#remembering poetry is a good way to get my mind to focus on something other than my life falling apart

[malachitezmeyka]

Quoting classic russian literature at yourself after a crying fit is either a new low or a new coping mechanism that I will abuse the hell out of. I'll decide along the way

[pinehutch]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

Thank you for tagging me!

I should be honest: I am not much of a fic writer. This isn't self-effacing; I've been reading fic since the early aughts but only have 10 works on ao3. One of them is a poem. One of them is a few hundred words of something I've never finished.

That said, fic is important to me for a lot of reasons, but one is that in 2016 I started following a tumblr for a Dragon Age fic exchange, and in 2017 I wrote the first fiction I'd written in almost 20 years. I had been struggling to write poetry for about 10 years before that, too, and fic writing was part of my path back to writing at all.

This isn't to say that I think fanfic is valueless unless it results in 'original' writing; every story happens in context, and we all know how the lines between fanwork and original work blur, both in fan spaces and in commercial ones. But my particular, personal fondness for fic is because it gave me a path back to the first best thing of my life, which was language, and what we do with it.

With that said, my personal top five (links in titles):

Fundamental Forces (or, Root Causes)

Literally my first fic. This was when I remembered that writing can be fun. It's Dragon Age fic, femHawke/Varric. It's also written with a focus on Hawke's POV, a thing I think I pulled off quite well and have never attempted again. It's very silly. It features a 40-year-old and a 35-year-old being profoundly bad at emotional honesty. I riff on turnips for a while. It has a happy ending, which should surprise no one.

She breathed in through her nose and her eyes fluttered shut. “Kiss me, you idiot. Before they think I’m horrified.” Their first kiss. Quick and mostly chaste and part of a joke. She thought it was fitting.

Chapter Last

This is also T-rated Hawke/Varric, written for the same exchange, a year later. It's about near-misses, and trying again, and not being able to pick up where you left off, and it's stumbling back onto the path later, unexpectedly, and after having found another way. It is about stories, and why we do them.

It's fic of the games, of course, but in a way it's also fic-of-fic: there's a novella that's both a tie-in novel and a diegetic book in the Dragon Age setting, and it was printed irl the summer before I wrote this fic.

What I'm proud of, with this story, is character voice. Whenever I share any Varric-voice writing, even years later, people always say very generous things. Varric's also a writer, canonically, and I had fun mimicking 'his' style in passages of this, and trying to keep in mind how his writing and his inner narration would align and diverge. (Lots of Dragon Age fans are understandably thirsty about Varric; I think I've always found him relatable, in many ways, and it didn't occur to me to thirst. But I love him.)

I don't love the structure; I chaptered this, and way more than I needed to. I'd love to rewrite it, someday, but I also think it's good for me to sit with the awareness of its imperfections and the knowledge that people have loved it anyway.

Afterimage (there are two colours)

The Magnus Archives fic, E-rated. Basira/Daisy. This was meant to be a single installment in a series - I think I have a 20,000 word 'outline' in my gdocs, still, but I'm unlikely to ever finish it. The point of this story is self-indulgent, purple-prose, dreamy smut. Wanting the thing and having it, but not keeping it.

This was baby's first E-rated fic ever written. I have no explanation for this, either.

Transformative Work

Written for the 2022 OFMD Big Bang with @mia-ugly. Mostly Frenchie/Jim, a bit Jim/Oluwande, a bit Frenchie/Oluwande, a light sprinkling of polycule potential.

Transformative Work is my favourite thing I've posted to ao3 for three reasons.

It's 40k! I never finish longer works, so 40k is a big deal to me.

I think it's actually brilliant. Clever as hell, at minimum. But mostly brilliant.

It's collaborative!

Writing has always been a solitary thing for me; one of the things I love about Mia is how we can get on a wavelength about a story. (This is mostly a them trick: they're an excellent collaborator and instigator, in general.) I wasn't at my best when we were writing this, dealing with undiagnosed health issues and workplace burnout and an accumulation of grief, but it was beautiful and joyful work, in the end.

Also, I think it is almost exactly what we wanted it to be, and that is such a high.

Number 5 is a bit of a cop-out but still:

Remember when I said "we all know how the lines between fanwork and original work blur"? This is a poem I started writing when Succession 4.3, "Connor's Wedding" aired. I was in a worst spot than I had been the previous year, health-wise, grief-wise.

The title of this poem, "My Father's Dead and I Feel Old," comes out of Connor Roy's mouth in the episode. I had to pause the episode and just get pummeled by that perfect, simple line of iambs. I was a wreck, just generally. Yeah, man, my father is dead and I do feel old! That sort of thing. (The aforementioned health issue? Still not identified or addressed when this aired in spring 2023, btw. My brain was not braining well.)

But there were words for it. I was off work on medical leave at the time. I had just made the transition from crying like it was a full-time job to sleeping like it was a full-time job. The sleep wasn't helping. The crying hadn't helped, either. It wasn't something people could help. But words, and what we do with them - that helped.

Anyway, I'm actually quite proud of this poem, both as an original piece of poetry and as fanwork. It's not on ao3 for reasons including 'I haven't gotten around to it' and 'I don't know if this is sufficiently transformative, by the invisible guidelines I've just set for myself.'

Thank you for sending this to me, it was a lovely thing to think about on my Friday eve! <3

[fictionadventurer]

I’ve loved following along with your NaPoWriMo poems! Any advice or tips for someone who’s thinking about trying out writing her own poetry?

I am so glad you've asked this question, because one of my main emotions during National Poetry Writing Month was anger at all the people who made poetry seem like this agonizing endeavor that only the most intelligent and soulful should undertake. As I got going, I found that it was fun. It was easy (or at least a fun challenge). It stretched my brain in new ways, and let me express things in a new creative format. I think everyone should get the chance to experience that, and I want to encourage everyone to try.

So here's my:

Guide to Writing Poetry For Absolute Beginners

Read a poetry anthology: One that collects works from multiple different poets across lots of different time periods. Ideally, one meant to introduce children to poetry, because children are going to want poems that are enjoyable, understandable and fairly straightforward--which is much easier for a beginner to imitate. Reading A Child's Anthology of Poetry was what first made me think poetry was something I not only wanted to do, but I could do. Reading a lot of different poets made me learn which styles I liked and didn't like, and gave me examples to keep in mind when I decided to write my own poetry--for example, I kept Sara Teasdale's poetry and this A.E. Housman poem in mind a lot during the month, because I found I liked short, rhyming poems that talked about nature with fairly straightforward language.

Don't be afraid: Poetry should not be intimidating. Ignore the books that say it's an agonizing endeavor. Poetry is putting words on a page, and then rearranging them to say what you want to say in a cooler way. That's it. Don't make it more complicated than it has to be. You don't need to scrape out the innermost depths of your soul--you can just tell people about something you saw, maybe share a thought about it. It can be simple. It can be fun. It's fine.

Do not try to write good poetry: This is the most important rule. Staple it to your forehead. Write it on the wall. As an absolute beginner, a lot of what you write is going to be bad poetry--and that's great! It means you're creating poetry! Which is much better than not creating poetry! Worrying about whether your poetry is "good" or "bad" is the easiest way to destroy your enjoyment and keep you from writing poetry. I cannot tell you how many times during April I looked at my poetry and thought in dismay, "Wow, this is really bad compared to other poetry," and then remembered, "Good thing I'm not trying to write good poetry!" and happily continued writing. If you just keep writing, whether it's good or bad, you're going to wind up with a lot more poetry--and have a lot more fun doing it--than you would if you'd let yourself worry about quality, and writing more poetry is a great way to get better at writing poetry.

Use prompts: I found that the prompts for National Poetry Writing Month were a great source of inspiration, giving me guidance when the idea of poetry was so new and intimidating that I didn't know where to begin. Not every prompt is going to inspire you, but the ones that do can be a great way to stretch your imagination. Having a community was also great--seeing other people respond to the same prompts made the idea of filling those prompts less intimidating--but I recognize that's not easy to arrange outside of National Poetry Writing Month.

Short is good: Short poems take less time to write. They make you focus on one or two things you really want to say or images you really want to use. They're easy to structure--set-up an image or an idea, resolve with a thought about it, and then you're done. You can write longer poems if you have an idea that requires it, but keeping your poems short is a great way to get a sense of accomplishment very quickly.

