of us. I know we'll meet again hopefully soon! This time I just know we will find you. Mom just says jumping through time is harder than it looks kid when I ask why we can’t go everyday. Float! I hear her coming. I will write again soon if we don’t see you first! Ai hod yu in Nomon! 

Love Always Madi

Lex,

I miss you more than I can put into words. 

I Hope life's been good to you, Since you've been gone. I'm doin' fine now, I've finally moved on. It's not so bad, I'm not that sad. I'm not surprised just how well I survived. I'm over the worst, and I feel so alive. I can't complain, I'm free again, And it only hurts when I'm breathing. My heart only breaks when it's beating. My dreams only die when I'm dreaming. I can’t even lie to you. I am forever changed because of you. I am so sorry I let you go in this timeline I mean a bullet come on! God Lexa that bullet was meant for me! I may have read some of the letters Madi has been writing to you and now I can’t stop crying. She is definitely your Yongon! She is so stubborn and wise like she is a child but here she is writing to you like she is taking care of me. Oh who am I kidding she is! She saved my life Lexa I was barely surviving! She is so full of light and love. She has these looks she gives me that make my mind instantly flash to you giving me the same exact look! She is so beautiful Lex she has your wild dark hair that she is obsessed with having me braid at the moment, I secretly hope she never grows out of that. Her eyes are just so full of wonder and light. Nothing can be compared to her smile. She has your smile. It melts my heart and time always stops for me to admire it just for a moment. She is brilliant Lex she soaks up everything which sometimes really sucks. I have never been good at holding my tongue as you know and I see she used “float” in her last letter knowing damn well what it means! I told her not to repeat it or any of the other horrible words that always seem to slip from my mouth. I feel like I am not doing a good enough job without you. I want only the best for her but I need you to help me. I am sorry this letter is all over I am a mess! I have never loved anyone like you. You are it Lex my forever love my soulmate. I miss my friends and family but can’t deny not having to worry about them and saving everyone has been so nice. You are the only thing that could make it better. Since we found the time jumping portal Madi asks everyday to try and find you. I don't want to get my hopes up but tomorrow we are trying again this time jumping to find you feels different. The portal has been acting really weird and I just think we are getting close. Maybe you are on the other side trying to find us. I wish I had said I love you then I tell Madi all the time I never plan to make that mistake again. Lexa you are so special so incredibly different than any person I had ever known. I have never been loved the way you love me. I look back and think how respectful and supportive you were and curse myself for not getting over myself fast for not falling into your arms when you first kissed me. I was ready, I was just scared. May we meet again my love. Lexa we may have never officially bonded or got married but you are mine and I am yours forever. Ai hod yu in Houmon.

Love Clarke

Clarke has an Idea and quickly puts all of Madi's letters together with hers she dates then writes a description of the place and time they are in and then flings them into the time portal.

A day after Lexa comes rushing out of the time jumping portal with the most brilliant of smiles on her face as she sees Clarke. They rush to each other and fill each others arms in the tightest embrace. Clarke pulls back only slightly to quickly lock lips with Lexa needing much more but knowing a young pair of blue eyes watches. Lexa's smile is like breathing the most wonderful fresh air. Clarke pulls back and grabs Madi by her hand pulling her to Lexa. Madi hides at Clarke's side for a moment the realness of the situation not hitting her yet. Lexa drops to her knees to match Madi's height "I read your letter Yongon. Madi I am so proud of you thank you for taking care of Clarke for me." Light flooded Madi's features as her smile took over her entire face. Before Lexa had time to admit to Clarke that Madi indeed had the most beautiful smile Madi was leaping into Lexa's arms "Nomon! You found us!" Lexa nodded "of course I did." Lexa stood once again when Madi let go "I love you too Clarke and you too Yongon".

I love writing about Clexa especially Happy Ending Clexa!

If anyone wants more of this I am kind of tempted to put it on Ao3 and start a full-on fix so let me know if anyone is interested!

Feel free to write your own Letter to Lexa it was really fun and therapeutic to do it from different perspectives. She lives on through us.

[girlobsessed21]

The 100 6x11 discussion - burning desires of change

Hey guys, as usual, here’s my breakdown of the episode. Props to Mr. Bob Morley on his directing debut - insert applause emoji here. All in all, it was great, I enjoyed it, albeit a little weird. But it’s to be expected of a conversion episode taking us into the finale.

Like I explained in my 2nd predictions post, “Ashes to Ashes’ has Biblical connotation and it’s also a British crime drama about time traveling back to the early 80′s as well as David Bowie’s 1980 hit single about addiction.

Apart from Ash being Echo’s real name, I struggled to find the link to the title until it hit me with a wrench from behind. It’s about cycles, repetition, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results (which Einstein did not say btw). Only now, it’s breaking that rotation. Demons are overcome (apart from Madi), and it’s time to do better.

Octavia’s no longer Bellamy’s responsibility, Clarke refuses to kill innocents, the children of Gabriel learn the truth, Miller disobeyed to transcend and Echo (or Ash), well, I’ll talk about her later. To Monty! Will this also be the end of the ‘will they, won’t they’ dance for Bellamy and Clarke? See my thoughts on this.

That said, let’s fall into the recap.

A child possessed

Okay, Sheidheda was a lot creepier in this episode than the previous ones. if Madi wasn’t completely overthrown before, it seems like she is now and her driving force is pure vengeance. The bond between Madi and Clarke is harder to break than diamonds, which we saw in season 5 and here again.

For six years, all they had were each other. Since the little Natblida was only six when Clarke found her, she won’t even remember her real family all that well. To Madi, Clarke was her savior, her family, her protector, her mother and basically everything else. Having such an influence taken away from you is artery-slicing.

The demon in her head knows this, plays on it and manipulates in a way an abuser lures children in with sweets. Given her age and lack of experience, she follows blindly. I have a feeling this might continue onto season 7 but I hope Raven finds a way to eliminate him. That face freaks me out. For now, he’s gonna cause a lot more damage than we anticipate and will probably be a spoil of war for the peaceful plan.

John Murphy - court jester or hero?

Yeah, he’s been a fence-sitter the entire season, but you have to admit, Murphy provides some much needed comical relief. Granted, the writers have turned up the humor via Bellamy, Clarke, and Diyoza, yet Murphy’s sarcasm should never be taken for granted. “Houdini Miller.” He might not make it to the end of the season.

If someone threatens the life of the person you love, will you protect everyone else or only that person? Ask Bellamy, he did the exact same thing. Risked the lives of everyone else to save his girl, of course Murphy will do the same. He wants to marry Emori, he’ll face hell to ensure her safety.

Still, he warns Echo in good old Cockroach fashion. Don’t let them find out I’m on your side, there’s but one side and it’s mine - and Emori’s. As long as the primes think that, he’ll have a chance of being spared. Murphy is such a great character, sure, he has deviated from being good, but that’s what makes him interesting.

The more layers and substance a character has, the more convincing and relatable they are. All of us have flaws, Murphy’s biggest one is his selfishness, does this make him a bad person? Absolutely not. He struggles and sometimes stumbles due to it but he still cares. Only the size of his heart’s in question, not the existence and it gets them out of some serious syrupy situations.

The makes of the Blakes

So, Bellamy doesn’t care about the delusional cult followers, he merely wants to save his people, to hell with the rest. In a sense, he betrayed them to rescue his love? soulmate? person? and has to make up for it. Now, Bellamy, did Monty not teach you anything?

Being so determined, he calls his sister the queen of cannibals. Killing her own people to ensure their survival. She did what she had to do, why can’t he? I didn’t know Bellamy even knew about this, why didn’t they show his reaction to finding out? Wouldn’t it have led to him cutting her some slack? He was in the exact same situation many times before. 

Probably not. His whole life has always revolved around her, everything he did was to protect his sister to the point of borderline, unhealthy codependency. Octavia was his purpose and yet she threw him in a fighting pit to die after he once again tried to save her - from herself.

Gabriel then tells Bellamy his sister is special, she returned from the greatest mystery of Sanctum. If I remember correctly, Lincoln called her special too when she was unaffected by the biological warfare. There’s more to it though, in my opinion, I still think Diyoza will return, they were both called by the anomaly, why would only O survive? That anomaly is going to be some crazy wow-factor, I’m certain.

I believe a cult won’t be too happy to find out that its leader is the exact thing they’re rebelling against. And the children of Gabriel seemed pretty pissed, especially Xavier’s sister. That is until Bellamy gives them a plan to fulfill their cause. Unfortunately for him, it means teaming up with O to find the powerful red sun toxin. For once the cultists weren’t useless!

Poor Gabriel, all he wants is peace. I thought Jordan would be a Monty reincarnator but apparently, that’s Gabriel. Or he’s more of Lincoln II? Either way, I hope he doesn’t die. Speaking of Jordan, I miss him in his recovery bed. 

Anyway, “what do you say when sorry isn’t good enough?” Despite Bellamy’s countless efforts to keep O occupied, she won’t stop breaking down the walls around his heart. Those mushrooms were strong, Bell, we saw it. Octavia’s speech was so deep, honest and touching that Bellamy’s stray tears hardly seem enough.

The way it was resolved though, is more than satisfactory. After everything that’s happened, it wouldn’t be enough development for him to simply accept what she’s done and move on. But, he’s willing to give her a chance to prove herself while no longer being the core of his world. “You’re my sister, but you’re not my responsibility, not anymore” is probably the best metamorphosis I’ve witnessed on this show. It clips the umbilical cord for both of them to emerge as individuals.

Echoes of a cold-hearted spy

So, I assume Echo protected Ryker thinking she could bank on his morality to spare her. And of course, she keeps scraping at the flesh wound. But Ryker believes saving his family keeps the peace, killing Echo saves everyone else. One life instead of thousands - it’s for the greater good, right? Wrong. The acting here was great, I was totally convinced of Ryker’s bouncing morals.

Off-topic, I completely forgot Miller used to be a thief and I’m glad we got to see his pick-pocketing skills in action. He deserves some credit and screentime, since being a part of this show for six seasons. Oh, and the transcending moment between him and Gaia was super sweet.

For a second I thought Echo would become Simone and then I remembered that she also took ALIE’s chip and they wouldn’t rehash the neural mesh storyline. Meaning my fears were quickly soothed.

Onto the important part, what was that back story supposed to mean? All I got out of it, is that Echo’s cycle isn’t broken. That leopard hasn’t changed its spots. Don’t get me wrong, it broke my heart that she had to kill her friend and resume her identity in order to survive. But, it felt like a turning point in Echo’s character that plunged her into heartlessness. Will she become that person again?

I know Echo might not be a fan favourite, but she’s really grown on me this season. She’s smart, loyal and fierce, I like her. Not Bellamy and Echo together though, I can’t see a semblance of a connection between them. And their relationship is only hurting their characters.

Why would they build her up as a great character just to show that she cares about no-one, not even her friends? I mean I get why she killed Ryker, leaving him alive was too much of a risk - he would tell Russel about her, Miller and Gaia being at large. Though that murderous glint in her eyes tells me that was purely for revenge and completely against their newfound lifestyle. Maybe I’m wrong.

I’m curious to know what being a nightblood will mean for her now and how her character might change after being held at gunpoint.

Meanwhile, Monty’s mantra rings through Clarke 

Oy, Bellamy risked everything and everyone to save Clarke and if she can’t play the part of Josephine convincingly, that was all for nothing. And our boy’s not happy about it - at all. Only, Clarke refuses a Mount Weather do-over.

I just need to mention Bellamy’s face when Murphy come’s through the tent - priceless. Then Jade finally gets a chance to knock someone out too. Yay for her!

The moment Clarke’s safe, she goes straight to Bellamy for reassurance and goodbye. Backtracking to the start of the episode, the way he flung to her side when she woke, touched and comforted her was toothachingly soft and way too intimate to be non-romantic. 

Bellamy gets this shy, ‘aw it’s nothing’ expression when Clarke thanks him for saving her life. Because to him, it really is nothing, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her. And while he’s making heart-eyes at his friend, his girlfriend is being prepped for a blood transplant and murder. I cannot see how there won’t be any followthrough on this. 

