Chapter Text
Clarke flipped the script shut and pushed it away across the table. “No,” she said. “No fucking way.”
Anya sighed and pushed the script back. “Clarke.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“This project could be really good for you.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow and looked between the stack of papers and her agent. “Uh huh.”
Anya swallowed and looked down. Gen Super, it trumpeted. Pilot. Written by Marcus Kane. “I know it’s not...ideal.”
“It’s not even fucking close to ideal, it’s motherfucking absurd.”
Anya held out a hand. “Give me a dollar.”
“I am not giving you a dollar.”
“Swear jar, Clarke, we had a deal. I told you--”
“That if we were going to keep working together I had to keep the profanity to a minimum, yeah, yeah, whatever.” She dug her wallet out and pulled out a bill. “I feel like the fact that I’m ridiculously broke should mean I we can put that on hold.”
Anya’s eyebrow arched in a way that Clarke was desperately jealous of. “What,” she drawled, “you want to start a tab?”
“No.”
“Then pay up. Also may I remind you that it’s your fault that you’re ‘ridiculously broke.’” She stabs the script with a finger. “Thus why this thing is necessary.”
“You agree that it’s dumb as fu--” She stopped. “As hell.”
“Well, obviously. But we’re not looking for Emmy-winning material right now, Clarke, and you know that. After your...breakdown, we need to get you onto a project. Otherwise everyone’s going to think ‘disastrous trainwreck lesbian’ everytime they hear your name.”
“I’m not even a lesbian!”
“Yes, Clarke, I know. Please, please, please, will you just go to the audition?”
Clarke chewed her lip.
“You know how well Marcus’ name is respected in this town. This is going to get picked up. And you’re going to be the lead.”
“Do we know who the male lead is?”
Anya shook her head. “They’ve only done supporting casting. A few members of the main cast but no one significant.” She pulled out a folder and rifled through it. “They’ve got...John Murphy, Jasper Jordan, apparently, don’t know how that happened, and uhhh...they’re in talks with Raven Reyes.” Anya’s eyes flicked up to hers. “You like Raven.”
Clarke groaned and fell back in her chair. “Fine, you win, I’ll go to the damn audition.”
Anya grinned and snapped her folder shut. “Good girl, Clarke. I’ll see you at nine AM.”
TVLine.com @TVLine
@MarcusKane’s #GenSuper adds @cgriffs as leading lady, flirts with a series order at the CW.
Amandaaaaa @amandajane
@TVLine finally something that might get me back into the cw, if only to watch griffin crash and burn again lolll
“They’re talking about you,” Anya said a week after Clarke’s casting was announced.
Clarke glared at her over her bowl of Lucky Charms. “They’re all calling me a lunatic. And those are the nice ones.”
“No press is bad press.” Anya paused. “At least not in your situation. It’s reminding people that you’re still here and you’re still working.”
“Don’t date supermodels, kids,” Clarke deadpanned at the table, “they’ll chew you up and spit you right back out.”
“Well, anyway,” Anya said after a brief pause. “We’re back in business. Kane’s at the CW’s offices today, they’re talking about picking it up.”
Clarke stared at her. “For real? A straight to season order?”
“Talking about it,” Anya reminded her. “And nothing’s going to happen until they get you a costar.”
Clarke took another bite of cereal. “How’s that going?”
“Apparently there’s a short list. They haven’t released it yet but they’re narrowing it down. I’d expect an announcement in the next couple days.”
“Cool.”
“You’re getting lunch with Raven today, right?”
Clarke nodded.
“Good. Make sure someone gets pictures.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Yes, Anya.”
Anya glared at her. “I’m your manager, Clarke, not your friend.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and snagged her keys off the counter. “Make sure you brush your hair.”
“For God’s sake,” Clarke groaned.
Raven Reyes had been one of Clarke’s first friends in the industry. They’d met at an open casting call for “pretty girl #4” for a shitty independent film that had flopped on the festival circuit. Neither of them got the part but they managed to grow a semi-decent friendship out of it.
Raven was already sitting at the table when Clarke got there, scrolling through something on her phone and frowning but she grinned when she saw Clarke, standing up for a hug.
“Clarke, babe! It’s so good to see you!”
Raven’s enthusiasm had always been contagious. Clarke couldn’t help but grin back.
“You, too! I saw Wrong Turn, it was great.”
Raven beamed. “A completely unnecessary compliment, but flattery will get you everywhere.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Not that they’ve been saying anything nice about you lately.”
Clarke grimaced. “I’ve seen worse.”
Raven studied her face. “At least you’re getting back into the game. And with a leading role, too. Cheers to that, babe.”
“Kane’s had a soft spot for me since that weird fling he had with my mom and you know it,” Clarke admonished.
Raven shrugged. “A leading role’s a leading role. And I’ve heard they’ve got some big names on your list of possible costars.”
Clarke leaned across the table. “Like who?”
“That I don’t know, they’re keeping it pretty tight under wraps.”
Clarke sat back, disappointed. “Damn. Anya told me there’d be an announcement soon.”
Raven’s grin was slow and wide. “You’re still working with Anya? How’s she doing?”
“Crazy as ever. She’s forced me into this bullshit swear jar business.”
“Like you don’t pay her enough already,” Raven said.
“Hey, she didn’t dump me after the Lexa fiasco, I owe her.”
“True.” She paused. “How are you doing with all that?”
“Oh, you mean Lexa and her new foreign chew toy parading all over New York Fashion Week a few months ago? Yeah, I’m great.”
“Clarke.”
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously, Raven, I’m fine. I dumped her, remember?”
Raven rolled her eyes. “No, she said she wanted to take a break, you lost it, threw a bunch of shit in a restaurant, and told her you were done before stomping out with spaghetti all down your front.” She sucked in a breath. “Sorry, that was a little harsh.”
Clarke bit her lip. “All true, though. I did do all of that.”
“Again, are you okay.”
“Pretty soon I’m going to have a super hot costar to hang all over in promo pictures. She’s going to be the jealous one.”
Raven raised her glass. “That’s the spirit, babe. And hey,” she added, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m always down to make the bitch jealous.”
Clarke grinned. “You’re still not over that time she spilled wine all over you at that afterparty are you?”
“Never,” Raven vowed. “I don’t care how many times she apologized, that was a calculated move.”
“You know she thought I was cheating on her with you right?”
Raven choked on her next bite. “What?” she wheezed.
“Yeah, she was real fucking insecure about it.”
“Everything makes about nine hundred times more sense now.”
Clarke laughed.
“I mean I am pretty hot.”
“And yet not into girls.”
“Sadly.”
“Any prospects of the male variety?”
Raven rolled her eyes. “Again, sadly no.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
“I would never.” But there was a small smile playing around her lips.
“Don’t hold out on my like that.”
Raven fought back her smile. “Okay, fine.”
Clarke grinned and leaned in closer.
Marcus Kane @MarcusKane
Beyond thrilled to welcome @bellblake to the cast of #GenSuper as our male lead! You guys are going to love it!
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Clarke moaned into her pillow.
It was a testament to Anya’s humanity that she didn’t ask for a dollar or yell at Clarke for potentially drooling all over her throw pillows.