Play with rhyme and meter: Because it's fun and I like it. Because it makes you think about the sound of the words you use and encourages you to think about word choice and word arrangement. Because it can make a poem feel more structured and complete. Because the rhyme or meter you choose can help you figure out how to structure your idea. You don't have to use it for every poem, but I find that using it can make it easier to turn an idea into a poem, because it forces you to pare down your ideas to fit the structure.

Use poetic forms: For many of the same reasons I encourage you to try rhyme and meter. A poetic form can help give your ideas structure. It turns poetry into a fun crossword-style game. There are a lot of short, familiar poetry forms to start out with--I began with a limerick and a haiku--but there are tons of possibilities. When I needed inspiration for a poem, I often looked through this list--when I found a form that looked intriguing and doable, I'd try it out. Often, a certain form will suggest certain topics that would work well in that format, so this method can help with brainstorming, too.

Don't be afraid to branch out: It's fun to use rhyme and meter, keep things short, and use established poetry forms, but if you come up with ideas that don't do any of that, go for it! Especially after you've written a few poems--you've learned what you like and don't like, what works and doesn't work for you, so you can use your knowledge to branch out and try something new.

Observe your surroundings: It's a great way to get images and thoughts to inspire new poems, especially once you have a few under your belt and learn what kind of ideas lend themselves well to poetry.

Have a deadline: I found that having a poem-a-day goal helped me to write much more than I would have otherwise. I couldn't tinker with a poem forever--I had to post it by the end of the day and then move on. One day, I'll have to learn how to revise poetry, but that's a goal for when I'm not an Absolute Beginner. For now, finishing poems is the more useful goal.

Remember, all of this is advice from an Absolute Beginner who has been writing poetry for barely over a month. There's a lot I don't know, and I'm just sharing what worked for me. But as an Absolute Beginner, I feel I'm qualified to tell other Absolute Beginners that the endeavor of beginning to write poetry is absolutely worth it.

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

Do you focus on Erik’s Jewish heritage at all with your portrayal?

-- MUN ||:

(Let me try to keep this short. If you want to know more about an aspect, I would love to answer another ask! I will sometimes name only examples)

I Do.

But not every character gets to see as such and I get intervals where it is stronger or weaker represented in my writing. And I hate that I probably only scratch the surface.

I try to portray Magneto's Jewish heritage in a nuanced way, not always overtly-- not screaming it out, I admit. And I try to do good research. Please do not kill me.

I let it drive his actions and thoughts-- making it subtext. Let me try to break it down briefly.

SHORT VERSION

WHEN IT APPEARS:

with family

similar connections

reflection of conflict

children

plots

era dependent

HOW IT APPEARS:

him speaking more Yiddish

references and metaphors of art, quotes, writers, folklore, cultural events, traditions, music

his cooking

memories to his family, how he grew up, differences of Max vs Magneto, Polish and German influences

love languages and the way he loves

appearance

chaotic relationship with god

FULL VERSION BELOW

WHEN IT APPEARS:

Heavy Emphasis with Specific CHARACTERS: Some interactions draw out the Jewish influence more directly, making it less subtext. This happens with:

Obvious Examples for that are his family (Wanda, Pietro, Lorna, Luna, Billy, Tommy,...),

characters with similar believes (Moon Knight),

people who can be similar or oppositional (Dr. Doom, X-Men, Charles),

children like the New Mutants or children on Krakoa.

ERAS AKA. PLOT: Magneto's connection to his heritage fluctuates. Sometimes, it's at the forefront (90s, Krakoa/Arrako), with reflection on his history and family. Other times (2014), it's more detached or even betraying, creating an internal conflict. The eras also tend to turn to other aspects of his heritage. (Arrako - family, Krakoa - mythos, 2014 - historical trauma, parallels to dark times)

HOW IT EXPRESSES:

YIDDISH LANGUAGE: The first noticable thing is that I try to use Yiddish. Though rare, as I fear mistakes, he uses Yiddish names for his children, and occasional phrases.

JEWISH CULTURE: Instead of the predominantly Christian metaphors in the comics (Pieta), I reference Jewish writers, folklore, myth, music, quotes, and art. Golem, Leviathan, and creation myths are often referenced, alongside Kabbalistic ideas.

My FOLKLORE tends to always circle back to the Golem or Leviathan, or myths from creation and Kabbalistic doctrine. Some folklore aspects I love but lack to mention enough is gilgul (reincarnation until being worthy of god), Dybbuk (possessing evil).

Magnus also cooks Jewish food in my RPs. A lot. Food is a comfort language for him.

TRADITIONS AND RITUALS: Life cycle events or traditions and actions is something I try to add more and more. Just to name a few, this includes writing of Bar/Bat Mitzvah (Birthday celebrations) for his children, Sabbath, when the roleplay storyline is darker (referencing Genosha or similar events), I think back to traditions of shiva. Krakoa is related to Pentecost in my mind.

LOVE LANGUAGE: His romance is based on Yiddish romance writing and poetry and how it is viewed. Like, everyday acts of love mattering far more. His love is actions, constant, not bursts. (Also, I remember old Jewish love movies!) example source as this could be its own endless post.

FAMILY- MAX VS MAGNETO: I give his family a more significant role. A ground he can be based on-- because that is a core all of Magneto will always return to. There is more reflection to what Max was given-- taught how to make jewelry, stories he was told, how he grew up before Auschwitz and during it (fighting for survival, being a thief, having especially good eye-sight to spot gold in the pits,...).

Max, Erik, Magnus, Magneto-- Using different names reflects different aspects of him. Max connects him to his core, his family, and his youth. I use it more often. It's a return to his pre-Auschwitz self, similar to Al Ewing's return to the name in X-Men: Red.

Furthermore, he is more of a 'typical' Jewish dad to his kids, with predominantly German and Polish influence.

APPEARANCE: Though not noticable in my writing, I suppose, in my mind, subtle details like his nose, skin, and hands influenced by jewelry-making with his parents, or his naturally curly hair, hint at his Jewish background. I also like the idea of his helmet being kind of his Kippa (I do not remember where I read that once)

GOD: Magneto's relationship with God requires separate discussion. However, I do show him reflecting on his faith at times, calling upon God, even. And he tries to atone in the way his heritage has taught him to.

Add-on edit: Jewish heritage aesthetic influences.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Find the Words

Alright so yeah I've been tagged and well I'm a sucker for tumblr tag games so here it is lol

tagged by: @typicalopposite

rules: find your given words in your WIPs and post a snippet containing the words, then tag others with their own sets of words :)

my words: laugh, tomorrow, wonder

I only two of these words in my WIPs that have more than just a few bits written - I was certain they would have all been there but guess not (at least not in fic)

I had them both 3 times in my College AU so I'm gonna cheat and give them all so I don't hafta choose lol (they're not too angst-y lol)

laugh

Alex’s laugh in response makes Henry’s ever-present butterflies flutter, and he really must get them in some semblance soon before he makes an utter buffoon of himself. Well, more than he already has in the years he’s had this sadly unrequited crush on his kind-of-friend-by-association who is so straight Henry has not even an infinitesimal chance.

Henry takes hold of Alex’s hands and holds them between the two of them. He smiles reassuringly across the space between them and takes a deep breath. “Well, I guess we both had a friend plan – too bad neither of us was smart enough to communicate it.” The laugh that escapes Alex surprises them both. “I think maybe we’re already there though, if you can forgive me sequestering myself away, in my usual avoidance technique. I will make every effort to not do that the next time I get too in my head. It’s always been the way I dealt when things got hard or more than I knew how to deal with. I will admit I’ve had feelings for you for the last two years or so – I always told myself it was just a crush I’d get over but this year I realized that wasn’t the case anymore – "

-this one is from Alex's tales from the college AU (which is a separate doc - so they didn't all come from the same one lol)

The laugh escapes Alex before he can catch it, and he smiles across the table, realizing that he didn’t mess this all up after all. He reaches across the table and grabs Henry’s hand in his, “Just remember who said it first, sweetheart.”

wonder

(apparently I had plenty of variations of this word but these were the only 3 just 'wonder')

“Good morning, Alex. I’m certain I’ve repeatedly asked you to stop with the ‘your majesty’ thing, and if you need to sit closer to see, you really should. Just because I felt like a change doesn't mean you must suffer.” Henry swore he had heard a muttered, “I know nothing but suffering,” but there was no indication that Alex had spoken when he glanced his way. That, of course, was his downfall, the one thing Henry knew he needed to avoid had already happened, and this time, it was Alex’s damn eyelashes that were driving him to distraction. Luckily, the professor came in to start class, forcing him to focus on something other than Alex and the things, the dirty, dirty things he wanted to do to him. Somehow, he made it through class without embarrassing himself, even when Alex got into a verbal sparring match with one of their classmates about how poetry could be seen in many political officeholders' speeches. Watching Alex debate something linked to a topic he cared so wholeheartedly about generally made Henry weak in the knees. The passion Alex displayed often made him wonder what it would be like to have even a fraction of that passion on him, in a way that was less arguing a point and more driving him to the brink over and over again until they both expired from the exhaustion that only came from a mind-blowing orgasm.