If there’s not, it’s altogether bad writing, showcasing and wasted potential. Right now, there’s too much going on for a decent conversation that’s years overdue and I’m hopeful they’ll get it. In the synopsis of the finale, there’s a hint at romance and I truly believe it’s theirs.

Well done Eliza! For playing Clarke and Josephine, Clarke as Josephine and vice versa. She’s an amazing actress and has come a long way from, “Stop, the air could be toxic!.” 

The woman must have been devastated when she walked in on Madi strapped to a chair, being drained for her blood. Yet, in the scheme of greater good, she acts oblivious. She plays the part of a nonchalant sociopath so well, while sparing Madi via a sedative and shifting the focus to her mind drive. 

Those newlyweds sure know how to act and direct!! Like always, I’d love to hear your thoughts, did I read the Echo backstory correctly? Till next week, bye!

[arysafics]

Still Yours

Summary:  Clarke and Bellamy agreed to remain friends after they broke up. It's harder than she thought it would be.

Rated T, ~5,300 words

Clarke shows up at Bellamy’s apartment at a quarter past nine. Fifteen minutes late. Enough time to make sure everyone else is already there, and the packing is already underway. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be alone with him, it’s just… okay, it’s that she doesn’t want to be alone with him.

She presses the buzzer to his apartment, and he buzzes her up without answering. The door to his apartment is already open when she gets upstairs, but it still feels wrong to just walk inside. Even though she used to do it all the time. But that was, well. Before. Before they’d decided they thought it would be a good idea to date each other. It wasn’t a good idea. It only lasted three months. They’d agreed to remain friends, but the truth is, things have never really been quite the same.

“Bellamy?” Clarke calls, stepping into his apartment. There are a few boxes by the door, taped up and ready to go, their contents indicated with permanent marker on the top and side.

“In the bedroom!” Bellamy calls back. The apartment is strangely silent, and Clarke has the sinking feeling as she gets closer to his bedroom that there isn’t anyone else here. She stops in the doorway, and she sees him sitting on the floor, his bed in pieces.  Her heart lurches. Is this the first time they’ve been alone together in the last month?

He looks up, aware of her presence. “I’m starting to think I should just leave this thing here. I was going to buy a new one anyway.”

Clarke swallows, hating the thought of him getting rid of the bed where they made so many memories. Not that she expects that to mean anything to him now.

“Where is everyone else?” She’s not supposed to be the only one helping him move into his new house today. The one he bought a month ago, just after they broke up.

“Murphy and Emori bailed,” he grumbles. “Raven is picking up the moving van. Monty and Harper aren’t coming until this afternoon.”

“And… Echo?” Clarke hates even mentioning Bellamy’s new girlfriend’s name. It’s not that she thought he wouldn’t move on after they broke up. But did he have to do it so quickly? And with his co-worker that the two of them used to bitch about together?

“She’s out of town.”

“Right.” So they’re alone. That’s fine. Totally fine. She can handle it. “What do you want me to do?”

“You don’t have to stay. Seems unfair to make you help when no one else is.”

“No, it’s okay,” Clarke says quickly. God, she hates this. This awkward politeness they have with each other. She wants to go back to before they started dating, when he was the person she felt most comfortable around, when she spent all her time with him, when he was her best friend.

Well, actually, if she’s wishing for impossible things, she may as well wish for what she really wants, which is to go back to when they were dating, except this time he actually loves her back.

“Okay,” Bellamy says. He scratches the back of his head, looking around for something for her to do. “I guess the stuff in the closet still needs to be packed up.” He looks up at her. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that—”

“Bellamy, it’s fine,” Clarke says. “It’s just clothes.” She wonders if he’d noticed one of his shirts is missing. She’s stopped sleeping in it, but she still keeps it under her pillow. It’s pathetic, she knows.

Bellamy nods. “Okay,” he says. He gets to his feet. “I’m going to start taking the bed downstairs. There’s a suitcase—”

“I know.”

“Right.” He stares at her until she feels uncomfortable, and she wishes she could read his thoughts. Is he wishing she hadn’t come? That she’d just leave him alone? Is he thinking about how he regrets kissing her that night four months ago, regrets taking her home to his bed, ruining their friendship forever? Does he regret whispering to her in the early hours of the morning that he wants to keep doing this, that he wants to take her out on a date, that he wants her to be his girlfriend?

Clarke wishes she could regret any of it. The only thing she truly regrets is falling in love with him.

He clears his throat, then bends to pick up the foot of the bed. He gives Clarke another awkward nod and carries it out of the room. Clarke exhales, proud of herself for keeping it together. She feels like she’s on the verge of tears every time she’s in his presence. But she’s not going to cry in front of him. The break up was mutual, though technically she’s the one that said the words first, and she has to let him think she’s as okay with it as he is.

Clarke turns her attention to the closet. She slides the door open and looks up to the top section of the closet, where Bellamy keeps a couple of suitcases. She can’t reach them, even on her tip-toes. She could wait for Bellamy to get back and ask him to get them down for her, but she’s stubborn and self-reliant, so instead she goes and gets a kitchen chair to stand on.

She gets the first suitcase down easily, but the other one is pushed to the back of the closet, and she has to strain her arm to reach it. She hooks two fingers onto the handle and swings it from the cupboard. Only it’s not the only thing that comes flying out of the closet. The shoebox that falls to the floor, almost hitting Clarke in the head in the process, must have been sitting in front of the suitcase. The box is lidless, and its contents come tumbling out.

Clarke doesn’t take any notice of the various bits and pieces that come out of the box. All her attention is focused on the thing that rolled the furthest from the shoe box. A little velvet box, which, she thinks, can probably only contain one thing.

Dread in her stomach, Clarke steps of the chair and falls to her knees, picking up the small box and opening it. Sure enough, a diamond glints back at her, set in white gold. A simple but elegant design. Clarke thinks she might vomit.

Bellamy chooses this moment to walk back into the bedroom.

“Clarke,” he says. Clarke looks up at him, and his eyes widen when he realises what she’s holding. “Fuck. It’s not what it looks like.” he says. He kneels to the ground in front of her and starts gathering up the other things that litter the ground and putting them back into the shoebox. Clarke barely notices. “Let me explain,” he says. His face is flushed and his expression guilty.

“You’re proposing to Echo,” Clarke says faintly. Trying to make it seem like it doesn’t affect her is a little too much right now.

“I—” he stops. He licks his lips. “Okay. Yes? I guess it is what it looks like.”

Clarke snaps the box shut. She can’t bear to look at it any longer. He’s been with Echo two weeks, and he’s bought her a fucking ring already? As if Clarke didn’t feel worthless enough. But this just confirms she really meant nothing to him. If she doesn’t leave now, she’s going to start crying in front of him, and she can’t let that happen. She swallows.

“Congratulations,” she says, void of emotion. But that’s better than sounding hurt or angry. She shoves the ring into his hands and gets to her feet.

“Clarke—”

“I just remembered, I have to go,” Clarke says. “I have this thing… with my mom. I said I’d help her with… something. Sorry.”

If he sees right through her feeble excuses, he lets it go. Maybe he knows she’s still in love with him and feels sorry for her.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s okay.”

“I’ll see you…” she trails off. “I’ll see you.”

She keeps the tears at bay until she’s in her car, where she breaks down behind the steering wheel. She feels like such a fucking fool. While she was dreaming about her future with Bellamy, he was probably already thinking about how he could dump her so he could be with Echo. And she’d made it so easy for him by getting in first. Because she could feel him getting distant, could feel this tension between them, like he wasn’t telling her something, like he was walking on eggshells around her. And so she told him she thought this thing they had had run its course. And he agreed, like she knew he would.

Two weeks later he was with Echo. The only thing surprising to Clarke now is that he wasn’t with Echo sooner. Perhaps he was, but they just kept it quiet for a while so as to not hurt Clarke’s feelings. God, does he know she’s in love with him? That would be so embarrassing. He probably talks about her with Echo about how sad and pathetic she is, how she can’t seem to get over what was essentially a three month fling, even though it’s been over for a month now.

Clarke manages to calm her sobs into silent tears, and she starts her car. She’s got nothing to do, having kept this whole day free to help Bellamy move. She goes to the liquor store on the way home and buys four bottles of wine. She probably won’t drink them all tonight. But if she does, who could blame her?

  Sometimes, Clarke wishes she had someone to talk to about Bellamy. But all her friends are happily in relationships and she doesn’t want to bring them down with her sad moping. Besides, she doesn’t want anyone to know. It’s bad enough that she spends her nights pining after him and feeling sorry for herself. She doesn’t need everyone else feeling sorry for her too.

Monty texts her the following week, telling her that he and Harper and going to Bellamy’s to check it out now that he’s all settled in, and that she’s welcome to join. Clarke agrees, because she does want to see his new house, and it’s better to do it when Monty and Harper are there as a buffer.

Except, when she gets there, Monty and Harper are nowhere in sight. She wants to wait for them, but she also doesn’t want to sit outside in her car like she’s scared or something. Even though she is. She gets out of the car and walks up the path to the front door. Her phone vibrates with a message from Monty: running late! Be there in half an hour.

Clarke swallows. She wonders if she should turn around and get back in her car. The door opens.

“Were you going to ring the doorbell, or were just expecting me to sense that you were outside?” Bellamy jokes.

“Well, you did, didn’t you?” Clarke says, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. For a moment it feels like they’re them again. But then the silence stretches on a little too long, and they’re back to being awkward with each other.

“Monty texted to say he’s running late,” Bellamy says.

“Yeah, he told me that too.”

It’s not like Monty to be late for things. She knows he was always an avid supporter of her relationship with Bellamy. If he’s trying to get them alone together on purpose, she’s going to kill him.

Bellamy clears his throat. “So, uh, do you want a tour?”

“Sure.”

He steps aside to let her inside, and Clarke feels her heartrate increase as she steps past him. They don’t even touch, but just his proximity to her is enough to make her feel things she doesn’t want to feel.

“Kitchen first,” Bellamy says, leading the way. He gives her the tour like he’s a real estate agent, albeit a bad one. He tells her what the room is, points out some of the features, lets her glance around, and then moves on, like he’s eager to get this over with. Although it does seem like he’s gauging her reaction to each room, as if he’s trying to work out whether she likes it or not. She doesn’t know why her opinion would matter to him anymore.

The house is beautiful. It’s old, but well cared for, and parts of it have been renovated, probably recently.  There are huge windows to let the sun in the morning, and in the afternoons. The kitchen is large and modern. Clarke has a flash of Bellamy cooking in here, shirtless and dancing, making her taste things as he goes along, teasing her about her lack of cooking ability.

As they pass through the living room, Clarke admires the fireplace and the brand new couch, and she imagines herself curled up in Bellamy’s arms while he reads, a fire roaring while it snows outside.

He briefly shows her the guest room, and the third bedroom that he’s converted into a study, where he’ll likely mark papers and write lesson plans. Maybe he’ll go back to school and get his masters. He always said he’d like to.

He shows her the master bedroom, with his new king size bed, and Clarke wants to pull him on top of her and have him fuck her brains out to break it in. And then she wants him to drag her into the ensuite and fuck her in the shower, and then the bathroom floor, and then the bedroom floor, and then the bed again. She glances at him, her face growing hot. It’s not like he knows what she’s thinking, but she shouldn’t be thinking it at all.

Bellamy seems lost in thought as well, and when he notices her looking at him, he almost looks embarrassed. Maybe he was thinking about the same things she was. Except in his fantasy, it’s him and Echo. She remembers the ring, and she’s suddenly nauseous again.

“Well, that’s it,” Bellamy says. “What do you think?”

“It’s really lovely,” Clarke says honestly. The only flaw Clarke can find in this house is that she can see herself living here, with him, and it’s going to hurt her every time she has to step foot through the door. Perhaps she’ll just have to find excuses not to come to any gatherings he holds here. “Well, thanks for showing me around,” Clarke says. “I guess I should go.”

“You can stay if you like. Monty and Harper will probably be here soon. Stay for dinner.”