Anya’s apartment was decorated in what could be called a minimalist style, which in Anya’s case meant she was basically never there and had never bothered to buy anything other than the necessary furniture so she didn’t eat and sleep on the ground. The only things she did splurge on were excessively nice throw pillows for her couch that hurt Clarke’s face. But if Clarke had to look at her phone for one more second she was going to scream.
“This could be worse,” Anya said slowly.
“How?” Clarke’s voice was muffled by the pillow still.
“Okay, for Christ’s sake. I’m not talking to the pillow, Clarke, come on.” She hauled her up and shook her lightly by the shoulders. “You are a professional. You can do this.”
“Yeah, and Bellamy Blake’s a royal asshole.”
“And you’re going to work with him because you’re an actor and this is what you do.”
Clarke just groaned again.
“The table read for the pilot is in two days. Pull yourself together.”
“What happens if I quit?”
“You never get another job again and make ten dollars an hour salting fries at McDonald’s.”
“They pay that well?”
“Clarke. Focus.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.”
“You don’t have to make out with the guy, all right? Just pretend you like him.”
“Have you met him?”
“Of course.”
Clarke opened her mouth but Anya cut her off.
“And no, Clarke I don’t think he’s Satan, spawn of the earth, son of the Devil.”
“Ugh.”
“Bellamy Blake is just like every other narcissistic asshole in this city and you’ve dealt with plenty of those just fine.”
“Yeah, but he’s different.”
Anya leveled a bored look at her.
Clarke gestured wildly. “All that dumb swagger and too straight teeth and his dumb fucking hair.”
Anya sighed. “Just work with him. Okay?”
“I can’t work with him,” Clarke yelled into her phone after the table read. “I can’t. He’s rude and narcissistic and a giant douchebag!”
“Clarke,” Anya said from the other end of the line. “I thought I asked you to stop yelling unnecessarily during our phone calls.”
“This is not unnecessary. This is so necessary! There has never been anything so necessary!”
“What happened.” It was more of a statement than a question. If Clarke was in a better mood she’d have thought about what sad things that said about her and Anya’s working relationship.
“Just everything.”
“That’s not an answer. I’m going to hang up on you now. I’m taking the night off to drink myself into a stupor. Don’t call me unless you’re in jail or the hospital. Okay?”
“Anya--!” But there was a click and then status on the line.
“Jesus fuck,” Clarke swore, preparing to dial her back.
“You all right there, princess?” a voice asked from behind her.
Clarke jumped, fingers clenching hard on her phone.
“Fine,” she snarled back. “Just fine.”
She braced herself and turned. Forced a smile. One of Bellamy Blake’s perfect eyebrows went up.
“You sure about that? You seemed pretty upset.” He gestured to her phone.
“Oh, I was just telling my agent about how much of an asshole you are.”
His answering smile was bemused. “Oh, Clarke, just as fun as ever.”
“Right, unlike you.”
“Everyone’s entitled to an opinion,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes.
“My sister says hi by the way.”
Clarke deflated a little. “How is she?”
“Good, good. Engaged.”
“No way!”
Marcus Kane’s head appeared around the doorframe. “Not that I don’t love the sound of you two not yelling at each other but I need you both back in here.”
Bellamy made a grand windmilling gesture with one arm that was accompanied by a wide grin. “After you, princess.”
“Oh, fuck you, Blake,” Clarke growled.
She felt more than saw his grin as she passed him.
“It’s officially pilot season, ladies and gentlemen, and Hollywood is simply awash in news. But tonight I want to turn my attention first to the CW and the shows it’s looking at picking up for this fall. Surprisingly, so far Marcus Kane’s, who we all know as the man who wrote and executive produced runaway success Arkadia, teen drama about college kids with superpowers Gen Super is leading the pack. It certainly does seem like something that would perk up the CW exec’s ears with Kane’s track record, it’s likely draw from the teen and young adult demographic, and fairly well-established cast but we’re looking at a surprising collaboration between Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake, both brilliant actors but nearly impossible to wrangle into working together. Production on the pilot is expected to wrap in a few days and industry insiders are already saying Gen Super’s odds are looking good. And I, for one, am looking forward to watching those two pretend to like each other.”
(“CW to Pick Up Superpowered Teen College-Drama from Arkadia EP?” Hypable. Web.)
Marcus Kane @MarcusKane
And that’s a wrap on the #GenSuper pilot! Thank you to the fabulous cast and crew! @cgriffs @bellblake
Clarke Griffin @cgriffs
Had a great time working on #GenSuper with @bellblake @raven_reyes @jazzjordan and so many others, cross your fingers for a pickup!
Bellamy Blake @bellblake
@cgriffs It was great working with you, too, princess
Clarke cracked open a beer and threw herself back on the couch. Raven turned the volume on the TV down.
“They calm down yet?”
Clarke growled. “No. Twitter is a vast mess of ‘oh, they’re so cute!’ and ‘I thought they hated each other but I’m so down!’.” She paused. “And those are the ones that aren’t giving me nightmares.”
“And I want to know absolutely nothing about the ones that are,” Octavia Blake announced, reappearing in the doorway from Raven’s bathroom. “That is my brother you’re talking about.”
“Don’t remind me,” Clarke said into her beer.
Raven nudged her. “He’s not that bad.”
“You just think that because you dated him him for two months,” Clarke snapped back.
“He’s a good--”
Octavia blanched. “Guys, fucking seriously. We have had this conversation before, I don’t want to know jack shit about Bellamy’s sex life, okay?”
“Well that’s going to be a little difficult,” Raven said around a wide smile, “when one of us fucked him and the entirety of the internet thinks the other one currently is.”
Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “There is no universe in which I would willingly--”
“Glad to hear it,” Octavia said loudly over the loud sound of her wrestling the remote out of Raven’s hand to turn up the volume. “Now, HGTV or E!?”
“God, please HGTV, if I have to hear my name on another entertainment news show I’m going to jump out a window,” Clarke replied and Octavia navigated to the channel.
“Nothing like watching a bunch of middle class couples try to buy houses they can’t afford,” Raven mused, taking a swig of her own beer before looking over at Octavia. “So when are we meeting this fiance of yours?”
A sappy smile slid across Octavia’s face as she reached for the sparkling diamond on her ring finger, twisting it a little. “Uh, whenever you want?”
“He must be a good guy, Bellamy likes him.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, not always. Lincoln and I were dating for almost two years before Bellamy stopped side-eying him every time he came over.”
Clarke coughed. “Sounds like him.”
“Someone needs to remove the pole shoved up his ass,” Raven added.
“Cheers,” Octavia said blandly, holding up her bottle.
The three of them clinked.
After a pause Raven said, “I nominate Clarke.”
“Raven!”
Clarke had met Octavia Blake by accident at a premiere. It was the first and only time (before Gen Super) that she’d worked with Bellamy and she was thankful for the premiere and the end of the press tour and getting as far away from him as possible.
The red carpet had been relatively easy. She’d posed for the cameras and answered a few questions and ducked inside to the coolness and privacy of the theater. She was in the lobby when she nearly walked into a brunette model-looking type in a sequined dress, phone pressed to her ear, arguing with someone.
Clarke had wanted to snap at her for getting in her way but there was something in the hard line of her shoulders and the wrinkle between her eyebrows that smoothed out Clarke’s own rough edges. She knew those signs--family trouble.
