#also apparently my standard time to post fic is after midnight

[sugarsnappeases]

lilyrosekiller after midnight……. on my knees asking for lilyrosekiller after midnight…..

kissing you. thrilled to provide. so this fic is sude @/stillagoodwitch 's fault. bc they told me like back in december that i should write lilyrosekiller based on chappell roan's after midnight and i'm nothing if not at their every beck and call so here we are!!

the general premise is lily having just broken up w james, heading out to a bar wherein she encounters barty and evan....

i posted a snippet a while ago which is basically where the fic has left off since i last tried to write it. am currently Stuck and deeply overthinking every decision i've made w it but basically the gist of what happens next is snogging. then a bar fight which results in the three of them getting kicked out of the bar. then breaking into a building to watch the sunrise from the roof. then fucking on said roof...

and it was also meant to be a fairly speedily-written fic lol but here we are six months later bc i kept getting side-tracked by lily evans' beautiful mind. bc when i say she's just broken up w james, i mean that james was down on one knee in front of her, asking her to marry him. and she said no. and i apparently had rather a lot to say about that.... snippet for your consideration:

Two weeks earlier, after breaking up with James, after the disaster proposal, Lily had packed her things.  James had come back to their shared flat with her for some reason, tears still streaming down his face, and for the first time, Lily hadn’t felt the need to comfort him, or try and make him feel better, or take back the decision that felt like the only decision she had ever truly made to suit her own best interests. Instead she had packed her things, just the essentials, she was planning to start afresh and she didn’t want to carry around memories like an endless chain always tying her back to James, she was cutting herself loose.  She had looked at James one last time - because they had been together for four years, they had plans together, they had a future mapped out between them, a house and a wedding and a family that Lily didn’t want anymore, maybe had never wanted. She looked at him one last time because there were happy memories too, laughter and adventures and love - she thought there must have been love, surely there was love - and she said goodbye to him. He was sitting on the bed they had shared for the last five months, since they had moved into the flat together for their second year of uni, tear stains on his face and just looking so lost, confused, bewildered maybe, and Lily had said goodbye and walked out without a backwards glance.  She feels free again now; she wasn’t sure when she had stopped feeling free, maybe when she had started her degree, medicine, setting out a career path for herself, something that felt like it was set in stone, or maybe when she had started dating James, giggling when people told her they’d look good together instead of hitting them, giving in to expectations and his infuriating persistence, or maybe it was when she had started at Hogwarts, eleven years old with her scholarship and her sister’s jealousy and her parent’s ever-higher standards. At some point, a noose had started to tighten around her neck, a chain around her ankle, endless ropes tangling around her, squeezing at her until she was contorting herself into the shapes that she thought would please the most people, twisted and uncomfortable and painfully unreal no matter how much she tried to convince herself they weren’t.

okay reading this back now it's in need of some edits but you get the vibe. she's cutting loose. she's leaving james behind. she's living in a shitty hotel on the other side of the city and spending most of her evenings going to different bars. she's figuring out what she wants and what she likes. she's forcibly knocked herself off the pedestal that everyone in her life has always put her on and now she's the phoenix rising for the ashes in the aftermath.

and she's coming across barty and evan <3 and they're such a tightknit couple, so incredibly comfortable w each other and they've clearly been together for years and see and know each other in a way that she doesn't feel like she's ever really been seen or known. and they're looking at her across the bar throughout the night, locking eyes w her, seeing her. and she's so drawn to them, pulled into their orbit and like. she's obvs 'wearing that dress and red lipstick' and 'she's been a good, good girl for a long time' and it's 'after midnight' etc etc etc

anyway mwah mwah mwah thank you so much for asking i do love them even if they've been getting on my nerves as of late and i'm hoping that when i have time again things will flow....

#dil tag #after midnight fic

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for tagging me, @omgpurplefattie!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

78 😅

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

864,062 - this is apparently just a bit more than Gone With The Wind....twice. I don't know how to feel about this.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Untamed (I have also written a handful of fics for Word of Honor and a very tiny one-shot for Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, but I'm definitely a CQL/MDZS author lol)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

You Need Tending - A very young, tiny Wangxian meet as children in Yunmeng and canon diverges sweetly from there.

Unexpected Solutions - LXC POV - What if the other sect leaders got to see the Burial Mounds instead of taking JGS's word for it that WWX was raising an army?

You Are Of Their Ilk - Sequel to You Need Tending, a LQR-centric fic examining what it's like to actually raise the Jades (and WWX) when he's got a Sect to run and parenting insecurities to overcome.

Plans To Make - A Wangxian-centric Time Travel Fix-it AU, technically the prequel fic to my first 3zun fic (in which the fixings-of-it have already been done and the post-canon, 5-years-in-seclusion Lan Xichen wakes up in the altered timeline wondering how the hell he has two husbands who are definitely not dead).

Professor Lan, Babysitter Extraordinaire - Modern AU Professor!LWJ spends an afternoon minding A-Yuan for Mature Student!WWX and is instantly charmed.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Sometimes! I used to respond to every single comment I got when I first started posting, but then I just got really overwhelmed and had to stop, and I've never picked up the habit again. If I feel particularly strongly about a comment or have something specific to say I'll try to respond, but otherwise I bask in them all silently (sorry, and I love y'all, I really do read every single comment I swear).

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The Shadow's Call - An extremely depressed Lan Xichen is violently dragged out of his seclusion in the Hanshi 8 years post-canon by fierce corpse NieYao, who definitely aren't sentient at all but still somehow feel incomplete without their third.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Aside from The Shadow's Call all of my fics end happily!! I just can't do the depressing ones most of the time 😅 I think some of my favorite happy endings for various reasons, though, are The Sculptor, After Each Midnight Begins A New Day, anything in the Orville Peck Cinematic Universe, and anything from the 90's Strip Mall AU, Tales From Jianghu Shopping Center. (Everything in the last two especially is just pure feel-good fluff, not only the endings haha)

Do you get hate on fics?

Not anymore! The XiYao troll must have found something better to do so we can now like JGY in peace 😌

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I don't know what kind though 😅 the smutty kind? I don't really delve too deeply into kink or BDSM, and I don't write omegaverse or tentacles or anything all that creative; I just write what I would consider bog standard 'I'm ace and I understand people like doing this, I really hope the allos find this enjoyable to read' kind of smut. (Usually for me it's more about the emotional impact/character development use of it rather than the porn-y-ness of it, if that helps??)

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope! I like writing AU's of my favorite ships blended with other media I like, but not direct crossovers.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Hope not!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Вони — це ми/ They Are Us is a Ukrainian translation by sandbranco of 'They Are Us', El escultor By Eleanor_Fenyx is a Spanish Translation by ellieffect and KabiBaali of 'The Sculptor', and another Spanish Translation of 'The Sculptor' by GabyObando13. I'm always so flattered when someone likes something of mine enough to do such an incredible labor of love as translating it ❤

What's your all-time favorite ship?

3zun, my beloveds

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Plans To Make - In an ideal world I would finish this soon so I can stop being eaten up with low-simmering guilt about it (along with several other projects, let's be real), but the fact of the matter is that I never actually wanted to write the full fix-it for this universe in the first place. I started Lan Xichen's introduction into this universe after the fix-it has already happened partially because I find that dynamic of a depressed Lan Xichen suddenly partnered with a happily married NieYao really interesting, but also because I don't like all the tangled threads of a universe-wide fix-it and I knew I'd get way too bogged down in details to really enjoy it. That's exactly what's happened, and that's partially why the fic has been sitting so long without an update. I do really want to finish it one day, though.

What are your writing strengths?

I occasionally get comments praising my characterization/character voices, so hopefully that's one. I also like to think that I do a decent job with accurately communicating both relatable and not-quite-as-relatable experiences - queerness of various flavors, neurodivergence, strangely specific life experiences...I usually try to write what I know, and I'm always happy when it resonates with people in the ways that I'd hoped for while writing them.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel like I can get sooo long-winded, and I'm also kind of bad for setting up plotty bits in my longer fics that I never actually follow through on.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

The furthest I'll go is honorifics that I'm confident with using, I absolutely do not trust myself or any online translator to attempt whole lines of dialogue.

First fandom you wrote for?

BBC Sherlock - those fics are all orphaned now, though

Favorite fic you've written?

I'm going to choose three just because I can: After Each Midnight Begins A New Day (3zun), The Sculptor (Wangxian), and Main Objective : Destroy Yiling Laozu (Breath of the Wild AU, my beloved)

I'm going to tag: @little-smartass, @wei--wuxian, @scarlet-gryphon, @wishthatiwasnessiesgirl, @threephasebird, and anyone else who writes who wants to play!

#the untamed fanfic #personal #tag game #3zun #Wangxian #<- they're not the only ships I write for of course but they're definitely the two most popular so they're the only ones really in the list

[craniumhurricane]

the remedy is the experience

A/N: I’m a bit tipsy and I actually wrote this two years ago but never shared it. So here’s a slightly updated version. Was kind of inspired by those kiss prompts.

Clarke was sitting on the couch in the open living space of their cabin with her sock clad feet propped up on the low table in front of her. She was jotting down notations in her medical book that she'd started writing and illustrating in her free time, a way to keep an updated source of information that they’ve learned over their years spent on the new Earth.

“Look who's up from her nap,” came Bellamy’s voice from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Clarke turns her head and can't keep the smile off her face at the sight. Bellamy's unruly dark and curly hair was identical to that of their daughter's bedhead. The two year old still looked a bit groggy as she clutched the material of her father’s shirt in her tiny hands.

“Hi Jelly Bean,” Clarke coos sweetly. She sets the book aside and holds out her arms to the little girl as she reaches from her father to her mother. “How are you feeling?” she asks as their daughter burrows into her side.

“I think she sweat out the fever,” Bellamy answers as he walks into their little kitchenette.

Clarke hums in response as she looks back down and brushes away some of Julia’s damp curls before holding a hand against her daughter's forehead. “I think you're right, she feels better than she did this morning.”

“Better,” the little girl mumbles in agreement before looking up at her mother with the same deep blue eyes, “Mama better?”

Clarke smiles and absently rubs a hand over the slight bump of her belly, “Yeah, mama is feeling much better.” She and Julia had been holed up in bed together these last few days; Clarke with what she hoped would be the worst of her morning sickness and Julia with the flu.

“Let’s hope you both stay that way for a while,” Bellamy teases as he comes back from the kitchen with a cup of water. He hands it to Julia, making sure she uses both hands to take it from him.

“Yes, we must thank daddy for taking good care of us,” Clarke prompts as she assists in holding her daughter's cup, making sure she takes slow, small sips.

Julia takes one last gulp before pushing the cup all the way into Clarke’s hand and wiping her mouth with the back of her other. She turns to Bellamy who’s now sitting on the other side of her, “Tank you, daddy.”

Bellamy smiles softly, “You’re welcome Jelly Bean.” He leans in to kiss her head.

Clarke brushes through some more of her daughter’s hair with her fingers after he’s moved away, “Do you want to go see if we can find Madi and grandma for lunch? I bet they're heading to the Mess now.”

Julia's eye light up as she vigorously nods her head, curls bouncing all over the place. She loves spending time with her big sister and being sick these last few days meant that she’s had to be quarantined from Madi and they haven’t had a chance to play or get up to their usual antics. Not that Julia had much energy to play anyway.

“Go pick out some clothes and I’ll be right in to help you get dressed,” Clarke says with a smile as she leans in to kiss her daughter on the head. Julia is off the couch and racing down the hall and back to her room seconds later.

“You sure you up for going to the Mess?” Bellamy asks, concern written all over his face. “This is the first time in four days you haven’t felt nauseous.”

“Gotta eat real food sometime,” she teases and pats her belly. At his frown she continues, “I feel fine. Honestly! Jules and I have been cooped up in here too long. I appreciate the food you’ve been bringing to us but I am kind of hungry for something other than bread.”

“If the smell starts to get to you-”

“I’ll leave,” she finishes and shifts so she’s closer and can kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

He turns his head so he can give her a proper kiss on her lips, “I love you too.”

#no one cares ashleigh #bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #my fanfiction #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #also apparently my standard time to post fic is after midnight #i'm too drunk for this #will i remember this? i hope so

