The thing with Clarke is that she knows she’s intense.
It’s not new knowledge for her – she’s always been this way. When she was five, she was so determined to climb to the top of the monkey bars installed in Wells’ backyard and she did climb – but she also fell down and got a mild concussion.
So she really doesn’t need Bellamy Blake to tell her that, not with those furrowed brows of his and the high and mighty posture like he’s done an incredible good deed just by being her soccer team’s athletic trainer.
“I mean, you do know you’re too wound up, right?” he asks again, arms crossed, looking down at her. “And you do know that there are health benefits in chilling the fuck out?”
This could have been a very good day. She woke up, went to practice, and then apparently she fucked up by nearly spraining an ankle but still limp-running her way to scoring a goal.
But Bellamy Blake exists and no matter how much Clarke likes his sister Octavia, he’s still an insufferable asshole. Has been since she showed up for practice that first time (which ended up with her spraying the hell out of him with her water bottle).
So she tells him just as much.
“You’re such an asshole, Blake.”
He’s laughing as she walks away from the field and Clarke can’t for the life of her understand why she’s bothered by what he says so much.
Clarke thought it was the pounding of a hangover headache that woke her up until the actual moment that she did wake up. The pulsing sound hadn’t been her blood beating in her head, complaining about how much she’d drank that night—that morning, really—but instead the pulsing of a phone on vibrate, rattling off her nightstand. Eyesight a blur and her bed too warm to move more than a single, flailing arm, Clarke reached for her phone.
It wasn’t buzzing.
Clarke sighed and tucked her arm back into her blanket, rolling over to shove her face back into her pillow. Except, her blanket felt too heavy and strange to be an actual blanket. Except, her pillow didn’t feel quite like a pillow, and she was quite certain it had a heartbeat.
Clarke blinked and found herself staring at the worn navy-blue cotton of a t-shirt. She wiggled into her bed and found it was an arm draped over her and a chest she’d tucked herself against. The body beside her was breathing, steady and sleeping. But that phone was still erratically buzzing, making it impossible for the lull of warmth and touch to pull her back asleep.
If Clarke felt the smallest bit guilty about waiting to nudge Bellamy awake, she didn’t really care.
“Nothing,” Lexa shrugged and tried the smirk. “I haven’t done anything. Can’t I just get a pretty girl some pretty flowers?”
Shy and guilty, Lexa half hid behind the bouquet of Clarke’s favorites, a shield of sorts to protect her from the inevitable. It’d been effective in the past, though she understood the day would come when it’d become old hat.
“You left in the middle of the night and it’s been three days.”
i will yell at you even though both our doors are closed to shut up your class jesus christ au cause imagine Clarke getting pissy like that
The Sacking of Iona
Thank you for this prompt, I had a lot of fun with it! This is vaguely based on one of the greatest days of my middle school career.
It was sixth period, aka Clarke’s last class and she was exhausted, as she always was by this point in the day. Teaching biology to high schoolers who just wanted to stab each other with dissection tools and makes jokes about frog intestines was exhausting.
She was bringing up her slideshow about binary fission and asexual reproduction when she heard it.
The noise from across the hall. From his classroom. The noise that had been tormenting her all day.
Clarke took a deep breath to calm herself. There were forty-five minutes left of this period and then school was finished. She’d been dealing with it all day and she could do it for another forty-five minutes. It was forty-five minutes. That was nothing. Right?
“Okay, guys,” she said, “does anyone know how bacteria reproduce?”
There was a particularly loud cheer from across the hall.
