13) Who initiates duets? and who is the better singer?
Clarke and Emori initiate the duets - Clarke is the best singer, but Bellamy carries a tune better than Emori. She makes up for it in enthusiasm though
17) Who is more protective?
Bellamy loves his girls. But Clarke and Emori would protect him by any Slytherin means necessary
21) Who cuts the others hair?
Clarke would cut Bellamy’s hair, Emori would tell him when he needs to cut it. And I can picture Emori trusting Bellamy to cut her hair (and the result being definitely not as bad as he thinks)
Bellamy POV of One Deep Breath, One Big Step, please and thank you! <3 Happy holidays, Chash!
Original fic here!
If Bellamy had to define his relationship with Clarke Griffin in three words, it would be would be with these: he knows better. He thinks that when he first sees her with the Sig-Kaps, who don’t like him, and when he starts talking to her, and when he realizes she’s a freshman and not just a junior he hadn’t met yet. The whole night, he’s reminding himself that he’s smarter than this, and he absolutely should not be letting himself be mildly charmed by a drunk eighteen-year-old. He’s done with hooking up, after all, done with coming to these things to get laid. So if he could just enjoy talking to Clarke without noticing the mole on her lip and the cut of her top, he’d actually be in good shape. Friendship. Friendship would be good.
But he likes her, and he knows better. He certainly knows better than to be friendly when she finds him at the coffee shop, but not being friendly feels unthinkable. She looks more her age in the light of day, a nervous freshman who’s still figuring out where she belongs. So he ignores the rational voice that’s telling him Clarke is a rich sorority girl who’s going to lose all interest in him as soon as she settles in at Ark and asks, “So, did you pledge?”
“Yeah.”
“Sigma Kappa Upsilon?”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip, watching him. “You know Anya, right?”
He has no idea why that would be a significant question, but there’s no reason to lie. “Kind of. Not very well. She seems cool.”
“Yeah, I like her.”
They lapse back into silence, a second opportunity for him to not encourage the friendship, to stop getting to know her. If they sit here awkwardly long enough, she’ll definitely give up.
Instead, he asks, “So, how’s your first semester aside from the sorority? I assume you have classes.”
“No, it’s all Greek life, all the time. Just like in Sydney White,” she adds, with a smirk, and he feels his stomach sink.
This isn’t going to turn out well for him.
*
Bellamy knows where he fits in the Ark social scene. He’s accepted by Delta Nu and tolerated by everyone else. He’s fun at parties, good as a drinking or video game partner, a fun person to hook up with. The students like him, but as soon as he tells them he’s not actually one of them, he feels like something changes.
He’s an outsider, and even if they like him, everyone is aware that he’s on a different path than they are. And it’s definitely worse this year, when the people who are his age, his theoretical peers, are getting ready to graduate and move on. Even if Miller doesn’t leave, like he’s hoping not to, it’s still this huge step that Bellamy isn’t taking.
Maybe that’s why he likes Clarke. A new person with four years of school left, someone to attach himself to once Miller’s moving on to bigger and better things.
The fact that he prefers that explanation to having a mild crush on her is another warning sign, as is the way his heart soars when she shows up at Delta Nu house while he’s playing beer pong.
He knows better. He fucking knows.
She’s in the crowd when the game finishes, trying to fight her way over to him, and the simple, stupid truth is that he wants to hang out with her, so he’s going to. He can be fraternal, maybe. He’s a good influence. He’s wise.
Yeah, right.
“Quitting while you’re ahead?” Miller asks. “Dude, don’t be–” Then he spots Clarke. “Oh, yeah, I got it.”
“Shut up,” he says, automatic, and ignores everyone until he gets to her.
Then he flips them off, for good measure.
But he greets her with a smile and a, “Hey.”
“Hi. Congratulations.”
“Yeah, me and Miller are the best.” If she’s going to be hanging out at Delta Nu, she probably should know Miller; as a general rule, he trusts the guys in Delta Nu to be respectful of women and keep an eye out to make sure no one’s doing shady shit, but he wouldn’t mind Miller being extra aware.
Miller must be on the same page, because he’s already on his way over. Or he just wants to be a dick.