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Hogwarts Eighth Year

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 The Standard You Walk Past by bafflinghaze Rated:  Mature Words:  46202 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Some Homophobia in the Wizarding World, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, flangst, Angst, SO MUCH FLUFF, And a bit of sap, Legilimency, Dreams and Nightmares, Slow Build, Prejudice Against Slytherins, Roommates, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy - Freeform Summary:  On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened. That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed. Translation links available inside for Indonesian, Chinese, Korean, Russian, Thai, Spanish, and Portuguese ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Montaigne Aspirations by countingcr0ws Rated:  Mature Words:  16681 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Good Draco Malfoy, Hufflepuff Common Room, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Has Long Hair, Discussion of Abortion, discussion about consent, Mutual Pining, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Hufflepuff Hermione Granger Summary:  Draco’s been trying to be nothing but upstanding since you know what. Between crawling into places every day (oh, the woe) in his new yellow tie, avoiding heterosexual threats to the proper development of his young homosexual self, and being exhausted by how high maintenance Gryffindors are, Draco’s eighth year is still a lot better than he had initially expected. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Only Fools Fall (For You) by welpslytherin Rated:  Explicit Words:  6212 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, The Great Lake | The Black Lake (Harry Potter), Skinny Dipping, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Mutual Pining Summary:  It’s the summer of '98 and a certain blond Slytherin has amends to make and feelings to get over. Featuring skinny dipping, a bold Harry Potter, and a blushing Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Pinned! by whileatwiltshire Rated: General Words:  4193 Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Pining Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Draco curses a lot in this! Summary:  What's your game, Potter?" he asked calmly as Potter's face floated an inch away from him. After their second proximity incident, Draco had taken special care to note the specky git's whereabouts and behaviour; watching him with the corner of his eye whenever he could. And in his observation, he had noticed that while Potter did fumble around like a blind fool without his glasses, not once, once, did he pull anyone as close to his eye level to confirm their identity. It was only Draco. Only him. And Draco needed to find out why. Or, Five times Draco got pinned to the wall by Potter, who was surely, up to something. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take All That You See by GallifreyisBurning Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  19666 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Bullying, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Coming Out, Leaked Sex Photographs, Off-Screen Reference to Gore, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Panic Attacks, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Disowned Draco Malfoy, Supportive Harry Potter, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Hogwarts Eighth Year, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary:  Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned. Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 For every question why, you were my Because by HugsandButterflyKisses Rated:  Explicit Words:  59924 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Coming Out, First Time, Mutual Pining, i'll update as we go on dw, harry is a lil clueless but hes got the spirit, Sharing Clothes, Masturbation, Slow Burn, Shower Sex, Halloween, just a lot of shenanigans by the slytherins Summary:  Harry expects his final year at Hogwarts to be simple. Go to class, hang out with Ron and Hermione, and most importantly, no threats of dying. It seems fate, and the Slytherins, have other plans. or The Eighth Year fic where Harry and Draco can't seem to get rid of one another. But...maybe neither of them mind all that much. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 White Lies by cassisluna Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  171013 Tags: Slash, Homosexuality, EWE, AU, Mutual Pining, Pining Harry, Pining Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, Potions Accident, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era Summary:  Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him with the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 knickers in a twist by technicolourbeat Rated:  Explicit Words:  86461 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Reconciliation, Smut, Crossdressing, Boys in Skirts, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Draco Malfoy in a Skirt, Rimming, Lace Panties, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Secret Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Shameless Smut, Sexual Roleplay, Fluff and Humor, Porn With Plot Summary:  Draco loses a bet to Pansy and Blaise which leaves him wearing a skirt for a whole week. Harry discovers something about himself. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Blue Roses and Other Impossible Things by Cassiara Rated:  Explicit Words:  40283 Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Angst, Fluff, First Time, Bottom Harry, Top Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Harry Potter, Virgin Harry, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Bad Flirting, Loss of Virginity, Podfic Welcome, Pining, Getting Together Summary:  After Harry saved Draco from the Room of Requirement there was a moment when Draco gave Harry a look. Harry didn’t know what to make of it, and he had a war to fight so he ignored it. Now though, they’re back at Hogwarts sharing a dorm and Harry is obsessed with seeing that look again. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 In the Midnight Blue by xanthippe74 Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  5508 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Christmas, Light Angst, Developing Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety, Dreams and Nightmares, Flying, Hopeful Ending, Winter, HP Wireless Festive Minifest 2020, Songfic Summary:  On a Christmas Eve broom ride over Hogwarts, Harry shows Draco that he’s braver than he thinks. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Owl Was Well by fencer_x Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  66823 Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts, Animagus, Animagus Draco Malfoy, Owls, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Snarky Harry Potter, Snark, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Sexually Adventurous Blaise Zabini, Humor, Toilet humor, POV Draco Malfoy, Invasion of Privacy, Brief Mention of Animal Death(s), Fighting, Minor Injuries, H/D Erised 2020, Slow Burn Summary:  Draco Malfoy is not an owl, really he isn’t. He simply assumes the shape of one on occasion when he wants to find a bit of privacy—a goal entirely thwarted because Harry Potter doesn’t understand you can’t just grab any old bird from the Owlery and force it to send your missives and deliver your packages. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray) Rated:  Explicit Words:  85072 Tags:  Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Tropes, Banter, Slow Burn, Humor, Trials, Light Angst, Sentient Doors, Male Friendship, Friendship, Misunderstandings, Pining, Jealousy, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Forced Proximity, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Sarcastic Harry Potter, Smut, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Coming Out, Oblivious, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Feelings Realization, Secret Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Herbology, Herbology Class (Harry Potter), Plants, working together, Veritaserum, Cuddling & Snuggling, Spooning, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Tea, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Awkwardness, Minor Harry Potter/Lisa Turpin, H/D Erised 2018, Community: hd_erised, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Mental Health Issues, supportive friends, wanking, Harry in a towel, Minor slut-shaming?, Feel free to podfic this, Fanart also welcome, remix to your heart's content, tell me about typos you find as well, Gay Mentor Charlie Weasley Summary:  Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Read All About It by Samunderthelights Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  3247 Tags: Drarropoly: Founders Edition - A Drarry Game/Fest, Epistolary, The Owlery (Harry Potter), Secret Relationship, Drarry, Letters, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Boys In Love, Self-Acceptance Summary:  The story of a budding romance between two young men, told through letters found in the Hogwarts Owlery. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Adventures of a Suicidal Gentleman by GallaPlacidia Rated:  Not Rated Words:  47794 Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal Draco but he's fun about it, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Draco and his new best friend Misty the house elf, Draco is trying to keep his shit together, Pining Harry, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, It's less harrowing than it initially appears, Veritaserum Summary:  Draco wants to kill himself, but he's trying not to be dramatic about it. Harry wants to sleep with Draco, but he's trying not to be obvious about it. Misunderstandings! Pining! Grief! Self-loathing but in a kind of charming way? Feat. Misty the house elf who takes shit from no one, an Astoria who has her own mysterious aims, a Draco who is determined to use humour to get through things, and a Harry doesn't know what he wants, except maybe to touch Draco's pretty face. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sincere Gratitude from the (Heart) Mouth by _Melodic_ (Sae) Rated:  Mature Words:  1049 Tags: Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Redemption, Oral Sex, Getting Together, First Time, POV Harry Potter, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Hogwarts Express, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Confessions, Romantic Fluff, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Fluffy Ending Summary:  Harry Potter knew, of course, that everyone was grateful to him for defeating Voldemort and basically saving the world, but he didn’t quite expect the way some of those would go about expressing their gratitude. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Black Me Out by JBankai89 Rated:  Mature Words:  43928 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Trans!Harry, FTM Harry, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild OoC, Transphobia, Hate Crime, ron & seamus bashing, EWE, PostWar, Hogwarts Eighth Year, References to Mpreg Summary:  Since his first day at Hogwarts, Harry has had a secret. Not even his best friends knew, and returning after the war for his seventh year, Harry is looking forward to a nice, quiet, Voldemort-free year. What he hadn't expected was Ron and Seamus discovering his secret and reacting violently to the news, nor did he expect his old school rival suddenly showing romantic interest in him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Try to Change by meshtams Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  1567 Tags: Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Boys In Love, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Fluff, Musician Draco Malfoy, Song fic??, Gay Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, POC Harry Potter, try to change by mother mother Summary:  Harry hears music coming from the forbidden forest, and naturally has to investigate. ❤️ Read on AO3

#hogwarts eighth year #drarry fanart #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

[starswouldtell]

Bats

So here’s the fic that spun out of what I previewed yesterday! It got surprisingly long. Hope it makes you smile, because it’s definitely silly. Riddles are from here because I am not smart enough to write riddles! John Mulaney is The Riddler, I don’t make the rules. Also posted here on ao3. Hope you like how it all turned out in the end, @light-miracles! _________________________________________________

The Batcave, as it turns out, is an actual cave that is home to actual bats; and bats, Querl has decided, are up there with snakes on the list of creatures he does not particularly care for. He especially does not care for them fluttering around his head while incessantly squeaking and potentially biting when he is trying to work with even older tech than he’s managed to get used to.

How does Luke work like this? He sucks in a breath, exasperated, and tries to wave a bat away from his hair.

It’s a bit of a swap. Kate’s got important business in National City, and Kara's volunteered to spend the weekend in Gotham. It’s strange to see her dressed as Batwoman; a shadow instead of a ray of sun. Luke is with Kate, so Brainy is here; guiding Kara as best he can. It’s almost like working out of the DEO again, but with more flying rodents and a crumbling city infrastructure.

“Would you stop that?” He hisses, swiping at another bat. “Unless you’re going to help me find The Riddler, go-- hang somewhere. Not by me.”

“They really need to do something about the bats.” Mary sighs. “I seriously don’t want Kate to survive getting shot at and stabbed and blown up, then get rabies.” Her lower lip juts out at the thought. “They seem to particularly like you, though. Or dislike.” Her nose crinkles.

“Wonderful.” Brainy grimaces. He would also rather not get rabies.

“Any luck?” Kara’s voice comes over the comm. “There’s so much lead everywhere, how is that even allowed?”

“Different standards when these buildings were constructed.” He says offhandedly; frowns. “I’m combing through both street cameras and social media postings, but I don’t have anything concrete just yet. Only that you want to be on the eastern side of the city.” The beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of every end and the end of every race-- ‘E’, east; it had to be east. “I’m monitoring broadcasts as well to see if he turns up with another clue.”

“Do they all play games like this out here?”

“It’s not uncommon.” Mary answers sagely.

Kara huffs a sigh, preferring a more straightforward approach to her crime fighting. Brainy actually finds it rather exciting; he’s good at puzzles.

“I did stop two muggings, so that’s something! There might be a rumor that Batwoman can crush guns now, but that’s fine, right? Not a bad thing!”

Brainy smiles to himself and hears Mary laugh.

“Tomorrow morning Vesper Fairchild’s gonna be asking Gotham if Batwoman’s juicing.”

“Well-“

“I’ve got something,” Brainy’s back straightens and he brings up video of a rather inebriated young woman's livestream- “broadcast just fifteen minutes ago...”

“-then this weird guy said we should get a message to Batwoman.” She laughs. “It was... what was it? It was funny... Like we know Batwoman. What did he say?”

“When is the time of a clock like the whistle of a train?” Her friend supplies. “Who cares?”

“Hashtag Batwoman.”

“Follow us!”

He stops the feed; goes back... When is the time of a clock like the whistle of a train? That is... somewhat less obvious than the first riddle. He can feel Mary’s eyes on him; knows Kara is waiting.

“Brainy?” She asks after a long moment.

“I’m still... working this one out.”

“What is it? We’ll work it out together.”

It’s comforting, even if a little frustrating. He repeats the riddle, and Kara makes a thoughtful sound before-

“Oh!”

“You know it?”

“Two to two! Like toot toot!”

“Ah.” Brainy drags one hand down his face. “Apparently I need to brush up on my basic railroad noises. Pulling up the map, now... Ah! Perhaps number two on 2nd Street! It isn’t so far from the bar those women were attending and- yes, others are posting the same riddle... hashtag Batwoman.”

“Yes! We’re in business!”

Mary claps her hand together with a little cheer, and Brainy zeroes in on the location.

“It seems to be abandoned.”

“I’m almost there.”

“Maybe circle around the block- since you’re not out on the bike.” Mary suggests thoughtfully. Batwoman doesn’t have super speed. “We don’t know if he’s waiting for you in there, or if it’s gonna be another clue. Or a trap.”

“Right.” He can almost see Kara nod, slow down.

“Sprock-”

“Brainy?!”

“Sorry! Bat. Another bat. Uh- the building is old, so you may not be able to see through it, but if the DA is inside, you should be able to hear him, and The Riddler. If they are not inside...”

“I’ll be careful.”

Being able to see exactly what Kara does is a smart touch; credit where it’s due. These computers might be ancient, but Luke Fox uses them well (even if he did question if Querl could handle assisting Kara). After a few moments, she slips into the building.

“Got him.” The DA is tied to a chair in the center of the room, unconscious. Kara approaches slowly, but she and Brainy both go still when someone speaks...

“Now, why are you like a clock at midnight?”

“I believe,” Brainy says in Kara’s ear. “he wants you to put your hands up.”

Kara turns swiftly and lunges, dropping down to sweep The Riddler’s legs out from under him, but when he falls Kara hedges and Querl can’t blame her because the man looks incredibly pleased.

“Did you enjoy the game?”

“What?” Kara, Querl, and Mary say it in unison.

“You’re clever! I thought it might be fun; a bit of a scavenger hunt with the Batwoman!”

“You kidnapped the DA!” Kara says indignantly.

“Well, I assumed you’d find him. And you did! Look, he’s fine- he just had a couple benadryl.” He stands up, walks to the man tied to the chair and taps him lightly. “For a mild antihistamine it’s surprisingly potent.”

“You... what?”

“It was exciting, wasn’t it? You are clever, I thought it would take you longer.” He starts to clap, looking genuinely impressed, and Querl stares. “Well played!”

“You don’t kidnap an innocent person for fun.” Back on her feet, Kara puts her hands on her hips.

“I mean, he takes bribes, I figured maybe he’d earned a little scare too.”

Kara’s palm slaps to her face.“You realize I’m taking you to the police, right?”

“How many sides does a circle have?”

“Are you serious right now?”

Then he leaps out the window.

Querl shakes his head. Mary stares at the monitor in bemusement.

Gotham.

Getting up, Brainy jumps at the almost immediate fluttering and squeaking in his ear.

Bats!

#querl dox #kara danvers #mary hamilton #batwoman #supergirl #supergirl tv #the riddler #my writing

[zerounitrgb]

Fic Author Tag Game

Thank you @moonwolfhowl for tagging me!

AO3 Name: ZeroUnitRGB

Fandoms: Boku no Hero Academia, Fullmetal Alchemist, Naruto (I only wrote 1 fic for it though), Digimon (all fics on ff.net), Lion King (also all fics on ff.net)

Note: I’m going to focus solely on the fics I have on Ao3 but I wanted to at least acknowledge the old fandoms I used to be so passionate for. They were rather dark times but times I spent my time on nonetheless. Also, all mentioned fics will be linked if you want to check them out!

Number of Fics: 55 on Ao3, 1 WIP that just needs editing before it get posted, 2 completed zine pieces that I won’t or have not posted

Tagging: @cloversdreams​ and any other fic writer that follows me and wants to do this

1) Fic you spent the most time on: It’s a Digimon fic that I spent several years on though it’s not complete. For a completed fic that I spent the most time on, it would have to be What Hides Inside. The most words (50k), the most chapters (12), and the most time it took to write (five months). For those unaware, it’s an exploration into falling in love at the wrong time and dealing with mental illness from Tokoyami’s perspective. I’m sure y’all can guess who the ship is.

2) Fic you spent the least time on: That would be Best Hugger in Class A for BNHA. I think it happened after a conversation in the Shoutoko Discord server about Shouji being a cuddly drunk and also how wonderful it would be to get a hug from all six of his arms. Or more. Basically, it was just a quick, short story about Shouji getting drunk and all of class A wanting him to hug them.

3) Longest fic: Again, that would be a Digimon fic that has literally hundreds of thousands of words. For Ao3 fics, I already mentioned it, it’s What Hides Inside. Honestly, I wrote it because I wanted another multi-chap Shoutoko story.

4) Shortest fic: That’s a tie between Best Hugger in Class A and Where Is It?  both at 1250 words exactly. I already talked about the first one, the second was just a quick story about Midoriya using One for All to casually search the dorm for something he lost.

5) Most hits: Midnight Sex Therapy which is currently at 25,350. That is over 19k more hits than the fic with the second most hits. You people love smut and this fic is all about it with six different ships. I’ve recently been thinking about a sequel but instead of clients from class A, it’s all pro heroes. 

6) Most kudos: Again, Midnight Sex Therapy which is currently at 1118 kudos, more than twice that of second place. 

7) Most comment threads: A tie between One Week in Kyushu and Midnight Sex Therapy! Both of them at 57 comment threads! OWiK was one of my fave fics and the one I credit for bringing me into Shoutoko stardom. I don’t feel like explaining what it’s about, just know it’s one of my earliest Shoutoko fics.

8) Fave fic you wrote: This used to be OWiK but that’s recently changed. I’ve reread it not too long ago and maybe it’s because I held it to an impossibly high standard but it doesn’t hold up to my memory. I still think it’s great. But my new pride is 30 Things I Didn’t Know. It’s romantic, it’s sweet, it’s got gay rights, and pervert Shouji was peak horny energy for me apparently. OWiK can be a really close second just because it does include my idea of Shouji’s “tragic backstory” that I want to be canon but 30 Things is special to me.

9) Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: This is a hard one. I don’t usually like to hit publish unless I think the work is perfect or complete in order to avoid repeats of the dark ages so most I’m pretty happy with. If there was a fic I’d like to fix up, then it might be Unplanned Love? It’s my first ship fic for Gang Orca and Selkie and it’s smutty but plotty. The thing is, I had originally intended there to be an epilogue in which the sexy hero calendar arrived and I wrote a more proper sex scene but it never came to fruition. Maybe I’ll come back to it one day but it is sort of okay as it is so who knows.

10) Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: Uh, I have one WIP. It’s done, just needs to be edited. Not sure about sharing any bit of it because it is extremely smutty. Like almost filthy. Like, I don’t think I go more than two sentences before something very explicit comes up. 

Anyway, I will tell you some bits about it. It’s Shoutoko (of course it is) and they switch. I came to the realization recently that I only ever write Toko as a bottom so that needed to be rectified. That’s pretty much all I’m going to say about it so thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

#Tag Game #About Me #Long Post #The WIP will probably be fully edited and posted on the 25th #So for the followers waiting for Shoutoko content from me it's coming

[vatrixsta]

How Long Will I Love You (2/3)

First before I forget, tagging  @the-corsair-and-her-quill because this is the long overdue second part of her Secret Santa fic! Also tagging @csmarchmadness because it is likely the ONLY reason a metaphorical gun was put to my head and this has been produced out of the darkness of my hectic schedule. Eagle eyed readers may notice that it now says 2/3 instead of 2/2 - that is because, while this ends where I always intended it to, I have realized, while going through the emotional journey of editing it, that while it DOES end the piece, it’s kind of open ended and I’m not going to do that to you. So I really hope you all (but especially  @the-corsair-and-her-quill ) enjoy this and know that you will get the third part by my next March posting date! Because deadlines work for me. 

