Title: Found Out About You TV Show: The 100 Ship: Kabby Note: Second part! Sorry for any grammar mistakes! And a special thanks to everyone who’s reading, liking, reblogging, the whole nine yards. I love you guys ^_^ Disclaimer: I don’t own the 100 or the characters. Don’t hurt me! :)
Saturday night and the bar is crazy. She’s pacing back and forth, her high pony tail swinging with every quick turn she makes. She’s bobbing her head along to the song playing over the speakers, the DJ her manager has hired is watching from his spot next to the bar as she dances between helping customers, smiling to himself.
Aurora is working besides her, pouring a round of shots for a well known fraternity member, when she calls over to her friend over the music.
“He was asking about you today,” Aurora says as she fills the plastic shot glasses to the rim with an amber colored liquor.
“Who,” Abby inquires, too focused on her own drink orders to fully appreciate the conversation.
“Marcus,” is her friend’s flirty reply, to which Abby nearly drops the wine glass she’s pulled from the top stock.
“Probably to tell you what a psycho friend you have,” she mutters loud enough for the two of them to hear.
“Actually… he was asking for your number.” She whips her head around to look at her friend, slightly in shock and slightly in horror. “Relax. I told him he’d have to get it from you himself,” she explains.
Abby pushes the thought from her head, that the ridiculously handsome stranger she happened to punch in the face, would want to have anything to do with her and tries to get back to work. Through the corner of her eye, she can see a new patron take a spot at the bar and lean against the railing, waiting for his turn to be served.
And when she grows closer, the undeniable bruise around his left eye is how she recognizes him first. He looks pleased with himself, she notices.
“You came here with that black eye to get sympathy from the ladies,” she asks as she shoves her hands into her pockets. Out of all the beautiful women passing behind him, he’s only got eyes for her. He sets his phone down on the bar top nonchalantly.
“No, but if it works, I’m gonna have to get you to punch me in the face more often,” he teases, which earns him a playful gag from her.
“What are you drinking?”
“Three rum and Cokes. One with a lime.” She nods her head and makes a trio of perfectly poured mixed drinks, setting all three of them in front of him proudly. He hands over his card to start a tab, but she shakes her head.
“This round is on me. It’s the least I can do considering I almost took your eye out,” she says winking, watching with a smug look as he expertly picks up the three glasses, turning to find his friends, and leaving his phone behind on the bar as he crosses the dance floor. There’s no use in calling out to him now, so she snatches the phone from the bar top before someone can steal it.
Her finger hovers above the screen, a strong desire to unlock his phone and text herself with his number. She looks up to see him handing out two of the three drinks, keeping one to himself. He doesn’t look concerned that he’s forgotten his phone at the bar, and she convinces herself that maybe he doesn’t even know what he’s done.
There’s a sudden boldness that overtakes her as she turns her back to the alcohol hungry crowd, unlocking his phone with a simple swipe of her finger, and adding her name and number into his contact list. She figures this would be less awkward than him having to ask for her number and vice versa.
She’s quick to send herself a message and feels her own phone vibrate in her back pocket. The back of the bar, made entire of glass, serves as a mirror and when she picks her head up from his phone screen, their eyes lock.
She holds the phone up before turning around to face him.
“Forgot something?” She hands the phone back over and he nods his thanks. He leaves her without a word, returns to his friends, and takes a few sips of his drink. She doesn’t have much more time to watch him though, because more customers are hounding her for drinks.
At the next small break she gets, she turns her back to the crowd and pulls out her phone. There’s a list of unread text messages from various people, but two of the messages are from a number she doesn’t have saved in her phone. She recognizes the one she’s sent herself from his phone, but the more recent message in the thread isn’t from her.
‘I like your style, Abby Mitchell.’ She can’t fight the smile that spreads across her face as she reads his message, one that was sent over an hour ago.
‘It’s easier this way, trust me,’ is her reply back, but she doesn’t give him much time to answer. ‘Are you still here?’
‘We’re on the back patio. Come meet us whenever you get off.’
The rest of her shift can’t go by fast enough, but when two o’clock rolls around, Aurora grabs her by the arm and drags her further away from the customers trying to take advantage of last call.
