#i did not capture my very good curls but. thats hard to draw.

[inkats]

insane what conditioner does to a guys hair

[loopeyfluff]

OHHHH MEEE FRIEIKCING GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

YOU!!! YOU DID IT!!! YOU CAPTURED THE SCENE SO WELLL WAHGGHAHA I LOVE THAT SCENE SO MUCH AND U DID IT SOOOO MUCH JUSTICE GAHHH!!! You used screentones sooo well in every panel, it really enhanced the look of the whole thing so much!!! I especially love how the screen tones look in page 4,,, arueghghe. I know we collectively bemoaned over how hard it was to adapt fics, but when Gyro writes

"Warm and content"

I FEEL THAT EXPRESsED SO CLEARLY AND SO WELL THAT IT STRIKES MY SOUL WITH ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD. AND ALSO I CAN FEEL HOW MUCH ZORO LVOVES LUFFY IN THIS PANEL CAUSE ITS FROM HIS POV. LIKE. OMFG LUFFY LOOKS POSITIVELY DREAMY!!!

nono Im getting ahead of myself let me go in order u _ u

first of all, brilliant open. when trying to adapt a scene, its sooo hard sometimes to pick where to start drawing!! cause like,,, omg i wanna draw this entire scene but i wud literally die... I think u not only chose a great part to start this whole comic off with, but the whole mystique behind the line

“I never ask you for anything, you know,” he says, not taking his eyes off the barren valley below. It’s easier that way.

is conveyed really well with how u paneled zoro's eyes outta sight! (pretty ironic with how zoros eyes are the only things described XD) << but srsly, artistically what a great decision >:3c AND ALSO you're so good at drawing luffy being the most unserious goofy lil guy ever even in the most serious of situations and I'm so glad that u never stop delivering thanku sm OTL

I wud love to squish his cheeks he looks so stupid!!!!

I actually rlly like how u layout the second panel too, with how u position the speechbubbles? IDK I get really nervous sometimes with putting speech bubbles in places cause I hate covering things up and also gahhh you also need to consider the best way to position things so people read em in orderrr,,, but u did a real gud job there, all that important action is definitely very visible in frame >:) GET SMACKED

oh and yeah, to save time so this doesnt become 2 monstrous of a cute lil adaption project, ofc ya gotta cut out some small tid bits like luffy humming thoughtfully or him snickering against zoro's palm, but all of that personality of goofy luffy is translated so well with,,, how goofy loofy u draw him XD So what im sayin is, i think u were real efficient and thoughtful with how you adapted these things :)))

and GAHHH THE ATMOSPHERE CHANGE !!! AND THE WAY U DREW ZOROS HAND LOWERING TO HIS LAP HERE, IT LOOKS SO GENTLE LIKE HES CARESSING LUFFYS FACE TOO. GAHHHH!!! I just, I ADORE THE FRAMING OF THOSE 3 PAGES!!! it really feels like its just the two of them in this vast world, nothing else to disturb em. its very calming.

Luffy stills, anyway, though—because of course he understands. And when Zoro lowers his hands to his lap, Luffy has chewed and swallowed, quieted to listen. Content to lean against his shoulder in the sunshine, staring out at the horizon to wait while Zoro straightens out the pieces of what he wants to say into something like order. Because even though they can talk without speaking, sometimes the important things need to be said out loud—made just a little more real.

Its true, that these types of lengthy paragraph descriptions cant be translated over to an art adaption without losing the explanations behind it all, but the way you captured the atmosphere of it all, is really, really breathtaking.

AHAHHAHA THE OUR DREAMS AT DUSK HAPPY MEMORY BUBBLES!!!!! Thats actually such a clever way to incorporate them into the fic I ADORE how you used them here!!! GAHHH

Zoro leans back on his palms—curls his fingers in the grass and imagines it’s Sunny’s deck against his skin. For a moment, he misses home.

IM ACTUALLY FREAKING OUTTT WAHHH THATS SOOOO CLEVER!!! I CANT THINK OF A BETTER WAY YOU COULDVE ADAPTED THIS WOWOWOWWW!!! UHFDSUHFGSDFSADFRASDFGSDFSDUHFSD IM GOING TO GO EXPLODE INTO A BAJILLION HAPPY BUBBLES RN GAHHHH

my heart actually physically clenched- and it still clenches every time i read over pages 3 and 4,,, i think i had to put down my phone for a bit and like,,,, cover my mouth with a hand cause it was just too cute for my soul,,, omfg,,,,, ahahah u trlly did just dedicate a whole page FULL of panels, methodically showing luffy falling back and stretching zoro into a real goofy smile XD I love how you paced this, because page 4 hits so much harder with all that gentle set up!! Seeing luffy lay all cutely on zoros lap,,,

and Zoro can’t help it—he snorts out a tender kind of laugh

Yeah I wouldnt be able to help it either man!!!