Bellamy pulls him in for introductions. “Hey, this is Clarke. She’s pledging Sig-Kap.”
“Hi, Clarke.” He glances at Bellamy, clearly calculating exactly how much of a dick he wants to be about the whole thing and going with decently dickish. “You know you can impress people playing drinking games, right? You don’t have to stop doing it when they show up.”
Either Clarke’s going to figure it out or Miller is, and Miller is safer, so he rolls his eyes. “No. Tell me more about how smooth you are.”
If he was actually trying to hit on Clarke, he would have gone with it, so Miller narrows his eyes, just for a second. But he’s a good friend, so when Bellamy tells him to shut up, he just shakes his head and takes off with a wave. Bellamy claps him on the back in gratitude, and Miller can’t resist one final sharp look.
They’ll get drunk and talk about feelings later, probably.
“How old is your sister?” Clarke asks, like she’s been trying to come up with a conversation starter for a while and finally landed on that. He can’t be sure someone told her he’s not a student and is kind of a townie weirdo, but he thinks they must have. He hopes they did, because he doesn’t want to have to do it himself.
“Sixteen,” he tells her.
“Are you guys–” She falters, and he’s just enough of an asshole to not bail her out. He wants to find out how she finishes the sentence without his help. “I assume she doesn’t live in the Delta Nu house.”
He has to laugh. “Definitely not. It’s, uh–it’s just her and me. Don’t tell me no one in your sorority warned you about me,” he adds. He’s sure they did, from her careful tone, but she’s being polite about it. And she was clearly trying to not be a dick, because she winces at the question.
He bumps her shoulder, companionable. She’s still talking to him and trying to be cool; just because she’s awkward, he’s not going to hold it against her. She was awkward before too.
“You can just tell me what you know,” he tells her, smiling. “It saves me some trouble.”
Her eyes flash, and she squares her jaw like she’s going to fight him. “You don’t go here and you don’t date college girls. So I shouldn’t bother. No one talked about your sister at all. Which is why I’m asking you.”
He has to laugh. It’s not like she’s wrong; he’s not sure anyone else but Miller even knows he has a sister. “Yeah, we live a few blocks off campus. My mom worked in dining services, so I grew up hanging around college kids. When Miller came here after high school, I wasn’t going to just stop hanging out with him, so–I’m kind of an honorary Delta. At least through the end of this year.”
“What happens at the end of this year?”
“Miller graduates, Murphy stages a coup and becomes the new president and kicks me out.”
“As long as you have a plan. What do you do? When you’re not an honorary Delta.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, dining services, actually. I accidentally tricked some girls from Tau into thinking I was on work study one time, but I’m a civilian. The supervisor liked my mom, so he hired me when she died. And I have some part-time stuff too. Whatever I can, mostly.”
“When did your mom die?” she asks, and he can see her immediately regretting it. “Unless that’s weird.”
“A little. Mostly because we’re in the middle of a frat party,” he adds, because getting to know Clarke sounds so much better than anything else he could be doing tonight. “You want to take a walk?”
It’s a nice night, starting to feel a little like fall outside, and he feels better being out in the open air. When he’s not looking to hook up, frat parties are a lot less fun. Not that there’s anything wrong with friendship, but–when all his friends were trying to get laid and he was trying to hang out, it got kind of old.
Clarke’s the first one to speak. “You don’t have to tell me about your mom. I was just curious. I was fifteen when my dad died, so–”
He grins. “Nothing says fun party activity like dead parent stories. I was a senior in high school,” he continues, sobering a little. “Already eighteen, so that was lucky. We don’t really have any other family, so I got O without anyone fighting me for her.”
“What about your dad?”
“Never in the picture. O’s was for a while, but he left, and then he got killed in a car accident when I was–” He pauses, trying to remember. He never much cared about his sister’s dad. The guy was an asshole. “I don’t know, twelve? It didn’t matter much, except that monthly child support turned into a lump sum. That’s O’s college fund.”
“What about you?”
That is the million dollar question, the one that’s been getting louder and louder. “I might try for trade school. Or maybe community college, once O’s set. I don’t know. I don’t want to work here forever, the pay sucks and it’s boring.”