“He’s waiting out back for you,” she says with a bright smile.
“I know,” Abby confesses.
“I’ll cover for you. Go,” Aurora says, reaching for her friend to spin her around in the opposite direction, pushing her towards the bar’s back door that’ll lead out to the patio.
There are a few wooden tables and chairs spread out across the patio, most of them empty, but there’s one that draws her attention. Marcus’s head lifts at the sound of loud music from the opened bar door where Abby stands, and she smiles at him when he beckons her over.
Indra glances over her shoulder, recognizing the feisty female, and laughs.
“Is that Million Dollar Baby I see coming to join our table,” Indra says, earning a fit of laughter from Marcus and their other friend who Abby doesn’t recognize.
“Abby, you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Indra,” Kane announces, opening his arm for her to walk into his side for a friendly hug. “This is Jaha,” Marcus says, moving on to the unfamiliar face. She takes her place close to him, wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug, and decides to let her arms loosely hang around his waist as he introduces his friends.
“So this is the girl who knocked you on your ass,” Jaha asks, looking at Indra for confirmation. Marcus follows Jaha’s gaze, eyes burning into her at the misleading information.
“Alright, alright… so I exaggerated a bit.”
As the night progresses, Abby and Marcus are the only ones left sitting at the wooden table. She’s gone back to the bar a few times, despite it being nearly three o’clock in the morning, and grabbed a couple of beers for the two of them.
“Thanks,” he says as she passes one of the bottles to him. She takes a seat across from him at the table and takes a long sip of the cold beer. His eyes fall to her bare legs, admiring the way the string lights hanging above the bar’s patio outline her calves and thighs. “So… while we were waiting for you to come out here and join us, my friends made a collective decision that they’d like to hang out with you more.”
“Your friends… or just you?” She’s thankful for empty patio, that the downtown scene is thinning out as everyone makes their way home. He ducks his head down, as if he’s been caught in a lie, and then nods.
“Just me, but I do promise they like you… Indra, especially. And she’s the toughest one to win over.”
“I’ll sleep better knowing I’ve been accepted into your group of sadistic friends,” she says as she follows a bead of sweat down her beer bottle.
Monday morning, the first day of the semester, had come all too fast and her two hour long anatomy lecture couldn’t go by any slower. No matter how hard she tried to focus, she couldn’t concentrate on the material.
The only thing going through her mind was Marcus… and where he was on campus.
She’s grateful for the large stadium-styled room her lecture is in, because when her phone starts to vibrate from the text messages, no one is bothered by it.
‘Happy first day of the semester.’
‘Boring is more like it.’
‘We’re in the courtyard whenever you get out of class.’
For the next torturous thirty minutes, she listens to her professor drone on about human anatomy. When the clock on the wall hits 10:50 AM, she shoves her notebook into her bag, hops up from her seat, and bounces down the staircase that leads to the floor of the class.
She maneuvers through the crowd of people trying to leave the room, makes the trek across campus to get to the well known, beautiful courtyard. There’s an actual breeze on this already blistering day, and from where she rounds the corner, she spots him. She’s walking over to the group when Indra sees her.
“Rocky Balboa, how nice of you to join us,” she says as Abby grows closer.
“Leave my little UFC fighter alone,” Kane responds. Abby’s eyes meet his first, then take in her surroundings only to find there’s not a single space empty for her to occupy. Kane follows her survey and realizes what’s causing her discomfort. “Oh, here. Have my seat,” he says, making a move to give up his space for her, but she remembers she is their guest, these aren’t her friends just quite yet.
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” she says as she comes to stand in front of him, effectively pushing him back down into his spot. She shrugs her bag off and places it on the ground next to his. “I’ll just…” She eyes the spot on his lap, and slowly seats herself upon it. “Is this okay,” she asks softly, just loud enough for him to hear. She can’t miss the bright smile on his face, because it’s so close to hers.
“This is fine,” he reassures her, moving beneath her just a bit to give her more of his lap to rest on.
And as if it was just another part of their day, the rest of his friends carry on with their conversation of football, tailgating spots, which classes their taking, and so on.