Clarke hesitates. It almost seems, for a moment, that he really wants her to stay. But she’s not ready to talk and laugh with him over a meal yet. Not without thinking about how she should be hosting dinner with him, and helping him clean up when their friends are gone, and then forgetting about the clean up and fucking on the kitchen floor. Okay, maybe she just needs to get laid.

“No, I should go,” she says. Bellamy nods, and Clarke imagines that he looks… sad, almost. He gestures for her to lead the way out of the bedroom, and for a moment she forgets which way they came in, and turns the wrong way. There’s a door at the end of the hall that Clarke is pretty sure Bellamy hasn’t shown her through.

“It’s this way,” Bellamy says. Clarke glances at him.

“You missed a room,” Clarke tells him.

“Oh, uh—” Bellamy stammers. “It’s, um. It’s nothing.” He clearly doesn’t want her to see what’s behind the door. Which means she absolutely has to see what’s in there.

“What is it? Your sex dungeon?” she laughs, forgetting for a moment they aren’t best friends anymore. She swings the door open. The room is empty.

“See? Nothing. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet.”

Clarke knows exactly what she’d do with it. It’s big and open, windows on all three sides, light streaming in. The floorboards are already stained with paint, from the last person who lived here, who obviously had the same idea as Clarke. The fact that Bellamy doesn’t see it—yeah, it’s obvious he never thinks about her at all. She’d known it, but even still, it crushes her.

She stares into the empty room, sees herself sitting by the window painting. Sees Bellamy bringing her a cup of coffee while she works, kissing the paint stains on her hands. She sees it all so clearly. Wants it so much it aches.

The doorbell rings. Monty and Harper, most likely.

“I should get that,” Bellamy says.

Clarke nods. “I have to go anyway.”

She follows him to the front door, says a quick hello to Monty and Harper, then flees, tears pricking her eyes. Monty calls out after her, but she pretends she doesn’t hear. She’s annoyed at him for leaving her alone with Bellamy. Sure, Monty doesn’t know she’s still in love with Bellamy, and he doesn’t know about the ring and that Bellamy is planning on proposing to Echo, and that Clarke thinks Bellamy’s dumb house is perfect and she wants to live there with him. But he should know. Why doesn’t he know?

Because you refuse to tell anyone how you feel, her brain tells her. Her brain can be so logical sometimes. It’s annoying. Maybe—maybe she just needs to get it all off her chest. And then maybe she’ll be able to move on.

She gets out her phone and sends Monty a text: will you come over tonight? Just you. I need to vent.

His response is quick: of course. Should I bring alcohol?

Plenty of it.

  True to his word, Monty shows up at Clarke’s apartment that night with a bottle of tequila and a bottle of vodka. He lets Clarke down a shot of each before he presses her on why he’s here.

“Monty,” Clarke says. She can feel the alcohol start to hit her, and she thinks she’s on the verge of tears again. She’s not normally a drunk crier, but she has a feeling tonight is going to be different. “Did you see Bellamy’s house?”

“Yeah, I saw it. I saw you there, remember?”

“I want to live there.”

“Me too. It’s a really nice house.”

“No,” Clarke says, her lip trembling. “I want to live there with him.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Clarke bursts into tears then. “Monty,” she sobs. She hates how pathetic she sounds. She blames it on the alcohol.

“What is it Clarke?”

“I love him. I love him so much. It hurts.”

“Then you should tell him that.”

“But he doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s with Echo.”

“Yeah, but—”

“He’s going to propose to her. He has a ring and everything. I saw it.”

“He has a ring?”

Clarke nods. “Such a pretty ring.”

“He’s only been dating Echo three weeks. Are you sure…?”

“Monty. There was a ring. It was in a shoebox in the back of his closet, up high. I accidentally knocked the shoebox onto the ground and all this stuff fell out of it, including the ring. And then I asked him if he was proposing to Echo and he said yes.”

Monty doesn’t answer right away. He looks deep in thought. “What else was in the box?”

Clarke gives a strangled cry of exasperation. “Who cares? Why does it matter what else was in the box?”

“So you don’t know what else was in there?”

“No, I was too busy looking at the stupid ring.”

“Maybe… maybe the ring wasn’t for Echo,” Monty says hesitantly. “Maybe it was…” he stops, as if he’s not sure if he should say what he’s thinking. “Maybe it was an heirloom or something. And the box was full of other keepsakes.”

“It looked brand new.”

Monty sighs. “Clarke. I think you should tell Bellamy how you feel. Even if you think he doesn’t feel the same way. Things are never going to be right between you two if you don’t get some closure.”

“I don’t want to,” Clarke whispers.

“I don’t get why you broke up with him if you knew you were in love with him,” Monty says.

“It was mutual. He wanted to break up with me. I just didn’t want him to pity me, so I did it first. He’s happier without me.”

“He’s not, Clarke.”

“What do you mean, he’s not?”

“I mean whenever I ask him to hang out, he asks if you’re going to be there. If you are, he won’t come. But if you’re not, he spends the whole time brooding.”

“But we said we’d stay friends. Why would he avoid me?”

Monty shrugs, but he gives her a knowing look. “Maybe for the same reason you avoid him.”

Clarke shakes her head. It’s impossible. If he loved her, he would have said so. He would have tried to stop her from breaking up with him.

“Just pour me another shot, will you?”

  In the morning, Clarke sincerely regrets her decisions from the night before. Her raging hangover tells her she’s too old to be drinking like that anymore, and when she remembers all the things she told Monty she wants to die from embarrassment. He’s probably going to tell Harper, because, duh, that’s the kind of thing you tell your significant other. And then they’ll both give her those pitying looks whenever they see her, and everyone else will notice and before long everyone will know how pathetic she is.

Monty is in the kitchen making breakfast when she gets up. He’s way too chipper, and Clarke tries to remember if he drank anything last night, or if she was the only drunken fool.

“I made you coffee,” Monty says, putting the cup down in front of her on the counter. “Figured you’d be feeling shitty. I’m also making scrambled eggs.”

Clarke just groans in response, and chugs down the coffee, burning her lips in the process.

“Do you remember what we talked about last night?”

“Yes,” Clarke says sullenly. “I thought talking to you about it would make me feel better, but I just feel worse.”

“That’s just the hangover.”

Clarke whines miserably, and Monty gives her a pitying look, the one she’s been dreading.

“Don���t look at me like that,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“You need to tell him how you feel.”

“This conversation is over.”

“At least come to his housewarming party next weekend.”

“He’s having a housewarming party?”

“He mentioned to me and Harper that he might have something small. I’m sure you’ll be invited.”

Clarke bites her lip. “Okay. But I’m not telling him anything. Besides, Echo will probably be there.”

“Maybe.”

“He bought her a ring, remember? I’m going to have to go to his dumb wedding to stupid Echo and pretend like I don’t wish it’s me he’s marrying.”

“He hasn’t proposed yet. If he’s even going to. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and eat your eggs.”

Clarke glares at Monty and stabs a fork into the scrambled eggs he’s just placed in front of her. She is grateful for Monty, really. But sometimes he’s even more logical than she is, and logic really plays no part in how her heart feels.

  Bellamy does invite Clarke to his housewarming party, and Clarke figures it can’t hurt to go. She promised Monty she would, and at least this time there’s no chance of everyone else bailing and being left alone with Bellamy. Especially since she makes Monty and Harper pick her up and take her there so they can’t be “late” again.

She brings a bottle of wine as a present, even though she’d like to get Bellamy something more personal. But she doesn’t need to draw any attention to herself by accidentally getting him a present that proves to everyone that she’s still in love with him.

Clarke had been expecting it to be a small affair, just their closest friends, but when she arrives with Monty and Harper, there are already more than twenty people there. Bellamy isn’t even the one to answer the door. Instead, it’s Octavia.

“Clarke,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect you to be here.” Clarke isn’t sure what to say to that, but it seems Octavia doesn’t need a response. “Come in guys,” she barrels on. “Is that for Bellamy?” she nods to the wine.

“Yeah,” Clarke says.

“This too,” Monty says. He’s holding a huge houseplant in his arms. Octavia eyes it warily.

“I’ll take the wine,” she says. “You can… I don’t know. Put that thing somewhere.”

The three of them follow Octavia into the house, and Monty puts the plant down by the door. Clarke scans the living room for signs of Bellamy, but she doesn’t see him. She follows Monty over to where Raven and Shaw are talking to Murphy and Emori. She says a polite hello, but then tunes out of the conversation. She feels on edge, glancing around, waiting for Bellamy to make an appearance. It is his house after all.

Octavia reappears and hands Clarke a glass of wine.

“This was supposed to be for Bellamy,” Clarke says.

“He said it was fine. Besides you look like you could use it,” she says knowingly. Clarke takes a sip of her drink. Octavia has always been more perceptive than the rest of them. It doesn’t surprise Clarke at all that Octavia sees right through her.

“Where is he?” Clarke asks.

“Kitchen,” Octavia says. She takes a swig from her own glass. “He could probably use some help. You know, if you felt like it.”

“I don’t think so,” Clarke says. Echo is probably in there with him, seeing as she hasn’t seen his girlfriend anywhere out here.

Octavia shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Eventually, Bellamy comes out of the kitchen with food. Monty and Harper go over to hug him and tell him about the houseplant they brought him. Clarke hangs back. Bellamy doesn’t so much as look at her. That’s fine. There are enough people here that she doesn’t have to talk to him. He probably won’t even notice.

They’ve probably only been there an hour before Clarke is ready to go home. But she came with Monty and Harper, and they don’t look nearly ready to leave yet. In fact, everyone else seems to be having a great time, including Bellamy. That’s good. She wants him to be happy.

Clarke considers getting an Uber, but the cost to get from here to her own place will probably be exorbitant. Instead she sneaks off down the hallway. Probably no one will even notice she’s gone. She slips into her art studio. It’s probably idiotic to think of it that way, but she can’t help it. The blinds are all open, and the moon is glowing brightly in through the windows.

Clarke sits against the wall, gazing at the stars. She doesn’t turn the light on. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s in here. Except apparently her hiding place isn’t as good as she thought, because it only takes a minute for someone to find her.

The door opens, and Clarke looks up. Her stomach flips over when she sees it’s Bellamy.

“Thought I might find you here,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t think anyone would notice I was gone.”

To her surprise, Bellamy walks over to her and slides down the wall beside her. A couple of inches separate them. He’s too close and too far away at the same time.

“Not enjoying yourself?” Bellamy asks.

“I’m just tired,” Clarke says. It’s not a complete lie. “Shouldn’t you be socialising with your guests?”

Bellamy shrugs. “I wanted to talk to you. I haven’t spoken to you all night.”

“We hardly ever talk anymore,” Clarke says, and it comes out bitterer than she intends.

“I know,” Bellamy says. “I hate that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I miss my best friend.”

Clarke looks away. She misses him too, but she can’t seem to say it out loud. “Echo still out of town?” she asks, before she can stop herself. She really needs to stop acting like she cares about where his girlfriend is.

“I don’t know,” is his unexpected response. “We broke up.”

“Oh,” Clarke says. “I’m sorry.” She’s not sorry at all. She’s glad he’s not with Echo. But she doesn’t want him to be unhappy.

“Don’t be sorry,” Bellamy says. “I was the one that ended things.”

Clarke stares at him. “But… the ring. You were going to propose.”

“Right,” Bellamy says. He swallows. “That.”

“I don’t understand. What happened?”

Bellamy won’t look at her. His eyes are focused on his hands. “I was never going to propose to her,” Bellamy says. He looks up at Clarke, and she searches his eyes for answers. “The ring wasn’t for her,” he says softly. “It was for you.”

“I—what?”

Bellamy sighs. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear it, but I guess Monty made me think I should say something.  He was right. I shouldn’t have lied and said it was for Echo.”

“I don’t understand,” Clarke says. Her heart is pounding, her mind reeling. She can’t comprehend a word he’s saying. He bought her a ring?

“I wasn’t going to propose,” Bellamy says. “At least, not yet. But I knew I wanted to someday and I saw that ring like… three weeks after we started dating. So I bought it. And then when you broke up with me, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, so I just put it in the box with all the other stuff I kept that reminded me of you.”