Anyways, its actually really interesting to see how you paced this comic because like, its a great adaption of course!! BRILLIANT!!! but it works sooo well as a stand alone comic too, even if you havent read the source material. The line about luffy beaming isn't super emphasized in Gyro's writing, it's more of a one off comment backed up by all the other lines of luffy being cute in this scene. But the way you've paced it out, the reader has to really get HIT IN THE FACE by the energy friggin BLASTED OUT FROM HIS SUNSHINE BOY SMILE.

In the original fic, Gyro doesn't need to necessarily emphasize that cause we've been seeing how much zoro treasures luffy from all the way at the start of the fic!!! but I feel like just as a standalone comic, you establish just how precious luffy is from the impact of those panels on the fourth page. and this allows for the final heartbreaking lines that zoro says on the last page to really really stand out and hit just that much harder...

no notes here... this is a good zoro ^^^

And Luffy goes utterly still while Zoro breathes.

YO I SEE HOW THE SECOND PANEL DARKENS THERE. AHHHHHHH ATMOSPHERE CHANGE!!!! ahahah, but I would just like to stop again and say that oughghgh this comic is so so dreamy!!! I love the lil sparks that you put across all the panels on this page, it makes all the panels flow together even more smoothly. It like,,, quickens up the pace of reading I feel? I could draw an entire lil Sin Cos lookin ass chart with how well I feel you control the reading pace in this comic man. gahhh anyways this is a funny stupid exciting moment, FAST READ, and then we slow down the pace again as zoro finally expresses the words weighed on his chest...

QUICK SIDENOTE, the font u use for the LICK sfx conveys just how positively disgusting zoro is i love it. omfg.

-

-

-

osfsfjfajdsfsdfiaiwfjfsfsdksijisggfdsfdsgdfgie. i dont. i dont think i can convey how lovely i think the last page is in proper words. i just. im tearing up just looking at it. When I read that scene in Gyro's fic, my heart broke, and the fact that you've done such an amazing job of adapting it,,, MY HEART IS BURSTING WITH JOY!!! AND ITS NOT EVEN MY FIC XD!!!!

Amazing job man :))) you knocked it outta the park!!!! (seriously tho I think u've peaked with ur screentone usage in this comic cause woaawhhhh it looks so stunning,,,)

Fanart for a snippet of my most favorite heartbreaking moment from swordsmans's fic bone-breaker ospreys mate for life (rated E)

[jack-fruit]

Paint the Stars

Hey gamers this fic is apart of my personal swap au which I also wrote this for. You really don't need to read that one to understand this one, but its short lol. All you need to know that's mentioned there is Aziraphale is a bat demon so like

-----

When the starmaker first learned to paint, he was going by Anthony. He had no reason to go by an alias, but he had grown rather fond of it after providing it to a rather polite demon. His decision to dip his fingers into what was the original sorry excuse for paint, however, had nothing to do with his name, but everything to do with his title.

He had hoped after the fiasco with Adam and Eve, She would allow him back into the expanse of space to make stars once again. She told him he had more to do on Earth, much to Anthony's chagrin. So he walked among man bitter and with hands itching to create.

They'd only been a few generations into humanity when a girl first found that mixing together egg yolk and red soil would make a substance that would trail bright and stick to the rock. She used it to make crude drawings, which Anthony watched, impressed.

It wasn't until there was a suitable array of colors avaliable that Anthony felt the tug of longing hard enough that he sheepishly approached a group painting across an expanse of cave walls and scooped up some of the yellow paint.

He created starbursts across stone and nebules across rock. He didn't have all the colors he wanted to work with, but the thrill of a challenge only spurred him on. He may have also been there to nudge the Egyptians in the right direction of finding blue paint, okay? Sue him- blue was one of his favorites.

-

It wasn't until around 300 BC that Anthony picked up a paintbrush. There had been other attempts at something similar before, but all the crude sticks and leaves could not capture the fine detail a brush of a fingertip could.