Besides them, a person gets up from their spot on the edge of the water fountain, leaving a vacant seat for Abby to take. Both her and Marcus notice the girl leave, but neither one of them make a move to get Abby off from his lap.
“What class did you just get out of,” he asks, leaning back on his hands. He has to squint in the sunlight, but he see’s her perfectly. Her long hair flows when the breeze picks up, the baggy top she has on dips low enough for him to catch a glimpse of skin not covered by the black sports bra she has underneath.
“Sounds interesting,” he comments, slightly occupied by the fact this beautiful girl has taken it upon herself to rest against him.
“What about you? What classes do you have today,” she asks, reaching up with one hand to slip the stray pieces of hair behind her ears.
“None,” he says with an amused grin.
“Why are you on campus then?”
“To see you.” The words temporarily make her forget how to breathe and her heart hurts from beating so hard. “And to see them.” He’s pointing to Indra and Jaha who are sharing a pair of headphones, both leaning in towards one another to watch something on Indra’s phone. “But mostly you,” he adds, noting the way she blushes from his confession.
There’s no time to respond, because there’s a fellow college student headed over to take residence in the empty spot besides them.
His hands grip her waist and she loves the feeling of it, how much of his hands take up space on her body. He lifts her up, only for a second, as he repositions himself so the newcomer and comfortably sit. She falls back against his lap and when his hands fall from her sides, she wants nothing more than for him to put them back.
Her stomach suddenly betrays her, lets out a loud rumble, and Marcus gives her a concerned look.
“Are you hungry? We can go grab lunch if you want,” he offers, not paying any mind to another female who’s walked up to them, blonde hair and with a cigarette hanging from her lips.
“Who’s this,” Diana Sydney asks, plopping down on the ground where Jaha’s feet are, slinging off her backpack and blowing out a puff of smoke out into the air.
“Diana, this is Abby. Abby, this is Jaha’s girlfriend, Diana,” Marcus introduces them. Abby leans over in her spot on Marcus’s lap, extending a hand out to the other girl. Marcus sucks in a quick breath as she moves, her jean shorts rubbing in all the right spots against him, and notices the black lace peeking out from behind the waistband of her bottoms.
The two girls shake hands and Abby reclines back against her new friend.
“We’re gonna go grab some lunch. You guys want to tag along,” he speaks up, desperately wanting to get out from underneath Abby’s body before anything embarrassing could happen.
The rest of his friends shake their heads, shrug off the idea, and remain where they are in the courtyard.
“Guess it’s just you and me.”
She reluctantly stands from his lap, reaches down to grab her bag, and walks off with him. Diana’s eyes follow and take in how close they walk together, how their arms touch with every step they take… how comfortable they look together.
She takes another puff of her cigarette and looks up at Jaha.
“Callie is not gonna like this,” she mutters, throwing her cigarette bud near her feet and stomping out the embers.
a l s o I hate how gay guys have turned into a cishet girl fetish (similar, but to a less severe degree, to how lesbians have become a cishet guy fetish) cause I’m really tired of all the
• “Look at my gays being happy!!”
• “LMAO I’m such a dirty sinner!!!!”
• “Lol what do you mean theyre totally married I mean look at the way they look at each other!!!!” *insert gif of them literally just staring at each other in a mundane way*
• also the i n f a m o u s “homophobic people cant ship *insert ship* and that’s such a sad life!!! !!!!”
the list could go on and on and like….
if I ship something (which I’m going to be 100% honest I do ship some things its a guilty pleasure I get into when I’m depressed) and I say that kinda ship, it’s projection because I am a gay guy who just wants a healthy relationship with a guy and sometimes u gotta make ur own. But when straight girls do it stops being “projection” and turns into fetishization because they a l w a y s go too fucking far.
and i swear if one person comes up in my damn house and calls this a double standard I will shove my cat up ur nose (and not the nice one, the mean one that scratches)
alright, that’s it, i’m stopping this before it blows up. i’m going to make a few points here, and if you don’t like it, i really don’t fucking care. if you want to be an asshole about it, go ahead, but all it’s going to do is get you blocked.
if you hate davekat because you ship johndave, you need to stop.
