guys, as hopefully some of you know today, this 13th of july is badassbellamyblake‘s birthday!!!!
*throws balloons and confetti into the air*
in case you do not know who jacke/badassbellamyblake is then wow I’m about to change your life mofos shes like the singular most badassest person ever and she has cats and she likes alcohol. She’s the best writer of both fanfiction and meta ever. (seriously though i read her meta on the 100 and i dont even watch the 100 thats how good it is.) Shes super uper pretty but in a way thats like she could murder you if she wanted but look totally hot while doing it. She also has several badass tattoos including the phrase ‘all men must die’ which in case you were not aware is totally like badass.
She was the first bestest friend i made in this fandom, the one that got me into roleplaying caroline (in a totally non sexual way wow get your minds out of the gutter) and the most influential and did I mention badass? person I’ve ever come across. For those of you who decided awhile back that I was her brainless minion that did nothing without her approval, first of all fuck you, second of all you’re only jealous because you wouldn’t survive the jackie-pocolypse. Which would be such a whirlwing of attractiveness and badassary that people who died would be like AW FUCK YEAH WHADDA WAY TO GO MAN and high five one another on their death beds.
I recently hit my first 1.K (internal screaming), and i am so so so thankful for all of you, my dear followers! My life would be so different and very sad without all of you! So in honor of hitting 1.K, i will be doing a follow forever!
To My Clarke; Your friendship is worth more than 1.K followers to me.
The taxi hurtles down the main street and Clarke leans her forehead against the window, staring at the lights flashing away from her. Shops, passersby, cars, houses, everything is reduced to a blur pushing her farther into her mind, to race thoughts and memories. Well, she mostly thinks about one thing that’s been haunting her for six days, from the moment she had closed the door of her apartment building, blocking out the view of the greek god with whom she had spent the night.
Without even striving, she can still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the coldness of the door against her back as he crushed her against it, his hands behind her back, warm and solid. The kiss she didn’t think she would give, it being only the first date and having known him just for a few hours, but he had been fucking perfect the whole time, and honestly, her self-control went only that far.
***
It all began when she was looking for her bestfriend’s birthday gift in a bookshop, where fate had decided to play its cards and made her reach out to grab the same book another hand was trying to take. His hand. Moving her gaze from his fingers to his arm, shoulder and neck, she had gone as far as to notice the chin dimple and his freckles before blushing. They had laughed-hers was more or less a nervous screech-and he went to take another copy of the same title, but they soon found out that what she’d been holding was the last available copy. And he really wanted to read it. But she knew her best friend would love the gift. In the end he sighed dramatically and made her promise to have dinner with him to make amends.
She’d always believed gallantry was dead, instead he had asked her to choose where to meet so she wouldn’t have to tell him her address. He had greeted her in front of her favourite coffee shop with a night-blue bespoke shirt that wrapped his chest heavenly and black pants, his dark hair uncombed in curlicues she wanted to trace with her fingers, the calm and determined expression on his face showing that he was certainly expecting something from her, but he would let her get to it at her own pace.
He had taken her to a cinema and then to an Italian restaurant where the owners already knew him. They had hugged him as soon as they arrived, and when he had introduced her, they immediately treated her like she was part of the ‘family’. Somehow they got to make her feel genuinely welcome, like they were seeing their son’s first girlfriend. It was adorable, and she hadn’t minded playing along.
They had talked about everything and nothing without going into details about their lives or even frigging names because “Let’s keep it for the next date, okay?”, and Clarke was already discovering that she couldn’t say no to him. Not when his five o’clock shadow framed his freckles and she couldn’t decide which part of his face was making her feel butterflies.
Given how she couldn’t ask him about the classic basic information, she ended up learning small and random details that just made her more curious about him: how he chewed based on how much he liked what he was eating, how much sugar he wanted in his coffee, the way he held a fork, how he would shrug with his left shoulder every time he sensed he was at the centre of the attention. Tons of little particulars she had to notice because she couldn’t ask about them. It made her more perceptive, and at the end of their night she had felt like she really knew him. Like she didn’t know who he was but she knew what made him who he was.