“Bellamy, I—” Clarke shakes her head, tears in her eyes. That box was full of stuff her kept for her. She feels like her heart is about to leap out of her chest.

“I don’t even know why I bothered trying to date Echo,” he groans. “She asked me out and I was so surprised I said yes. But I couldn’t keep seeing her. How could I? When the truth is, I’m still yours.”

“But you never said anything,” Clarke whispers. Tears stain her cheeks, though she doesn’t remember when she started crying. “You didn’t want to be with me.”

Bellamy looks bewildered. “You’re the one who broke up with me, remember?”

“Because you were going to break up with me!”

“Why would you think that?”

“You were acting all weird! Like you were keeping something from me. Like you were about to tell me it was over any minute.”

“Clarke. Clarke,” Bellamy breathes. They’re on their knees facing each other now. Bellamy reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I wanted to tell you that I loved you. And I was going to ask you to move in with me. But I was worried about scaring you off.”

“You loved me?”

“Aren’t you listening? I still do.”

She kisses him then, and she swears she hears the breath leave his body. He kisses her back, hungry and wanting. She’d almost forgotten what he tastes like, how his lips feel, what his tongue can do.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says. She has to pull away, if only slightly. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Bellamy says. He kisses her again. Clarke doesn’t want him to ever stop. “We should probably get back to the others before someone comes looking for us.”

“I guess so,” Clarke sighs. Bellamy grazes his lips lightly over hers.

“Stay here tonight,” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Stay here forever.”

“Okay.”

“I bought this place for you, you know,” he says. “Well, for both of us. This room—”

“My art studio, right?” Clarke smiles.

“Exactly.”

[brokendevilwrites]

I am okay yessssss with a few words please!

Anonymous said: Nerd!Clarke Popular!Lexa first time... Pretty please?

Listen --

This isn’t explicit and it’s not smutty and it’s the best you’re probably gonna get out of me because, honestly, I’m the WORST at writing legible smut. 

Anyway. Have this tiny amount. 

It’s not great but it’s...something?

She tastes like cinnamon gum and hot chocolate and a future filled with stars and sunshine and endless forever.

Which, okay yes, Lexa knows is a ridiculous concept. People don’t taste like the future and sunshine doesn’t have a flavor; but she also knows that the people who say that are wrong, because Clarke tastes like everything good in the world and she craves more.

Hands run along her waist, her ribs, her breasts, and Lexa arches into the feeling without a care.

When she’s too caught up to speak, when her mouth is busy and her mind numb, Clarke is bold. Her hands press heated trails along Lexa’s skin, her touch blazing right through to her core and when Lexa gasps and groans and literally writhes against her Clarke swallows it down with confident kisses and barely hidden smirks.

Lexa knows--because it happens every single time--that when they stop kissing and go back to sitting side by side that Clarke will go back to being her nerdy little girlfriend. She’s all pink blushes and stuttered sentences and innocent smiles. And oh the contrast is such a fucking turn on.

“I think this is the best film you’ve ever picked out,” Lexa whispers between kisses, forcing herself away from her girlfriends sinful mouth to take in a few well-needed lungfuls of air. Clarke doesn’t even look at her. Her eyes are hooded, looking straight at Lexa’s mouth, and she’s panting hard.

It makes Lexa wet.

She takes that moment to look at the girl currently straddling her hips. Green eyes fall over pink cheeks and loose blonde curls and she almost groans at the image. Lexa notes Clarke’s shiny mouth and the damp stains on her neck and she wonders if it’s possible to go into cardiac arrest just from the image in front of her.

“You don’t even know what movie we’re watching.”

“Something about a girl falling for a boy and changing who she is just enough for him to love her back. There’s possibly a sassy best friend in there too who sleeps around too much and drinks in every scene where they talk about the protagonists abysmal sex life,” she chuckles but Clarke barely laughs, her focus entirely on Lexa’s mouth apparently, and Lexa wants to see if she’s okay but a hand moves from beneath her shirt so Clarke can trace her fingers against Lexa’s plump lower lip. “Clarke…”

“You’re so pretty,” the blonde cuts her off and Lexa can’t help but go soft with her, hands falling to full hips and she smiles at her girlfriend. Their shirts are messed up and their hair in disarray and Lexa can’t imagine being anywhere else in the world than under a girl who looks at her like she personally pricked holes in the night sky for the light to shine through. There’s a small gasp from Clarke, like she can’t quite believe something, and she rolls her hips slowly against Lexa’s as she leans down to kiss her again. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Possessive.”

“You love that about me,” Clarke whispers and she finally, finally, looks up from Lexa’s mouth to meet her eyes and Lexa feels her entire being set on fire. Her pupils have blown and the blue Lexa loves so much has been reduced to a small circle. “That I so badly want to be yours and you want to be mine.”

Lexa nods, her hands curving over Clarke’s backside before settling on her hips again. “I do,” she reassures her but there’s a trust between them that tells her Clarke doesn’t need the reassurance. In fact, she’s pretty certain Clarke is just as confident in them and she is.

“No, Lexa,” Clarke says and Lexa is immediately aware of the shift the moment Clarke’s voice cracks and her hips press down harder. She recognises the signs; the need, the desperation, the overwhelming feeling. “I want you to make me yours.”

There’s a strong tug at the back of Lexa’s stomach as the words resonate with her clearly and she shifts under Clarke. She lifts herself onto her elbows and her eyes almost roll back into her head at the pleasurable sound of Clarke’s pitiful groan as her hands leave her hips.

It hits her all at once and she waits patiently for Clarke to meet her eyes again. Because she needs to be sure about this; she needs Clarke to be sure about this. Lexa threw her first time away and she’s also never had to take the lead in someone else’s first time.

The truth is she’s fully fucking aware that virginity is a social concept, but she’s also really fucking in love with Clarke, so fuck society.

It needs to be special.

Because she’s special.

Fuck.

“I think I swear too much,” Lexa finally says and the confused look Clarke flashes her is enough to she her out of her thoughts. “I mean. I just -- Clarke, what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she replies and Lexa sees a flash of her Clarke; her shy girl, with soft eyes and softer words, and she melts into the feeling. “I’m ready. I want to have sex with you.”

“Are you sure?”

Clarke blinks at her before she smiles attractively, her lips coming down to press a delicate kiss against the worried lines on Lexa’s forehead, and she nods. “I’ve been ready for a while. I’ve just been scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

Lexa inhales at that but she knows Clarke doesn’t mean it in a bad way. But still -- the thought Clarke is scared because of her is enough for Lexa to chew at her lower lip, the stirrings in her stomach slowing to a dull roar, and she nods gently. “We don’t have to, you know? There isn’t a time limit on when we do this. I mean trust me, baby, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to wait too. I need you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” Clarke reminds her and Lexa closes her eyes at the feeling of Clarke moving her hand to cup her cheek, her fingers stroking the skin softly. “I just don’t want to disappoint you or...I don’t know. This is different to anything else I’ve had to be good at. I can study things for school and I can paint naturally; but you’re something new. You’re different each day and I adore that but I don’t know what I’m doing. Raven told me to watch porn but --”

“Porn?”

Clarke opens her mouth to reply but Lexa is laughing hard, her stomach actually shaking, and she wishes she could be mad at the mood being ruined but it’s so them that she’s instantly forgiving. “Hey…”

“No, baby, I’m sorry,” Lexa laughs and she falls back onto the couch, Clarke’s body following her, and she kisses her girlfriends wrist as she pulls away from her cheek to put her hand beside Lexa’ head to keep her hovering above her. “I just don’t really think lesbian porn will cover anything that we’re going to do.”

“No I know. Murphy said that too.”

“Good, the guy has sense about him,” she grins and she can’t help herself when she lifts up to kiss Clarke gently. “I already know it’s going to be amazing because you’re going to be sharing this with me, Clarke. I’m not expecting perfection or for you to be an expert or for me to be what you’ve always imagined because I don’t know what that is. I want this to be natural and because we both want it.”

“Do you?”

Lexa smirks because God, Clarke is everything. “Were you listening when I said I’ve always wanted you? Of course I want this,” she whispers and suddenly, just like that, the feeling builds again as the humor of before fades away. “I want you, Clark. In any way you’ll give me.”

“Okay,” Clarke nods and she leans down again; kiss-swollen lips hovering over Lexa’s and the brunette immediately lifts her hands again to press against Clarke’s backside and tighten the gap between their hips. “I trust you.”

---

Lexa has seen Clarke naked before but even that doesn’t prepare her for the sight of the girl on her back, completely bare, against her messy bed sheets.

She’s knelt between spread legs, a simple pair of boyshorts the only clothes worn between them, and she bites at her lip as she looks at her girlfriend. There’s a new air of vulnerability now, she thinks. It’s new. She watches as Clarke runs a hand through her hair, fingers tangling at the top of her head, as she blinks slowly at Lexa. There are marks on her body, marks Lexa has made, and she goes dizzy with the thought. Green eyes skip from the tight bruises on Clarke’s neck to the little scratches at her hips, fingermarks where it all felt like too much and not enough.

It’s been hours. The sky has turned pink and purple and blue with the rising sun and it’s not nearly been enough time at all. Clarke is spent, Lexa can see it in her heavy eyes and her lethargic movements but they can’t stop touching one another. They can’t. They don’t want to.

“Are you okay?”

Lexa starts at the words because Clarke had been switching between sleep and forcing herself awake to look at the other girl and she was kind of expecting her to fall back asleep as she climbed back into the bed after she went to the bathroom. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admits and she moves to lie next to Clarke, pulling a sheet over them softly. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Clarke naked but her mom will be home in the next hour or so and sometimes she looks into her room, just to make sure she’s safe. “I’m kind of worried if I fall asleep then I’ll start missing you.”

“You’re disgusting when you’re tired,” Clarke breathes out a soft laugh but her eyes grow serious and she shifts onto her side, one hand moving up to trace Lexa’s eyebrow. “But you didn’t answer me. Are you okay?”

Lexa smiles and nods once. “I’m okay,” she says, no pretense or romantic words or stupid lines. She’s okay; she’s perfect and loved and in love. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Clarke replies.

She kisses Clarke because she can, because she’s there, and she smiles at the immediate reaction she gets. Hands drop under the sheet to press against her hips and there’s a disgruntled noise from her girl, one that echoes into her mouth.

“You got dressed.”

“I put on some underwear.”

“I’m naked,” there’s tugging at the shorts under the sheet and Lexa doesn’t fight it, she lets deft fingers curl into the waistband and she helps to kick them off as Clarke rolls onto her back and Lexa follows. “Better.”

“My mom will be home soon.”

Clarke bites at her lower lip and suddenly Lexa is awake. “So we have to be quick,” she shrugs and Lexa laughs, shifting so that she can press her thigh between Clarke’s legs against and the hiss she receives is enough to reignite the fire. “I’d rather take my time, I suppose, but I’ll take whatever I can.”

“Clarke Griffin,” Lexa pretends to be scandalized but she kisses the hickey on Clarke’s neck again. “What happened to my dorky girlfriend?”

“You fucked her,” Clarke shrugs. She tries hard to look unphased by what she’s said but there’s a blush on her cheeks and she giggles shyly like she does when she gets an answer right in class and fuck.

And there, right there, Lexa falls harder in love.

[wanderingclark]

What a Mess || Clark, Beka and Deni

Who: Clark Meeks, Deni Wilde ( @deni-doveport​ ) and Beka Hummel ( @doveportbeka​) Where: Clark’s car at the beach When: Thursday, January 23, 2020 What: Clark is drunk and lets their ex best friend bring them food when Beka shows up after their fight. Triggers: drinking, drug use, mentions of death, fighting, violence, cursing. all the fun things.

Clark

Clark was just sitting at the back of their car, door open and feet dangling, staring out a the ocean. There was an empty bottle of jack behind them and a half empty bottle next to them. They'd been drinking most of the day and they knew they needed food. Could you be dumped if you weren't dating in the first place? They hated how their heart had just been hurting all day, like the felt like they fucked up the best thing they ever had, like they messed up, even though they knew they didn't. The groaned before taking another swig. When Deni had texted them back, they stared at their phone before deciding they were too drunk to care. They weren't really sure if they wanted to spend time with the girl but she was bringing them food so they figured at least they got food.