Pez turns towards him, so Henry is forced to look at him as he speaks, “I mean, how is it that the two of you spent over a month and a half practically living in each other’s pockets, and you still have no idea how that boy feels about you. Sometimes I wonder how you can be so completely daft when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“It felt like you hated me last year the way you took every moment to be a right prat. When we returned this year, it seemed like whatever I had done to make you hate me didn’t matter anymore. Then, when you came that first night to the library, and we continued to meet up here, I started to wonder if we could actually be friends. I had this plan to become your friend and –“

so now my turn to tag -

@adreamareads your 3 words are: bite, park, and show.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

GIRLIE I LOVE YOUR WORK ESPECIALLY THE ONES ON AO3!!! IM TRYNAA BE LIKE YOU BESTIE, PLEASE CAN I HAVE SOME WRITING TIPS/111!!!!???

(btw i really love man-sized, just finished it a couple days ago and AAAAAAAAA ITS SO GOOD I SWEAR!!!! LIKE MARRY ME PLEASE?!!?!)

Oh my goodness. You must be what they call a pookie 😘❤️ (I will marry you or adopt you, there's no middle ground.)

Thank you so much, you're making me blush!

I'm probably not the best person to give advice because I don't really know what's going on with my writing… It's a godawful mess. But I'll try!

So, writing tips under the cut ->

1. This might be boring and said a 100 times before, but... Show, don't tell! Obviously, I break this rule all the time when I go inside my character's head and explain how they feel and not just what they see, smell, hear, and touch. But if you're writing angst or fluff like I am, I'd say you must go inside the skin to dig into the character. (Also, f* the rules 😇)

2. If you don't know where to start, start with the dialogue. Even if it's just 4-10 sentences per scene. Then you can fill the gaps with some action, emotion/sensation and worldbuilding. But dialogue is actually the heart of your story and it creates some of the best tension; treat it with respect! Also: less is more with dialogue. Not always... but usually is.

3. Write from your own experience. We all have something to draw from, even if it's something as simple as how it feels to skinny dip in a cold lake. Or a hot bathtub. How does it feel to wake up from a nightmare or kiss someone you love? Like, truly feel? Don't tone it down!

4. If you want to sound more poetic, use metaphors and symbols and mythology. If you want to sound original, use history and culture and simply anything you have up your sleeve. All the "useless" knowledge: bring it on baby! When used sparingly, these can add to the depth of your storytelling.

5. Sculpt the paragraphs, then focus on the sentences, then hone single words. Whip out a goddamn dictionary. Search synonyms online (Thesaurus etc). Work with the words until they sound right for the story you wish to tell. Choose words that are most "alive" in your story's context, words that inspire feeling and stir emotion.

6. Read your story out loud or at least inside your head. That way you'll notice the errors and can fix the flow and rhythm of the story. Everyone loves a well-paced story! Sometimes just moving a sentence to a different paragraph or deleting it entirely can resolve an issue.

7. If you write a long fic, establish a core problem in the first chapter and remember to solve it before the story ends. For example in Man-sized, I presented an issue of trust. It was heavily inspired by my own lack of trust in men and the fear of getting played. Again, don't be afraid to draw from your own experience!

8. Music can help set the mood and bring out your creative flow. I have numerous playlists for writing or create a new one for the particular story in mind. If I want to write some heavyweight yearning, I'll blast some heavyweight yearning songs while I write. I don't know if this works for everybody; some people might need silence and space for creating.

9. The most important tip: WRITE FOR YOURSELF. Write the difficult, the overwhelming, the taboo. Write the most self-indulgent, shmexy scene ever! Or the fluffiest meet-cute that puts a smile on your face.

And if you're one of those writers who are not happy with their writing... write some more. Play with it, just don't give a shit. Let the inner demons give you courage and inspiration. Write about how shitty it feels to feel inadequate. You might find you just wrote some good poetry on suffering.

It's always better to write from love and joy instead of fear and shame – besides, life is too damn short to feel ashamed! Live a little and enjoy what you do, let writing be your escape. It's supposed to be a shelter where you can flee to when life is dull and hard and unfair. If other people's writing inspires you to write, then read. If other people's writing puts you down, save yourself some heartache and don't engage: just mind your own business and do your own thing.

Hope you found some of these tips helpful 💕 Much love 🩷💋 and happy, reckless writing!

[awkwardgtace]

🛒, 👀 and 💖?

Ask Game

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I'd say an unreliable narrator is a common theme. Usually I write from a character's perspective so it's their thoughts regardless of what others in the story may think. I think a common theme is also acceptance despite the character's own beliefs. A lot of my characters have negative self views and those around them accept them no matter what. I think I focus on eyes a lot too. Like reading emotions in them, or misleading others with something about them. It feels like in gt eyes are gonna be the most obvious way to read a person so I make a lot of use of it! Idk about scenes and imagery too much though. I jump between eras and set ups so much it's hard to track :D

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

ooooh ok so I have like so many wips lol. I'll go with Mafia AU for it this time! I'm currently working on the story for why Alessia has a fear of being near humans when Ryder joins the family. It starts with her being excited and helpful to humans only for something to go wrong and doubt herself. It's not a ton of interactions, but shows a bit of how she's both like her family and very different from them. Also a bit of what she sees her parents as in that messed up world.

💖 What made you start writing?

Ok I'm gonna go with start writing GT but also a little of writing in general. so a bit of a long answer.

I kind of always wrote a lot. In high school (like over ten years ago lol) I would write during classes to help stay awake. I'd written poetry and stuff a lot before that. Books were super important to me so it was a natural extension.

In college I wrote a lot more since longer classes and less sleep lol. I was trying different things, less just self insert into my favorite anime and video games. I never posted and a lot of it did happen to involve fairies which were always a minor obsession of mine.

After college my writing mostly stopped cause the stress of job hunting and less free time all that shit. Plus the jobs i got were pretty shit starting out. (Fuck FDM idc if this secretly doxes me. No one should fall for their shit.)

Then in 2021 I was in a good job and I got back into tumblr and gt. I was reading stories and a lot just weren't quite what I wanted. So I decided to start writing my own stuff. I'd been sending asks on anon and interacting more so I posted my first story and tagged someone who's writing was closer to what I wanted.

It was like I opened a door I didn't realize I closed. It helped me get through a lot again, even though I'd started a better job and was handling things better than I had in 2020. It was also a way to finally kind of shut down my head. My mind runs a mile a minute so putting the ideas I'd had bouncing around into words helped me slow down. I kept going after the first few stories because I finally got to remember how much fun I had creating my worlds and characters. Worldbuilding remains something I get so much enjoyment out of!

So tldr, I started writing because it helped me think and stay awake in classes. I kept going cause classes got worse. I took a break and started up again finally getting to put my ideas out. It helped slow my head down and is just a lot of fun.

I hope this last answer makes sense It's a bit all over imo, but that's how my brain tends to be too lol

[mead0ws06]

it says go ahead and put anything. So I’m putting anything.