That’s why, when he stopped at her front-door—he had insisted to pay her taxi but she didn’t want to end the night yet—and brushed her hand to say goodbye, she had lunged forward and took his lips between hers, immediately seeking his taste with her tongue. He had given her as good as he got, holding her close and taking control of the kiss. And despite her being plastered over him, he hadn’t pushed for more, his hands maddeningly hot on her skin but still firm between the small of her back and her waist. It was like he was promising her that if she were to say Yes, he would be there, ready to take her. Until then, he was okay with whatever she wanted to offer.
Seriously, that’s the kind of thing that makes her crave first date sex. Instead they had the kiss slow down until it was a decadent twist of their tongues, and then it was over. He had brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, staring at it as if he was contemplating going back to their delicious moment, before swallowing and moving his right hand. She felt him slipping something that sounded like a piece of paper in the open bag hanging from her shoulder, then gave her a quick kiss on the lips and walked away. Without saying anything, leaving her with her lips swollen from his kisses and her mind racing a mile per minute. She needed to see him again. Soon.
She knew he had given her his number on that paper, and she already had a solid plan tested out with several guys; calling the very next day would have been pathetic, while calling the second day would have given away her plan of not being pathetic, which would have made her, again, pathetic. The third day would have been the chosen one to send him a quiet ‘thank you’, or a light and modest reference to their date, like ‘saw this restaurant and immediately thought of you, you’d love it’.
But her plan went straight to hell once she got to take a look at the small folded paper; inside, written with a neat calligraphy, there was yes his number, but with the addition of “Call me as soon as you see this.”
Well, now she wouldn’t need to decide how to make a move on him.
She waited another hour before calling anyway, because she couldn’t help but worry about how she would look if she were to call him within 10 minutes since he had gone away. So she paced her whole apartment until her alarm finally announced her that it was ok now to sound desperate, and grabbed her phone.
He answered at the third ring. “Yes?”
"You know, this thing about not telling each other our names is a little unpractical, especially on the phone."
She heard him chuckle, and wasn’t that the best sound in the world? “I don’t need your name to recognize you.” Gosh. “Anyway, thank you for calling.”
"Yeah well, I’m in denial and I don’t want to brush you off as a creep."
"That’s actually very kind and unconsiderate of you since you started a kiss with a stranger, but thank you."
Were they flirting? Jeez.
"I was testing you. One wrong move and I would have pepper sprayed you."
Another chuckle and Clarke starts counting them as if they were points. Two laughs in less than 5 minutes means he likes her, right?
"Good girl, always stay safe." His voice turns soft, and Clarke sits down on the coach, opting then for putting her feet on the sofa and sitting on them.
"So, why did you want me to call you?" She plays it cool, but she’s actually dying to know.
"Because I’ve found a way for you to cancel your debt for the stolen book."
"I didn’t steal it, I paid for it!"
"Yes, and I, as a man, felt compelled to sacrifice my desire for yours, out of gallantry. The moment you set eyes on that book, I had already lost it."
And thanks to that she’d had an amazing date with a gorgeous fella, with the addition of a hot-melt-your-knees kiss. Talk about icing on the cake. “You make it sound so bad. Ok, let’s hear it!”
He exhales against the microphone, and she’s literally bouncing on the spot. Will it involve another date? Another kiss? Something more? Will she have to pay with her body? Well, her fantasies already went there like a million times during the day, but it’s not really something that he can actually ask her to do. If he were to, she’d have to flip him off, and that would be a very sad ending for their whatever-it-is-but-there-s-chemistry relationship. So he actually has to pretend he doesn’t want the sex she’s hoping he wants, so she can give him the sex she wants to give but can’t admit she wants. Society is so easy nowadays. Clarke just hopes it’s something that will lead them to sex, later.
"We can choose a time when we’re both free and you will call me everyday to read me the book."
The thump he certainly hears is her head hitting the backrest of the couch. This is one of those moments where you realize that your potential lover is a keeper, right?
