i’m new to girlblogging ig but not tumblr, i do have a fanfic account. i’m js looking to post random things about what i like!!
about me:
- i love music like lana del rey, ethel cain, ariana grande and sm others lol
- fandoms i’m active in on tumblr: peacemaker, the last of us, superman (2025), yellowjackets, lana del rey, movies in general and project hail mary/ryan gosling
ugh i keep having weird dreams about my ed where im either forced to eat something or i’m throwing up and something crazy happens to me it’s actually haunting me
(i’ve never done anything like this before btw!! 😭 but i tried staying as close to the canon as i could lol i didn’t rlly plan this i js wrote what came to mind)
pre-crash:
cecilia shipman is 16yrs old and on the junior varsity of wiskayoks high school’s football team, the yellowjackets. as shauna’s younger sister, she grew up alongside jackie taylor as a shy quiet girl who followed shauna like a shadow. however, shauna would never care for cecilia in the way jackie would. jackie, an only child, would happily braid cecilia’s hair and make daisy chains together on hot spring afternoons. jackie had even sworn to secrecy about cecilia falling of her bike in the 7th grade and her crush laughing at her silly love letter in the 9th. after her parents divorce, she began to spiral. as cecilia grew older, she noticed shauna was naturally more loved than her; smarter, prettier and so she desperately tried to impress their parents by joining the yellowjackets in hopes to outshine shauna. however, she couldn’t bring herself to care. she knows she doesn’t have a future outside of being a housewife in wiskayok. she’d rather skip soccer practice to smoke behind the bleachers with the latest boy she’d met at the gas station. halfway through her sophomore year, she started to date travis martinez to keep her spot on the jv. she never loved to boys she dated, she just craved the attention of being liked. however, travis changed her and as much as cecilia would hate to admit, she loved him. her middle school best friend akilah noticed her changing nature but couldn’t bare to let go of her closet friend who was now an innocent childhood memory she clung to.
post-crash:
cecilia secretly enjoyed the shake-up of the crash. it had given her hope that her fate was entirely cursed to the confines of suburban sorrow. she’d kept akilah close with their shared love for the animals; cecilia believed they were like the children of the wilderness she’d become a mother to and care for in exchange for food. she’d noticed her stupid bf, travis martinez, grow closer to natalie scatorccio and had swallowed her heartbreak down and turned to praying to the wilderness. she’d never been religious but secretly hoped mother nature was keeping them alive. after drunkenly falling by a river on doomcoming night and left until morning, cecilia realised no one was coming to save her and she had to rely on herself if she ever wanted to survive. she wasn’t inclined to make it home anymore but the disturbance to mundane life had made her begin to dream of what her life could be like. after jackie taylor’s death, her girlish rivalry with her sister became an insatiable anger towards shauna; she believed shauna was responsible for the death of the girl who’d really been there for her in a rough childhood. after consuming jackie, as provided by the wilderness, she began to think her rage was a superior moral awakening. shauna was keeping them suffering, keeping cecilia away from the life she deserved. jackie’s nutrients had been a blessing that led cecilia to realise her prayers and sacrifices to the wilderness would get her what she truly wanted. after becoming closer with lottie matthews, an older friend of shauna’s, cecilia became a muse for the prophetic cult leader, as lottie believed she was a host for the wilderness’ soul shown by her childhood connection to jackie taylor. cecilia’s devotion to lottie made her deranged, willing to do anything for her. to give her life to her. in the midst of her worship, cecilia knew that this was were she truly belonged, she was loved, she was a fucking creation of god.
death:
cecilia shipman, now 17 years old, takes her life for the wilderness. she belonged in the dirt for the bugs to devour her devotion. however, as lottie demanded her body be left to rot as a gift to the wilderness, a hunger grew inside the girls.
also here’s what i imagined for her doomcoming dress!!! and daily style, my girl is definitely not dressed for the wilderness
waittt i wanna see clark and reader on their first date!! and i know her dress is so freakin beautiful
this made me a little ravenous for first date clark!!
