fuller clark

no one asked you to become Atlas
no one looked at you and thought:

“yes, this one, this one deserves to be cursed
cursed to hold the world on their aching shoulder
deserves to scream as the weight crushes them
deserves to have no one hear them cry
this one, this one, deserves to be forgotten”


no one else but you 
you were the one who chose to take on the burdens of a broken world
you were the one who decided to carrying the darkness 
the one who believes they do not matter
so they might as well try to hold up the universe


darling, why?
why of all the olden Gods would you chose Atlas?


was it because you understand that each person is a entire world
that by saving one person you’ve proved that you can save the universe
darling, it doesn’t work like that

youtube

Sonny Clark - Come Rain Or Come Shine (Sonny’s Crib, 1958)

Sonny Clark (piano); John Coltrane (tenor saxophone); Donald Byrd (trumpet); Curtis Fuller (trombone); Paul Chambers (bass); Art Taylor (drums).

how lovely is this…

10

And there’s an old man sitting on the throne that’s saying that I probably shouldn’t be so mean

i need more blogs to follow

like and/or reblog if you post about the following and i’ll check you out:

  • superman
  • dc in general (comics, dceu, dccu)
  • the flash
  • agents of s.h.i.e.l.d
  • marvel
  • clark kent
  • from dusk till dawn
  • arrow 
  • once upon a time
  • kal-el
  • supergirl
  • the man from u.n.c.l.e
  • spartacus
  • mad max
  • that dude with a red cape and an ‘s’ on his tits

anonymous asked:

AU prompt :) Clarke and Lexa have been friends for a few years now. They're always flirting with each other but they never know if the other is serious. Then Clarke gives Lexa a kiss on the cheek (why? IDK you're the author!) and that alone jump-starts Lexa's bravery. Because feelings. So Lexa has to make a choice, then and there- go for it or continue as friends.

A piece of popcorn smacks into the television screen. “Your boyfriend is the killer!” Lexa snaps, throwing another piece of popcorn before huffing and settling back into the warm space beside Clarke. They are pressed together on Clarke’s twin-sized dorm bed, covered in opened boxes of snacks and a bowl of popcorn, as is tradition for their Thursday-night movie marathons. “How is she so oblivious?”

“At least she’s cute.” Clarke’s fingers brush over Lexa’s in the popcorn bowl, linger a moment, and then pull out a scoop of the butter-drenched snack. “Dumb but cute.”

“She’s not that cute,” Lexa says, rolling her eyes, and Clarke laughs.

She pokes the exposed bit of flesh at Lexa’s hipbone, the space between her tank top and pajama bottoms, and teases, “She’s cuter than you.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lexa turns to look at her best friend. “Not possible,” she says, and Clarke only laughs harder.

“Says you.

Popcorn spills out over the bedspread as Lexa suddenly launches from her position and rolls on top of Clarke. She pins her wrists with one hand and uses the other to begin tickling the blonde. “Take it back, Clarke,” she says as Clarke squeals and writhes beneath her.

“No way!”

“Take it back!” Lexa is merciless, digging her fingers under Clarke’s arm and then down to the back of her thigh until Clarke is wheezing between long streams of laughter. “Admit I’m the cutest!”

“Never!”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Based off that post: Lexa is training their son as Clarke watches.

Clarke slows her steps as she rounds the building, the old stone of their house cold against her shoulder as she stops to lean against it. She watches, a smile touching her lips, as Lexa’s breads swing through the air with the Commander’s swift spin, her staff jolting up to catch the hard slash of their son’s wooden sword.

“Sha!” she hears Lexa cheer, the joy in her wife’s eyes visible even from across a distance as she gently pushes their son back and nods for him to come at her again. 

He lunges forward, fast yet graceful in a way Clarke has never quite managed to be and likely never will. He is a warrior like his other mother, his body small but agile, lithe, and he is a fast learner–as skilled with a sword as he has come to be with a paintbrush and a pencil. It seems he simply cannot fail at anything, exercising talent in nearly everything his small hands become eager to try–from tinkering with Raven to riding with Octavia, hunting with Lincoln and Bellamy, to sparring with Lexa and painting with Clarke. He is a brilliant boy, and Clarke feels fuller than she ever imagined she could be–watching the bright summer sun beam atop his blonde head, glint in Lexa’s gorgeous green eyes.