Deni

Deni stared at her phone for what seemed like forever after receiving the text. She knew it was probably an accidental text but she couldn't help her fingers from moving as she typed. It sent her body buzzing with anxiety but she still couldn't help it. And Clark had agreed which was even harder for her brain to wrap her head around. Thankfully she had a little bit of cash left over from her day so she headed toward the McDonald's getting the order Clark used to get and a little something extra, just because. She didn't want to make a big deal out of this and truthfully, her head was going back and forth about whether or not this was a good idea. She wanted to talk to Clark, explain everything, but nothing excused what she'd done and for that she never expected the brunette to forgive her. Hell, she never wanted to forgive herself. It took longer on foot to get to the beach than a car but it was fine, she was used to walking places by now. Once she saw the brunette on their familiar perch in their car she froze, trying to make her breathing even again before walking up to them. "H-hey. Here. Sorry it took long." She shrugged, looking down at the sand as the other took the food from her.

Clark

Clark glanced over and grabbed the bag. "Thanks" the mumbled as they reached in and quickly grabbed a burger, unwrapping it and taking a big bite. Looking at the girl, they stared at her. She looked sick. She was definitely not the Deni she left back in New Mexico. But they weren't about to open that bag of worms. They didn't have the brain capacity right now. Moving the bottle, they scooted over before taking another bite. "You can sit if you want" they said as they continued staring out at the ocean. They'd been here all day. They skipped class after Beka texted them back and they hadn't moved. Watching the blonde sit down out of the corner of their eye, they sighed. "So...you back for good or?"

Deni

Deni nodded, her eyes only slightly up to see Clark's reaction. She wanted to laugh at how Clark still devoured her food but she knew she shouldn't, she wasn't allowed anymore. "Um..yeah..okay, if you're sure." She worried her lip for a moment, contemplating, before she moved to climb into the other's car. "Maybe? I don't know." She said after awhile. She actually didn't know. She didn't know what she was doing. "I don't know what I"m doing." She voiced.

Clark

Clark polished off their first burger in 4 bites before stuffing a few fries in their mouth and washing it down with some Jack. Turning their head to look at Deni, they furrowed their brow before shaking their head. "Where's Madison?" they asked, their filter completely gone with how drunk they are. They saw the girl wince at the name and handed her the bottle out of their hand, not knowing what happened but obviously something did, since she was back

Deni

Deni watched the other out of the corner of her eye but flinched at madison's name, the pain coming back in full force. Her head fell as she tried to collect herself, not knowing what to even say or if she even could. "She's..." She stopped, taking a couple deep breaths to calm herself. Man did she need something and thankfully her fingers felt the familiar baggie from Puck in her pocket and pulled it out, taking some of the powder under her nail to inhale it. She waited a little, letting the drug wash over her system. "Dead." She said simply, wincing even at the word and even with the drug slowly starting to course through her veins.

Clark

Clark's head quickly turned to face Deni before closing their eyes at the sudden dizziness. They were not sober enough for this conversation. "Damn" they said slowly before grabbing their second burger and began stuffing their face with it. "That sucks. I'm sorry" they said as they looked back out to the ocean. They couldn't tell how many times they had wished death to that girl but they never actually wanted it to happen. They shook their head. This was too much for their alcohol infused brain at the moment. Taking the bottle back since Deni didn't take it, they took another swig, downing it like it was water at this point.

Deni

Deni shrugged, unable to even say anything about it at this point. She still hadn't talked about it, hadn't told anyone what had happened. Who would she tell anyway? She hadn't talked to her family since it happened and she hadn't talk to Clark since they'd left, her fault, she knew. They sat in silence for along time, listening to the waves. Deni took another hit before she retired the bag to her pocket again. She would have offered it to Clark but Clark was already wasted and there was no chance in hell she was going to kill Clark on top of everything else. "So, you're back too, I guess?"

Clark

Clark shrugged at her question. "The road is boring alone" they halfheartedly explained. It was true. But they also just felt lost. Doveport was a reset, or something. They didn't know at this point. They could feel their eyes glossed over. They were getting to the point where they were so drunk they were tired. They probably wouldn't even remember half this conversation in the morning. The sound of the waves crashing was relaxing. It's why they got a plot of land where they did. They finished their burger before grabbing the fry box and started eating more of them. They didn't realize the other human walking towards the car.

Beka

Beka had been thinking about Clark all day, all the things she'd said and more importantly all the things she hadn't said. She'd finally confessed all of her feelings to Puck earlier when he'd found her crying in the tub. She had never in her life felt like she was allowed to ask for what she wanted, or needed. When she was a kid, she'd taken what she got and if she complained, she was yelled at or punished. But she was a grown up now and sometimes you had to suck it up and say want you needed to say. At least then it would be out in the open. She'd tried to distract herself, but it wasn't any good, and finally she had asked to leave work early and took a wander. She found herself by the beach, and though she hadn't planned on being here, she knew that subconsciously she had come looking for Clark. She spotted the car first, and kept walking toward the sound of voices. Who was Clark talking to? Spotting a waif of a girl sitting next to Clark, Beka shook her head. This was a mistake. She couldn't do this. She turned to go, but her old Converse, not build for sand, caught and she tumbled to the ground, catching herself painfully on her hands. With a groan, she began to stand, hopefully they were too caught up in each other to have noticed the sounds.

Deni

Deni nodded. She understood where clark was coming from. She missed how things used to be, missed her friends and her life, but things were different now and she couldn't let herself let anyone close again and more-so, she didn't think she deserved anyone. They sat in silence again for a while before there was a noice by the car. Deni looked up, turning her head to see a brunette on the ground. "Shit, you okay?" She said as she stood, watching the other get to her feet.

Clark

Clark looked over at the noise and froze. Their eyes were deceiving them. "Beka?" they asked, their words coming out slurred, just as they had been since Deni showed up. Shaking their head, they grabbed it with one hand as the dizziness came back. They needed to stop with the sudden movements. "What the fuck is going on right now" they mumbled, mostly to themselves.

Beka

Standing, Beka turned to face them, her jaw clenched. "Fine. I'm fine." Of course Clark had already moved on, of course they wouldn't be thinking about her the way she'd been thinking about them. No one ever had, no one ever would. But she would not cry again, not in front of the two of them. "Have a good night." She said coldly, her eyes meeting Clark's before she turned, slowly this time, to go.

Deni

"Hey. You sure, sure?" Deni asked, walking toward the girl. "It um, looked like a shitty fall." The blonde said as she walked a little bit toward the girl. She didn't know who the other was or how Clark knew her, all she knew was she'd seen her fall and she was obviously upset. Man, was everyone in town so brooding lately, herself included?

Clark

Clark set their bottle down and jumped down from the back of the car, falling into the sand when they couldn't catch their balance in time. Standing up, they swayed slightly before turning toward the brunette and walking over as quickly as they could, which wasn't all that fast seeing how drunk they were and how with each step they swayed further away. "Why are you here. Are you here to tell me you're dumping me? Well you can't. Because we weren't together. So you can't dump me if we were never together in the first place" they slurred, half of their words not even making sense.

Beka

Beka looked the girl over, she knew when someone was strung out when she saw it. So this must be Deni. Jesus Christ, was that what she had looked like when she had gotten back to town? Then she looked at Clark, who she realized for the first time was fucked up beyond all reason. This was just great, the one time she had plucked up the courage to actually have a real conversation and Clark was wasted and about to fuck his ex who three nights ago they had hated. If this was what they wanted then fine, she didn't need it. She fought back the tears that were beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. "I... I can't do this. This was a bad idea..." she mumbled, once again making to flee.

Deni

Deni listened to the whole ordeal unfold and silently chided herself for even coming down here. She didn't know Clark was seeing anyone and now she'd gone and fucked with their life again by being around. "Fuck, dude...I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just...I just brought Clark food cuz she accidentally text me. It's nothing. I promise. I'm...I'm gonna go so you guys and talk and shit. Fuck, sorry." She ran her hand forcefully through her hair, yanking on it before she let her arms fall to the sides, fingers gripping into her palms as hard as they could. She didn't look up at Clark or at Beka, not wanting to see the looks on their faces.

Clark

Clark stopped where they were, the ground beneath them feeling like they were standing on a boat. Looking at the two girls in front of them, they couldn't help but chuckle. It was small at first but their laughter bubbled up until they were having trouble breathing. Tears were coming out of their eyes as they continued to laugh. After a few moments, they shook their head and looked at the two girls. "This is funny" they slurred out, pointing between the two of them. "The only two people who have ever made me feel anything both standing next to each other. Both of leaving me. That's funny. Who woulda thought. Man I gotta learn how to turn feelings off" they said, thinking their words were mumbled but were definitely loud enough for everyone to hear as they turned back to slowly try and make their way back towards their car. One hand came up to their chest as they felt like their heart was physically breaking. They were thankful they turned away, the tears streaming down their face no longer visible for the girls to see.

Beka

Anger bubbled up inside Beka, how dare Clark laugh at her right now? Who the fuck did they think they were. Reaching out she grabbed Clark by the shoulder and turned them so they were facing each other again and with her free hand slapped them as hard as they could manage. "I was coming here to APOLOGIZE to you, you asshole!" She snapped. "I came here to actually talk, but you really just could not wait to get fucked up again and fuck your ex who mere days ago you were warning me against. But fuck me, right?" She turned to face Deni. "SO nice to meet you, Deni, and by the way! You have a little something." She tapped her own nose to indicate the trace of powder left behind on Deni's. "Hope you two enjoy each other."

Deni

Deni was horrified by the things that were taking place. The slap against Clark, the way this girl was speaking to Clark and then to her. She wanted to scream but she also wanted to shrink in on herself. "Hey...stop. Come on." She started. "Clark's not trying ta fuck me and I'm not trying ta fuck them. Promise. I just...I just brought the food. I shouldn't a stayed. I'm sorry." She shrunk into herself even more. "You okay, Clark?" She knew she shouldn't ask, Clark and her were nothing anymore and that was her own fault but it didn't change the fact that she still cared. Deni didn't say anything about the powder on her nose, only wiping it as she watched the brunette seethe. "Don't do that. Just...I'll go." Her heart was breaking all over again, thinking she'd fucked things up for Clark yet again and knowing there was nothing she could do to make it better. "Clark..." She turned slowly. She knew the other was too far gone and probably wouldn't remember what she'd said in the morning but she still needed to say it. "You were right. I'm sorry...for fuckin' everything." She said as she slowly started to walk away, trying to let them have time together.

Clark

The turn, the slap, the yelling. It was all too much for Clark. Their head was pounding, their face was throbbing, they felt like they were going to throw up. Nope. They were throwing up. Bending over, they emptied the contents of their stomach right in front of them, coughing through it until there was nothing left inside them. Spitting, they tried to kick some sand on top of it before they turned to Beka. But before they could say anything, Deni was talking. "Dude, it's fine. Whatever. I'm sorry" they said before turning to Beka, their voice low. "And you" they called out, their filter completely gone at this point. "We said there were no limits. We said that it didn't matter who we slept with. There were no rules. There were no rules" they repeated. "But now, whenever I sleep with anyone that's not you, you shut down. And that's not fucken fair. Because I'm doing nothing wrong. I'm not breaking any rules. It's not cheating because we aren't actually together" they continued. "Which, whatever. It's what we agreed. And I sleep with other people to try and distract myself from the fact that all I really want is to be with you. All the fucken time. I sleep with other people to try and see if what I feel when I'm with you is a fluke. And yeah, sometimes I do it just for fun. But fuck Beka, even when I'm with other people, all I can think about is being with you again. But you keep shutting me down and I can't handle that anymore. I can't handle how much I feel for you and just get this hot and cold shit from you. I can't do that. It fucken hurts too much. Almost two bottles later and it still hurts. I can't make it go away" they said, their arms falling to their side as they let out a breath of air they were apparently holding as they talked. They felt drained. They felt exhausted. Everything hurt and nothing could be fixed apparently.