She thinks it over for a second, and then asks, “Which dining hall do you work in?”
The subject change is welcome, and the conversation flows easily, after that, even with a reference to his sexual prowess that nearly makes him choke. But Clarke’s tone is teasing, and even though he knows better, he lets himself think she really does want more than sex. Sorority girls have friends. And the two of them seem to have a lot in common, somehow.
“So, what are you going to do with all this?” he asks. They ended up in the park, sitting next to each other on the swings, drifting. It feels a lot like how he thought college would be, if he’d gone. Maybe even more than going to the frat is.
“All what?”
“College and the sorority. All your legacies. What do you want to want to do with all that? Do you have a major yet?”
“Not yet. My mom wants me to go pre-med, but I don’t know if I really want to.”
“Is she a doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“So if you go to her college, pledge her sorority, and follow her career path–”
He can see her face twist, even in the dark. “Pretty much, yeah. It’s not like–she has a good life, she’s happy. But that doesn’t mean I want to be her.”
“Do you want to be a doctor?”
“I don’t know. I’m not against it, but–honestly, I don’t know what I want to be yet. But I know how much of a time and money suck med school is, so I should probably figure it out before I go.”
“Probably yeah.”
She kicks her legs up, starting to actually swing instead of just drift. “I guess I have time, right? I’m at the very beginning of my sorority movie.”
He laughs, starts swinging himself. “Exactly. You need to get back?”
“Nah.” She smiles. “Like I said, I have time.”
*
On Wednesday, she shows up at Mech toward the end of lunch, shifting like she’s not sure she’s really supposed to be there. The dining hall isn’t that close to Greek Row, but it’s not like he doesn’t see people he knows here all the time.
“Class?” he offers, giving her the out.
“Yeah, my English class is in Hubbard. I usually just skip lunch and go to the library, but that’s just wasting my meal plan, right?”
“And generally unhealthy, yeah. Don’t skip meals, Clarke.”
“Thanks.” She hands over her card. “I’ve got English on Friday too, so I guess I need to eat then too.”
“Again, yeah, you should be eating three meals a day. How did you get to college without knowing how to eat? Also, if you’re going to be a doctor, you should definitely learn how nutrition works.”
She grins. “So I’ll see you on Friday?”
“I better, yeah.”
And he does. Clarke starts hanging out with him a few times a week, not just at parties, but at the coffee shop, at the dining hall. He even takes her home for dinner, talks through bisexuality with her and even talks about his own ambitions. It doesn’t feel quite like a friendship, but it feels closer and closer.
If he’s honest, he’s trying to keep it from crossing that line. She has problems, he helps her out. Like a big brother, probably.
Love you too, dork is definitely something Octavia’s said to him. She’s never told him any of her friends think he’s hot, but she probably wouldn’t, because she doesn’t want to feed his ego. The fact that Clarke’s the one saying those things doesn’t mean anything. Especially not when she’s clearly drunk.
Especially not when she’s heading home with a girl.
It’s good news, really. If Clarke gets a girlfriend, his life will absolutely improve. He’ll stop thinking she’s cute, and she’ll probably lean on him less for support. It’s good. Definitely, without question, unambiguously good.
Miller: you haven’t asked about your freshman in like ten minutesdid the sleepover kill you?
Me: She leftShe texted meBut good job keeping an eye on herYou should never have a pet
Miller: I knew she leftI just didn’t know you diddon’t take our your annoyance that she’s getting laid out on me
Me: I’m always for people getting laidBut I’m sorry I doubted youYou can get a pet
Miller: Thanks, I was really worriedGood luck with the party
Me: I’ll probably live.
Of course, he’s being over-dramatic. The slumber party doesn’t actually have much interest in him, and he’s really just there to be an adult who is available in case of emergency. He doesn’t get a ton of sleep, because they definitely stay up all night giggling and aren’t as good at regulating their voices as they think they are, but they leave fairly early, and he even gets asked to pick up a late shift, so he won’t take a loss on making time-and-a-half.