Also on AO3

Killian was brooding on the couch, watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

“You hate Christmas movies,” Emma noted, plopping down next to him.

“It would appear I do,” he answered with false enthusiasm.

“So stop making yourself miserable,” she chastised, snatching the remote from him and flipping around until she settled on something she knew he’d like.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he asked.

“The Devil Wears Prada,” Emma answered. “It’s about flamboyantly dressed people living their truths under the oppression of a tyrannical corporate captain.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you comparing my Captain Hook to the actual devil?”

“Never,” she soothed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tensed under her touch, which made her tense and that place that had been aching beneath her ribs give a painful lurch. What was that thing? Right, her heart. It was two steps forward, one step back with him these days. “I’m going to wrap some stuff I got for Henry. You’re gonna love the movie, I promise.”

She ran to their bedroom like the house was on fire. She wanted to cry, like she was in one of those cheesy Christmas movies.

Later, he found her poking at one of Henry’s newly wrapped packages and wrapped himself around her, one of those full body hugs that made her feel warm and safe and cherished.

“You’re right,” he rasped against her ear. “The devil is quite a bit more my style.”

“Never question me,” she sassed with false confidence.

He squeezed her. “Never.” It sounded more like a vow than the words they’d exchanged at their impromptu wedding, with Henry their only witness. She reminded herself she’d promised to be patient.

It wasn’t a virtue she would ever be accused of possessing.

….

A few days later, Killian marched up to her with all the intent of a man determined to take his medicine and practically demanded, “Go out with me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

He sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Swan, I’d like to take you out. On a date. A proper one.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. Truthfully, her heart was beating a little faster at the idea that her husband might actually want to court her again. That was how he’d referred to it the first time, because he should not be allowed but here they were.

“Henry’s at that boy Adam’s house tonight,” he continued, his tone at that boy indicating exactly how much Killian didn’t care for Adam’s attitude or influence on Henry. Emma didn’t exactly disagree, but she was so happy Henry had made a friend in a new city that she was making a lot of concessions. “Let me show you a good a time, Swan.”

She smiled, a gentle, soft thing. “Okay.”

….

He didn’t give her any hints about their evening, just that she should dress warmly, so Emma threw on her favorite pair of jeans, her favorite thick red sweater and one of Killian’s black leather jackets. He seemed pretty fond of that given the momentary heat she saw flare in his eyes and she scored one point for Emma Swan.

They started on a sort of Killian-created oyster crawl, sampling the best places near them and marking down their favorites for future reference. From there, they walked to the wharf and boarded a ferry for the South Shore where Killian had arranged for a table overlooking the water where they could sip cocktails and chat. He told her about his progress on the book - slow going, apparently, but he was ‘remembering’ how to write - which she thought was an odd way to put it, but she’d learned over the years that the writer’s brain was a strange and mysterious place and she tended to leave him be about it.

A local band was playing at a nearby place and Emma was only too happy to cuddle into Killian’s side as they strolled inside and found a cozy table in back. She rested her hand on his thigh and did an internal happy dance when he didn’t tense at all, instead pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her head. The music was decent, a folksy rock sound that suited their evening well. As they wound down, Emma found herself in that loose happy place where she could smell the salt air on Killian’s skin and was having vague fantasies of stripping him naked and having her way with him. It had been weeks and though she’d gone a lot longer without sex in the past, she hadn’t since the most illegally attractive man in the world had spun her world upside down.

The illegally attractive man apparently had other plans. There was a cart that he’d discovered served the best hot chocolate and clam chowder (thankfully in separate containers - some of the fusion foods had gotten a little out of control) and since it was freezing despite all the alcohol they had warming them from the inside, they huddled together on a bench while they shared both and chatted about Henry’s grades (which were better than average but not quite up to his usual standards).

By the time they arrived at the midnight showing of The Princess Bride, she started to get a little annoyed.

The evening was perfect - packed with both her favorite things and the things they enjoyed doing together. But it was like he was trying to keep them so active and busy that they’d pass out in a heap once they got home. Emma felt less like a wife and more like an errant toddler.

Her husband was trying to tire her out.

And damn him, it was working. She nodded off halfway through the movie and woke to Killian gently stroking her chin with his thumb. The cab ride back to the apartment was a combination of cozy and pissy. If he hadn’t been so off lately, Emma might not even have noticed what he was doing. Given the tactics he’d employed recently, she could come to no other conclusion.

Killian didn’t want to have sex with her. Whatever was going on with him was the reason they hadn’t had sex in weeks. Emma tried really, really hard not to assume he was cheating on her, but she had the gossipy words of past unhappy foster families ringing in her head - if he isn’t getting it at home, he’s getting it somewhere was a refrain she’d heard over and over again when the mother of the house worried over her husband’s odd behavior.  

Still a little tipsy from the alcohol they’d indulged, Emma let Killian help her upstairs and into bed. When she tried to tug him in after her, he smiled and kissed her forehead - such a platonic gesture. Had he even kissed her, really kissed her, in weeks? Emma was shuffling through her fuzzy memories. It wasn’t like she kept a mental tally of how often she and Killian locked lips, but maybe she should start because she honestly couldn’t remember a single time he’d kissed her since they’d gotten to Boston.

“I’ll turn in soon, luv,” he murmured. “Gonna get a little work done first. Sleep sweet, darling.”

Emma stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before she couldn’t take it another second, suddenly feeling horribly sober.

The walk to Killian’s office seemed to take forever, partly because she wasn’t really sober and partly because she was afraid of what she’d find. Would he be texting someone? God, maybe Skyping with some woman? Was that an image Emma wanted in her head? It definitely wasn’t but the not knowing was driving her crazy.

It was almost a shock, how banal the scene that greeted her was. His laptop shut tight, phone nowhere in sight, Killian was staring out the window, brooding was the only word Emma could think of to describe it. A glass of amber liquid was clutched in his right hand and she assumed it was rum, given the open bottle on his desk. Killian was no stranger to his favorite drink, but she was surprised he’d indulge after how much they’d had to drink earlier.

Though, she realized, thumbing through the drinking part of their evening, Killian had ordered a single beer with her and then switched to club soda. Emma had to hold in a bark of hysterical laughter. He’d been getting her drunk so he wouldn’t have to take advantage of her.

She wanted to confront him, though she wasn’t even positive what she would say. She wanted to shake him until he told her what was going on. She wanted to demand he leave if he wanted to leave.

She wanted him to tell her she was being ridiculous and he was just … oh she didn’t know, at this point if he said he had a rare disease he was struggling with she would almost be relieved, but the immediate thought that followed, the idea that Killian wouldn’t exist anymore, that he might die, took all the air from her body and she promised any deity listening that she would let him go without hesitation if it meant he was alive.

No, Emma was definitely still too drunk for the conversation they were going to have. And she was going to have to do something about her armor - she wasn’t wearing it, hadn’t worn it around Killian in so long, she almost didn’t know how to put it back on. But she would have to if she was to survive this.

…

“Can I stay over at Adam’s again?” Henry asked.

“Flerf?” Emma was still nursing hangover black coffee and wishing the sun would dial it down a notch, but she was positive Henry wasn’t asking for another sleepover when he’d barely been home for ten minutes.

“I believe your mother meant to say ‘no,’” Killian cheerfully translated, depositing a heaping plate of greasy bacon, eggs and carefully cut up fruit in front of her and a smaller plate with a lot more fruit to bacon ratio in front of Henry.

Cue Henry’s getting-less-adorable-by-the-day ten year old eye roll. “Come on, we’re in the middle of an important campaign, everything is riding on it--”

“It’s a video game, lad, not a military offensive,” Killian chided.

“We’ve got teammates depending on us,” Henry insisted.

“So you can play from your bedroom,” Emma said. “That’s how this all works, right? Everyone’s playing from different locations?”

Henry looked so bitter she’d actually been paying attention to how his games worked.

“It’s family night, kid,” she added. “You know how I feel about family night.”

It was a low blow, but Henry instantly looked guilty. He knew exactly how much she’d wanted a family her whole life and she’d made a point, no matter how much she was working, to taking one night a week for them to spend time together. Killian had been inducted into their lives on a family night officially and they’d rarely missed one in Henry’s entire life. She knew one day he’d be an actual teenager and way too cool for board games with his parents, but she wanted this for him and, selfishly, she wanted it for herself as long as she could get it.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll tell Adam I can’t make it.”

“You can still dial in,” Killian reminded him, completely butchering the tech speak he had no interest in retaining.

“Nah, they can do one campaign without me,” Henry said. “Besides, if they fail without me, I’ll get team leader for sure.”

“That’s my devious little man,” Emma praised, pinching his cheeks as Killian ruffled his hair, being with pride at the boy’s cunning.

Henry squirmed until he was able to disentangle both of them and started shoveling his breakfast down. Killian took his seat beside her, lifting her hand to his mouth to press a brief kiss to her knuckles before tucking into his own plate. It was a simple gesture, one he did almost habitually, but it reignited the roiling in Emma’s gut.

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered, escaping to the bathroom to throw up. She was rarely this badly hungover after a few drinks and she blamed the emotional stress on how bad she felt.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted her sullen thoughts and Killian peeked his head inside. “All right, luv?”

“I’m dying,” she muttered, a touch dramatically.

“I certainly hope not,” he said lightly, dropping to his knees beside her and holding her hair back in case she got sick again. “What would we do without you?”

YOU’RE SO FUCKING CONFUSING, she wanted to scream at him. But her head hurt too much and her armor was the opposite of fortified so - repression and denial it was.

Emma rested her head against his shoulder and let her husband comfort her.

…..

Family night was a huge hit - Kilian wasn’t pulling away when it was the three of them, gleefully taking all of Henry’s money in a game of Monopoly then dutifully picking a movie Henry loved (Star Wars) as was his right as victor. They ate popcorn and Killian didn’t even fuss too much at the Nestle Crunch mixed into the bowl. With Henry snuggled between them (God she didn’t want to think about him being older and unwilling to snuggle with them) it was a perfect night.

Then the movie ended and Henry went to bed, though not before letting out a gleeful YES! that indicated his friends had not been victorious in their campaign and he would ascend to the role of team leader.

Killian was changing into his pajamas and hiding an exaggerated yawn behind his prosthetic. Subtle, Jones, real subtle.

Emma, very tired of this game he was playing, stared him down as she started stripping off her clothes. Sure enough once he realized she wasn’t being remotely modest, he jerked around so quickly she thought he was going to strain something. She kept glaring at his back until she was down to her underwear. He was pretending to look for something on his nightstand. She moved into his peripheral vision with purpose and, assuming she had finished dressing, he glanced up to look at her and his mouth dropped open slowly as he realized she was nearly naked.

“It’s, ah…” He licked his lips, slowly, and she was somewhat gratified to know that at least her naked breasts still had some effect on him. “Cold. It’s cold tonight, isn’t it?” he asked like he almost wasn’t sure.

Emma pulled back the covers on her side of the bed then did a very bad job of covering herself with them. “Then you should come to bed and keep me warm,” she said in the best come hither voice she had.

And even though she almost expected the rejection, his hesitation still stung. The weird thing about it? He wanted to. Emma might be insecure and a little crazy when it came to her abandonment issues, but she knew when a man wanted her and Killian definitely did. He was almost swaying toward the bed, as if in a trance. Boobs did that to men, but she was pretty sure it was more than a heterosexual man’s biological reaction. Killian wanted her but for reasons only he knew was determined to deny it.

Emma felt suddenly and absurdly ashamed of herself - she didn’t need to throw herself at a man who wasn’t interested and she definitely didn’t want some kind of pity fuck to manifest out of this desperation she was displaying. Gripping the covers tightly in her fist, she turned her back on Killian and made sure she was completely covered. She could feel his indecision, could feel him staring at the back of her head, but she was done trying to initiate things. She’d promised him patience, but since she was out of that, he could live with petulance instead.

The mattress dipped on his side as he cautiously got into bed. He reached a tentative hand out toward her arm and she jerked away from him. She spun to face him and his eyes were so comically wide that she might have laughed if she wasn’t so hurt and angry.

Mostly angry.

“Don’t pretend,” she snapped. “Just go sleep in your office; we both know that’s what you’re going to do as soon as you’re sure I’m asleep anyway.”

She hadn’t been sure of that, actually, but the flare of guilt in his eyes was as good as a signed confession.

“You obviously don’t want to sleep with your wife, so don’t.” She turned away from him again, bundling herself in her blanket and her misery.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered after nearly a full minute of silence. “I’d rather lose another limb than hurt you.”

“You are hurting me.” Emma was angry at the tears that were falling because they felt manipulative somehow, but the idea that Killian might not want her anymore ripped open every scabbed over wound she had. “You’re hurting me every second you don’t want to be with me. Killian, seriously, I don’t…” Even though it felt ridiculous, she wriggled around until she faced him again, without relinquishing her blanket burrito; she really, really didn’t want to have this conversation topless. “I don’t want your pity or your guilt. I don’t want you to stay because you feel trapped. You can…. We can figure out how you could still be part of Henry’s life, if that’s what’s holding you here. But you don’t want me anymore. You’ve made it pretty obvious and I’ve been in too much denial to see it. Do you know how pathetic it is, to realize that your husband has lost all interest in you, but he feels too bad for you being a fucking foster kid to leave?”

“Lost interest,” he muttered, as if it were the most hysterical thing she’d ever said. “Bloody hell, do you have any idea how impossible it is to lie next to you, night after night, willing and wanting and not simply ravish you?”

“Oh, fuck off,” she whisper-yelled, flinging the blanket aside, her unbound breasts be damned. She stomped over to the dresser and pulled on the first t-shirt she found, then spun around with her arms crossed, ready to really fight. As much as they could, given Henry was down the hall. “I am so sick of your mixed messages and pleas for time. You feel like a fraud? Well, stop acting like one! Decide what you want and live with it.”

“It’s not that bloody easy,” he hissed, rising from the bed to regard her from across the room. “I can’t just think about what I want. I have to think about what’s best for you, for Henry. It’s not fair to expect…” He clamped his jaw shut tightly. “Nothing I say will bloody matter,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “I can scarcely reconcile all the thoughts raging through my own mind. How could I possibly expect you to contend with it? I’m not the man you think I am and… I’m hurting you. Something I swore I would never do, not intentionally. Perhaps… perhaps I should leave.”

Even though Emma had basically challenged him to do just that, everything inside of her froze at the idea of it. “So that’s it. You’re leaving me.” She felt like she was three again, or seven or twelve or fifteen or seventeen - unwanted, unloved, undeserving of the family she’d craved and fought for.

“No!” His hoarse denial snapped her out the cold dread seeping into her limbs. He moved closer to her, the way you might approach a feral cat, his hand and prosthetic outstretched. “Not leaving you. I would never… Emma, I would do anything to stay with you. But I don’t want to keep hurting you while I figure out how to do the honorable thing.”

His eyes were begging her for understanding, but Emma was done coddling whatever delusion was chasing around his head. She knew Killian had demons, the same as she did, and if his were trying to destroy everything they’d built together… well she could put on her big girl panties.

Emma slapped his shoulder. “That’s for thinking it wouldn’t hurt me more than anything if you left.”

“Emma--”

She slapped his other shoulder. “That’s for thinking you had to do anything to stay with me but stay.”