Beka

Beka didn't bother to wipe away the tears that were falling down her face, it didn't matter, Clark wouldn't remember tomorrow And they were saying they didn't want her anymore anyways, they couldn't do it. If she'd had a heart, it would probably be breaking right now. She spoke, her voice low, but loud enough for both to hear. "I was coming to talk. We were supposed to try to talk and you never even tried. And I told you I wasn't good at it, but I came here to try anyways. I came to tell you I was sorry, I came to explain. But you don't care, you can't do it. And I get it. No one can deal with me for long. I tried..." Her voice caught, her lip quivered and she tried to ignore that Deni was there, watching her cry. She felt humiliated. "I tried to warn you I wasn't good enough." She turned to Deni. "You stay. I'm done here. You stay." She shoved her hands in her pockets and began to walk away.

Clark

"No. Deni needs to leave and you need to stay" Clark said firmly. They were sobering up very quickly and while they were still very drunk, they knew what they were saying. "I never tried because you said you wouldn't be able to give it to me. If I tired to talk to you today, you would have just pushed me away more. Shut me down. We'd be back to square one. We'd probably be even worse off because you would have reminded me that you can't just talk about things. So I decided to cut out the middle and just get to where we are now. I came here, as far as I could from town and drank because I knew that if I did that, I would be safe. Everyone would leave me alone. I'd fall asleep eventually and tomorrow would be a new day. But I needed food. Deni brought it to me. How the fuck was I supposed to know you'd show up and want to talk? You wanted nothing to do with me last night. You couldn't even come outside and tell me to go away yourself. You sent Puck, who by the way is also yelling at me and making me feel like shit so thanks. If you can't tell me to leave last night, why the fuck would I think you'd wanna talk tonight?" the argued, their frustration and hurt coming through in their words.

Deni

Deni slunk into herself even more, as far as she could, her arms wrapping tightly around her body as protection. "Yeah, no. No you're right, I'll go. I'm going." She shook her head, walking away from the two feuding people, biting at her nails as she hugged herself as tight as she could. This was all so fucked up, why did she come back, why was Clark back? She should have never sent the text, should have never gotten Clark food. She'd fucked things up yet again. Deni tried her hardest to steel herself as she walked away from them, thankfully her back was toward them both and the darkness of night shielded her face so no one could see the tears.

Beka

"What I said was I didn't know if I could. You're the one with the speeches Clark. I needed time last night, but you were just ready to write me off tonight. Sorry Puck yelled at you, he shouldn't have, he gets like that when he thinks I'm hurt. I won't tell him how you fucking ripped my heart out and stomped on it tonight, okay? So we'll be even." She shook her head. "Sorry I ruined your night. I won't bother you again." She shook her head, pausing for just a moment before turning and finally leaving, finally walking away. She had no more reason to stay.

Clark

Clark just stood there, watching the two girls walk away from them. They had no more fight in them. They were tired. They were in pain. They were hurt. They felt like they couldn't breath. They shouldn't feel like this but goddamn it if Beka didn't make them feel so goddamn much. Walking back to the car, they grabbed the near empty bottle of jack and flung it as hard as they could out into the beach, yelling as they did so before turning back to their car. They punched the side of it, again, and again. They had tears streaming down their face as they took their anger and hurt and frustration out on the back of their car. After a moment, they just stopped, falling to their knees and sobbing. They had no more fight left in them. They were just broken. Again.

[hawthornewhisperer]

Bellarke + drinking games!

Bellamy’s vision threatened to blur and he swayed on his feet. Across the table Clarke smirked, eyebrow raised in challenge.   The crowd inhaled and waited.

He tossed the ball lightly, wishing he hadn’t agreed to those shots with Miller just before the game began. Despite her smaller stature Clarke seemed significantly more sober, just a faint flush tinting her cheeks.  It wasn’t fair, just like the deep v-neck she was wearing.

The ball hit the rim and bobbled in. Half the crowd groaned and the other half cheered, and Murphy just looked smug. Bellamy was fairly sure he was taking bets on both of them, but he hardly needed anymore incentive to beat her.

Clarke drained the cup and tossed it over her shoulder. “You shoulda quit when you had the chance, Blake.”

“And forfeit to you, princess? Never.”

She grinned. Her next shot went in without so much as brushing the rim, and he secretly wondered if he should have quit between their fourth and fifth game. It would have been a tie, but at least he wouldn’t be risking alcohol poisoning.

Or maybe he should have turned her down when she challenged him to beer pong in the first place, because he was not known to have the best judgment where Clarke Griffin was concerned.  She brought out his competitive side like no one else on campus, and while a year ago he would have said he hated her, now things were a little more...murky.

He still thought she was annoying, but he respected the steel in her spine.  And he might resent that her mother was the dean of the med school, meaning she was considered a legacy while he’d had to fight his way in, but he understood she hadn’t asked for her background any more than he had.  She could be funny, and she was one of the only people who laughed at his jokes.  They weren’t friends, exactly, but they weren’t really enemies either.  They were something in the middle, although sometimes there would be a spark in her eyes and he’d wonder if they could be something else entirely.

Like now.  Her blue eyes had gone dark, and when he missed his next shot she definitely licked her lips when she looked at him.  His face felt unusually warm.  He focused harder than he should have on the table, telling himself he was imagining things.  Clarke sank another shot and high-fived Raven while Bellamy gulped down the beer.

Bellamy aimed, taking longer than strictly necessary.  “You can always walk away,” Clarke goaded.  “No shame in that.”

“Not a chance.”  In a stroke of luck, Bellamy’s shot landed.  He glanced up, ready to crow, and the look in her eyes stole the breath from his lungs.  So he just tipped his head when she raised her glass to him, gratified when her own gaze seemed to falter.

Game. On.

[yaachtynoboat711]

Our Next Guest...

A/N: Here’s my contribution to @hoopshoney and @purple-apricots With Love, From Wakanda fic fest! I’m so excited to temporarily break from Fonder’s angsty chains and coming with that present-day Yaa and Wins! I apologize for the tardiness of this fic, as I started my new job this week. I had to dust this off from the depths of my archives due to the time crunch. I was going to do my M’Baku x OC, but my time was limited.

Word Count: 2.4K

Warning(s): Fluff, Black Love

Prompt: “Have I mentioned how much I love you? Only twice in the past hour.”

“Chris, I’m fucking terrified.”,you huffed.

You were in your dressing room getting ready to finally begin your Sheimbloom press junket. The first stop was Jimmy Kimmel Live, one of your favorite talk shows. You’d been delaying the tour for personal reasons. Now, it was here and you were going alone. Winston was in the middle of a project in New York. Plus, it was Valentine’s Day. It sucked knowing that Winston couldn’t make it, however,it was worth knowing that he was being supportive and giving you advice on TV interviews. You’d had many a print interview, but never a TV interview.

“Baby, you’ll do fine. You’re a lawyer: you orate for a living. Plus, you love Jimmy, so this’ll be a breeze.”, Winston reassured via FaceTime.

“Yeah, you’re right...I guess.”

“You’re damn right I’m right. I can’t recall a time I was ever wrong. ”

“Well shit I can.”, you smirked, earning an annoyed huff and eye roll from your fiancé.

“ANYWAYS, are you going to indirectly promote Us?”

“Hasn't it already been promoted enough?”

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean,Yaa Denae?” One of the production assistants walked in at the perfect moment.

“Dr. Abdullah, we’re ready for you.”, the PA said.

“Well, won’t you look at the time! I love you, baby love!”,Yaa said in a hurry.

“I love you, too, Pumpkin. Gimme love.” The two of you did your secret handshake despite the distance and he hung up.

“K.D., you two are just too cute for words.”, your assistant Talia gushed as you handed her your phone.

You walked out of your dressing room along with Talia and your other assistant Jacqui to the backstage area.

When you got backstage, you found a mirror to check yourself out and posed for your OOTD post. Winston picked your outfit: simple black blouse with matching flared pants and a Tuskegee crimson and old gold striped ascot (your choice,of course). He even picked out the leopard pumps. That man had an eye for fashion. Your curly platinum locs were pulled neatly into a ponytail.

“Dr. Abdullah, you’re up in 60 seconds!”, you heard the PA announce. “Thank you!”, you replied. You took this time to recite your affirmation to yourself:

I am enough;I am here for a reason;I am here to slay; I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams!

Finally, you walked into the elevator as you heard the countdown and studio applause before hearing Jimmy’s introduction. “Welcome back! Our next guest is no stranger to shattering glass ceilings. In addition to graduating valedictorian of Yale Law School at the age of 23,yeah, twen-ty three, this past July, she became the youngest and the first Black woman to win the Richard T. Sheimbloom Award for Merit and Excellence in Law--the highest award for any lawyer in the world to receive. Please, help me welcome for the first time, Attorney Khalida Abdullah!”

The audience erupted into cheer, but not before the elevator door slid open to you doing that little Thotiana jig. You waved to the audience and gave them your brightest Miss Tuskegee smile. You strutted your way towards Jimmy and hugged him before sitting down. “Well...”, Jimmy began, “...happy Valentine’s Day and welcome to the show, Attorney Abdullah.” The audience continued their clapping and cheering.

“Thank you so much,Jimmy! Happy V-Day to you! Please call me K.D.. Can I just say that one, this is a dream come true to be on the show and two, I need to carry this audience in my pocket because they really--” they all screamed and you smiled as you glanced towards the audience once more, “--they really helped me overcome my nerves just now and this energy y’all are giving me is every damn thing to me.”

“Well, I’m happy that’s something that helped ease you. So let’s jump right on in: what made you want to become a lawyer?”

“You know, not a lot of people have asked me that question.”

Jimmy’s head bucked back in disbelief, “Really?”

“Yeah, so believe it or not, the OJ trial inspired me to go into law. I was about 5 years old and I see Johnnie Cochran, a Black man, and Marcia Clark, a woman, working the case. I guess I was trying to figure out why weren’t there any Black Women working this case. Even after the case, I didn’t meet a Black female lawyer until I was in college. Sometimes, you gotta be your own role model.” The audience applauded your answer.

“That’s something to really live by. Now fast-forward to this past July: what’s going through your mind before and after hearing your name called for the Sheimbloom?”

“Maaaaan, I was a complete wreck and a tad tipsy from the wine they put on the table. I had my umi and Winston’s hands in vise grips. For clarification, Winston Duke, y’know…”,you looked dead into camera 1, “...THICC DADDY M’Baku? Anyways, everything’s going in slow motion, so my reaction was about 10 seconds slower than what it should’ve been. Now, the Chairman didn’t actually announce my name per se.”

Jimmy and the audience laughed. “So...are you the 2018 Sheimbloom winner or not?”, he joked. “Jimmy, listen! Winston, along with some of his fellow Jabari actors, started barking like they did in the Warrior Falls scene? It wasn’t until Winston let go of my hand and literally took his scarf to bark did I realize I’d won.” The audience cheered as a picture of your raw reaction to winning appeared on the screen behind you. Your red eyes were bugged out, mouth ajar, both hands placed on your chest. That feeling of victory began tingling throughout your body all over again .

“How’s life after winning?”

“To be honest…I don’t really feel that much different. I worked that Monday after the ceremony and up until the middle of August because my partners essentially forced me on leave and sent me to L.A.”

“Why would they do that?” The audience laughed. You did too.

“Honey, I had been working like a madwoman from October up until they put me on leave.”

“Ah-a. So that leads me to the next question: what happened that night?” You smirked.

“Well, after giving my speech, I got whisked upstairs to take pictures with my award.” The screen behind you showed a picture of you holding your award up to your ear like a cell phone with one hand and showing off your rose gold slugs by pulling on your bottom lip with the other. You were squatting down and showing off your red sparkly pump.

“That’s one of the most epic pictures I’ve ever seen. What happened next?” The audience gassed you up with “Ow’s! and whistles..

“Wellllllllllllllll”, your toothy smile should have been the indication that it was about to go down, “I sneak away to the terrace for a breather because God knew I needed it. I’m out there and my Winston texts me asking me where I had gone, right? Long story short, he proposed. Afterwards, socialized for a little bit, and then Wins and I went to our favorite 24-hour diner like nothing even happened that night. So, that’s another reason I was out here in L.A.: he still lives here and we needed time to begin planning the wedding.” The audience went crazy with applause.