He wasn’t really expecting Clarke, but of course she shows up anyway, with coffee and muffins. She looks good, better rested than he is, bright and upbeat, and he can’t help a small scowl.
She beams wider. “You look more hungover than I do.”
“Teenage girls are loud, Clarke.”
“I’m a teenage girl.”
It’s true, but it doesn’t feel true. It’s less a matter of maturity and more just an air she’s got. She is eighteen, but he has trouble imagining her squealing at a slumber party. She’s the one at parties reminding everyone to drink enough water. “You’re basically thirty,” he tells her. “And you don’t hang out in my house squealing in the middle of the night.”
“I could start if you want.”
“Tempting. Seriously, what are you doing here? Did you just want to brag about how you got laid?”
For the first time, her smile falters, and she looks nervous. “I’m going to the airport right after class on Tuesday, so if I didn’t see you this weekend, I wasn’t going to until after the break. So here I am.” She holds up her bag. “With muffins.”
The reminder is unexpectedly painful. “I forgot you were leaving soon. Isn’t it just like a week?”
“I still wanted to say goodbye before I left. Are you busy?”
“They called to see if I could do the afternoon shift, so I’m going in to work at two. But nothing until then. I just figured you had better things to do this morning than hang out with me.” He smirks. “Like get laid.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly not impressed. “You’re trying to gossip, you don’t get to make fun of teenage girls.”
“Not gossiping. Just checking in.”
“Uh huh. I feel comfortable identifying as bisexual now.”
“Congrats.” He takes a sip of coffee, getting his own reaction in check. It’s not a big deal. “Are you going to see her again?”
“We go to the same college, Bellamy. We’re not going to date,” she adds, when he prods her foot with his. “She’s aro, so looking for a relationship even less than you are.”
He shouldn’t argue the point, but he can’t help it. “I never said I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m just not looking very hard.”
“Well, she’s not. So I can get laid if I want, but, yeah. Not a girlfriend.”
“Is that okay?”
It’s her turn to kick him. “Stop worrying. It’s fine. I didn’t want to date her. If she was looking for a relationship, I wouldn’t have hooked up with her.”
“No?”
“She’s cool, but–no romantic feelings. It happens, right?”
He knows better than to be happy about it, but he is anyway. “It happens,” he agrees, and settles in next to her, trying not to smile.
*
“So, have you asked Clarke out yet?”
Bellamy nearly hits his head on the fridge, but he manages to not.
In all honesty, it’s amazing that it’s taken her so long to make fun of him about Clarke. It’s a lot of restraint, for Octavia.
“Or is this asking you Clarke out?” she goes on. “Romantic dinner, Christmas presents–”
“It’s not me asking her out.”
“Good. It was going to be super awkward with me here.” She leans against the wall. “Seriously, what’s happening? You’ve never done anything like this before. For anyone. And she’s–”
“She’s what?” he asks.
“I don’t know. She probably doesn’t know she’s getting special treatment, you know? She just thinks you’re like this.”
“I am like this,” he says, frowning. “She’s my friend, she’s not taking advantage of me. This was my idea.”
“Your friend,” she repeats. “Because you invite Miller over for fancy meals all the time.”
He closes the fridge with a sigh. “What’s your point here, O? I like her, yeah. If she wanted to date me, I’d say yes. But she doesn’t, and she’s not leading me on. I know exactly where I stand with her.”
“I don’t know, I think if you just asked her with, you know, words, instead of just deciding she’s not interested. Because she’s coming over here all the time too. Like, I wouldn’t hang out with a guy this much if I didn’t want to date him.”
“It’s different in college,” he says.
“How would you know?”
He shoves her head. “Go do literally anything else.”
“Ask her out!” she calls over her shoulder. “It beats being weird.”
Not that he’d ever tell his sister, but he is a little nervous about the whole thing. He thinks Clarke does like him, genuinely, really is his friend, but it’s not as if O was wrong either. He doesn’t do this stuff for Miller or any of his other friends.
He definitely isn’t going to miss any of them as much as he’ll miss her.
It’s nothing he wants to think about, so he throws himself into the food preparation, gets so in the zone that he misses Clarke arriving completely until she says, “Octavia’s making me help.”