i love johndave. johndave is my otp. everyone knows this, i’ve even been called “the president of the united states of johndave.” i have almost 100 works for that ship alone, and i spend a lot of my time writing for it. but don’t you dare go around just disliking a ship for the sole reason that it fucks with one of your otps. that’s absolutely ludicrous.
don’t tell someone to kill themselves over a ship.
it’s a fucking ship, for fucks sakes. it’s a ship! the characters don’t exist, never have and never will, and you don’t have any fucking reason to tell someone to kill themselves over that. you’re just an asshole if you do this, and obviously you aren’t mature enough to handle anything at all, and for that reason you need to destroy your computer and never use the internet again.
i am allowed to have an opinion.
if i hate davekat, i hate davekat. and if i make an anti-davekat blog, it’s none of your damn business what i do on it. if you can’t take a fucking joke, you need to delete yourself from tumblr immediately. if i think davekat seems abusive, i’m fucking allowed. if i don’t see chemistry between dave and karkat, i’m allowed. if i don’t think davekat had a good backstory, I AM FUCKING ALLOWED.
do not, EVER, make a post that obviously comes at me.
if you want to, you tell me that shit to my face. tell me i’m an asshole, tell me i’m a dick, tell me i’m annoying or whatever-the-fuck you want to tell me.
don’t blame me for things i didn’t do, and/or message me something that i have nothing to do with.
i.e: if someone tells you to kill yourself after a ship, do not tell me! i can’t do anything about it, seeing as it’s not my fault and i’m not the fucking ruler of people who don’t ship davekat? i’ll feel bad that someone told you to kill yourself over a ship because fucking yes, i have been suicidal myself. not even six months ago i was attempting to kill myself by any means necessary: walking into traffic, swallowing pills, etc. i take about seven pills a day just so i don’t feel like that. all i can do is feel bad, but what else can i fucking do?
just stop this, stop bitching at me, stop telling people to kill themselves over ships, and just fucking stop this. this website is fucking immature and childish as a whole, and it needs to fucking end. right fucking now.
Title: Emotions Held Captive TV Show: The 100 Ship: Kabby For: Comment_fic using the prompt sex before an audience Note: 3.16 fic a few hours later in the throne room - use the assumption everyone is more or less camped out together Note 2: Uses the pantoum (sorta) Disclaimer: I don’t own, don’t sue
I’m also going to explain this on day 30 but my favourite headcanon atm is for marinette and adrien to become friends before the reveal happens. All the ships are so very important but once the reaveal happens it’s all about Adrienette. That’s the ship! And even though Marinette often behaves really awkward around Adrien I still love their dynamic. Sweet Adrien looking out for Marinette and trying to be a good friend because he was alone for so long.
(added: some people have been confused about the rules! simple version: reblog this post to enter. Once the MTV Clexa post reaches 5 million votes, I’ll randomly pick a winner from the reblogs!)
1. There will be ONE winner, chosen after we reach 5 million votes on the Lexa poll. If we never get to 5 mil, I’ll pick after the poll ends. The winner will get a backup prize of a ~$20 Clexa t shirt of your choice from Amazon. The poll ends on the 20th, so we have plenty of time!
2. Reblog this post to enter. You can reblog/like as much as you want.
You are welcome to reblog/like on side blogs. (which means if you are involved in the voting effort you can enter the giveaway more times!) Just make sure I can contact you within 48 hours via ask or message. No giveaway blogs tho.
4. I’m going to have the prize shipped to the winner from Amazon. You’ll have to be okay with giving me your address for that purpose, and have permission from your parent or guardian if you are under 18.
5. I’ll ship anywhere worldwide, as long as it’s legal.
6. I’ll contact the winner once the poll ends, and announce them once they accept the prize! If I don’t hear back within 48 hours, I’ll pick a new winner.
7. You don’t have to follow my blog to participate.
be honest how often do u think widow doms the hell out of tracer
every. damn. day.
at first its like every time they meet at the battlefield or on a mission, widow doms the hell out of tracer…
then when they’re living together and no longer enemies/fuck buddies, its like once a week when amelie’s nerves are in fringes and she needs to feel in control or when lena is particularly mouth-y and needs to be put in her place.