“So how’s the planning coming,”

“Uhh...it’s proving to be harder than we initially estimated. We don’t live together—he’s here in LA and I’m in DC. So with that being said, we can’t just meet at a central location at lunch and talk about flowers and what not. He’s big money now with his ever-filling schedule and I’m doing the damn thing too so we can’t just break. We try to reserve a weekend every month to devote our time and energy to planning. The few times we’ve actually come together, progress was def made.”

“One more question before the break: when’s the wedding date?”

You looked at him with your usual “Really, nigga?” face. “C’mon, Jimmy. I can’t just disclose something personal like that. We don’t want our special day to be a media circus. But the only thing I will say is that it’s in 2020.”, you teased.

“We’ll be back after the break.” The audience applauded until the director yelled “Cut!”

—————

“And we’re back! I’m here on this Valentine’s Day with the incomparable Khalida Abdullah, attorney and activist. Now earlier, you mentioned that your fiancé is none other than actor Winston Duke, who’s been on this show before.”, Jimmy explained. The ladies in the audience swooned.

“That’s correct! He’s currently doing press for his upcoming movie Us. Y’all should hit it up next month.”, you responded, trying to conceal the goofy smile forming.

“So one thing I failed to mention before the break was that you two are gracing the cover of Essence Magazine’s Black Love issue.”, Jimmy announced. The audience cheered. He propped the advance copy up that showed you and Winston posed together and serving faces.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, is it difficult being in a relationship with a man of growing international status?”

“Well, damn. I never even thought about that. Ummmm...no. If anything, our relationship is growing stronger. Life after Black Panther has, in a sense, caused us to strengthen our communication. I believe that our mutual communication is our greatest asset. We literally text each other our daily schedules and we have each other’s events and event reminders in other’s phones. We’re very transparent with one another.”

“So you don’t get jealous with other ladies throwing their panties at Winston?”

You shot Jimmy an unimpressed look. “Why get jealous when he’s in mine all the time?”, you said unphased, shrugging your shoulders, crossing your legs and drinking from your mug. The audience hooted and hollered.

"Welll, here's an Instagram picture of the two of you. Not quite like we just discussed but very cute. Does he get tired of the graduations and celebrations you drag him to? You taking his shine?"

A picture of you two came on the screen. It was the Instagram picture the two of you took at your graduation dinner this past spring. In your beautiful red off-shoulder African dress and doctoral cap and he in his khaki seersucker and unbuttoned white dress shirt, the two of you jokingly did the “prom pose” and he was kissing your neck. Your signature smile and red lip were on full display as you were mid-laugh. The audience awed as they felt the warmth and love you two shared in that moment.

“Nahhh...in his mind, he sees us as equally yoked. Whatever hustle I have, be it a speaking engagement, an award, or anything, he��s cheering me on 125%, and the same goes for me. So with anything in our lives, you’ll see one go all the way for the other. Metaphorically, no one has a bigger head between us.”

“But in the literal sense?”

“Oh, it’s definitely his ass.” Everyone including yourself burst out laughing. “Plus, it doesn’t hurt that we’re good arm candy for each other for events. I mean, look at us!”, you said enthusiastically as you pointed at the picture.

“Well, one more thing before we go: what’s on the agenda for Valentine’s Day?”, Jimmy inquired. You carefully thought about your answer. The thought of being away from your Teddy Bear on Valentine’s Day sucked ass.

“Well, unfortunately, he’s on his way to New York to tend to some business. Buuuut, in a perfect world, I’d be rushing to finish this interview and get ready to go out on a date or stay in, get into our pajamas, and watch Forensic Files all night long.”

“Well, once again, happy Valentine’s Day and congratulations on everything you’ve accomplished. Khalida Abdullah, everybody.”, Jimmy concluded. The audience stood up and cheered as you and Jimmy chatted it up until yhe break.

“Annnnd cut! Great job, Khalida!”, the producer yelled over the PA system.

“Not bad for your first interview.”, Jimmy complimented. You thanked him for the opportunity and were escorted backstage.

Jacqui was the first of your staff to welcome you backstage. “K.D. (you hated formalities with your staff), that was amazing! It’s crazy to think that you were terrified right before this and now look at you: mastered it like it was nothin’!”, she said as she hugged you deeply. You’d thanked her and you started walking back to your dressing room.

“I just wished that Wins could’ve been here, y’know?”, you whispered loud enough so Jacqui could hear. You opened the door and it hit something heavy, the door’s impact sounded as though the victim may have been a person. Your face scrunched in curiosity and your native New Orleans kicked in for this very moment. “Bitch, who the fuck?!”, you yelled. You stepped back to make sure you were going to the right dressing room. Yup, this is my dressing room. You slowly opened opened the door again.

Your confused expression remained on your face as you heard Ed Sheeran’s Perfect playing softly. The lights were dimmed just enough that you could see Winston standing in the middle of the room looking the fuck good as usual. You ran to him, tightly hugging his torso. He took in the sweet scent of your loc oil and perfume and kissed the top of your locs. He could feel your chubby cheeks complimenting your candy apple red smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Pumpkin.”, he whispered.

“You raggedy as fuck. Just want you to know that. I love you though. ”, you clapped back.

“I love you, too, but hoooooow?!”, Winston looked down into your teary light brown eyes. “New York, Winston? Really?”, you answered.

“Denver, Khalida? Really?, he shot back.

Silence. “Touché.”

Your staff recorded the entire exchange. Praise the ancestors for them. You looked over to the counter to see a large bouquet of your rose trifecta and Tropical Skittles, your personal favorite candy. Your favorite snack was sporting a burgundy suit with a tan turtleneck.

“Now, I was in a crunch trying to get here, but I figured you’d appreciate the Tropical Skittles over the originals, even though Skittles are your favorite regardless.”, he explained. You shook your head as you heard his explanation.

“God, I love you, Winston.” He kissed your fivehead before giving your lips the same attention.

“I love you even more, Pumpkin.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?”, you asked.

“Only twice in the past hour. ”, he teased. “Now come on—it’s half-past 4 and we need to get ready for the night ahead of us.”

“Welp, there goes that Forensic Files binge-a-thon I bragged about.”

Tag Listiana 🤷🏽‍♀️

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[mentalmimosa]

promise you won’t throw me out?

The reporter is a nobody. Nobody Bruce has ever heard of, that is. Big name newspaper sends no-name scribe; it doesn’t inspire confidence. Neither, when Bruce finally gets a look at him, does the man himself.

He’s tall and slouchy, this Clark Kent whoever. He’s got dark hair slicked back harder than concrete, big glasses that are somehow too big for his face. An awkward smile that goes a little crooked when they shake hands.

“Mr. Wayne,” Kent says. It almost comes out as a squeak. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He has to fight to turn on the charm; two cracked ribs and bruises the size of Man-Bat’s fists all over his body make it really damn hard. “Likewise, Mr. Kent. And all the way from Metropolis, no less. How was your flight?”

Kent freezes, his hand still caught in Bruce’s grasp. “My, er--?”

“Your flight. You took Wayne Airlines, I trust.” He trots out a smile, the sateen one that makes shareholders weak in the knees. “Don’t tell me if you didn’t; I don’t want to think any different. I want to like you, Mr. Kent.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. Or else I wouldn’t have agreed to this interview.” If his VP of Marketing hadn’t forced him to do it. A puff piece, of all things, a soft magazine feature, all in the name of building the brand. God, the things he did for his fucking shareholders. “Come on, drinks are in the library. Alfred will fetch us when dinner is served.”

Kent bobs his head, his cheeks candy-apple pink. “Uh, sure. Great. That sounds great.”

Except he won’t drink a drop. Not even a beer or the 20-year old scotch.”

“But it’s, uh, it’s fine, Mr. Wayne. You go right ahead.”

Bruce pours himself a double, heartburn be damned. Something tells him that he’s gonna need it.

“So,” he says, with a warmth he does not feel, “do you want to start the interrogation part of the evening now?”

“The interrogation?” Kent is drifting around a little, gawking at the shelves upon shelves of books.

“Yes.” There’s a hit of irritation; it sours the scotch. “You know, the question-and-answer period of the evening: my favorite food, my sad family history, what I’ll be wearing to the Wayne Foundation gala this year.”

“Mmm. Uh huh.”

“You have done this before, haven’t you?”

That gets Kent’s attention, a big blink of those guileless eyes. “Done what?”

“Conducted an interview.”

“Oh!” A wide, toothpaste smile. “Yes, of course I have, Mr. Wayne.”

He takes a sip of his drink. And another. Reaches for his favorite tactic, disarming . “You know, if you sat down and opened your notebook, Mr. Kent, I might let you call me Bruce.”

“Um?” Kent says. “You, ah. My notebook. Right. I should do that.”

It takes him two tries and another round of that blush before he’s got his pen poised, before he’s sitting in the wingback opposite Bruce and squaring his jaw. He can’t quite look Bruce in the face.

“This isn’t the formal part of the interview,” he says to the fire in the grate. “I mean, it’s part of it and all, it’s just--this is more a, um, more like a chat. So I can get a feel for you, for where the piece might go, you know. Then we’ll hit the more serious stuff when next week when I come back with my photographer.”

“Sure. I understand.” He waits until Kent braves a gaze. “Tonight’s more like a first date.”

The effect is immediate and frankly, hilarious: the guy turns the color of ketchup; his ears, his throat, the whole nine. And there it is, Bruce thinks, the one failsafe way he knew how to block the sting of a reporter, how to foil anybody who took Bruce Wayne at face value: flirt. It worked every damn time. He leans back in his seat and keeps hold of Kent’s eyes and thinks: sometimes, it’s too fucking easy.

“Oh,” Kent says faintly. “I mean, uh. That’s one way to put it. Metaphorically speaking.”

Bruce laughs. His drink’s made it easy. “So, Mr. Kent--”

“Clark. I can’t call you Bruce if you don’t call me Clark.”

“All right. Clark .” He draws the word out on his tongue. “What would you like to know?”

“How long have you lived in this house?”

“All my life. But that’s in the public records. You knew that. Try again.”

Clark squares his shoulders. Sits up a little straighter. “Ok. Who’s Alfred?”

“Technically, he’s my butler.”

“But un-technically? Or, ah, practically speaking, I guess.”

“He’s more like a father. He raised me after my parents died.” He waves a hand, takes in the tall shelves, the heavy console tables, their faded, sturdy chairs. “This was their house, you know. Well, my grandfather’s first. He built it right before World War I.”

“Do you like living here?”

“That’s an odd question.”

Clark tilts his head, his pen slack on the paper. “Is it? I don’t think so.”

“It’s my family’s home. Of course I like it.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s that mean, hmmm?”

“It means that what I’ve seen of this place doesn’t really jive with what I know about you.”

“And how’s that?”

“It feels like a museum, this place.”

He stares at the man, doesn’t have to fake sounding curious. “In what way?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It, ah. I mean, I haven’t seen much of it. Just the outside when I drove up. And the foyer, the hallway. This room.”

“And yet you’ve already formed an opinion which you’ve gone out of your way to mention.” He rolls his empty glass between his fingers. “So finish your thought, Clark. You’ve got me curious.”

“You promise you won’t throw me out?” A joke. Not joking.

“No,” Bruce says lightly. The same.

Clark tugs at his tie, a nervous little gesture that Bruce finds oddly charming. “This house feels like a shrine to the past,” Clark says, “like a fortress, almost. A place designed to keep you stuck back there, in the choices other people made. A place that kind of demands that you be alone.”

Bruce blinks, the air suddenly heavy. The crystal feels like lead in his palm. “Are you telling me I’m lonely, Mr. Kent?”

“I didn’t say that. Nobody that reads Page Six would, either. I think you have plenty of company when you want it.”

“Right.”

Clark’s glasses are slipping. He doesn’t seem to notice. “But I don’t think you stay in a place like this if you want to make people a habit, you know? Gotta be easier to go out and have a good time and then come home and close the world out behind locked doors and that big, iron gate.”