I believe that as we grow older we hide within our flaws instead of chipping at them. We lose the desperation to become a good person and instead focus on simply being and going through the check boxes. I believe that we should never be understood absolutely because then we’d never surprise others, and isn’t that always a nice feeling. When you’re left alone you don’t owe anything to anyone and instead are left with the influence they have had on your way of thinking yet they are not physically there. I went to a bookstore today and saw the poetry book my English teacher let me borrow. I almost bought me a copy and instead I bought a manga instead, Bungo Stray Dogs Beast vol 3. Akutagawa’s sister believed him a selfish man yet all he wanted was to be better, yet his mind is a haunted place and didn’t allow him to see past his own anguish and rage. Atsushi is run by fear, something so strong it runs his entire life. I think rain is a way to remember how small we actually are, and thunder is to help us remember we have a heartbeat and it can skip when faced with Mother Nature. I make Playlists that I promise are going to be good quality and then stuff it with songs I found myself listening to, and I put them in not because it was accurate but because I wanted to listen to it in a new light. I own more books now than I ever have in my entire life. I wax poetry but only in the dead of night when I feel like I’m breathing recycled blood and I spit it out onto my notes app, which blinds me when no one else has eyes on me. I fall in love with characters and see them as myself to gain understanding of who I am and to feel less lonely in the world. If someone wrote that character, they must understand that character, therefore if I ever were to met the author maybe I could see if they would understand me, even if I never spoke a word to them the knowledge of the Maybe is good enough. I crave to talk endlessly to my friends yet feel as if I’ll be eaten alive by my own flesh and walls if I so much as utter a word about passion and love. I’m proud of being 5’9 even if I’m just barely making it to that height. I have a pixie cut and I love my wild curls. Cats just had a liter of kittens in my barn, the mother being pixie and the kittens being mulberry, magnolia, and ceder. I feel different to others how I see the world, how I understand and feel about challenges because I’ve been facing them since before I understood what family was. I was so desperate for love when I was in middle school that I screamed my affections at anyone who will listen, now I see the notifications and all I can feel is my own breathing and not others hearts. I’m 17 and struggling with the idea that I’ll still be unsure of who I am and what to do when I’m an adult. That I’ll still be wearing headphones to block out others on a long car ride, that I’ll still lack social grace and run up to my room whenever I get home without placating others like a good adult is expected to do. I consume stories with the infatuation of someone finding their first love over and over. I can analyze stories for hours yet can’t find it in myself to brush my teeth. I used to think my middle name was gorgeous now all I see is it’s common, and I laugh. I’m a straight A student and can’t will myself to study for my permit test.

[therapardalis]

eightandonly​:

-

~The next Morning~

The Doctor woke up early and it took a moment for him to remember he was not in the TARDIS. He got up and got dressed readied a small meal for later and went about his morning routine. He walked about saying hello to as many people as he could. He went to his lecture giving a good lecture about English as he spoke of poetry and the arts. He thoroughly enjoyed the students in his lectures as they seemed interested in the subjects he was teaching. He had a few trouble students but that was to be expected. 

Once it was lunch time he had free time for the rest of the day so he made his way to the courtyard. He was wondering where he would bump into Thera again as he wasn’t sure what her schedule was. He had to prove he could handle what was going on and help her. He sat down and looked over his plan for the week he also needed to show her his tardis. He wrote down a few things as questions or answers he could provide. 

“I need to remember to show her the tardis…I want to explain my presence here is not a threat…I hope she can trust me” he frowned nervously as he had never worked with someone like her before. He had worked with others but she seemed strong willed and independent. The type that didn’t need help which made him sigh “I really do want to help” he said to himself as he scribbled a few notes.

The evening ‘patrol’ had been ... both disappointing and not. She hadn’t found anything, in the sense of something leaping out to attack her, but she had managed a good bit of reconnaissance - and some interesting conversations with some residents of the furred and feathered kind.

After it sleep had not come easily at first with the cogs still whirring in her mind, but at least her shift at the library didn’t begin until mid-morning - although even then her thoughts drifted elsewhere, and it took a shade of self-discipline to focus on her work. All things being equal ... she hadn’t forgotten about Professor Smith, but she was too preoccupied making plans to be keeping a weather eye on the door for his promised visit. Or at least she was until a few students from the early lectures had wandered in, whispering excitedly about the new teacher - and slapping the arm of the one member of the group who mentioned Dead Poets Society.

Thera glanced up at them, eyebrows raising and amusement at the corners of her lips; it seemed the Professor was making an impression!

She decided to take her late lunch outside instead of in the staff room, partly for some fresh air and partly ... well, he was going to get involved in the campus mystery in any case, at least working together they would be less under each other’s feet. And besides that, they was still the chance that she was misjudging, and her worries were for naught. Or at least she hoped so, as she reached the courtyard and spotted a familiar figure bent over hisd notebook nearby. “Good afternoon, Professor ... I hope I’m not interrupting?”

[morifinwes]

wangxian fic rec list!

aka in which i read fics, write some recs down for aamna and share them!! they're all wangxian fics and uhh @yibobibo i hope you'll like them!!

modern

wolf devours playboy bunny by @greenteafiend (5K, werewolf!lwj, getting together, idk if anyone needs to know that but there's nudity just not uhh explicit)

Lan Zhan has wanted Wei Ying as long as he has known him, and the worst part is that he thinks Wei Ying could want him back.

Too bad he could never in good conscience let himself go there—Wei Ying has a debilitating fear of all things canine, and once a month, Lan Zhan is the exact, precise thing that Wei Ying’s nightmares are made of.

Aka, Lan Zhan is a werewolf.

between the lines by @jywait (19K gaming au!!!, i'm always down for a good gaming au, lwj is the best aksks he's such a good boy)

☆yilingpatriarch☆: pls...give me some face, help me fight these monsters...I'm gonna die

Bluetooth: no.

"You have died." The screen said, and Wei Wuxian threw his hands up in frustration.

resonant frequencies by chinxe (15K, college au, fake dating au, tw mention of cheating but it's brief and no one was cheated on i promise)

In which Wei Wuxian decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Lan Wangji is to pretend to date him for three weeks.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

drift compatible by windoworwhatever (5K, poetry, fluff, drunkji, getting together, college au)

"It was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, university stipends for graduate students working in TA positions barely covered rent, bisexuals cuffed their jeans, Lan Wangji had a massive crush on Wei Wuxian, and spent his time pining and writing research papers about gay subtexts in ancient poetry."

OR

Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian, and everybody knows, except Wei Wuxian.

the bunny next door by detailsinthefabric (43K, this is mostly fluff and very light angst, and they were neighbors!!!, rabbits!!, aka wangxian's bunny children, this is... so cute i just have to rec it)

Lan Wangji did not know what he was doing. He did not know what he was going to say. He was frozen in place, puzzling over the situation. Maybe he had made the man uncomfortable, which is why he wanted to leave? But his tone had still been so friendly—maybe…

“Would…” he paused, swallowed, forced the last words to come out of his suddenly parched mouth, “would you let me pet him?”

-------------------------------------

Lan Wangji, who doesn't know how to socialize and whose icy demeanor scares everyone away, lets down all his defenses when he meets the bunny next door...oh, and also its owner, Wei Wuxian.

leading tone by silencemostofall (32K, everyone is a music student? or something like that akskk, curse fic, tw panic attacks, tw child abuse, small scene of drunkji, wwx has low self esteem, bro this was so painful to read)

The first time you touch someone you're fated to love, you leave a mark on their skin. If they will love you in return, they'll mark you where you touched them. The deeper the color, the deeper the connection.

Wei Ying has no marks at all.

public places, private thoughts by leahelisabeth (for the love of camelot) ( 8K, cherry magic au, getting together with like... immediate upgrade to fiance status, the author is wrong i crave good wangxian cherry magic aus even tho i haven't even watched cherry magic)

Wei Wuxian had heard the story of course. It had made its rounds through his high school and followed him into his college days. He didn’t think there was any possibility it was true. Virginity was a social construct, invented by creepy old men to exercise dominance over women. The idea that a simple lack of sexual activity before the age of thirty could give one magical powers was absolutely ludicrous.

Wei Wuxian believed this until the morning of his thirtieth birthday.

AKA the Wangxian Cherry Magic AU that absolutely nobody asked for.

i'd be all right (if i could see you) by @thirtysixsavefiles (16K, this was nice, i read this at 6am but it was cute, (while writing this post i must admit i don't remember anything but 6am-me said it's good))

The younger Lan brother is something of an enigma on campus; while Lan Xichen can sometimes be seen in the company of other graduate students or conducting a seminar, Lan Wangji appears to spend all his time in class or in the library. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t attend social events. He doesn’t do anything for fun, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and it’s driving Wei Wuxian just a little bit up the wall.