Clarke sighs, closing her eyes, and answers softly. “I like it, let’s do that.”
***
The taxi finally pulls over and she opens her purse to pay the driver. She grabs the little bag containing the magic book, and she walks toward the main door of the condominium. As the yellow cab gets lost in the traffic, she fixes her little black satin dress. Raven had said that the party would require some “Serious shit” and they would all have to wear appropriate clothes. When she had asked for more, Raven had only replied with “Dress like you would if you could bang your favourite actor.” Pathetically enough, she had worn that dress for the hot guy from the previous week.
They had actually managed to finish the whole book in 6 days. Clarke would call him around 10pm and start reading without saying anything other than “Hi, you ready?”, and he would answer “I’m here.”
Reading for him had become something Clarke really valued, and she will miss their daily hobby. They would go usually for 30/40 pages every night, Clarke closing the call with her voice rough from the strain and her throat sore, but she didn’t mind. She had been able to hear his sleepy “Goodnight.” six times, and she couldn’t help but find it sweet and romantic. It was actually a very intimate activity, and thinking that she had painted for him that fictional world with her voice threatened to make her die from embarrassment every single time.
She rings at the intercom and after a couple of seconds she’s let in. A quick trip in the elevator later, she’s in front of Raven’s open door, revealing the very feisty and pink dress Finn is wearing, his arms swaying in time with the loud music suddenly flooding out of the house. Clarke leans her weight on her right hip, looking at him from head to toes. “This is what you’d wear if you could have sex with your favourite actor?”
Finn flips his hair with a hand and steps aside to let her in. As soon as she’s inside he closes the door and grins at her. “Pink is his favourite color, I read it once in some magazine.” He leans on so she can kiss his cheeks without actually kissing them; it’s just the tilting of their heads and a fake gesture. She had always hated watching people do it because it seems so stupid—if you want to greet someone, do it properly for fuck’s sake!—but then she had meet Raven’s gay best friend, Finn, and her whole world had changed. Clarke doesn’t want to be the living clichè of the girl enjoying being a diva with her gay friend, but Finn is totally nuts and one of the most funny people she has ever met.
"So, where’s the party girl?" Clarke asks glancing toward the dining room right in front of them. It’s already packed with people she doesn’t recognize, and she knows she’ll probably end up again with the only one she knows, Finn.
"In the kitchen, fixing us some sandwiches."
“And why is the birthday girl the one busy in the kitchen?”
Clarke doesn’t wait for Finn to find a decent answer and walks into the dining room, trying to guess how many people are already in, and possibly how many will they manage to fit before the whole house will be too cramped to even move. At this point there’s enough space between the guests that Clarke can see the kitchen door left open, with its white light setting a contrast with the suffused little christmas lights decorating the walls in twirls and spirals.
Clarke turns around, checking if Finn is still behind her, but she makes eye contact with a girl she knows works with Raven. The girl waves at her and Clarke smiles, giving up on finding her friend after a quick glance over the room. Too many heads.
She goes back to her original plan and walks the rest of the way toward the kitchen, finding Raven busy a knife and a creepy amount of sandwiches.
“Just how many people do you want to feed with these?” Clarke walks into the room with her eyebrows raised in disbelief. There are at least forty sandwiches on the table, and Raven apparently is about to cut down another set of ten.
Raven looks up from the food and grins at her, “We’re about to have more guests, and I’m making sure that they’re well supplied.”
“More guests? The house is already packed as it is Rave, I don’t think there will be any more room to dance if others come in.”
Raven blows a wild lock of hair away from her face as she goes back to the slice of bread in front of her. “Don’t worry, we won’t be dancing anymore for as long as they’ll be here.”
“What does that even mean?” Clarke asks, frowning in confusion. What the hell is she talking about now? Realization starts hitting, and Clarke looks down at her dress. “Does this have to do with our outfits?”
Raven’s right eyebrow shots up in a flirty wink, and she opens her mouth to answer, when the doorbell rings three times and Raven literally screams.
“OH MY GOD THEY’RE HERE!” She launches herself out of the room and is in front of the door in two seconds flat, abandoning Clarke in the kitchen with all the half empty sandwiches.