He whirls to see her leaning on the door frame, arms crossed over her chest. There’s a little snow melting in her hair, and winter break is going to feel endless, with her gone.
“Shit, I didn’t even hear the doorbell. Hi.”
“Hi. You look incredibly busy.”
“It’s a celebration.,” he says, trying not to feel too weird about it. “I’m going all-out.”
She goes over to wash her hands; she’s helped him with enough meals by now that she knows the drill. “It’s my first semester. If you go all out for this, I’m going to need a week-long cruise for graduation.”
His mouth goes dry at her casual tone, the easy assumption that he’ll be involved in her graduation celebrations. Octavia’s right, he could just ask her out.
But he knows better. He always knows better.
“To clarify,” he tells her, “this is as good as it gets. Every time we have something to celebrate, I’m going to make you dinner. That’s it. We’re not going to escalate.”
She bumps her shoulder against his. “I wasn’t really expecting anything, so it’s hard to be offended to find out you’re going to cook me a nice meal whenever you feel like I deserve it instead of getting more and more elaborate.”
He ducks his head. “Yeah, when you put it like that, I guess I’m good.”
They have dinner and exchange presents, and he falls asleep on her watching a movie. She wakes him up to take her home, which is appreciated, even if he spends the whole walk back wishing he could reach over and take her hand.
He’s never felt like this before. He’s not actually prepared for it.
“So, you’re back like–early January?” he asks, because it’s either that or leaving, and he’s not ready for that yet.
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” He nods, once. It’s not actually awkward, it just feels that way. “Have a good break. Merry Christmas, happy–”
He barely catches the fond expression in her eyes before she’s tugging him down. It’s not the kiss he’s half-expecting, but instead just a hug, her arms warm around his neck. It’s been a while since someone actually hugged him like this, a proper hug instead of a quick, drunken squeeze of victory from Miller, and it’s–nice.
Maybe Octavia’s right. Maybe he should ask.
“Try to take three consecutive days off, okay?” she says, into his neck.
“No promises. Happy New Year,” he adds, making himself let go.
She smiles. “Happy New Year.”
Octavia’s on the couch watching Netflix when he gets back, and he sits down next to her, picking up the copy of The Golden Compass Clarke gave him.
“I should maybe ask her out,” he admits.
“Yeah,” she says. “You think?”
*
“I’m in love with Clarke,” he tells Miller, on New Year’s Eve. He and Clarke have been texting the whole night, and he misses her exactly as much as he thought he would. It’s the worst.
“I’m gay,” says Miller, without missing a beat.
Bellamy snorts. “Okay, yeah. You knew. Everyone knew. I don’t think she knows.”
“Yeah, you’ve been trying pretty hard to keep her in the dark.” He leans over to clink his beer against Bellamy’s. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a hot guy who can legally drink. Literally any college freshman in the universe would be all over that.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t really want her all over this,” he admits. “Not like–”
“You’re in love with her. I got that. She’s crazy about you,” Miller adds. “Like, I wouldn’t worry about it. Just ask her out, maybe don’t go right into a confession, but–yeah. You’ll be fine. Welcome to having feelings.”
“It sucks,” he mutters, and Miller pats his shoulder.
“Like I said, you’ll be fine. Drinking solves everything,” he adds.
“Cheers to that,” he says, and lets himself be distracted.
*
He knows when Clarke gets to campus, obviously. She texts when her plane takes off and when it lands, and when she asks if she can come over, he’s not sure if he’s more excited or more nervous. This is when he’s supposed to do something, he knows that. This is when he’s supposed to tell her.
“Clarke’s coming over,” he tells Octavia.
“Shocking. If you’re going to hook up, do it in your room.”
“I’m still probably too much of a failure to make a move,” he admits. “But thanks as always for your support.”
Part of him wants to do something special, get changed or try to get his hair in order. Buy her flowers, maybe. This is uncharted territory for him.
So he just waits on the couch with his sister, trying not to glance at his phone every five seconds with limited success.
When the door buzzes, he jumps, and Octavia is definitely snickering at him, but he doesn’t care. He’s a lot more concerned about acting like an even slightly normal person in front of Clarke.