She hadn’t recognized her at first. Where Bellamy was broad and dark, Octavia was slim and pale, taking more after their mother where Bellamy’s own genes seemed to come mostly from their father. At least, that was what Clarke thought. Bellamy rarely, if ever, talked about his past or his family, especially not with her.
“Well stop preening for the cameras and get your ass in here, I’m not standing around all day,” the girl had snapped into her phone and Clarke had smiled. “What do you want?” was the following retort.
“Sorry, I was just--” Clarke gestured feebly and the girl raised her eyebrows in a challenge.
“Well, can you do it somewhere e--”
“Sorry, I’m late, O,” a voice had said behind Clarke and she’d frozen. “Ah, I see you’ve met my delightful costar.”
Clarke had faked a smile. “Bellamy.”
He nodded at her briefly before slinging an arm around the other girl’s shoulders. “Clarke, this is my sister. Octavia, may I introduce you to Clarke Griffin.”
Octavia’s handshake was firm and her smile was sharklike and Clarke wondered how she hadn’t noticed the resemblance between the siblings before.
Casey Lee @caseyj
@bellblake @raven_reyes what’s it like working with clarke is she as psycho in person
Bellamy Blake @bellblake
@caseyj Clarke is a great actress and beyond easy to work with
Bellamy Blake @bellblake
@caseyj and I don’t trash talk my coworkers
“I hate the Internet,” Clarke told her cat that weekend.
Paisley stared back at her with that bored expression that Clarke had tried and failed to master. Her tail twitched.
Clarke’s phone vibrated on her table and she sighed, reaching over to answer.
“What.”
“That’s not a very nice way to answer your phone, princess.”
“Maybe I checked my caller ID first.”
‘That the best you got? You’re slipping.”
‘What do you want, Bellamy.”
“O told me you want to meet Lincoln. He’s coming over for dinner tomorrow if you’re interested.”
She was silent. He sighed loudly.
“Bring Raven if you want, okay? Look, Clarke, I don’t even care if you come. I was just told to pass on the message.” Another pause. “6:30 my place if you’re coming.”
The line went dead. Clarke looked over at her cat again. Paisley was licking her fur in a carefully detached way that Clarke was jealous of.
“What do you think, Pais?” Clarke said softly. “Do I go?”
She reached out to pet the cat and Paisley stretched under her fingers before leaping off the window ledge.
“Jesus,” Clarke muttered. “Even my cat doesn’t like me.”
When Clarke had first met them, Bellamy and Octavia lived in a small two-bedroom apartment in North Hollywood. She hadn’t kept up much with his career but Bellamy had obviously done well for himself since they first worked together. That much was obvious when she pulled up in front of his apartment.
Well, maybe rowhouse or something pretentious like that was a more suitable word.
“Jesus,” Harper said from the backseat.
One of Raven’s eyebrows was making an ambitious bid for her hairline. “Right you are, girlfriend.”
“All right let’s get this thing over with,” Clarke said, shoving open her door. “I’m here for Octavia.”
“And I’m here to look threatening,” Raven added, crossing her arms.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” Clarke drawled back. “I know the both of you are here just because you’re waiting for me to blow up at Bellamy.”
Raven and Harper exchanged shocked faces.
“We would never,” Harper said seriously.
Clarke snorted. “You are literally the worst friends I have ever had.”
“But if say you were going to scream at him I’d rather experience it firsthand,” Raven said slowly.
Clarke rolled her eyes and started across the street. “Come on, you assholes.”
Bellamy wrenched open the door within seconds of Clarke ringing the bell. “Clarke, Raven, and...Harper? Welcome, come on in.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Little eager there, are we?” She nodded towards his hand, which had a white-knuckled grip on the doorknob.
His grin was mocking. “Well, you know, Griffin, some of us have images to maintain.” He leaned and whispered, “images that don’t involve dumping spaghetti down our fronts.”
Clarke leaned in farther and replied, “maybe next time you’ll be the one with the spaghetti down your front, Blake.” She pulled away and gave him a significant look before leading the way into the foyer.
“Nice try, Blake,” she heard Raven say and a sound that might have been her patting him on the back.
A good helping of the rest of the Gen Super cast was sprawled across Bellamy’s living room furniture and Clarke was glad. She hadn’t worked with anyone other than Raven, Harper, or Bellamy in the past but she’d clicked easily with Miller and Monty and she was slowly getting there with Murphy, who was a bit of a dick but overall not that bad.
She entered the room to a chorus of, “Clarke!” and a sea of raised beer bottles and she grinned, sliding into an empty spot on the couch between Monty and Jasper. Raven had disappeared into the kitchen, likely in search of alcohol, and Harper was already in deep conversation with Monroe.
“Good to see you haven’t killed Bellamy yet,” Jasper slurred, giving her a nod.
She chuckled. “If I killed him I wouldn’t have a job.”
“Hey, man, none of us might have jobs in a few weeks.”
Clarke frowned.
“We’re going to get picked up,” Monty said seriously from her other side, knocking into her shoulder. “You know how good Marcus is in with the CW. And anyway, your rivalry with Bellamy is doing great things for the show’s publicity.”
“It is not a rivalry,” Clarke protested.
“How quickly you dismiss our torrid relationship, princess,” Bellamy called from the entryway.
She just rolled her eyes at him.
“Yo, Raven,” he added and she turned. “Beer’s on the door behind the ketchup.”
“I know,” she calls back, “I saw. I was just wondering if you have anything other than PBR. What?” she demanded, “that shit’s disgusting.”
“That just means you’re not drunk enough yet,” Jasper told her.
“No, Jordan, it means she has standards,” Miller said from the floor. “Unlike you.” Clarke smiled.
“It’s all I got,” Bellamy said apologetically. “Sorry.”
“Whatever. Heads up, Clarke!”
She threw a can and Clarke caught it neatly in one hand, cracking the tab in the same motion. It might have been her imagination but that might have also been an impressed look in Bellamy’s eye.
“Where’s your sister?” she asked lightly.
“Went to go pick up the fiance from the airport. She should be here any minute.”
Clarke took a swig of her beer. Winced. Bellamy winked at her. She made a face back and turned to Monty. “So I want to hear all about that indie feature you did, it looks awesome.”
Monty’s face lit up and he launched into a rambling speech.
Octavia appeared fifteen minutes later trailed by a hulking tree of a man with tribal tattoos, a shaved head, and a beard. Clarke could see why he’d set off all of Bellamy’s big brother alarms but within seconds of shaking his hand, she could also understand why Octavia was so smitten with him.
Lincoln was soft spoken and calming with a sardonic sort of humor and eyes only for Octavia. When she went to greet her brother his gaze followed her, a smile on his lips, even as Harper was asking him a question about what he did.
“Oh, I’m in sales,” he answered distractedly, finally turning his attention back to the rest of the room. “I work for Apple.”
“Yo, dude, that’s the coolest,” Jasper cut in. “Can you get me a discount? Because like I need a new laptop.”
Clarke elbowed him and he threw her a wounded look. “What, Clarke, I’m just working the system here.”
Lincoln laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re the best,” Jasper told him with a drunkenly dopey smile. “Octavia, your boyfriend’s the best!”
“I know!” Octavia yelled back.