“Swan--”

She shoved his chest, hard, with both hands, satisfied when he stumbled back a few steps. “And that’s for thinking I want you to do the honorable thing if your crazy, fucked up line of thought has led you to consider for a second that it’s somehow not right or fair for us to be together.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he seethed back at her. “You don’t really know me! I’m not the man you married anymore!”

Emma tried very, very hard not to diminish what was obviously a very real torment weighing on him by calling bullshit at the mere idea. So she took a deep breath and asked in a very calm voice, “Do you love me?”

“Emma,” he sighed.

“No, you don’t get to act like I’m ridiculous for asking. You’re the idiot here, so you get to answer any question I have. Do you love me?”

“More than anything,” he said in that low voice that made her toes curl. Point to Killian for style.

“Do you… do you want to be with me?” she asked, faltering only slightly in her confidence.

He sighed fondly. “More than anything,” he replied, his tone gentling.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then let me see if you’re the man I married. Let me decide that, okay?”

Slowly, almost with fear, he nodded his head.

“Good,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, trying to organize her thoughts. She wasn’t the one who was good at romantic declarations, but for him, she was going to try her damnedest. “It wasn’t love at first sight between you and me. I was prickly and guarded and you actually liked that about me. You’ve been hurt deeply before, lost more than I ever had in the first place, but we understand each other; you and me, it wasn’t love, but we understood each other at first sight and I think that probably scared me most of all. You saw me and I saw you and for better or for worse I don’t think there was a point either of us could have turned back.”

“Swan,” he choked, his eyes filling with tears. But she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

“I don’t know you? You love with your whole body, so deeply that loss is like a knife to you. You’d cut off your other hand before you’d lose someone you love again. I don’t know you? You’re capable of things that make you ashamed, things you did after you lost your brother, after you lost your first love. You drowned for awhile, until you found a better way to channel all that loss and rage and then you met me. You loved me and I don’t know if I could have let anyone but you love me like this, because I don’t know if anyone else would have loved me enough to break down those walls. But you did. You always have. So you can tell me you don’t want me and you can leave if you think you’ve made a mistake being with us, but you do not get to tell me I don’t know who you are. You’re not a coward so don’t act like one.”

Killian stared at her with a strange kind of longing, almost salvation in his eyes.

“As usual, Swan… you’re damned right,” he muttered and then his hand was in her hair and his mouth was pressing against hers with all the urgency and passion she’d been missing for weeks only it was somehow more, something that left her more breathless, more wanting, more relieved than she could possibly have imagined.

He walked her back until she bumped into the dresser, then he lifted her up to sit on top of it so they were at the same level. She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer, one of her hands in his hair while the other slid under the warm henley he wore to caress his back. He gentled his kiss after a moment, leaning away from her long enough to look her in the eye.

“Hi,” she said, because the way he was looking at her was somehow more than the way he’d always looked at her and that was really saying something.

“I just want to remember this,” he said quietly, thumbing at the dimple in her chin. He leaned forward and kissed her again, slow and soft, and Emma felt her whole body melt into his.

Then his hand was under her bottom and she was off her feet again, spun around until her back hit the mattress and Killian followed her down without pulling away.

His mouth blazed a trail over the bridge of her nose, her jaw, the spot behind her ear that made her moan. It was like he was remembering and learning all the places she liked him best and Emma was absolutely not complaining. It was a little bit like he had been right - she hadn’t known him, or perhaps hadn’t known the full depth of him, because this felt somehow… more than it ever had before and there was a damned good reason she’d missed their sex life - it had been pretty incredible.

But this… hell, they hadn’t even taken their clothes off and she was ready to crawl out of her skin.

“I want to see you,” Killian muttered against her mouth, then he pulled her up on the bed so they were facing each other on their knees. He watched her eyes as he found the hem of her t-shirt and slowly dragged it up her torso, only breaking eye contact to lean down and press fervent, wet kisses to her ribs as they were revealed. Emma lifted her arms above her head and helped him pull the shirt the rest of the way off, then groaned because Killian had found her breasts and they were definitely going to be best friends from here on out.

He palmed her and kissed her and bit at her in all the right ways and she was right about this being more somehow, because she was about to come simply from the way he was worshipping her chest.

But she didn’t want to, not yet. Her hands found the hem of his Henley and she repeated his actions, pressing her mouth over his abdomen and trailing up his chest as he helped her remove the shirt completely. Her hand trailed down to the prosthetic he never wore to bed and he tensed.

She raised an eyebrow. “I want to see you,” she parrotted huskily.

He let her remove the prosthetic and set it gently on his nightstand. She cradled his left arm between her breasts and leaned in to kiss him again, those slow, soft kisses that were mending all the bruises around her heart; soon, they’d barely ache at all.

Killian’s hand began to wander again, reacquainting itself with the bare skin of her back, teasing at the band of her underwear by dipping beneath it then giving it a single, sharp snap that had her pushing her hips against his. He lowered her back to the bed and they both tugged at her underwear until she was able to kick it away. Killian pressed his mouth over her abdomen, his touch reverent as he moved over all the places she used to feel uncomfortable about - the stretch marks Henry left her with, the appendix scar that kept her from wearing bikinis for years. They were just another part of her as far as Killian was concerned.

He inhaled deeply when he reached the spot between her legs and before she could tell him she was too wound up, that she just wanted him, he was already diving in, his lips and tongue discovering and rediscovering and holy Jesus Christ how was he actually better at this than he’d been before?

Emma buried one hand in his hair and used the other to quiet the cries she wanted to let loose, biting into her palm to keep herself quiet. Poor Henry - they couldn’t traumatize him.

It was almost embarrassing how fast she came, quiet mewls smothered by her hand until Killian was suddenly there, replacing her hand with his mouth and she could taste herself on him and it was so, so hot and she was satisfied and unsatisfied at the same time and she had to get his fucking pajama pants off right now.

He reached between them for a moment to guide himself and then he was there, he was inside, and Emma gasped something between a laugh and a sob at how absurdly, ridiculously relieved she was to have him there. He smiled against her mouth, an agreement of sorts, and then his hips moved against her, both of them finding a rhythm that worked so, so well and she wanted to keep kissing him but she also wanted to suck at his neck so she did that while he kissed her shoulder and she dragged her foot up his hip until her heel was smacking against his lower back with every thrust and fuck she was gonna come again--

This time his mouth was firmly on hers to muffle her cries or maybe hers were muffling his, she wasn’t really sure because this was really, definitely the best sex they had ever, ever had and if he ever tried to withhold it from her again for some dumbass reason he made up in his head she was going to hurt him. Or maybe just tie him to the bed until he submitted. Yeah. That seemed like a more reasonable plan.

She felt like she was drifting for a moment, but came back to herself as Killian pressed fervent, arduous kisses to every inch of bare skin he could reach without disentangling their bodies. “I love you,” he muttered between kisses, so much and so often she thought that he was trying to make up for the last few weeks, when he hadn’t said it at all.

“I love you,” she whispered against the adorable curve of his ear. “Whatever’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours--”

“Is done,” he promised, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “I’ll not leave your side unless you order me away, Emma.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” she assured him. “Who else am I gonna find to fuck me like that?”

“Such a filthy mouth,” he chastised a second before he kissed her again.

….

Things were good. Like, really good. Like, better than even her best memory. It was like something clicked for them and the whole world realigned itself to a new world order. Killian was back to being her attentive, outrageously flirtatious husband, except he was also softer than she remembered him being, more vulnerable. It’s like he was determined to lay himself bare for her, almost daring her to find him wanting.

As if. Emma felt a little bit like she’d won the lottery or like she was in the middle of the best dream ever, the kind you never wanted to wake up from because nothing in reality could possibly feel this good.

Henry and Killian had long gotten back on the even keel they’d had before - except their relationship, too, seemed just a little bit more than Emma remembered, Killian more attuned to Henry’s moods, more eager to make sure he was safe - sometimes to the annoyance of the boy himself. The way he watched over her (their, really) little boy made Emma love him even more.

They were stretched out on the couch, legs tangled as they both worked on their laptops at opposite ends. Emma’s ringtone for Henry startled them both, lulled by the quiet clacking of their keyboards.

Her little boy’s voice was tiny and heartbroken as she leaned her head next to Killian’s so they could both hear.

“Can you guys come get me?”

He was at the police station. Emma had made fast friends with the cops who worked the evening shift, having brought in enough skips to them in the short few months they’d been in Boston to endear herself to the lot of them. Popping for a giant box of donuts a few times didn’t hurt. So Officer Miles made sure the boys were kept in an unused office rather than anywhere too scary.

Henry looked defiant and ashamed at the same time. Emma took care of the paperwork - thanking Officer Miles profusely for keeping this off their permanent record - and frowned when Adam’s parents showed up, smacking the boy on the back of his head and calling him an idiot, a juvenile delinquent. They didn’t even ask what had happened. Emma watched Killian cup the back of Henry’s head protectively, as if the punishment being doled out to his partner in crime could somehow be contagious.

“I imagine they were just being young boys,” Killian said when Adam’s parents paused long enough to let someone else get a word in. “I’m sure they won’t do anything like this again.”

Killian didn’t know what they’d done either. But he knew Henry, knew him like Emma did and despite everything, Henry had called them. The boys didn’t have identification and probably could have caused the police no end of frustration by refusing to identify themselves, but Henry had called them within five minutes of arriving at the station.

It turned out Adam had the idea to break into the aquarium and take selfies in front of the sharks. Killian reminded Henry that no successful crime hinged on taking incriminating photographs and Henry seemed to sigh in disappointment at his own foolishness. Emma broke the news that trips to the police station meant he was grounded for a month, no video games and no Adam. Henry protested the last, explaining that he was Adam’s only real friend and he couldn’t just abandon him.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look, having seen the sort of treatment Adam got from his parents. They conceded that Henry and Adam could see one another to study -- only to study -- provided Adam got permission from his parents to do so at their apartment.

To no one’s surprise, Adam’s parents agreed easily and Adam spent most of the next week practically sleeping over at the apartment. He took meals with the family, finished his homework promptly and delighted in the astronomy lessons Killian gave both boys. Emma felt proud of Henry, because the boy they’d considered a bad influence (which… well, he was) had actually been someone in need of a hero.

Adam was returned to his own home for Christmas Eve with promises to have him over for Boxing Day, a holiday Killian assured him was actually a much better meal than the one served at Christmas. Henry’s grounding was officially lifted for the holiday and they exchanged presents - besides the usual socks and sweaters and video games, Emma and Henry got Killian a keyboard that would attach to his laptop that was supposed to be easier to use with one hand. Emma knew his prosthetic grew painful after extended wear and Killian liked to write later into the night than was entirely comfortable. Henry unwrapped the new gaming console he’d spent weeks hinting at and Emma got two gifts from her boys: the first, a cheesy ornament for the tree that said “First Christmas in Boston” with a spot for a photograph they’d snapped on one of their family nights, the three of them sporting equally cheesy grins over a failed game of Twister. The second was a ring on a chain.

“It belonged to the best man I know - my brother, Liam,” Killian said softly. “I’ve always thought it brought me luck, protected me, and there’s no one I’d rather it keep from harm.” He draped the chain over her neck and Emma settled it against her sweater.

“Merry Christmas,” Emma whispered as Henry, tired of the mushy stuff, eagerly went to hook up his new console.

“Happy Christmas, luv,” Killian whispered back.

....

Life went on from there. Their first few weeks in Boston faded into the tapestry of the rest of their lives together - Emma remembered it, when she rarely thought of it, as Killian’s weird self esteem mysterious freak out.

Henry graduated fifth grade and they flew to Florida to celebrate his eleventh birthday at Disney World. Adam came with them and the two boys kept each other busy and tired enough that Emma and Killian managed a few quiet moments amidst the wonderful chaos.

Killian finished his book (hence the splurgey birthday trip to Disney World) and his publishers flipped over how much they loved it. They said the realism he’d given his fanciful characters outdid anything he’d produced before and they were going to give the book a big holiday push.

Emma managed to avoid injury during every skip she chased. She pretended it was just a matter of time, but she secretly believed what Killian did - that Liam’s ring was keeping her safe.

Once Henry started sixth grade, Emma felt settled in a way she couldn’t explain. She and Killian were curled together in bed, her favorite pillow breathing deeply under her cheek. His fingers were trailing up and down her spine and if she hadn’t been so recently satiated she probably would have crawled on top of him.

“Do you, um… do you ever think about what it would be like if we had another kid?” she asked.

His fingers paused their idle stroking briefly before resuming. “I thought that’s what we were calling Adam?”

“Har har,” she muttered, poking him in the ribs. Then she went back to running her fingers through his chest hair, tracing random patterns so she could ignore how genuinely worried she was for his response. “I mean, a kid that looked a little like me and a little like you.”

“I’ve often thought of giving Henry a little brother or a little sister,” he confided. “If there was ever a boy born to be someone’s big brother, it’s our Henry.”

Emma felt this strange sense of calmness settle within her. “So… I guess I could stop taking my pill.”

“I guess you could,” Killian agreed softly.

The next day, she dumped her pills in the garbage.

….

The day after that, as Killian was making breakfast and Henry was watering their plants, Emma answered a knock at the door.

“Hi.” A petite woman with curly blonde hair pulled into a messy bun stood on the other side. “I know this is going to sound really, really crazy and you have no idea who I am, but um… something’s happened. Your family needs you.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “My family is right here.”

“I don’t just mean Henry. I mean… your parents.”

“Okay, we’re done.” Emma went to slam the door in the woman’s face, but before she could connect, Killian’s hand covered the side of the door, pulling it back.

“Tink,” he breathed.

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Hook. You… you know me?”

It was then that Emma saw that look in his eyes, the one she hadn’t seen since they’d first come to Boston. The guilt. The shame. As if he’d stolen something that didn’t belong to him.

“Aye, luv,” he said as if every word was painful. “You’d best come inside.” He looked at Emma then, some endlessly sad apology in his eyes. “We’ve much to discuss.”

#cs ff #my fic #csmarchmadness #captain swan #how long will i love you

[bluerene]

Vogue [robstar]

I know, I know, I’m working on posting River, part five tonight, but @dar-draws mentioned a modeling headcanon the other day that I could not stop thinking about soooooo here’s an unexpected fic to start off your day!

Warning: It’s not totally NSFW, but we have a near-naked Dick Grayson and a very flirty Starfire. Also, excessive cheesiness. It was late when I finished it and early when I edited it, so I have no idea whether or not this product is any good. 

As always, feel free to share your thoughts with me! 

The offers for modeling came pouring in not long after Kori Anders had made her first appearance at a Wayne Charity Gala. Dick supposed it was inevitable. After all, they’d designed an alter ego so she could play a role in his second life. And with the entrance she had made that evening, he was surprised people hadn’t been shoving contracts in her face the moment she’d stepped off the stairs.

“Oooh, Richard, I do not feel well,” Kori said nervously, playing with her evening gloves, “perhaps it would be best if we do this at a later date.” He touched her chin gently and kissed her forehead, “you have nothing to worry about, Star. You look beautiful. Just keep your head up and your feet on the ground. Dad and I can take care of the vultures.” “I do not wish to embarrass you,” she replied unhappily. “You never could,” Dick said, “and he doesn’t think so either. He’s glad you’re here.” “I am glad he has done the coming around.” “We both knew he would have to eventually,” he said with a grin, sliding his hand into hers, “be it now or ten years in the future when you’re pregnant with my kid.” Kori giggled, raising an eyebrow, “ten years, Mr. Grayson? We are waiting that long for children? Is it not a crime to deprive the world of our beautiful offspring?” “Ten years, eight years, two years, it’s all the same to me. As long as I have you.” “And I, you.”