Or, Wei Wuxian convinces Lan Wangji to come to a house party, and then they're assigned to the same group project. Wei Wuxian tries his best, but he is not in possession of all the facts.

axe on leg by itszero (4K, i still don't get why wwx did that but it was nice seeing him jealous for once, jealous!wwx, lwj i love you....)

Wei Wuxian pressed his face into his pillow and screamed. He paused to take a few deep breaths, partially hindered by the pillow, and listened to the sounds of Nie Huaisang slurping his iced coffee, from his seat on Wei Wuxian's desk chair.

Having caught his breath, he resumed his screaming and did not stop at the sound of his dorm room door opening.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his brother, Jiang Cheng, ask.

The slurping stopped. "He's an idiot."

"He's always been an idiot. Why is he bothered about it now?"

"He forced Lan Wangji to go on a date," Nie Huaisang replied, shaking the ice cubes in his drink.

"Okay and…?"

"With someone else." The slurping resumed.

Wei Wuxian, in all his glorious dumbassery, convinces his boyfriend to go on a date with someone else.

these two most powerful by @stiltonbasket (4K, amnesia, wangxian with children!!!, aksksk this was adorable, dadji!!)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

 

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

 

(In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.)

good things come to those who wait [but i ain't in a patient phase] by @cerlunas (4K, getting together, pining lwj)

Lan Wangji can't take it anymore.

 

“I love you”, he says, and god, it feels terrifying. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian starts, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to hear it.

He grabs his cup and drinks everything. He doesn’t know what face Wei Wuxian is making at him right now, and it’s okay. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats louder, but it’s too late. He is already falling asleep.

Or, even after 13 years, Lan Wangji is still in love with his best friend. Maybe it's time to open up.

wei ying, will you marry m- oh my god he swallowed the ring! by selene210 (2K, marriage proposals, crack, marriage proposals but.. they go wrong)

“A ring?”

And indeed it was. The ring Lan Wangji was going to propose to Wei Ying with. That the man had now choked on.

“You swallowed it.”

“It was in my soufflé! Why did you put a ring in my soufflé Lan Zhan- oh. oh”

of glittery valentine's cards by @soft-fics (3K, valentine's day, this was adorable aksk, a-yuan best boy!!)

Lan Zhan didn't want to know what his best friend had planned for Valentine's Day; his heart would simply not be able to handle it. When his son tells him that he made Wei Ying a Valentine's Day card, though, Lan Zhan decided to bring it over anyway.

of coffee and white tea by @soft-fics (9K, fluff, lwj doesn't like coffee, wwx buys him coffee, then they switch drinks, again and again and again, the staff ships it lmao, tbh jc shouldn't have done that like wtf)

For the fourth time this week a stranger orders him a cup of coffee. Lan Wangji wonders how exactly to tell this man to stop ordering him coffee he doesn't even like. Turns out, buying the other white tea and switching drinks is not the best way to go about it

canon setting

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixthothou (4K, in which sizhui snaps, i love that boy, no like seriously he's the best boy)

Lan Sizhui does not usually find himself in the company of Sect Leader Jiang.

Suffice to say, Lan Sizhui's feelings toward him are conflicted.

lan wangji is wei wuxian's baby by lilycs (3K, i was craving fluff while reading this, lwj my beloved, drunk!lwj)

Lan Wangji gets drunk from barely a cup of alcohol, becoming a whiny baby and asking his husband for cuddles.

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (8K, wei wuxian & lan sect, 5+1 things, in which they learn to love him, they're all part of the wwx protection squad lead by lwj, wangxian isn't the focus but !!! THIS)

Times change, but some people remain the same.

The Lans are nothing, if not aware of this.

For one of their own, they will stand against the world.

Or, 5 times the Lans defended Wei Wuxian, and the 1 time he was there to see it happen.

so why not crack your skull when the mind swells by @greenteafiend (13K, love curse, post cql canon, curses, getting together, fluff, so much fluff, lwj tries to talk about his emotions!, lwj pov)

Lan Wangji detects the curse trying to curl through his heart meridians like smoke. A love curse, then. It must have been cast remotely somehow to have found him in his bed in Cloud Recesses. No matter. Lan Wangji crushes it easily, enveloping it in his spiritual energy, and then squeezing. Curse averted, Lan Wangji closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He thinks no more of it.

Two days later, Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses.

Or, Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel terrible pain when he and Lan Wangji aren’t touching.

i started from the bottom / now i'm rich by x_los (57K, time travel, fix it, jealous lwj, crack treated serious, god this is so good tho, wwx/wrh & wwx/jgs but like as a joke and it doesn't really happen, but it has its purpose!!)

“First, you get the money. Then you get the power, respect - hos come last.”

 

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees.

lead me on through by mrsronweasley (55K, they're in love your honor, arranged marriage but they don't know to whom, basically wwx & lwj want to practice kissing which then goes beyond kissing but not the whole way y'know, lxc the best wingman tho)

"Who do you think your betrothed is?" Wei Wuxian asks, sprawling out in front of Lan Zhan and enjoying the prim thinning of his lips at the question. He shouldn't be sprawling—they're in the library, for one, and Lan Zhan is studying, for another—but he can't help himself. Wei Wuxian is a sprawler.

"I do not believe this to be of importance," Lan Zhan responds, without turning his gaze away from his book.

"What!" Wei Wuxian sits up. "How can you say that? Of course it's important! This is the person you'll be with for the rest of your life, Lan Zhan."

[theladyofdeath]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 4}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2550

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Apollo

– God of light, prophecy, inspiration, poetry, the sun, music and arts, medicine and healing

Aelin tried to convince herself that she got up and got ready two hours early for class because of her busy schedule. She kept telling herself it was for the meeting she had with her advisor, about a possible internship at the end of the semester.

She knew that both reasons, while extremely important, were full of shit. She knew she’d showered, blow dried and curled her hair for Rowan. It wasn’t that she was trying to impress him. She’d already done that and the chance she had to be with him had come and gone.

No, now it was about proving to him that even though this class may be a gen ed, she was taking it seriously.

Dropping the class had crossed her mind. She really didn’t need to take it, she could still find a different one to pick up. But she didn’t want to think about the sort of impression it would leave about her.

If there was anything to know about Aelin Galathynius, it was that she was not a quitter, nor did she run from her problems.

Or heartaches.

With one last look in the mirror, and a whistle from Lysandra, Aelin was out the door and hurrying across campus. She grabbed a coffee on the way, but avoided her usual place, knowing full well that Rowan enjoyed the same famous cafe that she did.

He wasn’t there yet when she got to the hall, but she took the same seat she had the class before.

She wondered if Rowan would be looking for her this time.

She quickly shook the thought away.

With her hot coffee on the corner of her fold up desk, she was pulling out her notebook and a pen, waiting anxiously for class to begin.

For him to walk through the door.

Apparently he liked to be right on the dot, though, because students continued to wander in, but he did not.

She was tapping her pen against her notebook, doing her best not to stare at the clock. She was just anxious for her day to start. It wasn’t that she wanted to see Rowan.

Professor Whitethorn, she amended in her head. She had to quit thinking of him as Rowan. She couldn’t think of him like that anymore, his body pressing into hers, lips on her neck, as he—

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed and suddenly realized that the rest of the class had hushed. She was so focused on reprimanding herself for her highly inappropriate thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him come through the door and begin setting up for class. When she dared to glance towards the front, she found his eyes on her. He quickly looked away, going back to his laptop and setting up the PowerPoint on screen.

Maybe he hadn’t been looking at her.

Maybe it had all been in her mind.

But she didn’t think it had been.

He had been watching her.

“Happy Thursday, class,” he began, as the title page of his presentation flashed onto the board. “Glad to see you all showed up again. Must mean my first class didn’t suck.” Quiet laughter thrummed through the room. Aelin couldn’t muster a laugh, though. “On Tuesday, we covered the basics. So, today… Sorry, we’re doing that again.”

More laughter, especially from the pretty, flirty girls up front.

Aelin couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Which, when she settled her eyes back on Rowan, he definitely saw.

Come on, get your shit together, she chastised herself. With her back straightened, she gave him her full attention.

She took dutiful notes, but his slides didn’t hold much in the way of information. They were mostly headers, with a few bullet points. Most of the important information, information she knew would be critical for homework or exams, came straight from Rowan’s mouth.