Clarke walks to the kitchen door and leans on its architrave, as Ravens opens the front door and throws her arms in the air at the group in front of her. Clarke can’t see who they are, aside from the fact that there are both men and women, and the other guests in the house turn toward the door, a murmur growing louder as they realize that no one knows who they are.
Ravens moves aside, inviting them in, and Clarke sees at least twenty people walking through the door. Walking forward, she notice Finn’s pink outfit and grabs his arm, using him to extricate herself from the mass of people finally behind there.
“What the hell is going on? And who are they?!”
“I can’t believe that she really did it.” Finn laughs softly, shaking his head.
“Did what?” Clarke asks, turning back on the strangers and taking a better look at them, now that she’s closer. They all seem to be around the same age, probably under 30, and many of them are sporting outfits way more outrageous than the ones she has seen around. From bikinis to leather harnesses, the newcomers aren’t joking around with the exhibitionism.
“I’ll suggest you to pick up a nice place to enjoy the show!” Finn almost squeals next to her, then disappears into the crowd at her back.
The show?
Raven claps her hands to draw everyone’s attention and the guests move toward the centre of the room, forcing Clarke to retreat sideways till she’s out of the mass of bodies, against the wall at the back of the living room.
Clarke is just wondering what is this all about when one of the new girls takes off her shirt and reveals her total lack of a bra with pride. A cheer erupts from the crowd, and Clarke finally catches on with Raven’s idea of birthday party. Damn her.
The new girls split up from the boys and move to the left, dragging behind them every male—and some women too—in the proximity. The boys seem to have chosen their spot as well, walking to an empty area a few feet from Clarke. It’s in that moment, as the female guests form a circle around them, that Clarke recognizes him, and her brain shuts down.
***
Clarke remains petrified, flattened against the back wall of the living room, the guests separated into two symmetrical rings around the performers they want to see.
The girls have taken control of the home stereo, putting a CD that one of them pulled out of her backpack. Ayo Technology begins to resonate above the spectators’ shouts, eyes wide and mouth morphing into an euphoric smile while the girls and the boys begin their show.
Breath catches in Clarke’s throat and it’s only when her eyes begin to burn, that she realizes she hasn’t blinked her eyes for several seconds. Details become blurred in the periphery of her vision, while at the exact center of her iris is the man of the book, who’s playing with the edge of his black tank top, with his legs apart and slightly bent, to give more motion to his hips.
His head falls back in a curve that pulls the tendons of the neck, the sheen of sweat glistens under the soft lights of the room and Clarke feels like a child again, enchanted while watching the gold tassels on the Christmas tree. With the curve of his neck engraved in backlight, he slowly rotates his hips, letting the fabric of the tank take the outline of his tensed abs, traced in dunes and deep ruts in the fabric, making the girls sitting in front of him scream in delight.
He stands up, locks the edges of of his tank top with his thumbs and arches backwards, slowly letting the cloth slide upwards. Every inch of skin that he reveals is a convulsion of his audience, but the sounds begin to arrive muffled to Clarke’s ears, and she is too lost in her shock to realize that her senses are not working properly. Clarke’s fingers twitch when he blocks the lower edge of the tank between his teeth, and begins to work on the button of his black jeans.
He turns so that his back is to the audience and he spreads his arms, making the muscles flex. Studying his profile, Clarke can see his lips stretched into a grin, his tank still clinging to his lips. Without ever losing the rhythm of the music he moves a hand through his dark curls, shiny as if he had just walked under the rain.
In one fluid motion he takes off his tank top, letting it fall to the ground with an exaggerated movement. Clarke knows that the others have gone into raptures, but her only confirmation is his smile, colored in satisfaction and vanity. His hands slide from his neck down to his hips; an agonizingly slow and disastrous fall, rocked by the waves he creates with his whole body.
When she had met him, he had looked like a solid, stable figure in front of her, a trunk against which she would have scratched herself till she could smell the musk under its skin. Now the person she has before her is sinuous like a snake, and Clarke struggles to overlay the memory of his weight, insistent on her as they kissed, with the slow and feminine sensuality of the man in front of her.