Anthony was perfectly content using his hands and fingers, just as he always had, but the man selling the brushes assured him they were intended for caligraphy. The angel picked up the thin bamboo with animal hair attatched to one end, and decided that perhaps a certain demon would get a kick out of it. After all, Az loved the written word, perhaps he would like a tool to help create it.

He had originally only meant to try it out. To make sure it worked as advertised, but as he dipped it into the ink that he'd purchased alongside it, he slowly realized things were not going to go as planned.

The gentle sweep of the brush across parchment was a sensation he liked almost as much as fingerpainting. And it kept his hands blessedly clean. He created a void in the paper, a sinkhole from which there was no return. He then got up, grabbed his paints, and wove a galaxy around it. He tucked the concept into the back of his mind, deciding to ask Her to let him abandon post for just a while to play around again.

-

He was going by Raphael when he realized that he could paint more than just space. He had been out in the cosmos for a few decades, having gotten the okay to return to where he belonged. He had ended up quite liking the brush idea, which is where the staff came from.

His staff was a long piece of carefully maintained bamboo that he was able to miracle from brush to staff with minimal effort. The staff worked a bit different from an actual paint brush, it didn't even have a proper brush end, really, but the angel would push his power through it in arcs and waves in ways he hadn't really been capable of before.

But he missed Earth, much as that fact irked him. He missed the browns and the greens and the greys. He missed the food and the wind and the sounds. Above all, he missed the sparkling darkness of a certain demon's gaze, which he would certainly never admit.

So he returned to earth and decided to give a new name a whirl. Raphael. When he told Az about it, he laughed, but did start calling him by the new name. It put something at ease in his chest, that approval.

Raphael had known that people painted things other than space, of course he did, but he never thought to do it himself until he saw a man painting a landscape.

"Mind if I join you?" Raphael had asked without thinking. The man looked at him, curious, but nodded his consent and offered Raphael the paints he was using. All earth tones, nothing like the angel liked to work with.

Withholding a sigh, Raphael decided to paint the same landscape. It was more challenging then the colorful and shapeless bursts he was used to, but it was easy enough to get. Sharp bursts of brown-green, yellow spikes of grass, grey-brown bark. It was the same concept, the pallete was just different, the angles a bit sharper.

"What are you doing?" Raphael jumped and whirled to face the fanged grin of his adversary. The original painter and his canvas had vanished.

"Why are you here?" The angel tried very hard not to sound pleased.

"I asked first, Starmaker," Az said, taking his brush from him and narrowing his eyes at the carvings on it. "Are these snakes?"

"Snakes are cool," Raphael hissed, turning back to his painting. "And I'm painting, now you."

"Oh just spreading some chaos here, michief there."

"Which I will inevitably thwart," Raphael noted. "You know, maybe-"

"No! No we are not..." Az's voice dropped to a harsh whisper, "we are not teaming up Ant- Raphael."

"Antraphael?" The angel teased momentarily, before his expression turned thoughtful. "That sounds like an angel I knew- a principality. Wonder what happened to him...haven't heard from him in ages."

"Doesn't matter," Az snapped, aggrivated. "I know what heaven is like. They find out you're helping the enemy and you know what they'll do? They'll toss you out, and thats if you're lucky!"

Raphael's brushstroke shot up, ruining the entire painting.

"Let's go get drinks," he grumbled, waving the project away. It would be years before he would finally rediscover, fix, and finish the damn piece.

-

The name didn't last, of course it didn't. Anthony knew Az was really quite uncomfortable with the name Raphael, despite his insistance of it being fine. The closest the angel got to an answer was 'reminds me too much of someone else. Not you.'

So he was Anthony again when he realized how truly and utterly fucked he was. It was the 19th century, and realism- true realism- was coming into style. The more detailed and real looking a painting looked, the better. And for the first time since paint had been invented, Anthony couldn't master a style of art.

Of course, he would eventually, but at the present everything he painted looked cheap and fake. The concept of shading was new to him, nothing cast shadows in space and his landscapes were more stylized than anything. Along with that, still life was a bit drab to him- lots of looking and staring at inanimate objects doing nothing and feeling nothing for hours.

In contrast, portraits had the opposite issue. The subject was too squirmy, and the constant annoyance and boredom that flared up would effect his brushwork.