Unfortunately Jasper was right about the PBR. By the third one, Clarke was a bit desensitized to the taste and was definitely leaning a bit hard on Monty’s shoulder, one arm thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch behind him. Someone had ordered pizza and there were boxes strewn across the floor with a mess of paper plates and napkins. Bellamy dropped onto the couch cushion next to her that Jasper had previously been occupying. She hadn’t noticed him get up but at some point he’d disappeared and now seemed to be engrossed in some kind of competition with Raven that involved playing cards and rubber bands. Clarke didn’t want to give it too much thought.
“Having a nice time, princess?” Bellamy asked softly, voice too low for anyone around them to hear.
She was going to make a sarcastic comment back but his eyes were serious when she turned to look at him. Her yeah, well, less now died in her throat and she swallowed. “Shockingly,” she managed, momentarily distracted by the deep brown color of his eyes. How had she never noticed that before?
She shook herself. Get yourself together, Clarke, you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking about Bellamy Blake’s eyes.
She looked away and took a hurried sip of beer. Because that would definitely help.
His laugh was more a sharp exhale than anything but it was there. There was even a small smile playing around his lips. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. About the spaghetti,” he clarified.
“Ah.” She nodded. “Your sister yell at you?”
They both looked to Octavia. She was standing almost in the kitchen leaning back against Lincoln, his arms around her waist, her head on his shoulder, a wide smile on her face.
“Only a little,” he said, voice softer. “But I am sorry.”
“Well, apology accepted.”
He nodded.
“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t throw food all over you if I was given the chance,” she added before he had the chance to get up.
When he looked back at her there was a wild rakish grin on his face. If you were anyone else, Clarke thought for a moment before she shut down that thought process. “Right back at you, princess,” he said and for once the nickname didn’t have its usual sarcastic undertones.
“Maybe you’re not so bad,” Clarke said to the general vicinity of his collar, leaning into him a little.
Bellamy chuckled. His arm swung up to rest across the top of the couch behind her. “I didn’t know you were so easy, Griffin, or I would have tried this a long time ago.”
She shoved him. “Don’t.”
“I kid.”
She gave him a hard look. He smiled at her.
“Really. I kid.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Anyway, I invited you over didn’t I?”
“Yeah, along with the rest of the main cast.” She gestured out to their coworkers spread out across the floor.
“Yeah, that was a bit of a last minute thing,” he hedged. “Jasper found out about it this morning and then it kind of snowballed.”
She turned to stare at him. “So you originally just meant to invite me over?”
He bit his lip. “You’re good friends with my sister, okay, I thought you might want to meet her fiance.”
Clarke stuffed down her grin and flopped back against the armrest. She could feel the heat from Bellamy’s forearm against the back of her neck.
“Okay, Bellamy,” she said. “Whatever you say.”
TMZ @TMZ
Clarke Griffin spotted leaving Bellamy Blake’s apartment early Sunday -- a sign of blossoming romance?
“Okay, so the assholes at TMZ don’t understand casual friendship, so what?” Bellamy demanded. His head was in her fridge and he was making her kitchen frigid.
“So,” Clarke snapped. “We have a major problem.”
“That people think someone might actually like me enough to date me?” His voice dripped sarcasm.
“No, that people will think I like you enough to date you.”
“Touching as always, Clarke.” He shifted a couple of bottles around.
“I do try. And what the fuck are you looking for?”
“Do you have any yogurt?” He turned around to look at her, puzzle written in the lines between his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry?” she managed.
“Yogurt,” he repeated.
“No.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, Jesus! Everyone’s a critic,” she muttered.
“Yogurt is an important element of any well-stocked fridge, Clarke,” he told her with the air of a professor enlightening a particularly dumb student.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she deadpanned back as she flopped backwards on her sofa. “Is there any flavor you’re partial to?”
“Why so when you go grocery shopping next time you’ll buy me mango instead of passion fruit?”
She wrinkled her nose. “There’s passion fruit yogurt?”
“The world is a dark place.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Says the woman who has six week old oranges rotting on her counter.”
“They’re not rotting. They’re….” She paused.
He nodded. “Rotting.”
“Okay, fine. But I’ve been busy.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you being pathetic.”
“Call it a side effect of being dumped by your super hot supermodel girlfriend.”
“Well, see, if this was, say, six months ago, that would be a valid point.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“It’s in my DNA.”
She shot him a disgruntled look and he shot back a sunny smile.
“Why are you in my apartment again?”
He shrugged. “Octavia took over mine. Wedding planning. There are lots of folded napkins and blushing bridesmaids.” He made a face. “Way too much perfume. And there’s only so many times I can hear them argue over what shade of blue the place settings should be before I start losing what little sanity I have left.”
“I was under the impression that you had none.”
“Oh, now that’s cute.”
Clarke had a vague memory of this information being shared earlier. Bellamy had shown up on her doorstep with a frantic look on his face and had immediately pushed past her with a bare greeting. She’d still been reeling from her voyage into the depths of the Internet that she wished she hadn’t gone on. Some people were way way way too good with Photoshop.
“I’m sorry I don’t have yogurt.”
“It’s okay.”
There was a long pause. “Do you want to go to the store and get some?”
She sighed loudly. “No, Bellamy, we are not going to the store to get you fucking mango yogurt.”
“For the record, Clarke, I prefer peach.”
“Well isn’t that great. Hey, fucker, give me the remote back.”
He wiggled it at her, eyebrows raised. “Make me.”
Clarke weighed her options. Option A was throwing Bellamy out of her apartment to fend for himself, thus claiming back her remote the easy way. B was suffering through whatever History Channel documentary he’d managed to queue up while she was slightly distracted by the differences between sky and baby blue. And Option C was really really really not a good idea.
She went with it anyway.
Bellamy clearly hadn’t been expecting her to tackle him, if the wide-eyed look in his eye and flush high in his cheeks were any clue. He was warmer than she’d expected, his skin burning through the layers of their clothing. He stretched his arms out behind him, holding the remote just out of reach as she scrabbled for it, inching farther and farther up his body, feet flailing behind him.
“Jesus, Clarke, that was my spleen!”
“Just give it to me.”
“Did you miss all the important lessons in kindergarten or something? Skip preschool? That would explain a lot.”
They were nearly face to face now, and his words were sending small puffs of air across her face. His breath smelled like mint.
If some stuffy British man in a tweed suit hadn’t been rambling about the importance of the orientation of the stones at Stonehenge, she would have wondered if that meant he’d brushed his teeth before coming over. But she had more important things to deal with.
One last frantic kick sent her sprawling over him and her fingers closed around hard plastic.
“Ha!”
“Has anyone told you that you are excessively competitive?” he said around a mouthful of her hair.
“Every teacher I’ve ever had and half the babysitters,” she replied conversationally, settling back on her half of the couch. “Maybe a couple of nannies.”
“And you didn’t think that maybe you have a problem?”
“Says the man who came into my apartment and stole my remote. House rules, Bellamy, you have to ask.”
“Well, next time I want an impromptu operation rearranging my internal organs, I’ll steal your remote again.”
Clarke hid her grin.
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
“I don’t recall saying that you could.”
“Well thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome, Blake, now shut up.”
TVGuide @TVGuide
Your guide to pilot season: what’s hot, what’s not, and what’s going to be on your screens this fall.