MOONLIGHT — Clark Kent
pairing: clark kent / f!reader. word count: 2.5k content: first date fluff. clark is disgustingly perfect. r wears a dress. kissing.
clark kent masterlist
You worried the hem of your dress enough that you had pulled a thread and snagged the fabric.
“Shoot.” You mumbled to yourself with the skirt pulled between your forefinger and middle to inspect it. (That’s the last time you placed a fast track order from an Instagram Ad again.)
It was a nice dress. Pretty, sat on your figure well. Completely out of your comfort zone but that was the whole point of a first date. And now? Now it had a ladder that—if you weren’t swarmed in nerves—you’d remember to cover with the satchel you brought to cling onto for moral support.
You and your flimsy excuse for a dress stood outside of a tall building, Destiny, Metropolis’ renowned Asian restaurant with five floors to it. Each floor with its own option of cuisine, you know, if you were a picky eater. Now, you hadn’t expressed that to Clark Kent when he had asked you out on a date with a bunch of tissues stuffed under his armpits from the perspiration you had caused him. But, he thought if he gave you five different options; one of them would stick.
There was the risk of it potentially backfiring in his face, because you might sway into the grounds of intimidation and pressure to select a singular floor, and you’d both be left a little frazzled and hungry.
Either way, you showed up.
You pulled your phone from your bag. 6:58PM.
Your eyes then scanned the surroundings around you in order to catch a glimpse of someone with a nervous disposition all neatly wrapped into a six foot four, broad shouldered man. There was no pressure of arriving on time—even when you had arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule—as you knew Clark had to wrap up his work schedule, bolt for the Metropolis Subway and make it to your side without it seeming as if he hadn’t broke into a muscle burning sprint to get there.
Stepping back on your heel to allow some post-work grumblers past, you managed to spot the very person you had been thinking about in the flurry of foot traffic. Your neck extended in a meek attempt to get his attention, you raised your hand in the air with a warm smile to match as his blue eyes caught sight of you in the Metropolis hustle and bustle.
Clark perked up in an instant. Shoulders squared, he weaved through the crowd with a few apologies falling from his mouth. He looked down at you and let out a hefty sigh of relief, “You made it.”
“You did say 7PM.” You teased.
“You look—You look beautiful.” Clark used all his restraint to not drag his eyes up and down your body as you thanked him, in a dress that looked as if it had been poured onto you to accentuate your curves. You wouldn’t mind if he did, sort of the point. Aside from feeling good about yourself. Clark blinked a murky thought away and spoke, “Oh—These, uh, these are for you.”
He sheepishly held out a bouquet of flowers that had seen better days. Pretty, in a droopy way.
Clark jumped at the chance to explain his sad excuse for flowers. “They got caught in the doors of the subway, and I didn’t have time to buy another bouquet without making myself late.”
He was endearing.
You beamed and took them from his grasp, “It gives them character. I love them. Thank you.”
Onlookers may have felt nauseous at the scene unfolding, if they cared to take a minute out of their day to observe their surroundings. They’d see two strangers, absolutely besotted by each other, eyes filled with warmth, fingers itching at their sides to have the smallest human connection in the form of pinkies linked, or a big smooch on the lips. (Something Clark had been often caught thinking about at his desk.)
The catch was: this was only the first date.
“Have you ever been to Dynasty?” Clark asked after clearing his throat.
“No. But, I’ve heard good things about General Tso’s chicken.” You shrugged and tried to put as little pressure on Clark for handpicking the place for your first date. Both of you fell into step as you continued, “Have you?”
Clark nodded. “Yeah. I—Well, I actually came here myself the other day to test it out.”
This made you frown in minor confusion.
“Test it out?” You repeated back to him as you reached the door to the building.
“Well, you know. I wanted to make sure it was perfect. For you.” Clark opened the door and gestured for you to walk in first. He offered you an amused smile when you stared at him wide-eyed, “My stomach hurt after the third floor.”
Oh. He tested all five floors for you.
Clark Kent was exceeding all your expectations and it hadn’t even been five minutes of his time spent with you.