Plants were a good compromise, just alive enough to entertain him, but not squirmy enough to distract him. He spent hours trailing greenery across his canvases, adding bursts of color where flowers decided to plant themselves.

He ended up surrounding himself with plants, expresing his annoyance if they began to wilt, which would quickly make them perk up once more. He accidently scared the plants, he thought, what with all his frustrated yelling and the torn canvases strewn across the floor, but it did lead to them looking exquisite. He'd be lying if said he hadn't been hamming up the dramaticness that came with destroying his less than perfect works.

Az had come over once, sitting properly in a plain, stiff wooden chair he summoned while Anthony sprawled out across his own sofa. Az was looking at a half finished painting of a plant.

"Do you ever paint anything other than plants?" Az asked suddenly. Anthony sat up and followed his gaze.

"Space."

"Other than space and plants."

"Like what?"

"People?"

Anthony snorted and fell back against the cushions, "nah, people move too much."

"Oh," Az said. The two fell quiet for a few minutes before Az spoke again. "Well if you like, I could...you know, model for you. If it would help."

"I- you- what?" Anthony sputtered. The demon scowled at him.

"Mind out of the gutter, Anthony. It's simply that...look I can hold much more still than any human could, I would be an easy model to start with to get the human-esque form down."

Anthony was quiet in his consideration. Much as he loathe to admit it, it did make sense. And as much as he loved painting plants and stars, he did want to branch out, if only to prove he could. He was a stubborn bastard that way.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Just...stay there, then," he launched himself off the couch and collected his paints.

"Now?" Az asked, and when Anthony turned to face him, his dark eyes were curious and wide and just...beautiful.

"I- er- that okay?" Anthony asked, taking his brush and twirling it in his fingers. Az nodded; Anthony nodded back in reply. The angel turned his easel towards the demon and, with a slow breath, began to paint.

He had always found Az remarkable- with his intelligent eyes, his soft, slightly singed curls, the curve of his delicate pink lips...

He was practically in a trance, looking more at Az then his canvas. It felt like no time at all before he had finished enough for Az to move if he wished. The demon cracked his neck at an inhuman angle, then stood to look over Anthony's shoulder.

"Oh...Anthony," his breath ghosted across his ear and he had to surpress a shiver, "this is perfect, how have you been having trouble?"

Slowly, Anthony tipped his head back. He let his curls brush against Az's shoulder as he did so, and when he looked to the left he could see how close the demon really was. With his eyes that reminded him so much of his night sky that it hurt.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"S'not done, still time to mess up," he said over his mounting panic. Az laughed that soft laugh of his and grinned, revealing those delicate little fangs perfect for-

Anthony's entire brain ripped like a canvas in a desprate attempt to get that image out of his head. In the meantime, Az had pulled away and offered him an apologetic farewell. Anthony was still sewing his brain back together when the door closed firmly behind him. He was still stitching his sanity back into place as he found himself setting up a new canvas. He was still lost in a daze as he found himself wondering how many years it would take to draw Az perfectly from memory.

-

The first time he wrote out the name "Anthony J. Crowley" had been on the deed to his studio. A studio he had not planned on getting at all, but when a giddy bat demon bounced up to him only about 60 or so years after the whole gay crisis thing Anthony had no choice but to follow. He wasn't sure if the blindfold made him more or less eager, if he was being honest.

"Watch your step!"

"I can't see, idiot, there's a blindfold over my face."

"Stop sassing me or I'll gag you, starmaker."

"Kinky."

"No!"

Anthony laughed, feeling a warm flutter in his chest as Az very firm stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Then, he removed the blindfold.

"Tada!"

"A...building?" Anthony raised an incredulous eyebrow at the demon.

"It's for your studio!" Az enthused.

"My-?"

"I originally bought it thinking about making a bookshop out of it, but then I realized thst would require me to, um, you know, sell my books? And so I thought instead I'd give it to you. I've already found a quaint little cottage for my books And I to stay, so I have no need for it, obviously-"

"Azzy..."

"No need to thank me, you're just taking it off my hands," the demon pushed on, shoving a deed into Anthony's hands and then bolting like the devil himself was after him. Anthony looked at the deed, then at the building.

It could use some paint...

-

1967, he'd been going by Crowley for 25 years as far as close friends were concerned. Well, close friend. After tonight, though...