“You know better,” he tells himself, and manages what he hopes is a normal smile for her. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the cold, and the wispy curls of her hair are framing her face.
She opens her mouth, closes it, and then blurts out, “Hi, I’m in love with you.”
For one wild, confused second, he thinks he must have dropped into some weird alternate universe, where he heard his own words in her voice, because that’s been on repeat in his brain for weeks, but it doesn’t make any sense.
Clarke realizes what’s happening before he does, and she’s tripping over her tongue as she tries to apologize, “Sorry, that really wasn’t what I was going to say, I was going to–”
He snaps out of it all at once, laughs and kisses her, and she kisses back, and it’s not the best kiss he’s ever had, but they can probably work on that when they’re not on his doorstep and smiling like idiots.
“Whatever else you were going to say, I hope you meant that,” he teases, wrapping her up in his arms. He really fucking missed her.
Clarke hugs back, settling in like she’s just as relieved as he is. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He presses a kiss to her hair. “I, uh–fuck, Clarke. I’m crazy about you. I missed you so much. And I’m–”
Octavia clears her throat, and Bellamy remembers with a guilty jolt that not only is she here, but she told him not to do this. Clarke didn’t even know, and she jumps away, blushing. “You’re in the living room,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Hi, Clarke. Bell has his own room. You guys don’t have to make out in front of me.”
“We’re not–” he starts, and then remembers that he kind of wants to. A lot. “I guess privacy wouldn’t be bad?” he asks, and Clarke’s only response is to tangle his fingers in hers and tug.
That’s all he needs, anyway.
*
“Jesus, I should have known better than to date a sorority girl,” Bellamy mutters.
“I sort of assumed you did,” says Clarke, but she comes over and turns him away from the mirror, taking over the tie herself. He doesn’t know what it is about bowties that gives him so much trouble, but no matter how many YouTube videos he watches, he always feels like he’s going to snap one of his fingers when he’s putting one on.
Clarke does it with an ease that is confusing, given she never has to tie her own ties.
“If you were doing it on me, you’d be fine,” she says, before he can ask. “My dad wore a tie to work every day, I wanted to learn how to do it.”
“The adorable youth of the rich and famous,” he teases, and she gives the tie a final tug.
“Not famous, just rich.” She gives the tie a final tug, and then steps back, apparently satisfied with her work. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. The Sig-Kaps like you!”
“They like you and accept me. It’s not the sisters I’m worried about. It’s the black tie. How many formal events do you guys have?”
“Like one a year.”
“Until you graduate.”
“Or you break up with me.”
He leans in for a kiss. “Until you graduate.” It’s strange to be so sure, but that’s kind of how he and Clarke are. Stubborn assholes who know exactly what they want. “It could be worse.”
“Yeah?”
“I could be not dating you.”
She laughs. “Smooth. Very charming. Are you ready?”
He checks his tie one last time, and then offers Clarke his arm. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Stop complaining. You knew what you were getting into.”
It’s not entirely true, because he mostly knew how impossible it felt that he could ever have this, but that doesn’t feel like something worth bringing up now. Not before a stressful evening of pretending to be sophisticated at the Sig-Kap formal.
“I was ready for this, yeah.” He ducks his head for one last kiss. “As long as you keep tying my tie, I’ll keep wearing one.”
“Deal,” she says. “Worth it.”
It’s impossible to argue with that, so he just holds the door open for her. “Yeah. So worth it.”
Happppppyyy birthday! Could I have a Star Wars fancast please?
thank you, nic!