A female hand stretches and touches his abs. At the touch his muscles dart in a contraction that has to be a gift for the girl in front of him, and it is only by chance that Clarke notices with the corner of her eyes Raven’s ponytail, on the other side of the arm that is touching the dancer.
Raven is touching the man of the book.
He puts his right hand on hers, sliding it up as he takes a step forward and towers over Raven, who’s enjoying the scene from her chair, uncomfortably sat on the edge as he forces her to chase his skin higher and higher. She is laughing, and the guests around her clap their hands and give pats on her back, while he spreads his legs and takes a step forward, bringing his crotch right in her face.
Raven opens her mouth in surprise, and there’s a laugh that is going to escape from her throat, but he draws an eight with his hips and lowers down, resting his arms on the back of the chair, over her shoulders. She looks up at him, her mouth slowly closing in a less exhilarated expression, and her eyes sending another kind of message. He tilts his head to the side and aligns her face with his.
When their faces gets closer and their mouths open, Clarke turns toward the wall at her back, feeling her heart sink into her chest when the screams of the girls let her know what has just happened.
Breathing is a challenge, now that the air is sticky and unbearably hot. Clarke grabs a beer from the table against the wall she has in front of her, and bolts for the balcony, careful not to look at anything but her shoes.
Once she’s out, Clarke closes the glass door behind her and draws a deep breath, exhaling with excruciating slowness as she forces the stained air of the house out of her lungs. She steps forward, leaning her elbows on the railing and watching the neck of the bottle hanging between her thumb and forefinger, the lights of the city like a million little candles fluttering against the evening sky.
Her ears are still sending that white noise, and Clarke knows that there’s something wrong with her. Her brain fails to form a coherent thought, burying every process under bricks made of sand and concrete. Her eyebrows get closer as Clarke manages to realize that she’s deeply upset. Problem is realizing about what.
The glass door behind her opens and Clarke tightens her hold on the bottle, closing her eyes to create a decent social mask, one happy and tipsy enough to kill every possible suspicion over her weird behavior. Her own problems will have to wait for her to come back home.
The person behind her clears their throat and Clarke’s whole body shudders, her heart swelling and then picking up speed as if she were to jump over the railing and start running for her life. She was looking forward to hearing from him again like a frigging teenager at her first crush, and now that she has in fact met him again, everything feels like it’s turned upside down.
“You should get a jacket, it’s getting chilly out here,” he says, and Clarke has to bite down her tongue to choke down a snarky remark about his sweat and the chilly air he’s so worried about.
Instead she says, “I feel like a moron,” and her head starts to ache as all the questions and repressed thoughts come back to the surface, as if magically evoked by their rightful owner. Clarke is sure that a few months from now she’ll laugh about it with Raven and Finn, but right about now there’s only shame and the deafening sound of her fantasies crushing down. She had been happy during this week, with their book reading and his voice at the end of a hard day at work. It had been new and exciting and she had grabbed onto it with all her strength without realizing.
The result is that Clarke has a stranger behind her, and she still feels betrayed, thanks to all the fantasies he has starred in during the last days. He was hers, at least in her mind.
She hears him moving and a second later he’s next to her, mirroring her position. Clarke glances at him from under her lashes, but his attention is all for the streets several feet under them. He scratches his neck and sighs, “Sorry for not telling you, I had the feeling that you wouldn’t have called me again if I did.”
Clarke sips at her beer, desperate to find something to busy herself and not answering him. He has a point; she wouldn’t have called again if she had known that he works as a stripper. Or better, she may have let Raven and Finn convince her to call him again for a one-night stand, but she surely wouldn’t have spent time thinking about getting to know him for real. Because what good was in it? How serious can a sex worker be? If one of them fell in love and wanted to settle down, they’d stop stripping for strangers, wouldn’t they?
“What are you doing here?” She asks, hoping to make him feel awkward enough to go back inside, but then she has to admit that she doesn’t want to be left alone. Not now, and not by him.