She had pushed open the door and linked her arm with his, raising her head as they descended the polished marble staircase. Her grip tightened when the hall fell quiet, the silence broken only by hushed voices and clicking cameras.

But she did well. She always did well, as Starfire with the people of Jump, and as Kori with the press of Gotham. Courteous, diplomatic, and charming. She carried a sort of regality in her posture, something the other partygoers couldn’t help but notice. Dick and Kori were splashed in color on the front page of the paper the next day. And the rest was history. She was happy to enter an agreement with a designer based in Gotham. It was a two-hour commute from their apartment in Blüdhaven, but Bruce had already promised her a room at Wayne Manor, and full access to their teleporter. He was making a great effort, she noticed, to connect with her. That was nice to see.

The first few weeks were difficult. Photoshoots were fun but draining, and Kori quickly realized they were typically hostile environments. Photographers poked and prodded her, raising her arms and straightening her back, posing her as if she were an object. They spoke hurriedly, in exasperated tones, pulling faces whenever she failed to hide her inexperience. It was frustrating for her, and worse, she felt more out of place than ever.

The first rehearsal for the Spring Collection Fashion Show was the most difficult one she’d been through. She came home far later than she’d planned (though earlier than the director had liked), worked to the brink of exhaustion. She tossed her keys on the counter and headed straight for the bedroom, shrugging her coat off and hanging it on the back of the door.

She removed her holo-rings first, collapsing on the bed immediately after. She groaned loudly, blinking away the tears that had pooled in her eyes.

Her boyfriend poked his head out of their bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

“Hey, you’re home early. I thought you’d come to cuddle after midnight.”

Starfire kicked off her heels.

“They requested I stay longer but I did not wish to,” she said, sniffling.

Dick’s eyes narrowed in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

She shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

“Richard, would you think little of me if I were to leave the industry of modeling?”

“No, but I’d be worried. What’s wrong, Star? I thought you were enjoying the shoots.”

Starfire sighed.

“It has not come as easily to me as I expected it would. It is most...invasive. And challenging. And I do not think the other models like me very much.”

He set down his toothbrush and joined her on the bed, gesturing for her to curl up beside him.

“That’s probably because you’re a thousand times prettier than any of them.”

“The photographers do not think so,” she mumbled.

“Then they’re blind and stupid,” Dick said cheerfully, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “you’re still learning. You’ll figure it out. And when you do, you’ll look back on this conversation and realize how silly it is.”

“I am tired,” she said feebly, “help me get ready to sleep.”

“Lazy. But fine, I’m always good with naked Starfire.”

“Pajamas, please.”

“My choice?”

“I do not wish to rise from this spot, so I will trust you with that.”

“Sweet.”

Dick scooted off the bed and crossed the room to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer to find his favorite items.

“Thong and nightie? Please?”

Starfire raised her arm, wiggling her fingers, “you may give them to me.”

He grinned and tossed them into her hand, “did I mention how much I love you?”

“It does not hurt to hear it more often. Unzip my dress, please.”

She sat up on her knees and pulled her hair over her shoulder, turning her back to him.

“I do not know what to do anymore,” she said miserably.

“Y’know, Star,” Dick said slowly, dragging the zipper down her spine, “I could give you a couple of pointers. I’ve done a few photoshoots in my time.”

Starfire shrugged off the dress and reached for the clasp of her bra, unhooking it and slipping it off.

“Truly?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder to look at him.

He passed her the lavender nightie he had chosen, not bothering to hide his smirk, “if you want.”

“Will you teach me right now?”

“What? I mean, sure, I can, but - “

“You may remove your shirt”

“Uh, come again?”

“Well,” Starfire began, a devious smile crossing her face, “you have said you will give me the tips for modeling. And I feel as though attire similar to what I wear will help me understand the posing much better. So if you would be so kind as to remove your clothing, we could commence with the practice.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Dick protested.

“But it is what you said,” she replied gleefully, rolling onto her stomach. She propped herself up on her elbows, kicking her legs in the air, “and it would improve my mood greatly if you would follow through with what you said.”

He muttered something inaudible under his breath, but relented, raising his shirt over his head and tossing it on the bed.

“You’re a pervert, princess.”

“And you are beautiful to admire, my prince,” she cooed, tracing the contours of his stomach with her eyes.

“As long as you’re the one doing the admiring.”

“Always,” Starfire purred.

Dick, now clad only in boxers, placed his hands on his hips and pouted, “is this naked enough for you?”

“For the moment. You may proceed with the modeling.”

“Ha! I already am,” he puffed out his chest and straightened his back, turning his cheek in a way that defined the line of his jaw, “this is a pretty standard pose. Hands near your waist, lips pursed, chin jutting out so your neck looks longer.”

Starfire tilted her head.

“But you look so unnatural. Humans do not stand this way.”

“The whole point of modeling is to express a concept in a way that enhances the idea rather than the person,” he explained, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and leaning against her dresser, “like this. Underwear ads for men like to emphasize the attractiveness of their brand. So guys clench their abs and arms, thrust their hips out like this - Star, are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm? Oh yes!”

“No you aren’t,” Dick rolled his eyes, “you’re all flustered.”

“Do the thrust again.”

“Babe, how am I supposed to help you model if you keep eyeing me like this - “

“Thrust. Once more, please. I promise I will pay very close attention to your technique.”

“Sure you will,” he said disbelievingly, “anyways, whatever piece you’re modeling needs to be emphasized by your body. So for underwear, your stomach, thighs, and arms are the points of focus. Clothing depends on the style, but you can almost always guarantee longer limbs by arching your back or craning your neck.”

Starfire pushed herself onto her knees and turned her neck, pulling her hands up into her hair. She leaned back, exposing the flat of her belly at the hem of her nightie, and bending her arms so the soft lines of muscle became more apparent.

“Like this?”

Dick grinned, running his gaze over her body, “lookin’ pretty good.”

Starfire giggled, letting her hands drop to her knees, “I thank you. Do you have more of the tricks for me?”

“Of course, but we couldn’t get through them all in one night. Guess we’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Richard Grayson,” she said, crossing her arms, “if I did not know better, I would think you are enjoying being my model.”

“I just like the attention. And helping you. Besides, we have way too much to cover. There are all sorts of modeling, and I think it’ll be easier for me to demonstrate if I have an assistant.”

“I shall fetch Silkie right away.”

Dick frowned, “aw, come on, now I’m thinking of modeling naked with Silkie as an accessory, why’d you have to do that?”

“You were acting far too cheeky for your own good,” Starfire said airily, flopping back on onto the bed. She scooched backward until she was pressed against the headboard and retrieved her phone from the nightstand.

“What are you doing?”

“I am taking pictures so that I can practice these poses on my own.”

Dick eyed her suspiciously.

“Is this going to be one of those things where half the girls in the network see it and I end up getting teased for a month by the guys?”

“Oh, these are for my eyes only, my love. Please, do the working of it.”

“You’re awfully cheery for someone who had a bad day,” he noted, smiling as he flexed his biceps.

Starfire took a photo and smiled at the screen, “And you are truly the greatest boyfriend in the world to work as hard as you do to make me happy. Oooh, I do admire that pose.”

Dick smoldered at her from over his shoulder, curving his back inwards and pulling his arms back, revealing tense lines of muscles along his body.

“I know you do, it’s the ass,” he said smugly.

He continued to shift between different positions, explaining each one and its intention as he did. Starfire, for all her teasing, did feel as though her understanding of them had improved, mimicking some of the easier ones to get his input. She learned that the more contorted your body was, the more unique it would make certain styles appear to be. Cameras sought mystery and so she needed to stare with half-lidded eyes, lips pursed as if there was something she disapproved of but the viewer would never know for sure.

When she started to tire, he asked her if they could try one more thing before they slept.

“Runways are harder. The walk is definitely something you’ll need, and I can’t really teach you the exact technique without heels, but you need to stand straight, arch your back, and take long strides. Try not to look too interested, but if the designer wants something specific, go with their vision.”

“You mean I must make the royal face?”

“The one you wear at my Dad’s parties? Definitely.”

“If I were to find heels for you to walk in - “

“Nope.”

“But - “

“I can teach you in other ways, babe. Besides, you’re the one on the runway, not me.”

Dick climbed onto the bed, placing his arms on either side of her.

“I am not tired.”

“You are, and you should be. You have another rehearsal tomorrow,” he whispered, kissing her nose.

She pouted, “and if I do not go?”

“It’s your choice,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “but we did spend an hour and a half practicing, and you made me do allllll of those poses.”

“You did not mind it,” Starfire muttered.

“Give it a try, Star. Things’ll get better. Just remember what I said.”

“Mmmmm.”

He kissed her gently, moving off of her and sliding under the covers of their bed.

“Get some rest. I’ll wake you up so we can shower before you head out.”

She wrapped her arms around his chest, snuggling into his back, “I love you, Richard.”

“Love you too, Starfire.”

The lessons continued for weeks, growing more serious as they neared the presentation of the Spring Collection. Dick moved furniture around in their living room, setting out outfits for her to ‘model’ (though most of it was just lingerie he happened to like, paired with sexy stilettos). He threw together a playlist and blasted it from the kitchen, walking their makeshift runway and instructing her to follow suit.

She was a fast learner. There was an obvious improvement at work, particularly in the way she was treated by the photographers, who were backing off and giving her space to try to the concept on her own. The other models had softened slightly, occasionally extending invitations to lunch or drinks after work.

When the Spring Collection launch show finally came around, it was no surprise to Dick that she blew the audience away.

She looked beautiful.

She had always been beautiful, of course, but there, under the bright lights, he was really at a loss for words.

Long legs. Looooooong golden legs, shiny, smooth, soft, miles of silky skin. He wanted to touch and taste, claim and reclaim.

She smoldered at him. Her eyes made contact with his and she pouted her lips. She was fiery, sparkly, fierce.  Her hair twisted and burned and defied gravity, flowing out behind her.

“Fucking hot,” Dick mumbled, letting out a loud whoop as she executed a flawless turn.

That dress. He hoped she would keep it forever. It was...glorious. She was wearing a dark purple wrap-around bra and a matching pair of high-waisted panties under a long, sheer, lavender dress that tied at the waist and fluttered open to reveal those long, gorgeous legs.

It was barely clothing. Barely there, barely acceptable for public wear, but God, he hoped she would keep it and wear it for him.

She glided down the runway like she was born to model.

The crowd adored her, cheering during her walks, screaming madly when she graced the stage for the final time.

Bruce threw together a small party to celebrate her success, though Dick knew it was really because he was impressed with how hard she had worked to give Kori Anders a name. It meant she cared enough to see a relationship in the harsher public eye all the way through. That was something his father could respect.

“You were amazing tonight,” he told her while she changed for bed, “Dad thought so too. Everybody did.”

“If I was, it is all thanks to you.”

“I know,” he replied, grinning wide, “you owe me a private modeling session right?”

“Several, though I am certain you know every night seems to be a ‘private modeling session’, correct?”

He shook his head, “no, that’s for work. I was helping you and we’d get carried away, I mean a real, music-and-lights, private, modeling session.”

Starfire smacked his arm lightly, “you are incorrigible.”

“You love me. Will you do it?”

“Right now?”

“I don’t see anyone else in this bedroom.”

She sighed and ran her fingers along the straps of her silk chemise, “I am tired.”

“Come oooooon, baby, please. Here - you love this song.”

He cupped his hands over his mouth and hummed - rather off-key, she noted through her laughter - “Vogue” by Madonna.

“This is terrible!” she cried out, posing anyways.

“Keep going.”

And she did, bending her legs and raising her arms and arching her back while Dick sang her favorite songs until she finally dissolved into giggles and climbed onto his lap.

“Thank you for everything,” Starfire said, pressing her lips to his, “you did not need to do all this.”

“Hey, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my girlfriend navigate her new job blindly?”

“The normal kind. You always seem to do more than you need to, Richard.”

“I love you, Star. It’s important to me that you know it.”

She kissed him again, “I do. I love you too. Would you model for me again if I asked?”

“I don’t think you need the help anymore, but sure?”

“Oh, it is not to help me with my own modeling,” Starfire said wickedly, burying her hand in his hair, “it is for something else.”

Dick grinned, settling his hands on her waist, “oh, that? Yeah, definitely. Always. Anytime.”

“Stop talking and do the making out now please.”

“My pleasure.” 

#blue writes #robstar #robin #starfire #teen titans #fic #wow when the random inspo hits you #you gotta do it #modeling #dickkory

[lovelylogans]

do not reblog

my best friend once (lovingly) described attempting to have a conversation about emotions with me was like pulling teeth.

so, ya know. this is gonna be awkward. i’m not good with emotions. fun fact, one of my early childhood memories of my parents trying to Teach Me Stuff (which was kinda rare to be so overt) was my mom saying she was upset, and asking me how i handled it. and i just said “i don’t talk about it! that makes me feel better!” so it’s been in progress like. a while. 

i don’t even know if i’ll post this. or post it and then immediately delete it. which i’ve done on here before, so. we’ll see.

i have anxiety. not traditionally, classically diagnosed, but two out of two doctors i’ve asked about symptoms of what i’ve called “the chest thing” during the past two years have said “that sounds like anxiety,” so that’s. that. set right out there. i don’t want to blame everything i say on the fact that i have anxiety, but it is a factor.

let me put this out there: i never expected to become a “big blog.”

like. the fact that i hit 500, let alone 2,000 followers is just bizarre to me. i realize i’m not, like, the biggest blog out there, but this is still. entirely unexpected. like i’ve had a couple blogs over the years, and the most i’ve ever hit was about 350 after three years, on a blog that’s now defunct. i figured i may as well post a few moodboards a day or so after i made the blog, joined a couple discords because some blogs were reblogging invite links. 

i just kinda kicked out a fic, figured i may as well make a blog, and maybe i’d write a few cool stories and get some comments and mess around on photoshop a bit. i’d heard about how friendly people in this fandom were, so i hoped, maybe, i’d get a friend, too.

i hopped onto tumblr to see that i’d gotten a message (a rare occurrence!) my follower count had boosted by forty, and my activity just absolutely skyrocketed.

thomas had reblogged not one but two of my moodboards.

i posted a christmas fic. i got on tumblr a few days later to see it’d been nominated for best fic of the year.

i think a solid mood for both of those events was what the fuck.

again. didn’t expect to be a big blog. didn’t expect any of it. and to me it was just... crazy. i’d really only written for huge fandoms (like, harry potter, doctor who, the 100, etc.) or tiny ones where it was me, one of my best friends, two other people, and a napkin. like. no in between. sanders sides was my first in between in a long, long time. i didn’t expect people to be asking about my taglist, i didn’t expect people to hop in my askbox, i didn’t expect people to ask about if i took prompts and i certainly didn’t expect to have upwards of twenty prompt fics. i didn’t expect people to tell me that i intimidated them, or that i had an audience, or to placed upon a pedestal (which. please no.) none of it was expected.

this is where the anxiety part kinda comes in.

i’ve written upwards of about twenty-five-ish fics for this fandom, nearing 100k words, which was a huge deal for me. still is. i’d been struggling with writer’s block, idea block, creativity block, what have you, for nearly two years. the fact that i could connect with these characters, come up with ideas (or get prompts to kickstart those ideas) was big to me. finally, i thought, i can reaccess this skill to get out how i’m feeling, to relax, to fill up my day by doing something semi-productive. and you guys liked them, too. which was, still is, such a gift, and i’m so grateful for it.

and, well, a bit of a thing. i’m going through some... other stuff, to put it in the vaguest terms possible, over the past life few months, something that i try and channel into my writing, something i try and keep my mind off of, see bad at emotions paragraph above.