Marcus Kane @MarcusKane
Officially headed back to YVR, can’t wait to see some old (and new) faces again!
Sara @saraloves1d
@MarcusKane does that mean you got picked up???
Lisa Kay @spacemonkey04
@MarcusKane don’t tease!!!!!
Paisley liked Octavia a lot more than she liked Clarke. This became immediately obvious within five minutes of Octavia entering Clarke’s apartment. The cat, the traitor, was weaving around O’s ankles and purring like a machine. Clarke had had Paisley for two years and she’d never wound around Clarke’s ankles like that.
“It is absolutely not fair that my cat likes you more,” Clarke grumbled as she took Octavia’s coat.
O grinned. “It’s okay, we’re even. My brother likes you more at the moment,” she added in response to Clarke’s raised eyebrows.
Clarke coughed. “Now I’m a little impressed, what’d you do to him?”
She waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, just kept asking him when he was going to confirm the rumors.” She whipped her phone out. “Speaking of which, he’s due for another volley of texts.”
“Confirmation about what?” Clarke asked dumbly.
“That the two of you are entrenched in a secret and extremely passionate love affair,” Octavia replied as if she was talking about the weather. Or maybe how gas prices had gone down.
“But we’re not,” Clarke said slowly.
“Oh, I know, I’m not an idiot.” Octavia looked up. “I know what Bell’s like when he’s getting some.”
Clarke choked.
“And he’s wound way way way too tight to have a girlfriend.”
“I thought you didn’t want to know about his sex life?”
“I’ve lived with the man for essentially my entire life, Clarke, you don’t think I know more than I want to about his habits?”
“Right, right, of course. Uh, you want a beer?”
“Nah, water’s great though, thanks.” She reached down and scratched Paisley behind the ears. “Why aren’t you dating him, though?”
“Who, your brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh, because he’s a giant asshole and I hate him?”
Octavia gave her a dull look. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
That earned her one of the Blake-patented smiles. “No. You don’t.”
Marcus Kane @MarcusKane
So thankful to the CW for a series order of #GenSuper! @cgriffs @bellblake @raven_reyes @jazzjordan
Marcus Kane @MarcusKane
Follow the official twitter at @GenSuperCW and check out our writers, hard at work on season 1! @allieo @davebush04 @franzzy @katie_gray05
Clarke Griffin @cgriffs
Thanks for the support, everyone, #GenSuper will be on your screens October 5th!
“I am never going back to LA,” Clarke announced.
“You’re just saying that because you’re drunk,” Miller said from the couch.
Clarke rolled over onto her back and smiled up at the ceiling. “Yeah, you’re probably right. This city is fucking awesome though. There are trees.”
“She grew up in San Diego,” someone, Monty probably, offered helpfully.
“Who’s telling Marcus that we got his star super trashed at our ‘we got picked up!’ party?” someone else asked.
“I nominate Jasper,” Bellamy answered. “He’s the one who brought the tequila.”
“No party is complete without tequila,” Jasper protested.
Miller’s smile was evident in his voice. “I’m pretty sure Clarke’s going to fight you on that one tomorrow.”
“I can take her.”
Someone snorted.
“Clarke, babe?” someone was saying, and a hand was stroking through her hair.
Clarke cracked her eyes open. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“You ready to go home?”
She tried to struggle up into a sitting position, Raven’s hand on her back guiding her. The room swayed alarmingly.
“Please,” she managed.
“All right, let’s go.”
A pair of beat up red Converse with fraying laces and dark Sharpie lines traced across the white toes appeared in Clarke’s eyeline. She focused on one of the eyelets, bent out of shape and sharp looking, and tried to quell the nausea rising in her stomach. “I’ll take her,” Bellamy’s voice said. “You’re going the other way.”
Raven’s hand tightened on Clarke’s arm. “It’s fine, I got her.”
“Seriously, Raven, it’s three AM. Just go home.”
“I can take her,” Raven repeated.
“Jesus,” Bellamy snapped back. “It’s not like I’m planning on murdering her and leaving her in a dumpster downtown. I’m just going to take her home, make sure she gets into bed, get her Advil, and go home myself. Okay?”
Clarke looked between Raven, who was deliberating, and Bellamy, whose hands were spread in a pleading gesture.
“Seriously, Raven.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Nothing in hours. I swear.”
“If a single thing happens to her, I will have your balls.”
“And so will my sister. I’ll take good care of her.”
Now it was Bellamy’s hand, larger and warm, pads of his fingers rough with callouses, on her arm, guiding her to her feet. “There you go, princess, easy does it.” And then lower, “I am never letting you drink tequila ever again.”
“We could just ban Jasper from every cast event,” Miller added. “Seems easier.”
Harper barked a laugh.
“Guys, that’s rude,” Jasper cut in, sounding sullen.
“A matter for another day,” Bellamy told them, slinging an arm around Clarke’s waist. “See you guys later.”
He guided her out of the apartment (Clarke had forgotten whose apartment it was an hour ago, or maybe more) and out onto the sidewalk.
“God, you are a bad drunk, aren’t you,” Bellamy muttered.
Clarke’s head lolled back against his shoulder. “Maybe I’m just enjoying being dragged out to your car,” she slurred.
Bellamy chuckled. “Careful how loud you say that, Raven’ll come out and repossess you.”
“ ‘s nice of you to drive me,” Clarke mumbled as he unlocked his car and she slid into the passenger seat.
“Just doing my civic duty,” he said as he buckled her seatbelt for her and turned the key in the ignition. “My good deed quota been a bit lacking lately.”
“Ha,” she said quietly, eyes already closing again.
She’d been expecting his speech to Raven to be a front, for him to pull up in front of her building, engine still idling and to say, “night, princess, see you later.” Maybe if she was lucky he’d wait until she got into her apartment to go speeding out of the parking lot.
Instead, he pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine, slipping his keys into his jeans pocket. “Up you get, Clarke, come on.”
The only thing she could think of to say was, “this is a handicapped parking space.”
Bellamy sighed loudly. “And it’s three thirty in the morning, I’d be surprised if someone really needs the space that badly.”
He unclicked her seatbelt. “Which one’s yours?”
“305,” she managed. “Keys are in my bag.”
He was waiting for her when she struggled out of the car, one hand extended for balance. It immediately slid around her waist as she sagged into him and she groaned.
“I am never drinking again.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“Seriously.”
“You forget, I raised Octavia through her teenage years. Lots of hair holding in my past, princess.”
“Well bully for you. Elevator’s at the end of the hall.”
“Good. If there were stairs I was going to make you crawl up them.”
“Chivalry is dead,” she commented.
“Don’t you know it.”
That said, he did unlock her door for her and offered to take her shoes off. She told him very unpolitely that she’d kick him in the nose if he tried. After that, he disappeared into the kitchen to bang around in her cabinets looking for Advil. He came back with a glass of water and two pills in his outstretched palm. She swallowed them greedily.
“Where’s your bedroom?”
“What.”
“Your bedroom. The room, where you sleep.”
“I, uh, what?”
“I’m trying to make sure you don’t pass out in your living room, Clarke, help me out a little here.”
She gestured and took a step backwards, stumbling a little.