“I didn’t notice you were here until I saw you walking away,” he admits, his voice devoid of that warmth and flirty undertone she had come to love during the last week. Clarke has difficulty believing that next to her is the same guy.
When Clarke doesn’t answer, too lost in her thoughts to make conversation with him, he draws slightly closer, “Is it a problem? My work, I mean.”
The tension in his voice is unmistakable, and Clarke’s lungs contracts in a painful spasm when she tries to answer him that it has nothing to do with his job. It’d probably be the biggest lie of the year, and Clarke guesses that it’s pointless trying to avoid the problem. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she confesses in the end, looking at him slowly nodding next to her.
“If you don’t want to have anything to do with me, I’ll understand, but I really wanted to ask you out again.”
Clarke opens her eyes wide open and turns to him, just now noticing his black sweater with the hood hiding his hair and throwing half of his face in shadow. She’d swear he’s smiling, but it’s hard to say with dark swallowing them more with every passing minute. Clarke finds herself looking for signs of lie, any kind of hint that would confirm that he’s not seriously interested in her.
“I…” Clarke starts, failing at finding the words to formulate her thought. The shock for the scene she had to watch is still making her blood feel like ice in her veins, and she knows that the problem is not having found out that he can move more sensually than any other person Clarke has ever met in her life, but that he does it for perfect strangers.
Clarke swallows and tries to look at him in the eyes, even if the hood hinders her attempt. “I don’t know if I’m able…I mean, it’s OK, obviously, but…” she breathes in, and forces herself to finish, “you kissed my best friend.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, a ball of acid shots through her stomach. He’s used to flirt and kiss, and maybe even to have sex, with strangers. With clients.
“It’s work.” he says, and Clarke closes her eyes, grimacing. Of course, it’s just work, and he’s just doing what he has to.
Clarke feels his hand brushing her shoulder and she opens her eyes. Her stillness invites him to continue, and the hand goes up to her face to cup her cheek. The little smile still pulls at his lips, even though Clarke doesn’t know what he’s feeling smug about.
“May I interpret your expression as jealousy?”
Clarke slaps away his hand and he laughs, raising the other one to grab her dress and pull her closer. She goes flush against him and she leans her hands on him to push him away, failing miserably at commanding her brain to instill at least a bit of strength in her muscles. She remains still, with his arms loosely wrapped around her.
“As if. I don’t even know your name.” Clarke tries to summon an offended tone but gets distracted by her hands resting on his pecs.
“That’s for the next date, I’ve already told you that.”
“Who says I want a second date?” Clare lowers her eyes, already knowing that she wouldn’t be able to lie otherwise. It’s utterly unfair that her luck brought her to meet someone so perfect for her, only to make him completely unattainable. Well, she could actually have him, just like everyone else on this planet. They just have to show him some money.
“Work and private life are two different things, you know,” his voice gets lower as his forehead leans against hers. Clarke’s eyes are focused on his collarbone, but a movement in the lower half of his face draws her attention, and her curiosity is rewarded with his bottom lip pulled by his front teeth. Her breath catches, but she manages to stay completely silent. “and as much as I love my job, it’s still just a job.”
Clarke exhales, frustration building up as she doesn’t know if she wants to kiss him or slap him for being so perfect and so wrong. She has developed a crush in record time for someone she has spent one single amazing date with, and now she is supposed to decide if she can conciliate in her mind being a doctor, and being the girlfriend of a stripper.
His forehead presses forward against hers, “Your doubts give me hope, you should say No upfront if you don’t want me to kiss you again.”
Clarke’s hand instinctively grab his sweater, halfway between pushing him and pulling him in, “Don’t even joke about it, I need to think this through. You fucking shocked me, OK?”
“You’re thinking too much, and you just need to accept another date with me. It’s not that much, is it?”
It’s only when Clarke feels the railing against her back that she realizes he was walking her into a corner. He towers over her, and the warmth emanating from his body is the only thing preventing her from freezing. She’d like to press in, but a part of her is still numb from the show she witnessed earlier, and Clarke can’t find the will to just give in, to let him win this non-fight where she still wants him to apologize for something, anything. On the other hand, he’s just asking for another date, it’s not a marriage proposal.