there was a week, a few months back, where i was going through some of that stuff, where it was busy for school, and i was just not in the best place. i posted a fic, and figured i’d get some response to get my mind off it.

i didn’t.

i freaked the fuck out.

looking back, i absolutely see how i blew it out of proportion; everyone has their ups and downs with responses, and you guys are not at all obligated to respond and i shouldn’t feel like you have to, and it turned out fine anyway. you guys aren’t obligated to cater to my mindset; you should consume what you want to consume.

i know all that. i knew all that. and yet.

i sent a few messages to one of my best friends, at the time of the freakout, despairing about how i was a failure and no one would ever love my work, and a few other things, i forget. anxiety-fueled thinking, you get it.

dude, she sent me back, you realize you’re spiraling, right?

i grabbed my coat, put on some boots, and went for a two mile walk in the near-freezing rain at about midnight on a weekday. it helped calm me down. i got some of that schoolwork done. it helped calm me down. i realized how much i’d freaked out, realized part of it was anxiety fueled, and put away those emotions for later. again, see emotions disclaimer above. but they kept popping up, whenever a fic or post did slightly worse than my usual standards. (and also, hey, quick question, self, when did i get standards for posts? when did i become such a perfectionist, and can i please apply that to schoolwork???)

i know the idea of creation should be for the sake of creation, not for the response and appreciation you might get. it should be an entirely selfish thing, and i should be happy to put out a story that i’m proud of.

i. know. this.

so why do i keep looking at the notes, as if that’s the thing that matters here? why do i keep looking at other content creators, other bloggers, even, and comparing what i have to what they have? when did my thoughts turn from that’s such a cool concept! or that’s such a cute ask and response thing! to why don’t i have that? why didn’t i do that? why do i keep trying to find my worth by following the numbers of my own work? why do i think about posting something like this and feeling like it would be complaining and whining and whatever response i’d get would be disingenuous, but i look at others doing something similar and feel nothing but support and hoping that they feel better soon?

it started to feel like every little thing was irking me. i was starting to think meanly. i hate being mean, even thinking things that could be considered rude. i’d grit my teeth and roll my eyes at any ~fandom discourse,~ i’d scroll quickly by anything that i didn’t like in the slightest, i wasn’t having fun anymore. well, maybe i was, but a lot less than i did before. i felt... angry, basically. annoyed, frustrated, whichever. i was starting to fixate, and i knew i was starting to fixate. but it was on things i didn’t want to fixate on.

i was watching a video recently, and they said something along the lines of the people who only watch the numbers, they’re just unhappy. my first thought upon hearing that was well, yeah. but how do i fix it?

the answer is, i don’t really know. really mostly it’s just... taking a step back to figure that out. there’s no easy fix for what’s going in my life atm. so we’ll see how that goes. i’ll start putting stuff in queue, fanart and gifs and text posts and the like, but posting to a lesser extent than i was before. i’m probably gonna work mostly on big bang, but maybe a couple of littler fics will pop out of the framework, when i’m ready, when i have an idea and the drive.

i still love to write. i really love these characters. i love where the plot of sanders sides is going, as well as thomas’ other content. fanders have been nothing but supportive for me. i’m excited for the works i have planned, and i want my response to them being posted as an it’s up! i’m proud of myself for getting this done! i think i executed this idea to the best of my ability and i have grown as a writer! rather than it’s up! i want positive feedback nOW! if it gets less than x notes then i am a failure and this was a horrible idea!

i wanted to close this one out by saying this is, entirely, a me situation. do not feel guilty for not consuming/enjoying/reblogging/commenting on my work. that is your choice. no matter how entitled a creator might feel to it, it is your choice. sure, it would be nice, as i’m sure most authors would agree! but it is NOT anyone’s fault that i’m feeling this way. it’s my brain and my head and my weird emotions. you guys did nothing wrong. it’s just something that some creators struggle with, and apparently now it’s my turn.

i’m not blaming anyone (other than myself) and i don’t want it to sound like i am. you guys are fantastic, truly and really wonderful, and i want to be sure that i can provide fun things for you guys (again, that you have the choice to consume or not!) while enjoying myself too! 

again, please, do not reblog.

also, uh, this is going up hopefully by the time i’m asleep so i don’t chicken out and delete it, so, you know.

#my post #text #not ts #uhh #anxiety stuff tw #i talk about how i'm struggling with some fandom stuff #so if that's a topic you want to avoid please avoid it! take care of yourself! #do not reblog #long post

[fialleril]

I just had to deal with all this transphobic bullshit in therapy (because why should my doctors bother to actually respect me) and I cried all day and I just feel awful. If it's not too much trouble, could I get a snippet of Anakin totally destroying someone who absolutely deserves it? Verbally, physically, I don't really care, I'm just in serious need of a revenge fantasy. I don't care what universe it's in. I love all your fics and I'd really appreciate it if you could take the time. Thanks!

Posting this publicly with permission - I hope it helps! (And I hope you can get access to a therapist who will respect you.)

This is another snippet from the Jedi reformation AU. In which Anakin and a couple of Padme’s former handmaidens plot to help a group of enslaved people escape from the palace of the king of Brundia. A king who just so happens to also be Anakin’s Jedi assignment at the time. Also, at least one character has now officially migrated to this fic from Anabasis.

Takes place less than a year before AOTC. Warnings for discussion of slavery.

Anakin’s transponder goes off almost the minute they dock onBrundia. He hesitates a moment after settling the ship and powering down, justlong enough that Obi-Wan looks over at him with a raised brow.

“I know you’re not excited about this mission, padawan,” hesays dryly. “But I do hope I won’t have to drag you off the ship. We don’t wantto keep His Majesty waiting.”

“Of course not, Master,” Anakin mutters, exaggerating hissigh just that much more than necessary. It makes Obi-Wan roll his eyes, and hemisses the way Anakin taps twice against a pouch on his utility belt as he pullshimself to his feet with a groan.

King Marlonartan the Seventh, formally styled His RoyalHighness, Lord of the Fifteen Mysteries, Prince of the Infinite Isles, Augustand Radiant Fount of Wisdom, Crown of Justice and Throne of Mercy, King Ordainedby All the Powers of the Cosmic Oneness, Marlonartan, Seventh of that Line, isnot someone who likes to be kept waiting. He’s also, apparently, one of thosepeople who believes that on time is in fact late. It’s a common belief amongMasters, though they never seem to apply it to themselves.

Obi-Wan and Anakin present themselves before the AugustPresence at exactly 17:00 galactic standard time, just as they were scheduled.The Fount of Wisdom glares down at them from his jewel encrusted throne and mutters,peevishly, “I had understood that Jedi were always punctual. You disappoint me,Master Kenobi. I would expect to be shown more respect by the emissaries of theSupreme Chancellor.”

“I do apologize, Your Highness,” Obi-Wan says, bowingdeeply. His annoyance is obvious in the Force, though nothing of it shows inhis outward bearing. Anakin follows his lead, teeth gritted to hold back ascoff. He’s already imagining how he’ll describe this scene to Kitster.

Their assignment is simple enough: they’re on securitydetail for the duration of Brundia’s week-long celebration of the Exalted andMost Holy Day of the Birth of the King. The Council believes that KingMarlonartan, who has a history of predicting threats against his person, mayactually have reason to be concerned this time, so they’ve sent Obi-Wan andAnakin to babysit.

“This assignment is fairly routine, and we don’t expect muchresistance,” Master Windu had said. “But Brundia is a strategic world in ourefforts to combat the spread of the Separatist movement.” Then his eyes hadnarrowed and he’d added, “And Padawan Skywalker could use the practice indiplomacy.”

Obi-Wan had agreed of course, his embarrassment not quitehidden in the Force, and Anakin had bowed and said, “Yes, Master,” and that wasthat.

Later, when he messaged her with the news, Padmé respondedwith a long string of laughing faces. “Someday,” she wrote, “we’re going toattend the same diplomatic summit, and I’ll get to see the show in person.” Shealways calls it “the show,” mainly because she finds it absolutely hilariousthat the Council still believes Anakin causes diplomatic incidents out ofignorance, rather than out of very deliberate choice.

Padmé had offered a bit of teasing advice, too. “I’ve metKing Marlonartan before,” she wrote, followed by a grimacing face that made himlaugh for longer than it probably should have. “It’s pretty much impossible todo too much bowing and scraping, as far as he’s concerned, so you can get awaywith quite a lot there. Just…try not to call him a rich Core Worlder to hisface.”

“No promises,” Anakin wrote back, and he’s fighting a grinthinking about it now.

But he manages to mold his face into an expression of deepcontrition as he bows low, his right palm pressed to his brow, in the properdisplay of Brundian fealty. “Please forgive us, Most Merciful Highness,” hesays, eyes trained on the marble floor. “I am only a learner, and I fear my aweof your magnificent palace caused my Master to be delayed.”

He can feel Obi-Wan looking at him, and his Master’scuriosity prodding at the edges of his mind. Anakin hides a smirk and lets histhoughts fill with the pious desire to do well, to have a successful missionand meet the Council’s expectations. That makes Obi-Wan even more suspicious,but as a shield it’s effective, and a moment later his mind withdraws. Anakin’sglad that he’s looking down, so the laughter doesn’t show on his face.

The truth is, the obsequious bowing and constant use offlowery, inflated titles come easily. Resistance in the form of scrupulousobedience is a lesson older than his oldest memory, and in a place like this,where even the hint of a double meaning is completely lost not only on the kingbut on his Jedi Masters as well, it’s almost fun.

King Marlonartan nods graciously and offers his forgiveness,and then they’re dismissed to meet with the king’s security team.

“What was that, padawan?” Obi-Wan hisses the moment the ornatedoors of the throne room close behind them.

Anakin offers his best innocent, eager to please smile.“Diplomacy, Master,” he says. “I really am trying to do better. I know howimportant this mission is.”

Obi-Wan looks at him for a long moment with narrowed eyes.Finally he sighs. “Just try not to cause a diplomatic incident this time,” hesays wearily. “That’s all I ask.”

“Yes, Master,” Anakin says dutifully.

He doesn’t manage to slip away until nearly midnight, afterthey’ve gone over King Marlonartan’s security arrangements twice andestablished a shift for both regular guards and Jedi protectors.

Obi-Wan’s on watch now, and Anakin is supposed to besleeping. He’s going to be horribly tired through his shift, he knows, but he’srun on less sleep before and this is far more important.

Rabé and Yané are waiting for him in an all-night dinerthat’s half the city away from the palace and might as well be on anotherplanet. The streets here are narrow and dingy, lit by sporadic stabs of blindinglybright light that serve only to cast the rest of the street in deeper shadow.The air is full of myriad food smells, some more appetizing than others. It’s afar cry from the perfumed air of the palace. Anakin breathes it all in with asigh of pure relief.

He spots the two Naboo women instantly, though they’ve goneto some pains to make themselves unremarkable. Without the makeup and fineclothes, neither of them looks all that much like Padmé, which helps.

He slides into the booth next to Yané without a word, andjust manages to hold back a laugh when they both simply blink at him.

“Can we help you?” Rabé asks at last, her voice pointedlycold, and a snort of laughter escapes Anakin in spite of his best efforts.

“Well I hope so,” he says, grinning, as he reaches up to tapa finger against his padawan braid, tied up and around the short tail of hairat the base of his neck.

Their eyes widen, and Yané blurts, “Ani?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, laughing again. “Do I really look thatdifferent without the braid?”

Rabé snorts. “It’s not the braid,” she says. “I swear, Ani,the last time I saw you, you were still shorter than me. What the hellhappened?”

That’s an exaggeration, of course, but she does look a good bit shorter than heremembers, so Anakin lets it go.

“Jedi nutrition,” he says dryly. “It’s very exact.”

“I’ll say,” Rabé mutters, eyeing him up and down. “You oughtto market that diet.”

“A Jedi never strives for profit,” Anakin says piously.

“Oh, sure,” Yané says, nodding sagely. “That’s why you havea major fundraiser every year, and that charity gala in the Senate.”

“Well, the generosity of the people of the Republic isdifferent, of course.”

“Of course,” Rabé says. She smiles wryly and slides adatareader containing the diner’s menu across the table to him. “Are youeating?”

“Troona, yes,”Anakin says. “The king had a feast tonight, and Obi-Wan and I had to worksecurity. They served caviar and a bunch of little things on sticks thatprobably cost more than everything in this place. It was awful.”

“Poor baby,” Yané says, patting his arm. “We picked theright place, then. My sources tell me the Aldoshan curry here is enormous, andhotter than the lava pits of Mustafar.”

Anakin orders the curry, and when the waitress comes back afew minutes later to see how they like their meals, he asks if she has any hotsauce. Rabé and Yané stare at him, aghast, and even the waitress looksimpressed, but Anakin just shrugs them off. “I’ve been cooking for Obi-Wan foryears now, so everything’s been mild. I’m not going to miss my chance at realfood.”

“It’s amazing you have any taste buds left,” Rabé says witha laugh.

“Core Worlders are just weak,” Anakin says, grinning arounda mouthful of curry. “So, what have you got for me?”

“Big news,” says Yané, glancing around surreptitiouslybefore sliding a datastick to him. “We’ve got a group of twenty-three comingalong the Ryloth trail next week, and half of them need ID. But the moreimmediate concern is right here on Brundia. And it’s going to complicate thingsfor you.”

“Ah,” says Anakin. “I knew I had a bad feeling about thismission.”

Rabé rolls her eyes. “No, you just picked that up fromObi-Wan,” she says. “He always has a bad feeling about everything.”

Anakin snorts. “True. Okay, so approximately how many of theking’s servants are actually slaves?”

For a moment Rabé and Yané both just stare at him. Then Yanéshakes her head. “You picked up on that, huh? I don’t know why I’m surprised.Our sources say there are nineteen people working in the palace who…didn’texactly choose to work there.”

“How diplomatic of you,” Anakin says dryly. “And you’ve gota contact?”

“Dinsa Atray,” Rabé says. “She’s a Twi’lek woman, not mucholder than you. The information’s all there.” She gestures vaguely at him, buthe knows she means the datastick.

“You’ve got a transport ready?” he asks.

“Ready and waiting,” Yané says. “We just need thepassengers. But we haven’t been able to get admission to the palace, and Dinsaand her people can’t get out.”

Anakin smiles. Maybe there’s a reason he’s here on Brundiaafter all. Even if it does mean he’s almost certainly going to end up breakinghis promise to Obi-Wan. And he’s not likely to do himself any favors in MasterWindu’s eyes, either.

Oh well. He’s got a reputation by now, so they won’t exactlybe suspicious if another of his diplomatic missions goes awry.

“Leave that to me,” he says with a grin.

*

Dinsa Atray isn’t hard to spot, once he knows who to lookfor. She seems to be always present at every banquet the king holds, and heholds a lot. She’s Marlonartan’s personal server, it seems, and that could be aproblem. Anakin watches her, demure and silent as she serves her master anotherglass of sparkling wine, and wonders how he’s going to explain Marlonartan’sassassination, if she moves before he has a chance to talk to her.

One thing he knows for sure: if she does move, he’s notgoing to stop her.

But two days go by, and no one tries to kill the king, andfinally Anakin manages to catch Dinsa alone. They’ve just endured yet anotherfeast, and the king’s gone off to bed with Obi-Wan on guard duty. Anakin’smeant to be sleeping, but he has much more important things to do, and anywaythe food at tonight’s so-called feast was even worse than usual, so maybe hehas an ulterior motive for visiting the kitchens. Or maybe it will just make agood excuse.