Clarke ground her teeth together and, ignoring the five raised hands from her class, crossed the front of the room to her closed door and looked out across the deserted hallway into Room 1215. His room.
can you explain a little more the Luthor as Satan thing you mentione sometimes?
narratively, if you look at bvs, clark, bruce, and lex can slip into the roles of god, man, and the devil quite well. lex operates and acts in accordance to this role.
the devil creates conflict between man and God - causing man to question the very divinity, the goodness, and the judgment OF God. which is… literally what lex does in bvs.
the devil provides man with the tools for his destruction and disobedience of god; lex luthor spreads discord where there once was acceptance. lex literally provides bruce, the embittered man who has lost his way, the tools for his destruction through kryptonite.
his goal is to create doubt and uncertainty in the almighty, to exacerbate the suspicion and distrust in the hearts of men. lex orchestrates the africa scheme and the bombing, creating doubt and uncertainty. lex manipulates o’keefe and bruce, exacerbates their hostility towards superman.
he makes himself so important by being the one casting down superman and yet ironically, holding superman up as God.
in this context, Man was only ever an ephemeral pawn in the game played between God and Satan.
it’s obvious that in lex’s perspective he feels like he’s doing mankind a great service. he’s not LITERALLY Satan lmao, he’s a very flawed, very fascinating human character. it’s in the allegorical prometheus speech. he believes himself prometheus (who is still! not human!), saving man from a haughty, vengeful god. but in doing so, he is punished.
he even says it to clark’s face, that he’s doing all this to show humankind how superman is a fraud. lex as a general character is supposed to be the pinnacle of human progress — self-made through hard work and human intellect. next to superman, he’s minimized. his achievement is minimized, all of human progress is meaningless.
so he wants to be the HUMAN hero destroying this threat to humanity. but the narrative role he continues to don in bvs is the tempter, the trickster, the vengeful, jealous Lucifer who orchestrates conflict between man and god, tears down his one almighty enemy, and reaps the reward.
he even raises his hand in acknowledgement when he mentions “the problem of evil in the world” — it’s really interesting how he seems to shift every so often, from this delusional heroism to self-aware fury and malevolence.
*MAJOR SPOILERS OF BATMAN V SUPERMAN AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISKKKK!!!*****
Requested by anonymous:
“Hey love! Could you do a superman imagine where the reader and him both loved each other, and she was there for all of the events of BatsvSupes. But after he died, he came back to her?”
Warnings: Angst, fluff, mild swearing, major spoilers
Note: First superman imagine!!! hopefully you enjoy xx
*not proof read
The shot glass was cool against your fingertips which was an odd contrast to the burning sensation in your throat as you downed another shot.
You reached for the almost empty bottle of vodka, staring at it blankly as you held on to it tightly. As you held onto the bottle which was fresh out of the fridge your fingers slowly began to turn numb. This only resulted in you wrapping your fingers around it tighter. Maybe if you held on to it long enough the numbing sensation would eventually travel up your body and into your heart. Then you could finally have a moment of reprieve from the unbearable pain that was currently surging through every inch of you.
Bellamy forces himself to keep moving on patrol, convinced that if he keeps walking, his feet won’t go numb. He can see his breath and his fingers feel cold to the bone even as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
Walking by a few tents he knows are used by younger kids, he pokes his head inside quietly, and panics for a second when the tent is empty, only to hear a whisper from the tent next to it. “Bellamy?”
He takes a few steps to his left and pulls back the flap carefully, seeing four of the younger kids curled up together, wrapped in blankets and as many warm clothes as they were able to trade for and salvage from the bunkers. “Go back to sleep, Myla.” Bellamy says. “Are you guys warm enough?”
“Better now that we’re sharing,” Myla says, bunching the blanket up underneath her nose. She can’t be more than twelve. It reminds Bellamy of Octavia, curled up with him in his bed on the nights when the Ark would cut the heating in the manufacturing stations, and they could practically see their breath in their apartment.
“Make sure you guys stay together, and don’t go outside unless you absolutely have to. It’s too cold.” Bellamy instructs, feeling his teeth start to chatter. Once he’s sure they’re all tucked in and won’t be getting up to go out any time soon, he heads back towards his tent.
It’s too cold for even the Grounders to attack, he thinks bitterly, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about trading off on watch for Miller, who looks barely awake, but seems to be bundled up well enough to keep warm. On his way to his tent, he passes Clarke’s and stops when he sees the faint glow of a lantern on. Frowning, he wonders why she’s still awake, and then stops himself, his throat feeling thick.