Two fingers pushes her chin up, making her meet his dark and hungry eyes. “Last chance before I kiss the fuck out of you and then we go back inside. You made me stop right at the middle of the song and I need to do a lot more if I want my money.”
When Clarke opens her mouth to protest, his tongue darts out to lick the contour of her bottom lip. What would have been words come out as a whimper.
“I’ll dance only for you, if jealousy is what’s making you hesitate.”
“I still haven’t told you Yes,” Clarke exhales and he opens his mouth to catch her breath.
“Too late now.”
His tongue swipes her top lip, and then pushes inside her mouth, shutting off Clarke’s brain for good. She’s sure there are still insults and “No”s that she needs to yell at him, but she can’t remember even one, now that his teeth scrape her lips and his hands keep her flush against him.
Clarke sighs through her nose and gives up on fighting him, trust issues with their different jobs aren’t a decent topic for a party chat anyway, and arguing with someone without even knowing their name seems a lot more stupid and useless than making out with them. Especially when said someone has this kind of body.
He hums in satisfaction when she moves her hands and brings one under the hood, fingers threading his hair and massaging his nape, the other one leaning on his hip.
Time seem to lose meaning, seconds feeling like minutes and then hours as they shut the whole world out and focus on each other, on how skin brushes against skin, how clothes get in the way but are the only thing preventing them from fucking right then and there.
Clarke has yet to understand all the implications of this man, fallen into her life like a meteor, but with every light stroke of his tongue against hers, she forgets why they should be so important.
And when Finn finally catches up on the both of them disappearing and finds them on the balcony, his euphoric screech marks the beginning of something deeper than the laugh bubbling up in their still-joined lips.
1—Your nickname.
Since my name is so short I don't really have one nickname but these are all names a few people have called me in my life: Bootje, Bowie, BoBo (don't!), BoTie (one person here), Bo Bear (one person here), Baby Bo (one person here) :)
2—Your eye color.
Green with a ring of brown between as well.
3—Your hair color.
Brown.
4—One fact about you.
Aren't all these answers facts about me? Oh well... I'm 23 years old.
5—Favorite color.
Lilac/Purple
6—Favorite place.
My room? The internet? Idk
7—Favorite celebrity.
I don't particularly have one. I mean all I see is a public image so it's hard to judge... As long as I haven't heard you say stuff that made me dislike you we're good.
8—Favorite animal.
Cats/Kittens, Owls and Wolves
9—Favorite song.
My favorite songs change daily. Right now it's probably Blank Space but ask me in an hour and it can have changed
10—Favorite book.
Harry Potter since I grew up with those books. I'm bad at picking favorites in books, I've enjoyed so many. I also really love Pride and Prejudice so probably those two at the top.
Well those were 10 facts about me.. Very interesting stuff.
What time and date is it there: It’s 9:20 AM, 27 August, 2014
Average hours of sleep I get each night: Between 7 and 8
The last thing I Googled was: Blonde buns for the manip I just made
My most used phrase(s): "Fuck"
First word that comes to mind: Fuck
What I last said to a family member: "Love you." (to hubby as I kissed him goodbye)
One place that makes me happy & why: Home, smoking a bowl and taking a bath. Pretty self explanatory.
How many blankets I sleep under: A sheet and one white furry blanket
Favorite beverage(s): Coffee - black - like my soul
The last movie I watched in the cinema: Guardians of the Galaxy!
Three things I can’t live without: Coffee(duh), my phone & Google docs
Something I plan on to learn: Ew. So done with learning things.
A piece of advice for all my followers: If you want to write...write. If you want to work as a pizza delivery guy for the rest of your life, do it. If you want to be a wife, a mother, a pastor. If you want to build rocket ships...you get the idea. Don't ever let your stature, social ranking, the way you look or even education stand in the way of what you truly want out of life.
You all have to listen to this song: Off to the Races by Lana del Ray