YOUR FANCAST (SW)
Era: Prequel | Rogue One | OG trilogy | TFAAssociation: Jedi | Sith | Senate | Empire | Rebellion | First Order | ResistanceWeapon of choice: Lightsaber | Blaster | Staff | Piloting skills | Mechanic skills | Diplomacy | WitsS.O.: Luke Skywalker – even in the cold, hard chaos of war, there’s a quiet sincerity to his hopeful optimism that you find yourself drawn to and deeply appreciative of, like a warm fire on a winter night.Best friend: Chewbacca – Chewie doesn’t say much, but he’s an unfailingly loyal, solid presence at your side, always ready to listen or offer a big hug whenever you need it most
if you could have any view from your bedroom window what would you choose? probably broadway tbh - or like, the bff’s place for some illogical reason. I don’t spend time staring out my bedroom window, so I’d mostly wanna be close to awesome people and/or things.
what’s your favorite thing to do on a sunny day? sit on my balcony with a book and some good music when alone. If I’m actually lucky enough to be with friends? Just like the last time with a group of friends: sitting outside at a restaurant having dinner and laughing and talking for like 3 hours and then cycling on to the next part of the party
what do you consider lucky? In general? Having the things you want for yourself happening to you - having good things against all odds.
what made you smile today? The bff, even when on vacation, still spends a decent amount of time texting me about the stuff he’s doing. @sincerelydayyy and her giggles on her podcast. My theater friends trying to get a group together for dinner tomorrow
what makes you happy? Spending time with aforementioned BFF or with any of my friends, my choir, my theater group. Theater in general. Being in shows. Singing. Music. My shows and movies and things. Yummy food. A lot of things really
47. how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?
THIS QUESTION IS RUDE. jk i love you nic. And uh…a lot. I’ve got four in progress at the moment, and that’s not including one giveaway fic. Plus other non-fic stuff. I…have a problem.
49. writing advice?
Don’t overthink. And if you find yourself overthinking, or being super nitpicky about what you’ve already written, make a pact with yourself to only reread what you have once you’re finished. If you stop every time you hit a phrase you don’t love and try to rework it, you’ll get bogged down in minutia and it’ll be that much harder to crank the whole thing out. Try not to think too much about all the writing tips you’ve heard or your tendency to overuse the word heart; just write, and you can revisit all that stuff in editing. That’s where the bulk of the magic happens, anyways.
I adore your fics!! So excited for your book <3 Prompt for Bellarke celebration: Bellamy is a hairdresser and Clarke is the type of person who gets haircut to be Dramatic after breakups and other disasters. Thank you!!!!
If he’s being honest with himself, Bellamy has to admit that he’s least partly responsible for what’s been going on with Clarke.
Fine, maybe entirely responsible, considering he’s the one enabling her.
Still, he startles a little when she barges into his apartment, bottle of vodka in hand and a 7-11 bag in the other.
“Fuck,” he swears, zeroing in on the boxes of dye that are visible through the see-through bag. “What happened?”
“I got into a fight with my mom.” She sniffs, her knees wobbling dangerously before she plops down on his lap, sinking her head against his shoulder.
His arm goes around her- instinctive at this point- keeping her steady. “What happened?”
She peeks up at him from between her lashes at that, teeth snagging against her bottom lip nervously before she goes, “I was thinking about telling you while you worked on my hair.”
He groans, reaching over to twist a lock between his fingers. She had opted for pink, the last time, and the ends are now faded out to a cotton candy shade which he loves. “Clarke.”
“What? I was thinking blue this time. Blue would be nice.”
“I shouldn’t be encouraging this,” he grumbles, lifting her in his arms carefully before setting her down on the sofa. “You should be engaging in your other vices, like drinking and eating a obnoxious amount of french fries.”
The look she shoots him is distinctly puppylike; wide-eyed and pleading coupled with a little head tilt. He’s a goner even before she throws in a soft, “Please?”
Huffing, he starts unpacking the items in the bag, flipping her off when she begins to cheer raucously.
Look, in hindsight, Bellamy should have really thought this through. But to be entirely fair, he didn’t think that a single haircut during Clarke’s post-Lexa-breakup-phase would lead to this becoming a frequent occurrence of sorts. Prior to this, she would drown her sorrows in peach schnapps and a Netflix marathon. Now, she just comes over and insists that he help in whatever new scheme she has to change up her look, whether it involves putting colored streaks in her hair or accompanying her to get her nose pierced. He’s not sure if it’s a coping mechanism or just a distraction, at this point, but he prefers it to her getting wasted anyway.
Plus, she always comes to him for this, which he really likes. It’s one of those things about being hopelessly in love with your best friend: you take whatever you can get, even if that means that you have to spend hours inhaling toxic fumes.