It might have been her imagination but there seemed to be a small smile playing around Bellamy’s lips as he said, “See? This is what I’m talking about, you’re a disaster.”
“Not a disaster,” she countered.
“A drunk disaster,” he repeated.
“I shouldn’t drink tequila.” She paused. “I do love margaritas though.”
“Who doesn’t.”
She dissolved into giggles. He rolled his eyes and leaned down. One of Bellamy’s arms was under her knees and Clarke choked.
“What are you--”
His other arm was across her back and her feets were dangling in the air. One of her flats slipped off.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she told him.
He snorted. “You almost did a swan dive into your carpet just there.”
“It’s soft.”
“Still. Do you want to sleep in what you’re wearing or should I pull some clothes out for you?”
Clarke’s cheeks reddened at the thoughts of Bellamy fucking Blake going through her drawers. “No, this is fine,” she said meekly.
He laid her out softly on the bed and pulled her covers back for her. She slid under, eyes already starting to slip shut.
His fingers might have brushed across her forehead, tucking a lock of errant hair behind her ear. “Goodnight, Clarke,” he whispered and then his footsteps were receding and the door clicked shut.
Clarke woke the next morning with a hammer pounding away at the inside of her skull. She groaned and rolled over.
Curse Jasper and his fucking tequila.
She rolled out of bed and padded over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, replacing the clothes she’d been too stubborn to take off the night before.
Her head still ached and her throat was dry and she needed water. And probably more painkillers than were medically advised.
She wandered into the living room, stepping over the shoes that had fallen off her feet last night and yawned.
Then jumped, nearly slamming her elbow into the end table.
Because Bellamy Blake was asleep on her couch, knees curled up, hair tousled, face lined with marks from the stitching on the pillow, mouth open just slightly.
Paisley was curled up inches from his face, amber eyes blinking lazily at Clarke.
“Jesus,” Clarke muttered, hand pressed to her chest. “Okay. Okay, this is fine.”
Bellamy shifted slightly and she bolted, making a run for the kitchen and pressing herself against the counter, counting her breaths.
Bellamy Blake was asleep on her couch and Clarke was definitely way too fucking hungover for this.
“Sometimes I wish chivalry was dead,” Clarke told a pair of alarmingly ripe bananas.
Bellamy had left the Advil out on the counter the night before and she dry swallowed two before chugging a glass of water.
She tiptoed back out into the living room to find that Bellamy hadn’t moved and her bag was still abandoned by the front door. Thankfully, blessedly, her phone was still charged.
Your brother is passed out on my couch, she typed, please advise.
Octavia’s response came back moments later: Do not wake the angry bear. Make coffee instead. Cream. No sugar.
Then: why the fuck is bell on your couch
Clarke chose to ignore that last text and Octavia’s frightening lack of capitalization (never a good sign) and instead returned to the kitchen to dig out her coffee.
The machine had been gurgling along happily for several moments when Paisley stalked into the kitchen and alighted neatly on the counter next to Clarke’s hand. Aimlessly, she stroked the cat’s back. Surprisingly, Paisley allowed it, arching into the touch.
“Coffee?” Bellamy’s sleep-groggy voice asked from the doorway.
Clarke nearly jumped out of her skin again.
He offered her a small smile in apology and she nodded.
“Figured you could do with some.” She filled two cups and slid one to him. “Half and half’s in the fridge.”
She sipped hers and made a face at the temperature.
“Thanks,” she said after a long silence.
He smiled into his cup. “You’re welcome, princess.”
“Hey, Clarke?” one of the PAs had their head stuck through her trailer door. “Marcus is looking for you.”
Clarke groaned. It had been a long day and an even longer week and all she really wanted was to go home and sleep through the entire weekend.
“Can’t it wait until Monday?”
The PA grimaced. “He said it’s urgent.”
“Right,” Clarke muttered under her breath, slinging her hair up in a loose ponytail and grabbing her sweatshirt. “Urgent, okay, Marcus.”
It was mid-April but the weather in Vancouver had yet to turn from drizzly and, by Clarke’s life-long California standards, cold to something more pleasant. She’d thought the crew had been joking when they said that sometimes it took until July for the northwest to perk up. Apparently they hadn’t.
She was less than thrilled to find a second occupant in Kane’s office, draped over one of two chairs pulled up in front of his desk, playing with the strings of his hoodie.
“Clarke,” Bellamy said politely when she entered.
“Bellamy.”
They’d been getting along better than they had well, ever. Insults were becoming less and less of a daily occurrence and there were some days that Clarke went home without entertaining a single thought about strangling him. He was her costar, their characters were becoming close friends, and she was determined to at least pretend to like him while they were at work.
Back at the beginning of Clarke’s career, Marcus Kane had directed a handful of episodes of a show Clarke had had a long run as a guest star on. They’d struck up a strong working relationship and had kept quasi-in touch. It was probably the reason Anya had pushed Gen Super so hard at Clarke in the first place. Marcus knew what she was capable of and he was the most likely to wait for her to sort her shit out post-Lexa.
Marcus’ hands were folded on the desk and there was a line of what might have been worry between his eyebrows.
Clarke sat.
“Clarke, Bellamy, I just wanted to pull you both aside to say thank you so much for the truly amazing work you’ve been putting into this show. Every day you both come to work you just remind me why I knew you two were perfect for these roles.”
Clarke and Bellamy exchanged a confused look.
“And now I’m coming to you two with a...well, a strange request.”
“Strange?” Bellamy repeated.
Marcus swallowed and looked away. “I know that the both of you maintain a fairly significant Internet presence. You’re aware that you have fans.” He looked between them, likely expecting a response. None came. “And that there are some who are...speculating about the nature of the relationship between you.”
“And that’s all it is,” Clarke burst out. “Speculation. Bellamy and I can barely stand each other.”
“Always nice to hear from you, princess,” Bellamy said, a small fake-looking smile affixed to his face.
“Well, you can’t deny it,” she snapped back.
His smile widened by a fraction of an inch.
Marcus looked downright uncomfortable now. “Well, it wouldn’t come as a surprise, per se, if...well, if you two were to.” He stopped.
“If we were to what, exactly?” Bellamy asked, but there was something in the narrowing of his eyes that suggested to Clarke he was connecting the dots just the same as she had.
Marcus sighed. “It would be in the best interest of the show and I think both your careers if you were to be seen as a couple.”
Silence.
“A dating couple,” Marcus added as if that hadn’t been clear.
Bellamy and Clarke exploded simultaneously.
“If we what?” Clarke demanded at the same time that Bellamy just started laughing. He slipped sideways, dangerously close to falling out of his chair.
“The history between the two of you is well known,” Marcus went on, talking over Clarke’s continued splutters. “And it hasn’t escaped the notice of certain news organizations--”
“What, you mean fucking TMZ?” Clarke interjected.
Marcus gave her an icy look. “Certain news organizations that the two of you are spending more time together. Costars are known to fall for each other. It doesn’t need to be anything extravagant or long lasting. Just...through the airing of the first season. For press.”
“The entire first season?”
“That’s like March,” Bellamy said slowly. “You want us to fake a relationship for a year?”
“It doesn’t have to be fake,” Marcus hedged.
“As if,” Bellamy and Clarke yelled in unison.
“Then, yes,” he said. “I want you to fake a relationship for a year.”