Dinsa starts when she hears him enter, then spins aroundwith a knife in her hand. Startled or not, she holds the knife like someone whoknows what she’s doing.

But her eyes widen when she sees who he is, and she dropsthe knife on the counter and her eyes to the floor. “I’m so sorry, MasterJedi,” she whispers. “What can I help you with?”

Anakin winces. He can’t help but wonder how many Jedi she’smet before. How many Jedi have come here and left again. I didn’t come here to free slaves, the memory of Master Qui-Gonwhispers in his mind, and Anakin grits his teeth and blurts, “I came to helpyou. And my name is Anakin, not Master.”

He says it in Ryl, and he thinks it’s that more than thewords themselves that gets her attention.

Dinsa looks up sharply, eyes narrowed and expressionunreadable. She’s silent for a long moment. And then, slowly, she smiles.

“You have a Tatooine accent,” she says.

“Mos Espa,” he says, smiling back. “I learned fromGrandmother Imayli.”

Her brow arches again, and he knows she understands the fullsignificance of that. But all she says is, “I didn’t know there were any Jedifrom the Territories.” There’s not a trace of emotion in her voice.

Anakin is impressed, and maybe a little jealous. “There’snot,” he says, and tells himself there’s no hint of bitterness to his smile.But he can see in Dinsa’s eyes that she knows. “There’s just me.”

He tells her that he’s in contact with her transport, andasks what it will take to get everyone out.

Dinsa eyes him for another long moment. “All I really needis a thorough distraction,” she says.

“I’m good at distractions,” Anakin says with a grin.

“And the other Jedi?” Dinsa asks, and Anakin’s smile falls.

Obi-Wan is a true Jedi. He’ll prize the mission overeverything else, and his mission is what they were assigned by the Council: toprotect King Marlonartan. Assignment or not, that’s not Anakin’s mission.

“He’s…good at responding to distractions,” Anakin says atlast, and feels a little guilty for not feeling guilty.

Dinsa only nods. “I understand,” she says. “So we’ll givehim the kind of distraction he can react to.” She eyes him slyly and adds, “Ihave access to more than enough chemicals. All I really need is a detonator. Idon’t suppose you have one lying around?”

“Give me an hour and I will.”

*

The explosion goes off in the middle of the next evening’sfeast. Anakin will discover later that it takes out the majority of the RoyalAtrium, where they’d feasted only the night before. But tonight they are in theGilded Ballroom, on nearly the opposite side of the palace. The assassinationattempt has been foiled chiefly by the assassin’s bad information, and no oneis hurt in the blast.

Obi-Wan instantly springs into action, taking up position atthe king’s side and ushering him rapidly from the room and into a secure,undisclosed location. Anakin yells that he’s going to secure the perimeter, andignores Obi-Wan’s questioning glower as he dashes from the room.

It’s almost disappointingly easy to disable the securitycams when the palace is on lockdown. The array is pretty sophisticated, and thecoverage is extensive, but the entire system goes down if both the power andthe backup generator fail. Obviously, whoever set off the explosion must haveknown this. It’s unfortunate that, whoever they were, Anakin must have justmissed them – the system control room is dark and empty when he arrives. Atleast, that’s what he’ll tell Obi-Wan and the king later.

Anakin’s duty, of course, is to get everything up andrunning again. That will only take him a few minutes. So he takes his timeexamining the system and looking for clues in the room. The door hasn’t beenforced. It’s almost as though there wasn’t anyone here before him at all.

Less than ten minutes later, he gets a secure transmissionfrom Dinsa. “We’re out,” it says. Anakin smiles to himself and reboots thesecurity system.

An hour after that, there’s another transmission, this onefrom Yané. “And we’re off. Sorry for blowing up your mission.”

Anakin erases the message immediately, but he’s stilllaughing to himself about it days later as he and Obi-Wan are on their way backto Coruscant, King Marlonartan’s rather peevish thanks still ringing in theirears.

#replies #boytranscending #i write things #the jedi reformation au #and honestly this particular snippet could also fit into #the pen pal au #star wars #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #yane #rabe #dinsa atray #slavery

[craniumhurricane]

let’s see what develops

For @kindclaws

Basically Sara reblogged this picture and I loved her tags.

On AO3!

Arkadia Elementary wasn't a prestigious school but it was one of the better ones, one of the ones trying to make a difference. It accepted kids from all walks of life and even had a few programs to help the less fortunate. It was initiatives like these that drew Bellamy to want to work at the school in the first place.

And Bellamy loved being a teacher at Arkadia Elementary. People may not think second grade is that exciting but Bellamy loves it. He, generally, likes his students even if some have been a little challenging over the years.

With all the great things going on at the school, sometimes he forgets that at its base it’s still part of the education system. It’s still driven by money and revenue and praise from the community. And sometimes that means money saving decisions he doesn't agree with.

“Picture day is next week,” Jaha says on Monday during the mandatory staff meeting. “The company we used last year will set up Tuesday morning and be here through Wednesday.”

Bellamy looks around the room before saying, “Wasn't the guy last year...inexperienced?”

Principle Jaha gives him a confused look, as if wondering what this statement has to do with anything.

“I just mean,” Bellamy went on, sitting up a little straighter, “a lot of my kids didn't find him... friendly. He wouldn't tell them when he was going to actually take the picture so a lot of them ended up looking scared or not even paying attention in their photos.”

Jaha shuffled through his papers, clearly ready to move on, “The company is giving us a discount for using them again, Mr. Blake. Besides, I don't think the kids will really care, it's more for the parents anyway.”

“But-”

“You'll all receive the schedule with your assigned picture times by the end of the day,”Jaha continued to the room, used to these types of outbursts by now. “Next on the agenda we have…” and the meeting moved on to other topics as Bellamy slumped back in his chair with a frown.

*

Unfortunately, it’s apparently still bothering him later that night when he's having dinner at Octavia’s.

“He claims it's for the parents but come on, how many parents want pictures of their kids looking traumatized?” He's saying to her, gesturing wildly with his fork.

Octavia frowns and wipes at some sauce that had flung onto the table. They try to get together every other week for dinner to catch up although Octavia insists that if he ever logged into his Facebook account he would already know what was going on with her. He stands by his claim that the face to face is better. Even if he is too worked up to actually listen.

“Probably not-”

“And, I mean yeah,” He continues, “I get that in the long run the kids probably don't care about elementary school photos but still, shouldn't they at least have a little bit of fun with it?”

“I think-”

“Nobody else dares to speak up in those meetings but I know other teachers would agree with me,” he heaves a frustrated sigh as he reaches for his beer.

“Why don't you hire another photographer?” Octavia says quickly while he's taking a drink.

“The school won’t listen,” he sighs as he rubs his thumb along the edges of the bottle’s label, picking at it a little. “Plus I think a deposit has already been made so,” he shrugs.

“Yeah but you could hire someone,” she says and now she’s gesturing with her fork though not enough to fling any food.

Bellamy pauses, waiting her out. When she doesn’t say more he just gives her a look, “You do realize we're talking about photos for elementary school kids. As in, I am an Elementary school teacher. I can’t afford something like that.”

“I know the perfect person!” she goes on, smiling to herself as if he hadn't said anything. “One of my parents; her kid is in my karate class on Thursdays, I bet she would do it.”

“O, I can't just hire a stranger-”

“She's not a stranger! I mean not technically,” she shrugs, “I'll probably see her this week, actually.”

He sighs again, “It's fine, O. Maybe I can just... stand behind the photographer and wave a stuffed bear around or make silly faces or something. That still gets kids to smile, right?”

She snorts, “Oh yeah, cause every seven year old wants to be treated like they're two.”

*

To be honest, Bellamy sort of forgot about the whole conversation with Octavia until he receives a phone call later that week on Thursday when he's working on lesson plans. He doesn't recognize the number but he pretty much has this constant fear that somebody could need him and are calling from the first phone they can get their hands on so he answers it.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Blake?”

“Um, yes?”

“Your sister gave me your number? She said you wanted to hire me to take pictures of your kids?”

Bellamy stops tapping his pen and sits up straighter once it clicks, “You’re the photographer.”

“Clarke Griffin, yeah.”

He rubs at his eyes, dislodging his glasses. “Sorry about O, she really didn’t-”

Clarke cuts him off, deliberate, “She explained the situation and I think it’s a great idea.”

He pauses, “Really?”

“Really,” she says simply. “Why don't you come by my studio tomorrow? After you get off?” she suggests, “See my work?”

Bellamy thinks it over but he really doesn't have anything to lose. It's not like he's agreed to higher her. Checking out her studio doesn't mean he's agreeing to pay her.

“Ok, sure. I’m on bus duty but I can leave school at 4.”

*

So after school on Friday Bellamy makes his way to “Historic” Downtown Arkadia. He finds Polaris easily enough and parks on the street out front. It’s a little storefront but it’s right off the main strip through downtown so she must get good business to be able to afford such a prime location.

There’s no door chime when he walks into the waiting room but there is a desk and a wall behind it that he assumes is to separate waiting room from studio space. There’s a young girl sitting at the desk, leaning over a textbook and scribbling notes in a binder. Bellamy would guess her to be somewhere around 10 or 12.

“Hi,” he greets her with a smile. “I have an appointment with Ms. Griffin?”

The girl looks up at him with a critical eye, giving him a once over. “The way Octavia talks about you I thought you'd look way older,” she says, still staring at him warily.

He blinks a few times, unsure of what to say but is luckily saved by the woman coming around from the studio side.

“Mr. Blake?”

“Bellamy, hi,” he shakes her hand. She’s cute, younger than she sounds on the phone. “And you're Clarke?”

“That's me,” she says with a smile. “And this is Madi.”

“We just met. Sort of,” he says a little awkward.

“Uh-oh, I know that can't be a good thing,” she throws a teasing glance at her daughter who shrugs and goes back to her book. Clarke turns around and waves him on, “Come on back.”

Madi glances back up and he gives her an awkward wave as he follows.

Clarke walks him through the space which has various different scenes and equipment set up on either side against the walls. They keep heading toward the back where she opens a door to an office. One wall is a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with what look like binders of various colors.

She starts pulling some out, seemingly at random, and lays them on the small conference table he assumes she uses to meet with clients.

“Go ahead, have a look,” she gestures and takes a seat.

He sits down in the chair next to her and flips open the one on top and can't help but smile. The picture is of a little girl, maybe around five or six, dressed in warrior clothing as she shoulders a sword and stands next to a miniature horse.

“Now to be completely fair, I didn’t provide the horse,” Clarke mock whispers which makes him chuckle.

Bellamy flips to another one and it’s of an older boy dressed like Clark Kent with a Superman shirt under his button up and big hipster glasses.

“Not all of them are so fanciful, I promise,” she taps another portfolio and flips it open at random, “I’ve got doctors, astronauts, hell even a lawyer. And of course general family photos. But I do like to work with props. If the kids are up for it, of course”

He’s still flipping through the books but glances up at her over his glasses, “No these are great. I know some of my kids would love to do something like this.”

“That’s what Octavia said you wanted to hire me for,” she nodded, all business, “To take photos of your kids?”

“Technically not my kids but my class. I'm a teacher.”

Her lips twitch on what he thinks is a smile, “What grade?”

“Second.”

She does smile this time, “Cute.”

“Only some of the time,” he smirks, “How old is your daughter?”

“Twelve.”

He looks at her, doing some calculations in his head. He’d place her at around Octavia’s age which is a little young to be the mother of a twelve year old. He can tell by the look in her eyes that she can sense his next question. Probably one she gets all the time. So he doesn't ask it.

“O was terrible at that age.”

Clarke blinks, the statement throwing her off but only for a second. She replies with a smirk of her own “Why do you think I enrolled her in karate?”

He laughs at that, “Smart.”

“So what do you say Bellamy?” she asks, getting them back on track.

He glances at all of the open portfolios, at all of the smiling faces looking back at him and sighs. “Sorry, but I really don’t think I can afford you. Your work is amazing though.” He makes to stand up and she speaks again.

“What if we make a deal?”

“I don’t want charity,” he says a little too quickly.

She snorts, “Not that kind of deal. You think my work is good?” When he gives her a confused nod she continues, “Then how about this; you pay me a deposit, I’ll come to your school and take pictures of your class. I bet you that parents buy more of my prints than they do of the official school pictures. If they do then you get your deposit back.”

He’s still confused, “What do you get out of it?”

“Publicity for one,” she tosses her blonde curls over her shoulder, “Never turn that down. Plus I think I would win and could make a killing off your parents.”

“Uh-huh. And what if more parents buy the official school photos?”

“Then you’re only out the deposit,” she shrugs, “But the kids get to have fun with their pictures.”

He thinks it over and glances back at the photos on the table. He did his research on her, knows what she would charge for a deposit. It’s still steep but... It would be something fun to do for his kids if anything. And he does genuinely think that she’s really good.

He sticks out his hand with a smirk, “Ok, deal.”

She slips her hand in his, “Deal,” and adds with a saccharine smile, “And, again to be completely fair, I always win.”

*

The school’s official picture day comes and goes and to no surprise from Bellamy the story he hears from most of his kids is that they didn’t enjoy the experience. One student even told him that the photographer said their smile was too big! Which of course causes him to go into this whole underground, black market photography thing with extra vigor.

He’s been texting Clarke since they met under the pretense of organizing their “event” but somehow it’s devolved into him complaining about how his administration and faculty handle other school situations. It started with the school pictures thing and sort of expanded to other things that get on his nerves. He’d be embarrassed about it but she seems to be enjoying his grumblings.

For the week after the one with the school’s official picture days, Bellamy schedules his lessons around a day and time that Clarke can be there. He even signs up to have a teacher's aide that day to help wrangle the kids.

Clarke arrives a little after 7:30 am, following Maya, one of the teaching assistants, into his classroom. She's got a large thermos of what he assumes is coffee and a cart full of equipment.

“So, career day?” She says by way of a greeting, taping at her visitor’s badge.

He just shrugs, “I had to tell the front desk something to let you in.”

She hums and takes a sip of her coffee.

Maya and Bellamy move some of the tables out of the way so Clarke can set up a studio space in the back on the room. She’s handing him a backdrop to hang when Maya reaches for what looks like a children’s toy chest on the bottom of her cart.

“What’s this?”

Clarke replies with a smirk, “I did warn Mr. Blake that I like working with props.”

The kids start filing in after that. He had told them throughout the week that they’d be having a visitor but they seem too distracted by the set up to pay Clarke any attention.

“Mr. Blake?” one of the girls asks as the rest of the students make their way to their now rearranged desks. “Didn’t we have picture day last week?”

“This is going to be like a second picture day,” he explains. “And Ms. Griffin is also going to explain a little of what she does,” he glances over at her and she, thankfully, doesn’t seem phased. She actually looks like she was already gearing up for a little show and tell. Which he’s grateful for. He does need to try and keep up the career day pretense in case any of his students are questioned.

Ultimately though, he didn’t need to worry. The kids love all of it. Clarke actually does make it interesting as she shows of some of the different settings on her camera and things you can do with lighting. She even lets them take a few pictures; as long as the camera stays on its tripod of course.

Once they switch gears, however, Clarke gets down to business. Bellamy and Maya open up the toy chest and the kids are totally enraptured by the box of props. A few dibs are called and Bellamy has to remind them that they’re doing this one at a time and can share.

There are more than a few Wonder Womans and other superheroes that they can piece together but some kids do go for firefighters and police officers and such. One kid actually runs over to the animal station in Bellamy’s room and grabs a toy horse so he can be a cowboy. Clarke catches his eye and they can’t help but share a laugh.

*

Bellamy would like to say that a smile does not spread across his face when he receives a phone call from Clarke over the weekend but then he’d be lying.