After that, Clark responded to everything in the most gentlemanly way possible. Every door had been opened for you, and once you had picked a floor out of the five, Clark’s hand ghosted your back as the server guided you through the rows upon rows of seats to the very back booth, tucked away from the rest of the entourage. He even allowed you to scooch along the plush seat of the booth before he slotted himself next to you, a sudden yelp eliciting from the back of his throat when he almost flipped the table when his knees knocked the underside of it.
You exchanged stories—Clark visibly hanging onto every word you said—you laughed together, shared your food and somewhere in between the main course and dessert, the proximity between the pair of you was closer than ever before. Now, you were entering dangerous territories of never returning to a time before Clark Kent. Something you were OK with never looking back on.
Stomach bursting at the seams, you leant back in the booth comfortably with your eyes willingly closing for a moment. Clark had waved the server as you did so, his head turning to you to admire you in such a tranquil state; a smile splitting on his face, dimples and all, when you peeked an eye open to look at him too.
“I’m in a very vulnerable state right now, Clark Kent.” You joked, hands on your stomach, “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I was just enjoying the view.” Clark retorted so casually you almost got whiplash. He threw you a smug grin and fished his wallet out of the pocket inside his suit jacket as the server approached.
You sat up and began to dig into your own satchel. “I can pay half.”
“No you won’t.” Clark mumbled in a monotonous tone, as if it was common knowledge that your purse was not to leave the confines of your satchel. The transaction went through with a ping and the server bid you both a goodnight, leaving Clark and you to your own devices.
“Thank you. For paying.”
Clark shrugged. “It’s the least I could do when you said yes to going on a date with me.” He stood, his hand outstretched for you to take. “We’ll call that even now.”
You stood and tugged at your dress, taking mind of the ladder at your side and let out a laugh, “Are you comparing me to a three course meal?”
Clark went pink. His tie suddenly victim of a sudden attack of fidgeting fingers as he gawped through the fumble of his words.
You intentionally squeezed past him and the table, bodies flush against each other momentarily before you put space between the both of you with a mischievous glint in your eyes; something that sent Clark internally reeling.
“Relax. I’m kidding.” You reassured, “Do you want ice cream?”
(Clark was positively astonished at your appetite, but then he reminded himself he just had a three course meal, plus your leftovers, and was still starving at the sight of you in that dress.)
He nodded with enthusiasm and it led to the both of you strolling through Metropolis with the sunset replaced with pretty moonlight and an ice cream shared between you.
Clark paid for it after nudging you out of the way of the cashier’s register.
The conversation dipped into a comfortable silence. Neither of you had run out of things to talk about, even if it meant turning to work, but the moment felt right to just bathe in each other’s presence. Clark fed the ice cream on the littlest plastic spoon, into your mouth and you hummed with gratitude; not realising any sort of satisfied noise that came from your mouth had Clark white-knuckled and a little dizzy.
He had counted about ten of those moments throughout the night. Why had he picked food as the first date? It felt like a cruel punishment.
Shaking him from his rather lewd thoughts, you let out a gasp of excitement, finger pointed in front of you. “A photo-booth!”
Clark followed your finger to see a tattered old stall with a velvet curtain.
“You want to go in?”
You scrunched your nose, “Would that be weird? It’s a little weird, right?”
“Not weird.” Clark reaffirmed, “I’ll take some photos with you. You said you like the sentimental value of things like this.”
Alright. Clark Kent was about to be kissed silly.
You wrapped your fingers around his forearm and dragged him to the photo-booth, halting when you yanked the curtain back to reveal a tiny stool with barely any room for just one person. Let alone two. One being enormous in all the right ways.
There was a little deflation in your shoulders that Clark furrow his brow until he saw what you were staring at. With little deliberation—because Clark Kent was seizing the moment—he brushed past your body and sat on the stool that may, or may not have creaked under the weight of his body.
Clark looked up at you, his bottom lip jutted out a little with innocence plastered across his face before he patted his thigh.
Pat, pat.