He leaned heavily against the door to his studio, against the painted grasses and flowers that stretched across its surface, growing towards glow and the dark stars. Against his chest, Crowley clutched a jar containing a single, wild spark of hellfire. Uncontrollable, untamable, and all Az's.

'What, not going to offer me a lift?" Crowley had quietly asked, sitting behind Az on his motorbike.

Crowley moved as if he were walking through the thickest of oil paints. He entered his room, set the jar on his desk, then returned to the studio itself. Half finished projects were littered everywhere. Crowley looked at them and felt empty.

A soft, pained laugh. 'I know I go too slow for you, Crowley...' Then, the most heatbroken admission, 'I am... quite unsure if I will ever be capable of catching up with you.'

Crowley's whole body began to shake. Hands balled into fists, and then he screamed. He grabbed a wooden stool that Az could often be caught sitting on and threw it right into one of his paintings. It splintered and ripped and Crowley felt good.

He tore paintings from the wall, shattered frames against the floor. He ripped apart each brushstroke, each secret hope. He only stopped when he tore his paintbrush off the chain around his throat and tried to snap it. Lucky for him, past Crowley had enchanted it to be basically invincible, so his efforts simply drained him. He let it expand into his staff so he could lean heavily on it as sobs wracked him. He was angry, he was heartbroken, and he had never felt less holy.

-

In the years leading up to the apocalypse, Crowley hadn't been painting much. Any attempts to bring his brush to the canvas were hindered by the fact that the world was ending, and that in less than eleven years all these things he was making would be destroyed. Again.

He thought maybe after everything, after escaping heaven and hell, he would be able to paint avain. Yet, as he sat with a sketchbook in his lap in Az's livingroom he felt no spark, no drive.

Well, that wasn't true. He felt something, but it wasn't the need to create. He took a swig of wine and looked up to where Az was quietly contemplating his own glass.

"I-"

"It's Aziraphale."

"...what?" Anthony sat up straight for the first time possibly ever. Az flinched.

"My- my name...my angel name. I never," he bit his lip, "all the other demons were changing their names, but I never meant to fall. I liked the name the Almighty gave me, even if She...so, so perhaps you can call me Aziraphale from noe on? Since I guess I'm technically not a demob anymore..."

The name was familiar. It brought Crowley the memory of a flash of white wings and blue eyes watching him work. However, that image very comfortably faded to fit the face of the demon he so loved.

Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale," he spoke it in a way that made one think of blasphamy. He caught the demon's shiver. Slowly, Crowley set aside his sketchbook and his wine and he prowled forward.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Aziraphale?" He breathed, close enough to count the lashes framing Aziraphale's dark eyes. They fluttered closed.

Lips pressed against lips, soft and full of longing and hope. It took Crowley a moment to realize he hadn't been the one to close the gap. He framed Aziraphale's face in his hands, like the work of art it was, and kissed back.

A gasp and then hands fluttered against his back, gripping at his jacket as the angel pushed him back in his chair, thoughts scattered so only one thing remained.

Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale.

-

They laid in a bed conjured earlier that evening. Aziraphale didn't own one, since he was used to hanging upsidedown from the rafters when he slept at all. He made an exception tonight, though, and was now curled up fast asleep in Crowley's arms. He traced the blue-purple-red bruises scattered across his lover's skin and smiled fondly as Azirphale wrinkled his nose and turned in his arms. Slowly, Crowley untangled himself and moved towards the easel he'd put in the room back when Aziraphale was sleeping for a century. He had wanted to be around the demon, even if he was fast asleep with no plans to become concious again until he thought his books were in danger.

He brushed the dust off a blank canvas and set it on the easel. It was facing out the small window, revealing the expanses of space for Crowley to record again and again. He hesitated a moment before changing the angle of the easel, pointing it towards the bed where Azirphale was still curled up.

He looked over at where his brush had been reverently placed on the nightstand at contrast with everything else he'd been wearing previously. He looked at it and then shook his head. He opened a pot of red paint and dipped his fingers into it. The excess dripped from the tips before Crowley set then to the canvas, and he began to paint.

[foxx-queen]

“okay i get it you’re a great thief and don’t want to go to jail but i’m the exhausted af detective that’s assigned to catch you i stg if you let me bring you in so i can sleep i’ll get you a good deal” au alex/astra pls

i changed this up a lil bit i hope you still like it!!

‘You seem off your game today’.

Without lifting her head from the floor, Alex groans, and snaps, ‘shouldn’t you have fled by now?’

