It was Roan nuzzling into the crook of Raven's neck that did it. They looked so bloody content cuddled up on the couch, Raven leaning into him as she fiddled with her latest project. Roan's chin was hooked over her shoulder, playing with her hair as he watched her hands, methodical yet aggressive, a small smile playing on his lips and a smirk playing on hers.

She wanted it. Badly. She wanted that - companionship. But Clarke had been perpetually single for longer than she cared to admit. She was pathetically alone and very horny. In a minute she had tinder up, swiping to her heart's content.

Wells' eyes followed her knowingly from the floor, glancing up from his political science paper for a brief moment, before grabbing the red pen from his mouth and scratching out whatever his third argument had been. Clarke studiously avoided the gaze, focusing hard on her next victim.

He was fairly cute, actually. His dark mop curled towards intense eyes, and he seemed more freckle than skin. The photo had caught him on the edge of a grin as if he was trying to be serious but someone - maybe the someone taking the picture - was trying, and succeeding, to make him laugh. It was a good look on him. Clarke wondered vaguely if he laughed in bed.

On impulse, she opened up his bio. It was fairly standard. Her eyes scanned over the usual boring crap to catch on the last sentence:

message me your favourite Roman Emperor

She didn't know how to describe the sound that escaped her but it made all three of her companions look up.

"What?" Raven demanded. Clarke just past the phone over by way of explanation and Raven held the screen up so Roan could see too. He scoffed.

"Tell him, Nero. Dude was badass."

"Wasn't he the guy that went mad and burned Christians alive as human candles?"

"Everyone's a critic."

Wells looked up again, "Try Elagabalus,"

"Who?"

"He was pretty cool, and he's got an interesting history, so it'll give you cred. I bet half the answers he gets is Caesar because that's the only one people think they know. There were actually a few Caesars, but Julius was the most famous."

"Geez Wells, where were you hiding all this you nerd?" Raven teased as she picked up her mini spanner again.

"Shut up," said Wells easily. "I'm taking Ancient Worlds as my extra credit this semester."

Clarke's fingers hovered over the phone. "How do you spell it?"

"E - L - A - G - A - B - A - L - U - S." He enunciated slowly.

"So what's this interesting history then?" said Clarke, as she put the phone back on the table and settled back into her comfy chair. Wells looked more than happy to set aside his essay and sat up to tell the story.

"Well, for one thing, we're pretty sure he was queer, probably trans. They had a male lover and married like five different women - one was a vestal virgin. He became emperor at 14 and just completely fucked with all the Roman religious traditions and sex taboos. He used to dress up in makeup and wigs and dresses - the whole nine yards - and go round the brothels, I think one of my textbooks actually referred to him as a harlot. And it was said he'd pay anything to a doctor who could get him - um," Wells paused and a deep blush crept across his dark face. "Um ... You know, lady bits." Wells pressed on as the others sniggered at his discomfort. "The kid was nuts. He used to play pranks on his guests and stuff. Like this one time he locked someone in a room with a lion, but it was declawed and had no teeth."

"Still would have done some damage," muttered Raven, scrubbing at a stubborn piece of grease as Roan burst out laughing.

"Yeah, he went a little crazy toward the end." Wells admitted. "It was super unstable in Rome at the time. He had a bunch of pressure on him from all sides and pretty much cracked. He got assassinated at 18. But it was a wild four years. He also invented the lottery and the whoopee cushion."

"Okay how have I not heard of this guy." said Clarke, leaning forward.

"Well, that's where that interesting history comes in. His whole reign was such a middle finger to Roman tradition they tried to erase him from history. Just never acknowledge his existence and burn all the records and stuff. But of course some people wrote about him. He became a bit of an antihero figure in the Renaissance and then got buried again when the old English white guys took over writing the history books."

"I take it back. Elagabalus is my favourite emperor." Roan unstuck his arm from behind Raven's back.

"Mine too." Raven agreed, setting down her work and snuggling back into Roan, grabbing his recently freed arm and tucking it back round herself.

Clarke looked back at her phone. He hadn't replied. Why would he have? She's barely given him three minutes. More frustrated than she'd like to admit, she grabbed her art folio from the table and put on a bright smile.

"Well, I'm off to bed, and by bed I mean sit in bed and try to get this damn thing somewhat presentable by morning. You lot can show yourselves out,"

She leaned over to pat Well's shoulder, who leaned into it softly, silent comradery as he turned back to his paper. She gave it a departing squeeze before walking over to the couch planted a deliberate and very wet kiss on Raven's forehead.

She winked at Roan as they fist-bumped above Raven's head, and couldn't suppress a giggle as she saw Raven rubbing at the salvia with a frown.

"Gross Clarke," Raven deadpanned.

"You know you love me,"

"Good luck for tomorrow!"

Raven called down the hall just in time before Clarke's door closed with a small click.

Octavia felt her insides squirm just a little when she saw the notification. In her heart of hearts, she knew that her plan was ... morally grey at best. But she also knew that it was imperative to get her brother out of the slump he was in and resolve was clear on her face as she opened up the app.

She squinted at the one-word message, trying to figure out how it was pronounced. She'd never seen it before but trusted the obscurity that baffled her would be exactly what piqued her brother's interest. She clicked the profile.

She was pretty cute, Octavia conceded, as she perused the various photos. The first two were pretty standard fare, a bikini shot complete with a big sun hat, a light little drape, and sunglasses. There was another of her tummy down on a big white bed, her giggle hidden in the sheets, blue eyes twinkling mischievously into the camera. Octavia smirked appreciatively at the perfect tease of it. It was impossible to tell for certain if she was actually naked. Pretty heavily implied, but impossible to tell. The last one, however, was a bit unexpected. It was almost like it didn't belong there. Taken from what looked like the doorway of a sunlit studio, the girl was painting a broad forest landscape, her back to the camera. She had a calm intensity, and Octavia left herself being drawn in before she shook herself. She turned back to the other photos, focusing on the girl's features. She couldn't remember the last time Bell had dated a blonde, pushing herself up from her own bed and making her way toward the door, but from what little she knew about her, this girl was right up his alley. She figured Bell would have posted the same kind of dumb, artsy pictures if he had a profile on a sex app.

She quietly pushed open the door to his bedroom. He was crouched over his laptop, his hands held in a kind of prayer against his face and cupping his mouth and nose as he stared blankly at the words before him.

She edged forward. The time had come. She squared her shoulders and tried to channel Indra and her unbreakable confidence.

"Hi Bell," she murmured.