Bellamy’s looked away, ran a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous.”
“But you’ll do it?”
Bellamy sighed loudly. “If princess here is in, then so am I.”
Both Marcus and Bellamy turned to her. Clarke reddened. “What the fuck, how do you fucking expect me to--- This is bullshit.”
“I know,” Marcus said somberly. “But you have to admit, Clarke dear, that you could do with some good press. And Bellamy is the entertainment media’s golden boy.”
Bellamy seemed to swell a little at the compliment.
“Oh, don’t remind me,” she snapped back.
“Please, Clarke. I wouldn’t be asking either of you to do this if I thought it would do more harm than good.”
She looked away and chewed on her lip. “Fine. Until March at the latest. Then I’m done.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, of course. March. We’ll debut you as a couple at the Upfronts next month?”
Clarke pushed her chair back and stood. She felt shaky. “Fine,” she managed. “Yeah, sounds fine.”
Bellamy was standing next to her, that grin she hated so much back on his face. He offered her his arm in a mock gesture of gentlemanliness. “My lady?”
For just a moment, Clarke wondered where the Bellamy who had wanted to ask only her over so she could meet his sister’s fiance, where the Bellamy who had insisted on driving her home and slept on her couch, had gone.
“Fuck off,” she snapped, storming past him.
“You’re going to need to work on your bedside manner, princess!” he called after her.
In response, she just lifted her middle finger above her head. The sound of his laughter followed her all the way to the parking lot.
Clarke Griffin @cgriffs
#CWUpfronts tonight! Get excited and get ready!
Raven Reyes @raven_reyes
They’re looking good! @bellblake @cgriffs #CWUpfronts #killinit
JustJared.com @JustJared
#GenSuper costars @cgriffs and @bellblake attend #CWUpfronts together...as a couple?
TMZ @TMZ
Are @GenSuperCW’s @cgriffs and @bellblake dating? The world wants to know!
~caitlyn~ @marrymelouis
First an international supermodel and now Bellamy Blake? What does Clarke Griffin have that I don’t?
Gen Super CW @GenSuperCW
Our main cast all dolled up at the #CWUpfronts! Don’t miss the first trailer for #GenSuper, online now!
Anya called her the morning after the Upfronts at 7 AM. Clarke, who was boasting an impressive hangover, a relic of the after party, rolled over groaning.
“What do you want?” she croaked into the phone, hand already scrabbling for the bottle of aspirin she kept in her bedside drawer.
The smile in Anya’s voice was apparent as she replied, “I hear you found yourself a rebound.”
“Jesus,” Clarke groaned.
“I’d say congratulations but a little bird told me--”
“For fuck’s sake, Anya, what do you want?”
“Next time I see you, Griffin, you owe me a dollar.”
“Bullshit,” Clarke muttered.
“Two.” A pause. “What did Marcus offer you?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Clarke.”
“Nothing,” she repeated, struggling to open the bottle with one hand. “I swear.”
“So you did it out of the goodness of your own heart? Charitable.”
“I don’t have a heart, Anya, you know that.”
A dry chuckle. “This will be good for you.”
“That’s what Marcus kept telling me.” She finally popped the lid off, sending a cascade of pills spilling across her bedspread. “Motherfucker.”
“I’ve been getting calls all morning,” Anya adds, graciously not mentioning the slip.
“Uh huh?”
“I let them all go to voicemail. But they all want to know about you and Bellamy.”
“I don’t give a shit what you tell them,” Clarke told her honestly.
“Well, your stories are going to have to hold up if you’re going to play this out as long as Marcus has planned.”
Clarke froze. “He told you, didn’t he? Before he asked me and Bellamy?”
The silence on the other end of the phone was all she needed. “That backstabbing son of a bitch.”
“That man is your boss, Clarke, I’d watch your language.” But Anya’s tone was relaxed, easy.
“I can’t believe it. Did he tell Bellamy’s agent, too?”
“I can only imagine.” She paused. “He knows you both too well, it would seem.”
“Apparently,” Clarke grumbled.
“Talk to Bellamy. Figure this shit out. Then we’ll work on releasing something to the press, all right?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Clarke hung up and flopped back on her bed, groaning. It was a Sunday morning, it was too early to be awake, and she needed to text Bellamy Blake.
He invited himself into her apartment with an easy grin, eyes raking over the rumpled pajamas Clarke hadn’t yet changed out of.
“I swung by that bagel place you and O like,” he said gruffly, shoving a warm bag into her hands and then turning away, hands deep in his pockets, to survey her living room. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks,” Clarke said slowly. The aspirin was just beginning to clear away the worst of her headache but she still felt like she was trapped in a fog. Not that this territory would have been easy to navigate sober. “And thanks for coming.”
He shrugged then pointed hesitantly to the couch. She nodded and he sat back carefully, keeping to one side in deference.
She settled herself on the other side and slipped out a bagel. She shouldn’t have been surprised that it was her favorite, sesame slathered in honey cream cheese. Bellamy had never been anything but observant.
“I’m guessing you got an early wake up call this morning,” Bellamy began when she didn’t say anything.
She nodded. “Anya told me to call you. She said something about needing to work on a story.”
Bellamy cracked the smallest of smiles. “I heard the same thing.” He spread his hands. “So, princess, what’s it going to be?”
She took a bite of her bagel to think. “Well, it’s like Marcus said isn’t it? It’s typical. Costars fall for each other all the time.”
“We’re going to need more than that if we’re going to sell this thing for a year, Clarke.”
She shuddered. “Jesus, don’t remind me.”
A dark look passed briefly over his face. “What, because I’m repugnant or something?”
She stopped. “No,” she said slowly. “Because I think this is stupid and also we can barely stand each other on a good day. Now I don’t even have the cathartic release of yelling at you when I’m having a bad day.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, right.” His face sobered. “But we need a real story, Clarke. You’re good news and they’re not going to let the fact that you’re dating someone new go just like that.” He snapped his fingers and leveled a hard look at her.
Clarke sighed and dropped her head against the back of the couch. “I know, you’re right.”
“The general idea is fine. We work together, we spend a lot of time together, on and off set. You’re friends with my sister. I’ve seen you more since we started filming this show than I ever have since we met six years ago.”
“So what? Our mutual dislike blossomed into romance or some fairytale bullshit?”
He shrugged. “I was thinking hate sex turned into a real relationship but take your pick.”
Clarke snorted. “Please.”
He looked affronted.
“What?” she demanded, “ do all your friends with benefits suddenly realize they’re madly in love with you?”
“I’ve never had a friend with benefits.”
She choked. “Bullshit.”
“Seriously.”
She looked him up and down, one eyebrow raised incredulously. “How do you look like you do and never have a friend with benefits?”
“I don’t like casual hookups.”
“You are the weirdest fucking guy I’ve ever met.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
His laugh was small and it looked like it surprised him. Clarke cocked her head and studied him.
“Either way,” she said finally, “we’re agreed on the story?”
“Agreed,” he replied.
JustJared.com @JustJared
They’re official! Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin are dating and unashamed to share their new love, out and about holding hands in LA.