A low chuckle, and Alex shouldn’t be so familiar with the woman’s laugh, by that dry sound of amusement, but she is, and she hates that it thrills her a little. ‘You’re hardly giving chase. I see no harm in hanging around’.

Alex opens her eyes slightly to look at the woman straddling the window sill, her leg moving back and forth in a hypnotic fashion, her lips quirked in amusement. She lifts her leg, bracing her foot against the frame to lean her elbow on her knee, and props her chin in her hand. ‘Besides, you’re always rather fetching when you’re flustered’.

‘I really do hate you, you know’.

‘Of course you do, Alexandra. Thats why you keep letting me get away’.

‘Do shut up, Astra’. Alex rolls onto her side, and props her head in her hand. Her back aches, and she didn’t have nearly enough coffee to deal with this. She hasn’t slept properly since Astra began her crime streak, and its a mercy she hasn’t passed out in the middle of a confrontation before. ‘You know I’m not letting you slip away on purpose’.

‘Right’, Astra drawls, slipping off the edge of the window to crouch on the floor beside her, ‘the decorated detective who has supposedly never lost a suspect suddenly finds it impossible to catch me, a mere thief’.

Alex snorts. ‘You’re hardly a common thief’. She rolls back onto her back again, and shuts her eyes. She wonders if she could just fall asleep here. ‘I still can’t fucking figure out what you’ve been stealing. Either its something that these idiots don’t want to tell me about, or they don’t even know you’ve stolen it. I don’t know which one bothers me more’.

Astra laughs, rich and delighted, and says, ‘did it occur to you that perhaps I haven’t stolen a thing?’

Alex opens her eyes, and turns her head to stare at her. Astra’s mouth curves, a pleased, smug expression, and Alex groans, thumps her head back against the floor. ‘Now you’re just teasing me’.

Astra leans over her, her hair swinging down, her curls tickling Alex’s cheek, and suddenly it is very hard to think about right and wrong and the fact that she should slap cuffs on the woman while she’s close enough to reach, but all she can do is stare up into Astra’s bright, gleaming eyes, that strangely unidentifiable, yet beautiful colour, and Astra runs a finger over the edge of her jaw, and murmurs, ‘well, that can be arranged’.

Alex swallows, and deliberately focuses on the woman’s previous words. ‘You honestly expect me to believe that you’re not stealing anything?’

Astra hums, trailing her fingers down Alex’s neck, a featherlight touch that doesn’t feel threatening, and Alex thinks she should worry about the fact that she’s never felt threatened by Astra. ‘Well, think about it, Detective. What patterns do you see?’

Alex shuts her eyes, trying to concentrate despite the distracting touch of Astra’s fingers. ‘Well, you leave absolutely no proof behind. I haven’t accused you publicly because its my word against yours. And you seem to enjoy this’.

Astra chuckles, and leans down, brushing her lips over Alex’s forehead, and Alex shudders, biting her lip. God, this woman is going to be the death of her. Literally, if she doesn’t get some rest soon. ‘You don’t exactly seem to mind it yourself’.

‘Come now, Detective, concentrate’. Astra’s lips press against her temple, her thumb stroking over her jaw. ‘Put that beautiful brain of yours to use’.

Alex groans, and grumbles, ‘what the fuck do you think I’ve been doing every night for the past two months?’

Astra chuckles, nibbling at her earlobe, and murmurs, ‘you’ve been thinking about me every night? I’m flattered’.

‘If this turns out to be some kind of complicated ploy to make me notice you, I’m never speaking to you again’.

Astra laughs, rich and deep, a vibration against her neck, and Alex shivers. ‘If I’m not mistaken, I caught your interest before this began, Detective’.

Alex remembers the night she met Astra, at a dinner party celebrating Kara’s promotion to detective, that her new partner had invited her to, and it had taken her a moment to realise that the woman leaning against the wall with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her leather jacket was not, in fact, Kara’s mother. There was a kind of lazy arrogance to her posture, an ease that told Alex the woman was comfortable in the space, and comfortable in her body, but the hard line to her jaw softened the moment she saw her niece, and she wrapped Kara in a crushing hug that lifted her off the floor. She decided that she liked the woman, then, when she saw how honestly happy she was for Kara, and definitely liked the way the woman looked at her when Kara introduced them, a curious, almost admiring look, an intense thing that didn’t leave her all night.