“Hey!” she greets and seems as happy to be talking to him as he does to her. “I’m at the studio. I've got a few of your photos edited. Want to come over and check them out? Tell me if I should change anything?”

He doesn’t think she needs anyone to tell her how she’s doing but he’s not going to say no to seeing her. “Uh sure,” he glances at the time, “I'll bring dinner.”

“Thai sounds great. See you soon!”

She texts him what she wants and he picks up the food on the way. She said she’d leave the backdoor open for him so he drives around to the back and lets himself in.

Clarke’s sitting at her desk; eyes squinted at her computer so she doesn’t notice him until he knocks on the doorframe.

“Thank god. I’m starving,” she says as she stands to stretch. She’s wearing a skirt and Bellamy tries not to be distracted by her legs and her, well, everything. He busies himself instead with taking the containers out of the to-go bag and setting them out on her conference table.

“Working hard?” Jesus he sounds so lame.

“Just catching up on some e-mails. Booking some other appointments,” she shrugs. He starts to open the containers and she interrupts him, “Let’s do business first.”

He looks up at her, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Come look at the pictures first and then we’ll eat,” she gestures for him to come sit at her desk.

He does what she asks and Clarke stands behind him, leaning over so she can drive. He tries not to get caught up in how close she is.

She pulls up the first photo and immediately he can’t help the grin that takes over his face, much like his reaction to seeing her other work. Except this is a kid he knows so the happiness feels mixed with a sort of giddiness. His kids are definitely going to love these.

“I’m going to take your silence as a good thing,” she sounds smug and honestly she should be. She clicks over to another photo and Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, this was probably my favorite so far.”

“These are amazing Clarke,” he turns so he can look at her. She’s still standing close as he looks into her eyes, “Seriously. These are great; the kids are going to love them.”

They stare at each other for a minute before she stands up and clears her throat. Immediately Bellamy feels like he crossed some kind of line but then she speaks.

“So what if we alter our deal a bit?” she asks and he thinks he sees a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“Alter it?”

“If I sell more pictures than the other photographer and you get your money back, you have to use some of that money to take me on a date.”

Bellamy’s a little speechless and ok she’s definitely blushing but then he laughs and she starts to frown.

“Sorry,” he says once he’s composed himself. “But I did kind of already buy you dinner tonight,” he gestures at the table of Thai food. “So maybe we could call this a date? I’d be pissed if I lost because of my fucking parents.”

She laughs then and takes a step towards him, hands going around his neck while his find their way to her hips.

“I already told you, I always win,” she says before she leans up to kiss him.

*

In the end Clarke does win the bet. Parents do buy more of her photos than they do of the ones from the school’s official picture day. She rubs it in his face of course but Bellamy can't say he minds.

He hires her to do it again for his class the next year and then the year after that the school hires Clarke outright to do all of the photos. She can’t do the costumes and can only use approved props but at least she’s better with the kids than any of the previous photographers the school has had.

“You don’t tell them their smile is too big,” Bellamy tells her when it’s time for his class to have pictures taken and he’s just waiting behind her.

She snorts because of course she remembers. “Well if that’s the only thing that makes me a good photographer…”

He kisses her on the cheek; they are at work after all so some professionalism must be displayed. Though it is very hard.

“How many parents have made appointments at the studio?”

She grins as she snaps another photo, “I’m booked for the next two weeks.”

He wants to kiss her again but reigns it in. “Which conveniently puts you out of helping me unpack.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says before turning her attention to the kid on the stool. She directs them and takes a few shots and then continues to Bellamy, “Besides, that’s what Madi’s for.”

Bellamy just rolls his eyes but again he can’t say he minds.

#no one cares ashleigh #bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #my fanfiction #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #i don't think i did this justice but it was still fun #hope you like it! #also apparently my standard time to post fic is after midnight

[craniumhurricane]

i’ll have the eggplant emoji

So I started writing a fic back in February and intended for it to be a Valentine’s gift for @katchyalater but that never happened SO! Merry Christmas Kac!

On AO3!

Bellamy: Can I come over tonight?

Clarke: It's Saturday?

I thought you had a date tonight??

Bellamy: I did

It ended earlier than I planned.

Clarke: Shit!

Yeah sure

Did you make it to dinner?

I'm ordering takeout

 When Bellamy lets himself into Clarke’s apartment he's wearing what she considers his “dating outfit”; a pair of nice dark wash jeans with a blue button up and a jacket that has those weird elbow patches that he somehow pulls off. He’s even got contacts in instead of wearing his glasses which is really a shame. He’s adorable with his glasses and artfully messy hair. Not that it matters, all forms of Bellamy are attractive to Clarke. But she refuses to let that get in the way of helping her best friend. She’s already got a beer waiting for him on the coffee table which he immediately grabs and twists off the cap before taking a pull.

“Food should be here soon,” she tells him as he sits down next to her on the couch. “And the cat will come skulking out once she realizes you're here. Bad date?”

“Just what I came for,” he says with a rueful smile and then frowns, bringing the bottle up again but pausing before it reaches his lips. “We broke up. Or rather we aren't seeing each other anymore. Fuck, I don't know. Do you consider it dating after only four dates?”

“Some people might but hey, what are labels really?” She shrugs and takes a sip of her own beer.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile before finally taking the swig.

She really does feel bad for him. Not that Clarke liked Echo. To be honest she couldn't really stand her, but Bellamy hadn't dated anyone since Gina broke up with him two years ago for reasons Clarke doesn't even know. It was amicable and the two of them are still friends but Clarke just wants her best friend to be happy. And for all intents and purposes, he did seem happy with Echo. Even if she was a royal bitch to most of his friends.

The cat comes out from the hallway and Bellamy seems distracted trying to get her attention so Clarke clears her throat and asks, “Netflix or Discovery Channel?”

Which is how they end up finishing the six pack Clarke had in the fridge and starting in on the bottles of weird foreign beer that her mom gave her as a Christmas present last year. They're watching some cheesy romance movie that came on after a Parks and Rec rerun marathon and were both too lazy to reach for the remote. The cat is curled up in Bellamy’s lap and Clarke's not sure when his head ended up on a pillow in her own lap or when she started carding her fingers through his hair but she's not going to comment on it.

“See and that's all it really takes,” he says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence and gesturing at the TV.

Clarke knows he's nowhere near drunk. They've gone to Gina's bar more times than any of their friends and those drinks usually consisted of hard liquor which Gina was very generous with. Bellamy has spent more than one occasion holding her hair back and in return she's held onto his glasses and few times for him. She's pretty sure they're both fine right now, if maybe a little tipsy.

“Emotional manipulation until you have the girl right where you want her but surprise! You’ve been a good guy all along?”

Bellamy frowns and then suddenly sits up, dislodging the cat from her position with an indignant meow. He's back to sitting next to her on the couch but now he’s close enough that their shoulders graze each other. “No, just a simple gesture to show you like someone. Like,” he gestures at the TV again, “sending flowers. All these kids today sending dick pics and eggplant emojis. People still want to be courted. Gestures that are cute and thoughtful are way more intimate than grainy photos of hairy dicks.”

Clarke stares at his profile for a second and feels a slight blush creep up her neck and onto her face that she will blame entirely on the alcohol. It isn't until he turns to look at her that she realizes that he probably wanted a reply.

“Do people send you hairy dicks often? Isn't manscaping supposed to be a thing?”

He laughs, like she knew he would, and shoves her lightly which gratefully creates some space between them. “Shut up and put Netflix on.”

Bellamy helps her clean up the takeout boxes and leaves without any fanfare about two hours later. Clarke offered to walk him halfway but he turns her down mumbling something along the lines of it being only a 10 minute walk. She crawls into her bed and aimlessly scrolls through her social media feeds, actively ignoring the thought that hasn't left her alone since Bellamy had mentioned it when they were lying on the couch.

She pauses once she gets the text that he made it home, interrupting her scroll through Tumblr. She considers it for half a second and then opens a new tab in her web browser and before she knows what she's doing she's found a reasonable florist in the area that makes deliveries.

“That’s all it takes,” she breathes as she types in the delivery information.

*

She'd like to think she's the type of person that wouldn't obsess about it but let's be real; she is definitely the type of person to obsess about it. She spends most of Monday morning checking her phone every 5 minutes for the time. Not sure if the delivery confirmation or a text from Bellamy will come first. She's honestly not sure which she wants to receive first.

Thankfully she actually does get swept up with patients at the clinic and is gratefully distracted until close to her lunch time.

It's just after 11:30 when she's walking Mrs. Kane out that she gets a text from Bellamy. He has combination lunch and office hours from 11:30 to 1:30 which is why she indicated this as the best time for delivery. Clarke quickly announces to the front that she'll be in her office before she hurries in and shuts the door. The text is a picture of the arrangement but she’s too distracted by the blinking dots that indicate he's still typing to really appreciate them.

Bellamy: [image]

Thanks for the flowers, Princess.

I'm really not that upset over Echo but I appreciate the gesture.

Clarke stares at the messages and waits for more... But none show up. She exits out of her texting app as if that will refresh it but when she goes back in there's still nothing. Now she's scowling at her phone because that idiot didn't get it!

Or maybe he doesn't feel that way about her?

Once upon a time she thought he did but the timing wasn’t right. She had just gotten out of a rough relationship and wasn’t looking for anything serious. And then, when she was ready, he was dating Gina. Next was Niylah for her followed by, most recently, Echo for him. When she was ordering the flowers, Clarke didn’t allow herself to debate over whether it was a good idea. She just thought, with both of them single, that this could finally be it. But maybe it was too late. Maybe they missed their window.

Halfheartedly, because she knows he'll think it's weird if she doesn't reply, she types out a response.

 Clarke: Glad you like them.

 And a part of her means it. Her friendship with Bellamy is more important to her than unrequited feelings. Still, she pockets her phone and doesn't think about it for the rest of the day.

It's later that night, when she's sitting at home with a bottle of wine, that he sends her another picture. He’s brought the flowers home and put them in one of the shitty vases she made when she thought pottery was going to be her new hobby. An assumption that she had been so so wrong about. He mostly kept it as a reminder that not all her ideas are good ones but she has to admit that the arrangement does look good in it now that she actually looks at it. The vase is simple, if a bit lopsided and lumpy, yet colorful and with the flowers it looks very... homey. He has them displayed in the center of his kitchen/dining table where she knows he does all of his grading.

 Bellamy: [image]

Look, your vase has a real purpose

Other than taunting you

Sorry, couldn’t resist. I really do appreciate the flowers though

 A goofy smile returns to Clarke’s lips and a flicker of hope reignites in her chest. She decides that she isn't giving up that easily. The gesture was sweet but maybe not grand enough...

*

Bellamy teaches at Ark University and Clarke knows his schedule as well as she knows her own which is how she knows he has lecture hall on Wednesdays. She plans her next delivery accordingly.

She purposefully took a late lunch and at 2pm she shuts herself in her office, pulls her phone out, and waits. At four minutes past the hour her phone lights up with a selfie of her and Bellamy at the fair, indicating a phone call.

“Hi,” she answers with a smile.

“I think the florist you used messed up your order.”

She startles upright in her chair, “Wh-What?”

“You ordered a delivery for Monday, right?” Bellamy asks before barreling on as if he's distracted, “They just came in at the end of my class with five more arrangements. You might want to call them and make sure they didn’t charge you for all of these.”

She blinks a few times. Of course, of course, he would worry about something like that.

“No, that's right,” she says carefully.

“Which is why you should call them,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing to do. “Tell them you only wanted the Monday order. The guy already left and I doubt they'll take these back so I'm giving them to my students.” She can hear him shuffling and talking to other people.

“No! That's not what I -”

“Related note; this does not help me get my students to stop hitting on me,” he says pointed.

She’s slowly moving from exasperated to frustrated. The smart thing to do would be to wait for his attention to be back on her and slowly and calmly explain that it's not a mistake and that, yes, she did send another five arrangements to his place of work, in front of his students, so there would be witnesses.

But Clarke's brain doesn't always work when she's frustrated and now this declaration of love is a thing. She's not backing down yet.

“We can work on that,” she says with determination.

* 

Bellamy's taking his classes on a field trip to the museum on Friday and won't be home all day. The clinic is only open until noon so Clarke has a free afternoon. It's the perfect opportunity.

Clarke has a key to his apartment because of course she does. He had given her a key after that one time when she waited outside in the hallway because he was running late and felt guilty about it. She uses it all the time to let herself in so she really doesn't feel bad about using it now...

She smiles when she sees the original flowers she sent him on Monday are still in the vase she made and are still sitting on his kitchen table. He must be changing the water every day because they still look really good considering they're a few days old.

She doesn't have long to admire them because the delivery guys are right on time. Clarke lets them in and begins directing them on where they can put stuff. Once they’re done unloading, she gives them a generous tip and sets about adjusting the arrangements herself. If five wasn’t enough for him to get it then maybe fifteen will do the trick.

In a true moment of feeling sappy, she decides to put her note in a card holder in the original arrangement.

After one last look around she gives herself a nod of approval and locks up as she leaves. She manages to keep the skip out of her step but not the smile from her face as she walks the few blocks to her place.

She’s playing with the cat and still smiling when Bellamy calls just after six.

“What the hell, Clarke?!” he yells into the phone in lieu of a getting. Loud enough that the cat startles and runs away.

“I had to get your attention,” the smile is a little hard to keep with him yelling at her.

“And bringing on an allergy attack was the way to do that?”

She feels the frustration begin to set in again, “Didn’t you see the card?”

“What card? Clarke, what is going on?”

She lets out a strangled noise. “The card on your kitchen- you know what, I'll be right over.”

When she arrives at Bellamy’s apartment she uses her key once again to open the door. He's standing in the middle of the room, eyes darting around to each arrangement as if he's unsure where to begin before his eyes land on her.

He sniffles and that does make her feel a little guilty, especially when his eyes are slightly red.

“Seriously Clarke, what the hell?”

She squares her shoulders like she's preparing for a fight and walks over to the table where she had left her note. “You said a simple gesture would work but apparently, with you, that isn't the case. So I had to go bigger.” She pulls the note out and whirls around.

He's frowning at her when she turns around so she just thrusts her hand out and shoves the card into his chest.

“And when that didn't work I decided I had to go even bigger,” she gestures around the room.

His eyes drop to read the note and there’s suddenly silence in the room. She doesn't know if it’s as awkward as she thinks it is but thankfully he starts talking before she can start rambling.

“You love me?” he looks up at her with something that looks like hope in his eyes.

All at once she lets out a breath and feels the tension drain from her shoulders only to be replaced by nerves and that damn blush again. “Well, yeah.”

Instantly, he closes the space between them and kisses her. Clarke's hands immediately go to the hair at the nape of his neck as if they were magnets just waiting for permission. Likewise, she can feel one of his hands thread through her hair while the other rests on her cheek.

They break apart for air but he doesn't go far, just rests his forehead against her’s with his eyes closed. “I'm in love with you too,” he says and suddenly they're both smiling at each other before she’s surging forward for another kiss.

They continue to make out for a few minutes before Clarke breaks out into a fit of giggles.

“What?” Bellamy asks as he pulls back to look at her.

She’s still chuckling but the look on her face is fond, “I should have just sent you an eggplant emoji.”

“Shut up,” he says with absolutely no heat, unable to keep his own smile off his face. “But yeah, could have saved yourself the trouble.”

“I'll remember that for next time.” But she doesn't think she'll need it.

#no one cares ashleigh #bellarke fanfiction #my fanfiction #i'm going to post this and run away because omg #basically kac is amazing and i want to give back #also apparently my standard time to post fic is after midnight