You blinked at him.
“Are you coming in, or what?”
Unbelievable.
When you took one step forward, Clark’s hand snaked around your hip and guided you into his lap. For stability, you wrapped one arm around his neck, hand twitching on his shoulder as he reached to pull the curtain shut.
His hand remained on the curve of your hip, his own fingertips fiddling with the fabric of your dress as his other hand came to tap on the screen to get the whole thing started.
“Alright.” He mumbled, his hips raised—and you with them—as he pulled out some money to slot into the machine. It gave a mechanical whir and Clark shuffled the both of you in the seat. “What faces should we make?”
Part of your brain was short-circuiting. This wasn’t like you. You were direct, you were the mouse in the game of Cat and Mouse. Mischievous, always one step ahead and here Clark Kent was, the man who tripped over air and flushed a shade of pink whenever you smiled at him; rendering you speechless.
“Um.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, the timer counting down to the first picture being taken, “Just a smiley one. Right?”
“Sure.”
The camera flashed the most obnoxious light in your faces as you both smiled, heads tilted together. The timer reset for the second time and you mulled over your choices, Clark being the one to suggest funny faces.
Flash! Reset.
“OK.” You warmed up, “Let me wear your glasses.”
Clark hesitated, “Oh, uh—” Flash! He groaned, “Oh, sorry, sweetheart.”
You waved it off. Part of you desperate to cling back to the advantage you usually had on Clark’s senses. The timer ticked and you had a lightbulb moment.
You grinned wickedly, fingers curled into the knot of Clark’s pink tie in order to loosen it. Clark took a harsh swallow as you fluttered your lashes at him, his fingers curled into your hip now.
All roads were going to lead to this moment. At some point. You just had to coax it out of its obvious hiding place.
Your nose nudged against Clark’s, your plush lips ghosting his as he licked his own in anticipation. The photo-booth suddenly felt a little smaller, in the best way possible.
“This could be for research purposes.” You whispered and Clark hummed for you to elaborate. “You know. To make sure for any future photos taken, that we look good kissing.”
“Research purposes.” His eyes were set on your lips.
You nodded slowly, “Don’t you journalists enjoy the whole boots on the ground journalism?”
Suddenly, the timer had been forgotten about as Clark pressed his lips against yours in the much anticipated kiss. You both moulded against each other, breaths shallow until the kiss deepened and your heads were swarmed with blind infatuation. When you tugged at the curls at the nape of Clark’s neck, he let out a whimper and you smiled against his lips; feeling rewarded.
He was good. At being a journalist, a good person with good morals, a good date. And, to put the cherry atop of the very tall cake of why Clark Kent was a good person…he was even insanely good at kissing.
You both then realised how easy it was to get lost in each other, and Clark was happy to destroy any map that led him away from you.
Click! Flash!
You pulled away from Clark at the sound of purring from the photo-booth, smiling sweetly as he peppered kisses along your jawline in lieu of your lips.
A strip of black and white photos spat out of the dispenser and you bent at the waist to snatch them for inspection. With your back pressed against Clark’s chest, you held the photos up so he could look at them too. The third photo made you both chuckle, caught in the middle of a plan to wear Clark’s glasses, his eyes widened with a frown at the proposition you had made about removing the glasses from his face.
That was a conversation for another day. A rainy one. Not in a photo-booth. Or in a public setting, preferably.
“These are great.” You stated, admiring the moments captured on your first date. You pointed to the last photo, “Oh! Look, we do look good kissing.”
“That’s a good omen. For future photos.” Clark nodded, his glasses partially fogged from the intense make-out session you had just engaged in.
When you turned to smile at him knowingly, because both of you knew what sort of statement he was making in that brief sentence, Clark returned the smile with a gentle squeeze against your hip, just above the laddered fabric from your anxieties pre-date.
He sniffed, leaning forward to slot more money into the machine as he spoke, “Want to try opposite sides? See if we look good kissing from a different angle.”
It took five more tries for Clark to eventually green light that you looked stupidly good when you kissed.