Alex didn’t expect to go home that night with Kara’s admittedly gorgeous aunt.

She didn’t expect to find her at the scene of a burglary that she’d been tipped off to, almost three weeks later, only two days after their last date.

Looking back, she realises that Astra didn’t look at all surprised to see her there.

She sighs, running her fingers absently over Astra’s arm, like they’re in bed again, rather than sprawled on an expensive carpet in an expensive room in an expensive house, and she’s caught Astra stealing. Again. ‘Alright’, she grumbles, palming Astra’s belt for any signs of what she might’ve stolen, ‘here’s a pattern; everyone you have stolen from is rich, powerful, and ultimately corrupt. Whenever I investigate your thefts, I ultimately find evidence of corruption that no one seems to have been aware of before. Money laundering, bribery, blackmail, judges, politicians, a police captain. Everyone forgets about your theft and my failure to capture you because I end up being responsible for arresting those people’.

Astra smiles against her neck, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, and murmurs, ‘they’re calling you the Defender. Fitting’.

‘And they’re calling you the Shadow, because we have absolutely no idea how you manage to get in and out and avoid all security measures’. Alex gives up, removing her hand from Astra’s belt and resting it on her hip. ‘And you don’t seem to have stolen anything tonight’. She frowns, staring into Astra’s pale green eyes, crinkled with mischief, and says slowly, ‘you… you really haven’t stolen anything, have you?’

Astra kisses her, quick and fierce and pleased, and purrs, ‘well done, Detective’.

Alex sighs against Astra’s lips, presses back, runs her tongue over Astra’s bottom lip, and then pulls away. Astra makes a displeased sound, and Alex says, ‘okay, but, I could still arrest you for trespassing’.

Astra rolls her eyes, her thumb sweeping over Alex’s cheek, and she drawls, ‘if you really are that keen to get handcuffs on me, Detective, we could simply go home to bed’.

Alex blinks, keeping her expression schooled to disguise the heat the just slammed against her ribs, pooled down into her stomach, and says, ‘before we go anywhere, you have to explain to me what you’ve been doing’.

Astra sighs, tilting her head back in an over exaggerated look of exhaustion, and says, ‘you’re the Detective, you tell me’.

‘Astra, I swear to god -’

‘You hit on it the first time, Alex’. Astra’s voice has softened, and Alex remembers what its like to lie curled beside Astra in the dark, to feel the woman’s fingers brushing gently over her skin, her lips at her forehead, the soft melody that escapes her in a low, vibrating hum, and she sags a little, leaning against her. ‘I’m fighting corruption in the only way I know how. I’m taking the information my sister gives me, drawing attention to it, tipping you off, and trusting you to find the evidence’.

Alex stares at her. ‘How did you know I’d… manage? What if I fucked it up?’

Astra shrugs, and says simply, ‘because you’re a good cop, Alex. I have faith in that. In your ability to do your job. In the fact that you’re a good person’. Her eyes soften, warm, and she leans forward to kiss her again, tender and sweet. ‘I trust you, Alex’.

Alex shivers, and lifts her hand to cup the side of Astra’s face, to kiss her back, and she murmurs, ‘then can I make a suggestion?’ Astra makes a noise of agreement, kissing the corner of her mouth, her hand sliding into her hair, and Alex pulls back to look at her. ‘How about you stop breaking into people’s houses, and instead become a CI for me?’

Astra frowns slightly. ‘You’re really that against the idea of me breaking the law?’

‘No’, Alex says, and there is a vehemence to her voice that she didn’t anticipate, ‘I’m against the idea of you getting caught by someone who won’t care about who you are’. She swallows, running her thumb over Astra’s bottom lip. ‘I’m against the idea of you getting hurt’.

Astra blinks, a momentary look of astonishment, and her face softens. ‘Allow me to think it over?’

Alex nods, leans forward, and rests her face against Astra’s shoulder. She sighs, and says, ‘can you do that in bed? I need some goddamn sleep’.

Astra kisses her forehead, concern lacing her voice when she says, ‘I truly had no idea my efforts were exhausting you, Alex. Let me take you home?’

‘Take me to yours’, Alex says, and she doesn’t care that it sounds like a plea, ‘I always sleep better with you, anyway’.

Astra tilts her head up, and kisses her again, soft and warm and as comforting and enticing at it always it, and says, ‘anything you want, Alex. Anything’.

And Alex knows that Astra will listen to her.