She never would have imagined all the ways the world could change, the way things could turn on a dime, shake you and shift you and send you hurtling toward healing instead of disaster. She never imagined she would find her way back to being whole.

But here she is, bursting with the feeling, so much so that all that came before now feels faded and surreal.

She is shaken from her reverie when her son barrels into her, small arms wrapping around her waist and nearly knocking her off her feet. Surprised, Clarke lets out a laugh and embraces him. “Hey,” she chuckles. “I thought I was being sneaky.”

“We knew you were here the whole time.”

“Oh is that right?” Clarke runs her hands through her son’s dirty blonde hair and bends to kiss the top of his head. She glances up just as Lexa reaches them, their son’s wooden sword and her own staff propped against her shoulder. Clarke smiles as Lexa smirks at her. “Your nomon is going to have to teach me how to be stealthier then.”

“Water,” Lexa says, reaching out to pat her son’s back. “Go on.”

He nods before taking off around the house to head in for water. His mothers are almost as strict about staying hydrated and healthy as his grandmother is. Once he is gone, Lexa sets her staff and his sword on the ground before leaning against the stone next to Clarke.

“He is strong,” she says, and Clarke sighs and nods.

“He’s growing up too fast.”

A quiet laugh slips through Lexa’s lips as she turns and pulls Clarke into her arms. “Yes,” she says, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s temple. “Much too fast.”

anonymous asked:

I know this isn't a drabble but Bellamy and Clarke ' you're my little sisters best friend but that shirt you borrowed from me looks really good on you, like really good' au

Hi, anon, this is rather short just so you know ^^ 

ao3

Bellamy passed through the living room and was on his way to the kitchen to grab a drink, maybe a beer if his mom had remembered to buy him some, when he did a double take.

There, on the on the beige carpet was sitting a girl he was quite familiar with. What was new was the shirt she was wearing. A shirt few sizes bigger, hanging off her left shoulder and showing pale skin, a shirt Bellamy immediately recognised as his.

She continued watching the show on the TV and tucked few rebellious blond strands behind her ear.

Drink long forgotten, Bellamy inched closer, some unexplainable urge churning in his stomach making him step closer.

“Octavia, c’mon, you’ll miss th-“ She turned around and her big blue eyes widened. “You’re not Octavia.”

Bellamy gave her a ‘you don’t say’ expression as he greedily memorised the way she looked in his shirt.

“I see you feel perfectly at home.”

Clarke blushed and fidgeted, fingers playing with the hem of the grey t-shirt.

“Yes, um,” she cleared her throat, “Octavia spilled coke on mine and I needed a change of clothes.”

“Oh?” He leaned against the back of the couch, in the perfect position to follow her every movement without her realising. “And she couldn’t give you something of hers?”

“Erm, well-“ The blush travelled down her neck and disappeared bellow the neckline on the shirt; Bellamy felt tempted to see just how far it actually goes.

“Bell! Stop picking on Clarke!” Octavia made her way from the kitchen, holding a big bowl of popcorn. “Besides, my clothes don’t fit her.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at her friend’s lack of tact, already used to her wicked mouth.

He took a second glance at the blonde, more detailed than before and noticed indeed that Clarke was fuller in some areas than his sister, pleasantly so.

“Don’t have too much fun.” Bellamy stole some of their popcorn, deaf to his sister’s complains and decided to go back to his room. He had a lot to think about, like how O’s friend had grown up rather well and wasn’t she closer to 18 now?

“I’ll wash your shirt and I’ll give it back to Octavia.” Clarke shouted at his back.

“Don’t bother.” He turned to smirk at her. “It suits you well.” He enjoyed the pink shade of her cheeks a moment more before continuing.

“It’s not like you want to give it back.” His sister was never good at keeping her voice down.

“Octavia!”

There was the rustling of clothes and a shriek and Bellamy presumed that Clarke had tackled his sister to the floor.

Maybe he should venture to the kitchen more often.

And maybe he should become clumsy and spill some stuff.

He grinned.

Definitely.