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“I still don’t understand how famous people go on the internet.”
Clarke glances over at Bellamy, sees he’s on tumblr and his dashboard has presented him with a photoset of pictures of the two of them together, taken from Clarke’s instagram.
“The same way regular people do, but our computers are better and our connections are faster.”
He snorts. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to be a dick.” She leans in to check the tags on the post: #clarke griffin #clarke griffin’s incredibly hot boyfriend #seriously are we sure he’s not a model? #or some kind of perfect human specimen she had custom made for her in a hot guy lab? #does anyone know where this hot guy lab is? #asking for a friend. “Who is this person? Are you following them? Which account are you on?”
It’s not like he doesn’t use bb-hate anymore, but he has had to cut back. It’s not, exactly, that he has an internet presence he’s embarrassed of, it’s just that he has an internet presence he didn’t think anyone would ever care about. He curates hollywood-histories carefully, but his personal blog was just that. With his own name in use, it didn’t take long for the followers he had there to figure it out, and once one person started spreading the word among her fans, it caught on.
Apparently he’s not used to getting anons asking for threesomes.
So he’s largely abandoned that tumblr, only passed the new one along to mutuals he actually trusted, and he’s rebuilding a new kind of internet footprint.
“This is the one I made to stan for you,” he says, and she snorts.
“I forgot about that one.”
“I was just checking the Clarke Griffin tag, but I decided I wanted to start actually keeping up with some of the fansites and BNFs. See if there was anything–bad, I guess.”
“You know Raven does that, right?”
“We can both do it. You have plenty of weird fans to go around.”