There’s no hesitation in Kent’s eyes now. The guy has eyes like lasers, like he’s seeing past Bruce’s face and into his soul. It’s damned unsettling. Especially because, he realizes with a start, Clark is pretty. How the hell had he missed it? Concentrating like this, his face not swallowed by black clunky frames, there’s a light in him, a spark, that makes the booze in Bruce’s belly turn over hot. He may be flighty, this Kent, a little all over the place, but right now, in the orange glow of Bruce’s hearth, one black wave falling over his forehead, his expression pointed curious, he’s also beautiful.

Bruce gets up and goes for the bar cart. Breathes. Never mind that he’s had too much already. Must have, if his brain is going in that particular direction. “That’s one way to read it, I suppose," he says. "An unnecessarily complicated and completely wrong one. But then that’s your job, isn’t it? Spin a story that sells newspapers rather than hands out the dull, everyday truth.”

Clark laughs. It’s deeper than Bruce would have guessed. “Or maybe you underestimate your own complicated nature, Bruce. Maybe you’re just selling yourself short.”

“Maybe.” He turns back to Kent, to the fire, and takes a long sip. “Maybe not."

[ecfandom]

New HC!!

Rehab AU

Lexa is a famed Hollywood director who is known for her evocative and thought provoking films. But she’s also known to be a lose canon and a little unhinged. She comes from a lot of hardship and busted her ass to get to the top, but not without...baggage.

That baggage explodes all over the floor when Lexa’s highly public breakup with her actress girlfriend is blasted all over the media. Lexa, known to drink and partake in things less than recreational, spirals into an all out bender. The media frenzy is UGLY.

Lexa hits rock bottom and is told that if she wants to continue working with this particular studio, she has to check into rehab. And when she does, the media forgets about her and she feels...alone.

And she’s always felt alone but maybe didn’t really notice it before? Or maybe she didn’t know it was loneliness. Maybe she thought that gnawing ache at her heart was just a product of who she was. But when she gets home after 6 months or rehab to her huge, empty house...well maybe she’s finally figuring out what lonely feels like.

But a day later when there’s a knock at her beach side mansion, she thinks lonely—anything, really—would be better than the girl standing at her front door with two suitcases and a box.

Clarke, as she comes to learn, is her mandatory, studio-appointed live-in post-rehab sobriety coach.

“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

“Afraid not,” Clarke says, her smile never fading. But Lexa didn’t spend decades training to not know when someone was faking it.

Not for the first time, Lexa is grateful her house is so big. It means she only has to see Clarke during her three mandatory, nutrient-packs meals and her two fitness sessions. As someone who was used to her own specifically crafted 6-day a week workout routine, the mandatory sessions with Clarke are maybe the worst part of her infringement on Lexa’s life.

Clarke, somehow, is always smiling no matter what vitriol Lexa spews at her. She’s resilient, Lexa will give her that. And it’s nice, sometimes, to not always be so alone. Clarke’s hands are soft on her sweaty forehead when she wakes up from nightmares. Her voice is pleasant as it coaxes her back to sleep. Somehow, in the  mornings after, Clarke always knows what Lexa wants to eat.

The more Lexa tries to resist, the more Clarke is there, and eventually, Lexa is too tired to keep fighting. The first time Clarke makes her smile is at the gym.

“Why don’t you show me YOUR routine this time,” Clarke says after an hour of Lexa’s typical moaning and groaning.

Clarke lasts all of twenty minutes and has Lexa’s lips twitching as she desperately tries to do a pull-up.

“A valiant effort.”

“I won’t quite.”

“Then for both of our sakes, let me help.”

Clarke let’s her take her by the hips and hoist her upwards. Lexa tries to ignore how nice the skin of Clarke’s hip bones feel beneath her palms.

Lexa still struggles. There are nights she thinks her skin might literally turn inside out if she doesn’t have a drink. It’s one of those nights and Clarke is at the store. Lexa wants so badly to run down to the gas station for some cheap liquor. A cigarette. Anything. But she thinks of Clarke’s face, how it would fall in disappointment the way it always does when Lexa broke any of her rules.

Lexa runs straight for the pool and jumps in, clothes and all.

The cool water soothes the pain down to a tolerable, dull ache. Clarke finds her there pretty quickly. She squats down by the side of the pool, a beautiful grin on her face as Lexa wades over to her. Lexa can’t quite keep herself from leaning into Clarke’s touch when the life coach runs her hand over Lexa’s forehead, pushing back a mess of wet hair.

“Whatcha doin?” She asks, and Lexa nearly loses herself in that sweet smile.

Lexa loves the balcony at night. It’s why she bought the house. The stretch of private beach, the waves against the rocky cliff side, the seagulls, the smell of salt and fish, the warm breeze. It’s all collides into perfection for nights spent on the balcony.

Clarke is licking ice cream off her fingers, has gotten to her pinky, before Lexa realizes she’s staring at the pretty girl with rosy cheeks and beach crazy hair. There’s nothing white like beach hair on the sweet, persistent woman.

Lexa clears her throat and looks away, picking at the skin of her thumbs. Clark’s hasn’t caught this bad habit yet, but Lexa has faith she will soon enough.

“Whatcha thinkin about?”

When Lexa looks up, Clarke is looking over at her, the fairy lights strung above their heads glistening in her eyes.

Lexa shrugs. “Just wondering when this will get easier. When I’ll stop craving everything that wants to put me in the ground. I’m just wondering when I stop being an addict and get to be a good person.”

“You’ll never stop being an addict, Lexa.”

It’s not said with malice, but still, somehow it’s hurts and it’s not what she was expecting. Not from Clarke. Her sweet, always smiling, always encouraging Clarke.

“You just have to train yourself to be addicted to something good for you. But you’ll never stop being and addicted. Once and addict, always an addict...”

It rings too personal for Lexa to miss. She looks up but Clarke isn’t looking at her anymore. She’s looking off across the ocean and seems like she’s miles away.

“Are you...” Lexa starts to ask, but Clarke shakes her head.

“I loved an addict. And he died. For a while, I thought it’d kill me too.”

Lexa doesn’t know what to say. Not that she could if she did. Not with her heart in her throat. Clarke loved an addict once. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Nodding, mostly to herself, Lexa excuses herself for the night and convinces herself that Clarke could never love her. It’s better that way.

If Clarke feels any differently about Lexa after their talk, she doesn’t show it. Lexa, however, can’t meet Clarke’s eyes.

It doesn’t take long for Lexa to remember what lonely feels like. Clarke is right there, but somehow, Lexa feels so alone.

Her therapy sessions are getting harder. She can tell Clarke senses it on their rides back. It’s on these rides in particular that Lexa wishes she could have her license back already.

Her therapist is ruthless and leaves no stone unturned.

“It’s time to talk about Aden, Lexa.”

Clarke sits there silent, for ten minutes, just staring out the window, challenging, refusing to talk.

“He was five when he died. You were?”

Lexa clenches her jaw.

“Fifteen, is that right?”

“I won’t talk to you about him. I won’t.”

“It was your birthday. You went to your family’s lake house. You didn’t know he had wondered down to the shore after dinner.”

“Stop.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Your parents, they shouldn’t have been drinking—“

“Enough!” Lexa doesn’t know she’s stood up until she finds her therapist looking up at her. She storms out, nearly breaking the front door as it slams open. Clarke jumps at the sight of her, jumping up to catch Lexa by the shoulders.

“Lex, hey, what’s—“

Lexa’s crying. She never cries, but she is. She’s crying and shaking her head and saying, “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Okay, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Clarke soothes, her hands now on Lexa’s cheeks. “Let’s get you home.”

Lexa sleeps for nearly twenty four hours. When she wakes and wanders into the living room, Clarke is waiting for her with a plate of fruits and veggies and cheeses. She’s made Lexa’s favorite smoothie. Her hair is down and wet, her cheeks flushed from a warm shower she must have just finished. Her shirt is thin and airy and she looks so wonderfully soft. Lexa relaxes as soon as she sees her.

“I made your favorite.” Clarke holds up the glass with a sort of nervous hopefulness to her that makes Lexa smile.

“Thank you.” She takes it and sips from it. It’s perfect and it makes her laugh.

Things aren’t fixed, but they’re better. Lexa has nightmares every night for two weeks, but somehow it feels like detox. Like after all the pain, she will finally find some closure.

It comes, or starts to, one night on the balcony. Clarke is sipping on a coke, Lexa on her healthy, fruit infused water, courtesy of Clarke.

“Who’s Aden?”

Clarke says it with no warning and Lexa quite nearly chokes on her strawberry water.

“You say his name. In your nightmares.”

“Clarke—“

“You don’t have to tell me. I just thought...it might be nice to talk about it.”

“The way you talk about your addict?” Lexa bites back.

Clarke pales and Lexa immediately regrets it. She gives an inch. “If you can’t talk about your dead boyfriend, don’t ask me about my dead brother.”

Clarke looks up at her, some shade of surprise on her face. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“Your husband then.”

“My father.”

“Oh.” Lexa shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I thought.”

“That’s why you left.”

“What? I never—“

“Maybe not physically, but you did leave. We had something, and I was just getting around to beating myself up for the ethical dilemma of it all, but you fixed that for me when you woke up one day and acted like you couldn’t even stand the sight of me.”

“I—“ but Lexa doesn’t know what to say. She shakes her head, trying to put it all together. Clarke liked her? Clarke LIKED her. And Lexa...Lexa messed it up. “You liked me?”

“You didn’t know?”

Lexa shakes her head.

“I think I may have been falling for you.”

“What?”

“You’re surprised?” Clarke asks with a chuckle. “Look at you.”

Lexa does which only makes Clarke chuckle again.

They sit there quiet for a while. Lexa’s still processing when she says, “He was five when he died. He was my baby brother. He should be graduating high school this year. But I couldn’t save him.” 

“Lexa--” 

“I turned to the very thing that killed him. My parents were drunk, and I turned around and fell right into line. What kind of bullshit? I mean, come on. Talk about bottom of the barrel.”

Clarke’s hand falls to her knee and Lexa nearly startles at how soft and gentle it is wrapped around her thigh. “Tendencies towards addiction are often hereditary, Lexa. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I can.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“Clarke—“

Lexa’s eyes fill with tears as she shakes her head. “I could have saved him. I should have noticed sooner. I should have been watching him.”

“You couldn’t have known, Lexa. Oh, sweet Lexa.” She grips Lexas face in her hands and wipes at her tears. “You don’t deserve this kind of agony. You don’t.”

“He was just a baby.”

“And you were just a child. A child, Lexa.”

Lexa swallows, staring into Clarke’s now wet eyes. She’s never seen anyone so beautiful.

They fall asleep on the balcony together that night, Lexa’s head in Clarke’s lap, Clarke’s fingers in her hair.

It takes a two weeks for them to end up on the balcony at night together again.  Clarke’s in the pool, Lexa at sitting on the edge with her feet in the water.

“I didn’t cheat on Costia,” she says suddenly.

“What?”

“My break up. The media. They said I cheated on her. I didn’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, frowning at her with a smile.

“I just needed you to know that.”

Clarke smiles again something small and sweet. “Okay.”

“Do you believe me.”

“I do. But does it really matter?”

“It does.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I was falling for you too.”

Clarke swallows, and wades over until she’s standing almost between Lexa’s legs. “And now?” She asks, her eyes cast down. Her eyelashes are sprinkled with water droplets and it makes Lexa’s breath catch.

“Now...I’m just hoping I don’t hit the ground before you catch me.”

Clarke laughs and it sounds like pure joy.

“Do you think...I could maybe kiss you?”

“Please,” Clarke breathes.

Lexa scoops her up under the arms and and hauls her into lap. The kiss isn’t great because neither of them can stop smiling, but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke chuckles, pulling back. “Can we do that again?”

Lexa grins and leans in, and this time, it’s perfect. When she pulls away to catch her breath, she can’t help but think back to Clarke’s words.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I can’t smile after kissing the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met?”

Clarke grins as she shakes her head.

“Alright. Well, I was just thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

“That I could spend the rest of my life being addicted to you.”