It was clear that he loved mythology, that it wasn’t just a class his aunt had tossed his way and told him to figure it out. He was a trove of knowledge and she noticed he had a habit of going on slight tangents when he got going on a topic he was clearly interested in.

After a student asked him to clarify what he meant about Hercules not being Zeus’ only son, he ended up talking for nearly twenty minutes about what the beloved Disney movie had gotten wrong. Aelin had stopped taking notes and was watching him go on and on about how Hades, while god of the underworld, was not necessarily a villain. He just had a job to do. A job that had rules that must be followed, or the consequences could damn not only him, but others involved. His eyes found hers again and the amused smile on her face fell as she made the correlation between their own situation and the story.

They held each other’s gazes for far longer than was appropriate, and Rowan cleared his throat, going back to the PowerPoint, and the  predetermined lesson plans he’d made, which didn’t include children’s movie breakdowns.

She watched him.

She listened.

And she found it all fascinating. 

Rowan peeked at the clock after going on and on, and stilled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I’ll end there. There is an assignment due by tomorrow evening. You can find and submit it online. It’s an opinion piece. I want a little insight as to why you were so interested to take this class, or what you’ve found fascinating so far.” He sat on his desk, his legs hanging over the side, his feet nearly touching the ground as he leaned back on his palms. Aelin found it charming. “You’re going to write a short essay telling me of your favorite deity. It could be one I’ve talked about so far, or one I haven’t. It’s your choice. But, tell me why they are your favorite. Give me a little depth. And, remember, this is a college course. Grammar counts.”

The clock struck nine-thirty and everyone began packing up. Aelin had been so captivated by his voice that she had to snap herself back to reality.

She quickly packed up her bag, alongside the other students around her. She noticed then how young they all were, and she was willing to bet that she may be the only senior on the roster. As she was descending the stairs, she found Rowan’s eyes on her again, but he looked away as his attention was taken, thanks to the group of girls who’d been sitting in the front row. She heard vague questions of whether they could all write about Aphrodite, since they all related to her.

The scoff Aelin thought she’d kept to herself had apparently been out loud, since not only Rowan looked at her as she passed, but so did the three girls. With his attention on her again, she decided to give him a little wave.

“See you later, Professor Whitethorn.”

If there was some extra sway to her hips, it wasn’t on purpose.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Two and a half hours later, Aelin was starving. She’d just gotten out of an extremely complicated lab and she could barely focus over the growling of her stomach. Twice, the instructor had looked over at her, half expecting to find a dog stashed under the table she was working at.

So when the class let out, she was hurrying toward the cafeteria ready to get a salad from the salad bar and a big ass slice of pizza.

It was all about balance. 

As she was waiting in line to fill her plate with salad, she heard a voice behind her.

“Are you actually getting lettuce or just filling your plate with ham, cheese, and croutons?” 

Aelin looked over her shoulder to find Chaol, her ex, suppressing a smile.

Aelin chuckled. “If it’s the same price, you may as well pile up on the good stuff.” 

Chaol gave her a small smile. “Fair enough. It’s good to see you, Aelin. You look good.”

Things hadn’t ended the best between her and Chaol, but that had been just after freshman year. At least now when they ran into one another, they could have nice little conversations like this one.

No hard feelings.

“You too,” she said, and he did. He’d been in an accident the year before. They weren’t sure he was going to walk again. In all honesty, it was just good to see him on his feet.

“How long until your class?” He asked, sliding his tray along behind hers.

She glanced down at her watch. “About forty five minutes. You?”

“This is my long break,” he sighed. “I’ve got an hour and a half, but didn’t feel like leaving campus. Want to have lunch with me?”

“Sure.” Her smile wasn’t forced, it was easy and she was glad they could even do this, when three years again, they could barely be in the same room.

“I assume you’re getting a piece of pizza after this,” Chaol said with a smirk, nodding towards her plate. “So I’ll grab us a table while you get the rest of your lunch.”

She scoffed but nodded, and went off to get a slice of pizza. When she ordered her pizza, she also got a slice of cheesecake. It was his favorite, something she hadn’t forgotten, but it didn’t hurt that she liked it, too.

Finding him in the cafeteria, she sat down at the table across from him. “How’s Yrene doing?”

He blushed, and Aelin had to admit it was adorable. After his accident, he’d fallen for his physical therapist, and she was just as smitten with him. It must have been all the one-on-one sessions, because Chaol had never been one to let someone in. Aelin had met Yrene early in her med classes, but Yrene had specialized in PT and graduated in less than three years, taking as many classes as she could manage and even studying through the summers as well.

“It’s going good,” he said, at last. “We, uh, just moved in together, actually.”

Aelin lifted a brow. “That was fast.”

Chaol shot her a look.

Aelin laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, good for you. I like Yrene. A lot. You two are good together.”

Chaol cleared his throat before taking a bite of his salad. “Thanks.” 

Aelin chuckled, taking a bite of her pizza.

Chaol blinked. “What?”

“You get so uncomfortable when it comes to feelings,” she said. “Always have.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “That’s not true.”

Aelin stopped mid-chew and raised a brow.

Even Chaol couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What about you? Seeing anyone?”

Aelin hesitated, then said, “No.”

A slow grin appeared on Chaol’s mouth. “Didn’t sound so sure about what one.”

Aelin shrugged. “Better be nice or I’m not sharing this magnificent cheesecake with you.”

Holding up his hands in placation, Chaol went back to his salad. Rowan was a dangerous topic, one she wouldn’t share with anyone but Lysandra, so she summed it up quickly. “Met someone I thought I hit it off with. Turns out we didn’t work.”

He slowly nodded. Aelin knew he’d had a couple failed relationships between her and Yrene. “I get it, I’m sorry. Still sucks.”

Shrugging again, she turned to her salad. “It happens. Not a big deal. So if you’re living with Yrene, does that mean you and Dorian broke up? Or is he playing house with you, too?”

Chaol leveled her with a look. Chaol and Dorian had been best friends long before they came to the University of Orynth. They were both from Adarlan, both trying to get away from overbearing fathers, and decided college across the country was the way to do it. They’d been roommates every year and Aelin couldn’t even imagine Chaol living with anyone except Dorian. But now he was. “He moved into an apartment with Manon this semester when I moved in with Yrene.”

Aelin blinked. “Blackbeak? He moved in with Manon Blackbeak?”

Nodding, Chaol went on. “Apparently, they’ve been dating for about a year, without anyone noticing.”

Something in the way he said it told Aelin that he had noticed, but when Dorian had his mind set on something, there was no stopping him. And apparently, he’d decided to date one of the most terrifying women on campus.

Aelin’s response was eloquent. “Wow.”

Chaol grinned. “I like it when you’re caught off guard. It’s satisfying.”

With a scoffed she nudged his leg with the toe of her sneaker. “Well, I don’t. Dorian will be getting a very angry phone call this afternoon.”

“I’ll be sure to give him a warning,” Chaol promised.

Aelin chuckled, taking the last bite of her pizza. “It’s good to see you all happy, though. Really.”

Chaol’s eyes softened. “Thanks, Aelin.”

She nodded. “Even if I am terrified that Dorian will get eaten alive.”

Chaol laughed, and she had forgotten how nice Chaol’s rare, hearty laugh was.

She meant it. She was so happy for them, both of them. It was interesting how things changed over the course of a few short years.

Their conversation continued, as did the laughs, and before she knew it, Aelin glanced down at her watch. She had less than fifteen minutes to haul ass back to the nursing building for her next class. Chaol, who had much longer to sit with nothing to do, assured her that he could handle her trash and told her to get to class. With a hug, and a promise that they’d have dinner soon, all of them, even Manon, Aelin was hurrying out of the cafeteria building.

Somehow, the entire time she’d been having lunch with Chaol, she hadn’t noticed the set of pine green eyes watching her.

Rowan’s own break had been at the same time as hers, but the gen ed building was much closer than wherever she was having to run off to, so he had longer to sit and— there was no denying it— brood. They were halfway across the room, so he couldn’t hear any of their conversation. He had no clue who the tall man was she smiled at so often, but clearly they were very familiar with each other with how easily they talked. And he made her laugh. A lot.

Rowan wasn’t sure why that was what grated on his nerves the most, but it unsettled him.