12. Clarke Griffin & Bellamy Blake
The Gen Super costars have never been friendly in the public eye but the dark recesses of the Internet have been claiming to see something building between the two of them for years. There’s no denying their social circles have been overlapping since they first worked together on Climbing the Mountain in 2007: Griffin is good friends with his sister and Blake famously dated her best friend, Raven Reyes, also a member of Gen Super’s main cast, (can we say awkward?) for a handful of months in 2011. They claim it was long hours on set that led to the burgeoning feelings between them and nothing more but no matter what caused this unlikely union, this reporter is thrilled that I get to watch two exceptionally beautiful and talented people be beautiful and talented together.
(“15 (Bizarre) Celebrity Couples We Should Have Seen Coming” BuzzFeed. Web.)
“I cannot believe this, they love you,” Raven said the minute Clarke opened the door for her. “‘Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake: Romance of the Century’ and “Gen Super costars find love and solace in each other.””
“You made that last one up,” Bellamy said from the couch. He had his fingers tangled in Paisley’s fur and Clarke’s laptop on his knees. “No one uses the word ‘solace’ anymore, Reyes, get with the program.”
Raven rolled her eyes. “Does he live here now, too?” she demanded.
“Keeping up appearances. The Toyota in front of the building is paparazzi,” Clarke explained. She checked her watch. “Speaking of which, it’s been three hours, I figure you’re good. Didn’t you say you had to pick up your dry cleaning?”
“Fuck, right. Thanks, princess.”
He smiled at her as he stood, patting Paisley one last time, who mewled in agitation at being disturbed.
“Come back soon,” Clarke deadpanned. “My cat likes you more than me.”
He laughed. “Saturday?”
“Saturday works. Bring Chinese, though, the place you went last time.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
There was a slightly dopey smile on Clarke’s face when he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Bye, Raven.”
Then he was out the door and it was snapping shut loosely behind him. The key turned in the lock. Raven’s jaw was open so wide Clarke could see the sparkle of fillings in her molars.
“What the fuck was that?” Raven demanded, gesturing at the door.
Clarke returned to the couch, sitting where Bellamy had been before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He has a key? I’ve been your best friend for years and I don’t have a key.”
Clarke shrugged. “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t have a key to his girlfriend’s place?”
“So you’re telling me that you have a key to his apartment, too?” Raven’s eyebrow went up.
Clarke reached for her keychain and held up a shining new gold on in the middle of the ring. She smiled. Raven glared.
“Also, so you know,” Clarke continued breezily. “The media attention isn’t all stars and rainbows. We’re both getting hate mail. Some woman from E! called me a gold-digging lesbian bitch last night on live television and they didn’t even bleep it out.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, well, it is what it is.”
“11 more months,” Raven said quietly and Clarke grimaced.
“11 more months,” she repeated. Paisley purred against her fingers and Clarke smiled.
Work is now awkward.
Clarke was never one of those oversharer types who felt the need to tell her coworkers everything but she liked the easy camaraderie that came with knowing pieces of each other’s lives. The shooting of the pilot had been a bit awkward at first, as it always was with a new cast where pieces of it knew each other. But they’d migrated together eventually, knitting together into a cohesive whole.
So now Clarke knew that Miller was hopelessly head over heels for Monty, that Jasper was exuberantly courting the writer’s room PA, a sweet girl named Maya, and that Monty did in fact reciprocate Miller’s feelings but he was too worried about the effect coming out of the closet would have on his career to do anything about it. And in turn, they knew the backstory on her disastrous breakup with Lexa, about how her cat liked Octavia more than it liked her, and that she and her mom were estranged enough to make obligatory family gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas awkward.
What Clarke had conveniently forgotten about was that casts were notoriously gossipy, especially when they were made up of early to mid-20 something actors and two of their fellow cast members started dating without anyone knowing.
When Clarke and Bellamy had appeared on the CW Upfronts red carpet arm in arm, smiling and waving, Raven had been the only one who knew anything about their deal with Marcus. Clarke and Bellamy had spent the weeks between that conversation and the event laying the groundwork that would mean it wasn’t a total surprise: a lingering look her, casual touches there. Warmth now colored Clarke’s taunts and Bellamy’s use of “princess.” Maybe they even could have been friends.
They’d decided not to clue the cast in if only because most of them, especially Jasper, couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives. There was too much riding on the line, and the threat of being found out was too risky and potentially damaging. So instead, Clarke bid her time and sent Bellamy a picture of her dress so he could match his tie and sometimes when they were in LA on weekends, they met up in the neutral ground of Octavia and Lincoln’s apartment to practice smiling at each other and touching without flinching.
Somehow, it worked.
But now set was awkward. Too often Kane directed his words at the general vicinity of Clarke’s shoulder or Bellamy’s forehead and the rest of the cast and crew were insufferable. There were talks of a romance between their characters being written into season two. The thought made Clarke feel ill.
And yet she still looked forward to going to work, to Harper’s warm smile and Miller’s clap on the shoulder and even Jasper’s jokes about Bellamy’s freckles mapping out the path to Clarke’s heart and other equally cheesy things that made everyone in a five hundred foot vicinity flinch. Every Monday she regaled them with a spinning web of what she and Bellamy had done that weekend and they all ooohed and aahed and smiled and Clarke knew that even if they hadn’t bought it at first, they were convinced now. It would be hard not to be when Clarke was blushing over a story of Bellamy cooking her dinner for the first time, his arm looped loosely around her waist, fingers absentmindedly brushing her hipbone, head ducked down to listen to her, smile on his lips.
Some days, when Bellamy was looking at her like that, even Clarke forgot that they were faking.
Her weekly Friday girls’ night with Raven (and sometimes Octavia) were her solace. She could drop the act and pretend, if only for a few hours, that she wasn’t dating one of young Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, that she wasn’t getting Twitter hate on the regular from fourteen year olds, and that in less than twelve hours she would be back to smiling like a lovestruck fool at the man who, only a few months prior, had been her sworn enemy.
“You know that the longer you do this, the more you’re fucked, right?” Raven observed one night.
Clarke was three beers in and contemplating tequila and this was an unwelcome conversation.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said stiffly, signaling the bartender.
“I’m just saying,” Raven continued. “It’s a slippery slope, you know? He smiles at you all wide and dimple-y and the next thing you know you’re waking up in his bed.”
Clarke downed her shot and pushed the glass back in a nonverbal request for a refill. “For Christ’s sake, Raven, I’m not going to fuck him. No matter how he smiles at me.”
“It’s the Blake sibling charm,” Raven mused. She slanted Clarke a calculating look. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about doing Octavia at least once.”
“Not when she’s Bellamy’s sister,” Clark replied darkly, throwing back her second shot.
“You’re doing a terrible job of trying to convince me that you hate him, you know,” Raven mused.
“Again, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Whatever you say, Griffin, whatever you say.”
But Raven's lopsided smile and the winking light in her eye told a different story. For the first time, Clarke remembered Octavia's dry "no you don't" when Clarke had insisted she hated her brother. O had delivered the line with the bored air of someone who had said it too many times but it certainly hadn't been to Clarke.
Bellamy? her mind supplied but Clarke couldn't think like that. She couldn't think about the Blake siblings talking about her and how Bellamy might or might not hate her.
Instead, she downed the rest of her shot and told Raven, "no Blake siblings talk for the rest of the evening. This is a Blake free zone."
Raven grinned and lifted her glass. "You got it, sister."