“Raven is going to kill me for this,” he reminds her, snapping on a pair of latex gloves while she sways in place, practically vibrating with excitement. “She thinks I indulge you too much.”
“You do,” she agrees, giggling when he sinks his hands into her hair, spreading the dye evenly. “But that’s why I love you.”
His heart gives a little twinge at that, and he has to bite at the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. It’s mostly the offhanded, throwaway comments like this that gets to him, really, because it’s a struggle not to think about her saying it in another context. He should probably tell her all this, one day, but the thought of losing her friendship makes him go cold.
He tunes back in when she starts telling him about the argument she had with Abby- predictably, about her latest decision to go to art school instead of majoring in medicine like she had always planned to. It’s nothing new or unexpected of Abby (at least, that’s how he feels) and he tells her as much, twisting the colored strands up into a knot before flopping down onto the sofa next to her.
“Does it look good?” she asks, and he slaps her hand away when she reaches up to poke at it. “You know, it’s really unprofessional of you to do this without a mirror.”
“Go to a salon and get it done for ninety bucks then,” he retorts, yelping when her fingers dart over to tickle at his ribs. “Hey. Cut it out.”
That pulls a laugh out of her, the sound bright. “God, you’re such a baby.”
“You’re the—” he nearly falls off the sofa when he feels hands against his hip, tickling mercilessly, and he lunges over to grab at her wrists before she can do anymore damage. “You’re such a brat.”
“Sure,” she goes, easy, close enough that he can smell the alcohol on her breath, her chest heaving against his as she gives another giggle. He swallows, and it takes almost all of his willpower not to shiver at her proximity, the way her gaze dips down to his mouth and lingers, like she’s curious about him.
“What?” he manages, hating the hoarseness of his voice.
She tilts forward at that, only a hair’s breadth away from him, and he closes his eyes when he feels her slide her hand up to his jaw because holy shit, Clarke Griffin wants to kiss him—
The sudden thrill of an alarm makes him jump, with her pulling away at the exact moment. For a second, he can only stare in a dazed sort of silence, before the blue splatters on the towel slung around her shoulders reminds him what it’s there for.
“You should,” he gestures at the still-ringing alarm, rubbing at his face. “Go wash that out.”
“Yup.” She mumbles, strangely red in the face. “I’ll just— I’ll be back.”
“Yeah.”
He buries his face in his hands after she goes, groaning.
The rest of the night passes by without any of the strange tension from before, thankfully, and he’s positive that things are back to normal by the time he drops her off at her apartment. Bellamy’s just going to chalk it up to a terrible, booze-fuelled, almost incident that he’s just… not going to think about. It’s better for his health, really. They can just forget that it ever happened.
Well, until she turns up on his doorstep the next day with blazing red hair instead of blue.
He stares, tightening his grip on the door knob. “What the fuck?”
“I did it myself,” she hastens to point out, wringing her fingers together. “It was, uhm. A real bitch to cover up, but. Yeah.”
“Pray tell, why?”
She takes a shuddering breath, drawing closer. “Because I do this every time something big or disastrous happens in my life.” Then, shooting him a weak smile, she adds, “It’s kind of a tradition, at this point.”
“Yeah, but,” he crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “Wait. So something else happened last night?”
Another step, until they’re practically standing chest-to-chest. He tries not to get distracted by the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her arms coming around the back of his neck.
“Uh, just a life-altering revelation.” She breathes, giving a small laugh. “That I’ve been in love with you, all this time, and—”
He twists his fingers into her hair to kiss her then, laughing into her mouth, hands going to her hips and lifting her so she can rain kisses against his cheek, the corner of her jaw.
“I can’t believe you dyed your hair all over again just to make a point,” he gets out, slamming the door shut behind them. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“Far be it for me to break tradition,” she goes, prim, breaking out into a dizzying smile as she leans up to kiss him again. “So, I take it the feeling is mutual, right?”
“Depends on if you’re going to bleach your hair again if I tell you yes.”
(She doesn’t, though she does dye it purple after he tells her he loves her. It’s pretty fucking grand.)