Seeing Aelin with someone else, someone clearly her own age, it all unsettled him. He didn’t like it. Almost as much as her parting words in class had.

See you later, Professor Whitethorn.

It’s like she was mocking him, yet at the same time, she clearly wasn’t. She was doing exactly as he’d asked of her, seeing him as her professor, not as her boyfriend.

No, he reprimanded himself. Not boyfriend. Hookup.

They’d had sex one time, that didn’t give either of them any claim over the other. It was a hookup and nothing more. And she was his gods-damned student.

She was off limits, in every way possible.

Yet he couldn’t figure out why seeing her with someone else, someone she should clearly be interested in instead of him, had him seeing red.

[darthmaulification]

Hey! Can I please make a request for a short Drabble where reader is Grogu’s nanny aboard the Razor Crest and Din develops a crush on her, but once he and the reader start visiting Grogu at Jedi School on weekends, Luke develops a crush as well? Doesn’t have to end up with either, but I would like to see either guy’s rivalry and slight jealousy (with Reader’s obliviousness).

A/N: ... okay so, i really got into the whole crush aspect of your request, anon, and this basically became a romantic prose piece. when i looked back to see what you had initially wanted, my product was... about thrice removed from the original prompt. 💀

i think i got some of the points??? like there’s din and luke and they’re both in love with reader and they both have a bit of rivalry with the other and basically that’s what matters??? please forgive me, anon, the ghost of sappho took my body over and forced me to write yearning love poetry!! 🙏 sis forced my hand!! 😭

though if there’s enough interest for it, i can always make a follow up for this, like from reader’s perspective, and write something a lil more in depth (once i get requests finished up that is). 😊

hope you enjoy! 💗

content: nothing but din and luke pining for reader, gn!reader (for the most part), use of she/her pronouns, fluff, but also a smidgen of angst 👁👁, perspective difference!!, kind of a commentary on mandalorian and jedi culture?? (mostly jedi culture lmao)

word count: 1,524

You’re beautiful.

He sees it now how your face lights up like candles being lit when his son succeeds at doing another one of his Jedi tricks. Joy illuminates your face like a spotlight, your soft cheers and kind praise make the whole room warmer. Din watches Grogu leap into your arms, cooing and squealing like he’s been given candy. It makes Din’s heart leap when you kiss his son on the head, and smile so warmly it’s like your lips become sunshine.

Din is infinitely grateful for his helmet in this moment, his face feels like it’s been too close to a fire. His fingers pick at a fraying stitch on his gloves, to prevent his hands from shaking in his lap. He hopes that the Jedi, who is standing casually across the room near you and Grogu, doesn’t notice. Din hopes you don’t notice what you’re doing to him.

I’m in love. 

The sentence slips through the cracks of his thoughts the way a sunrise peeks over the horizon. You look over at him, holding up Grogu triumphantly in your hands like you would a prize, and he sucks in a breath because suddenly it feels like all he can see is you. You and Grogu, you and his son.

Please be my riduur.

“Did you see that? Wasn’t it amazing?” And Din forces himself to dip his head in a slight nod, because the Jedi is also looking at him with piercing blue eyes the color of the sky. His heart pounding, and when you laugh, and it sounds like summertime when everything is good and happy.

People love, he thinks as he stares at you, and suddenly his palms are sweaty and he feels the need to tap his foot, but Mandalorians love harder.

I dream about you every night, think about you when I lie awake. You’re always holding sunflowers, and the nightmares don’t touch me then.

Mandalorians love like there is nothing else in the universe more valuable, nothing more precious, not their vibroblades, their blasters, or even their beskar.

Giving up a blaster and a vibroblade in order to save you from that hut’uun came to me like breathing, I didn’t even think about it... I would’ve given up my beskar’gam too. I still would.

Mandalorians love with their souls laid bare, they love with their entire body, they love with sacred vows, exchanged beskar rings, their riduur’s name engraved on their hal’cabur, above their heart.

When you slept beside me one night, I whispered the entire marriage vow to you in Mando’a. You looked so peaceful bathed in the light of the moon, the silvery glow making you look holy. I’ll admit, it came out mostly accidentally, but it felt so normal, natural even. I wish you hadn’t been asleep.

Mandalorians love in spite of death, they love in the face of it. They love like warriors.

I had gotten shot. All I remember is you holding me in your arms, hands pressed over the wound. I was in pain, and you were crying, covered in blood and dirt, but you were so warm. I’m still unsure if I had actually said what I think I said:

“I care about you too much to leave you.”

He wants to tell you all of this, but he’s never been much of a romantic, or much of a speaker in general, so the words falter on his tongue each time he’s tried. And Din’s tried so many times. You say something to the Jedi, and it makes a sudden, surprising fury bubble in his chest, the vile rising to his throat. Din has to bite his tongue to hold back from shouting:

Don’t talk to her, di’kut jetii! You are undeserving of her words, of her time, of her presence. Unworthy! You can’t give her what I can, shabuir.

You look over at him again, and the hot anger dies completely, leaving him powerless before you. Din felt this way each time he’s tried to tell you how much you mean to him.

I love you, cyare.

It feels like your eyes are boring holes straight through his beskar, through his flight suit, singing his skin with their warmth. Din bites his cheek so hard he tastes copper.

You smile. It’s like the dawn.

You are the sun— His sun— of his universe, and his eyes burn from the light.

Din basks in the rays, and his heartbeat starts to slow to it’s normal, steady rhythm.

Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

~

You’re beautiful.

He sees it now in how your entire expression blooms into one of pure joy when his padawan successfully levitates the crates. It radiates in your aura, the waves of mirth traveling further than your respectfully quiet cheers and meaningful praise. Luke watches as the child leaps into your embrace, babbling without forming any actual words. Something inside Luke lurches when you place a kiss on Grogu’s head, and when your vibrant smile dissolves his willpower.

Luke draws the Force in on himself, welcoming the sturdiness it brings. He tries to ignore how his palm has gotten sweaty, but he clenches his hand into a fist and hastily relaxes it. Focus, let in calmness like a breeze. Luke hopes that the Mandalorian, sitting stiff and looming on a far bench, doesn’t notice his moment of vulnerability. He pulls the Force closer, and hopes you don’t notice what you’re doing to him.

I’m in love.

The thought springs up in his mind the way shoots of new grass breach top soil in spring time. You glance over at him as you lift the child, and the look is as quick and fleeting as blossoms on trees, but it floats in the Force like dandelion seeds, and Luke is painfully aware of how consuming you are.

Please don’t do this to me.

“Did you see that? Wasn’t it amazing?” And Luke catches your eye, offering you the smallest smile he can afford without it breaking. You look to the Mandalorian, and Luke follows your gaze because he can’t compel himself to do much else. The Mandalorian’s visor is dark like the night, and flashes when he nods his head. Luke feels his heart sink when he senses it from him, a yearning so deep he nearly drowns in it.

People love, Luke thinks and he feels all at once envious and angry and so achingly acquiescent, because Jedi cannot.

I swore by the Code years ago, but I look at you and doubt it all. It can’t be that I’m this willing to rethink everything.

Jedi are forbidden from having attachments, they cannot pursue romantic interests. Love leads to passion, and it all is an influence of the Dark. Luke knows this. He’s fallen to it before.

I’ve spent decades forgetting how deeply I cared for him! But I am reminded daily of my father, every time I look in the mirror, I see his eyes. How dare you pull me back into this cruel trap! I can’t do this again.

Luke contains himself. Jedi value peace of mind, they extend the sentiment to upholding it in the galaxy as well. They do not do it out of love, but out of obligation, out of honor, because of what’s right. They are not love.

When I first met you it was like I’d seen you before, in a past life. It was like retracing my steps, following the trail backwards, revisiting something I had passed. Despite it all, I had moved forward and took my padawan from you and the Mandalorian, plucked him from you like a petal off a flower. I watched you wilt.

Luke reminds himself. Jedi do not love. Focus is key. The Force is everything.

But you are too.

Luke has to swallow in order to make sure the words never reach his mouth, and it’s like eating thorns. You turn back to him and the look in your eyes is tender like butterfly wings. The pink in your cheeks reminds Luke of windflowers.

“Thank you again, Luke,” His soul shivers when his name sounds in your voice, “It’s so kind of you to teach Grogu.”

As he replies and tells you it’s a pleasure, he almost spills everything to you, but an abruptness shifts the energy of the room. There is a lurking anger that crawls at him through the Force, entwines him like ivies. The Mandalorian fumes, the wrath trembles like billowing leaves. Don’t. Undeserving. Unworthy.

Luke forces himself to agree and squashes down everything, pushing each painful emotion into the deepest parts of him. He watches you look to the Mandalorian, your aura flowers with affection, love.

I love you.

His resolve is fading, again. Luke reminds himself, again. Jedi do not love. Jedi do not love. Jedi do not love.

You smile, and it stings his soul like nettle.

Luke forces himself to ignore that your eyes say different things when they settle on the Mandalorian than they had him. The thought feels like eating bittersweet berries.

Briefly, he revels in what could have been.

It’s for the best.

~

A/N: i thought i would add another note at the end of this to explain exactly what the heck i was saying with the word soup i just wrote.

first, din is so hopelessly in love with reader that it hurts. like physically makes his heart ache. i feel that when din falls in love, he falls in love. it consumes him. i wrote a lot of sun/light imagery to portray the overwhelming, all-encompassing love din feels for reader. you are the sun that warms him, and burns him. 

second, i purposely made luke have an even more tragic, even more conflicted crush on reader, on purpose, hahaha i am evil. 😈 he loves you, but forces himself not to. he tells himself that the jedi code means more. luke chooses to suffer because he knows that’s how it must be. there’s some plant/nature symbolism thrown throughout because that’s just the theme that i thought vibed with luke the most.

and that mention of anakin? i subscribe to the headcanon that luke really did love his dad, and just wanted him in his life, but of course, vader ultimately died. luke took a heavy blow from that, learned it hurts to love.

also, regarding the mini-rivalry that takes place, it’s through the force (if that wasn’t obvious) and it’s essentially another example of luke surrendering his own wants/desires and simultaneously din firmly declaring his love for you. it’s kinda meant to be the “understanding” between the two that clearly establishes who “wins” the reader.

... this was all one giant metaphor, huh?

[onyxheartbeat]

Dear HIM/Ville Valo fans,

this is a long post but I must discuss this.

________

I came across this interview of Kat Von D from a few days ago. Before I get into my thoughts, below is a passage from her old book “Go Big or Go Home” which you may or may not have read. She wrote about Ville:

________

“I only knew his music, and I loved it on first listen. It was dark and it was beautiful. It was metal and it was poetry. It was love loaded into a gun, and I wondered about the man behind the songs.  Two years later, our paths crossed, and like the majority of the connections I’ve made in life, tattooing brought us together. Through our first tattoo sessions, we began to get to know each other. For the next few years, I just thought of him as my friend from overseas, and that was all. Then, after knowing him for six years, something changed. It could have been the wine, the music, or the moon. Most likely it was just perfect timing. Just one kiss, and he changed my world. We were both sad back then, and lost. I was depressed, having finally ended a marriage that had been doomed from the beginning. I was also dealing with the pressures of filming a television show, which was totally new to me - and drinking my way blindly through it all. His story mirrored mine, and he had been feeling just as low. We had been waiting for something to happen, for someone or something to come along and save us from ourselves. And when it suddenly seemed that that someone was each other, it took us both by surprise. We shared darkness, and doing that bought light back into our somber worlds: for once, we didn’t feel alone.He’s the reason why I wanted to write music to begin with - and learn to sing. I remember the exact moment I made up my mind about making music. It was something I felt I needed to do, not for any reason other than a way to respond to him. It didn’t matter if the songs I’d write never saw the light of day, as long as he was able to listen to my music, my message to him. He had told me to look for a package at my door step, prefacing the delivery of the contents, his new album, saying, “These are all of the things that are easier sung than said.”I knew what he meant, but never imagined that each song would be filled with direct messages to me. I put the album on, and the music rushed out of the speakers and filled my house. His voice rang all around, making it’s way to the core of my heart with every word he sang. As cryptic as those lyrics may have been for anyone else, I knew exactly what each word meant and recognized every event and place he referred to. The songs were so beautiful, I just wished so badly that he could have said everything out loud just once to me. How should I respond to something like this? Where do I even start?The first time I saw him after I got sober, he was in town working on music. We sat in my office at the shop until the late hours of the night, talking and catching up about everything - music, home, art and work. Did we talk about love? No. We constantly danced around our past instead. What happened to us? I couldn’t find the courage to ask because I was scared of the answer I already knew. We decided to draw, with pencils and paper in front of us, we sat at opposite ends of the table. He pulled my three-minute timer from one of the nearby shelves, and placed it at the center of the table. He suggested we draw each other, and I was game. With a flip of the hourglass, the grains of sand moved from one vessel to the other, and we began.Sketching these timed portraits forced us to stare at each other, making it practically impossible to focus on the drawing itself. I had almost forgotten how beautiful his face was. He has a combination of eyes, lips, and a darkness to his looks that makes him look almost otherworldly. With him, I felt like I was at the center of an orderly, tranquil, magnificent universe. For those short three minutes, there were no questions about life or purpose. It was as if we never needed any more from each other than this.Like all people, I’ve suffered from love sickness and tasted the pain of love. The theatrical director of my mind, the one who staged all these versions of him and my life with him, seemed to be unaffected by reason. I was finding myself constantly day dreaming of the past.His eyes, his hands, his crooked smile - I’d ruminate over his features. Things he said. Things he did. Things he wrote. Things he drew. Things he sang. Over and over again, I’d sift through these images and memories as if they somehow contained the answer to my prayers. But I was living with a long-age memory of him; living so far away from the present moment.If we had spoken about what we were or what we thought we were, back when we got sober, I wouldn’t have been so confused, wandering what if, and writing the rest of our story in my mind. What did I expect? For him to magically not hear about me being in a relationship? And to not be bothered by it? If only he would have asked….. I would have….. If we could have only talked….. then things would be….. if we allowed ourselves to transform our fears of being open, vulnerable, then, I’d convince myself, we would be together. I realized that none of that mattered now. If I wanted to be free of this unrequited longing, I would have to make peace with the past and finally let it go. There was no way around it. But did I want to be free of it? - and him?I listened to one of his songs the other day. Out of all the songs he wrote on that album, this one was the most direct. He sings my name in the chorus. By the time the song is over, I’ve felt a range of emotions - I’m sad but happy, frustrated but calm. He sings about how I alone bring him to a place of stillness and peace within when we are together. What a victorious feeling - to enter into a place with him where no one else has been. To be able to bring goodness to and draw it out of someone. Those sweet thoughts were interrupted by  an e-mail from him. Impeccable timing as always. It’s just a short note, letting me now he’s somewhere out there, thinking of me. He ends the message by calling me “Star Face” - his pet name for me from long ago that no one else uses. At that moment, I loathe him for it. I loathe him because I love him. Sometimes it feels like it would be so much easier to walk away from this if he’d just tell me that he hates me, that he wants nothing to do with me. But instead he calls me “Star Face.” There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not letting go, either.‘Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.’The silver plane hurtled over Newfoundland, over the Labrador sea. Someone told me I might see the northern lights as I fly east and north, but I wouldn’t have noticed as I was deep in writing the letter that I had already mentally composed long before I decided to make this trip to see him over New Year’s Day. I didn’t have to edit myself this time, I knew exactly what the letter would say.I reread the note to myself before sealing the envelope. Then I drew out the first letter of his name in pencil on the front. What a beautiful letter it was, probably my favorite out of the entire alphabet. A letter I was so used to writing myself. With ease the swirls and curves of each arch seemed to flow from my heart, my mind’s eye, drawn in and through my arms to my hands, releasing themselves onto the pale ivory paper envelope. My plane landed soon after.I had missed this country, I had missed him, too. I wondered how time had treated him ,for it had been a few years since I had last seen him. I wondered if I still had the ability to quiet his heart when he was feeling manic. He always said I had a way of doing that when I was near. And I wondered if he even needed me in that way anymore.When we met up, he looked just as beautiful as the day we saw each other for the first time, almost ten years before. And as if no time had passed, we started right where we left off - hours flew by in the comfort of each other’s presence. Talking. Catching up.He asked if I was getting sleepy, and my attempt at concealing the tiredness was transparent. I looked at the clock; maybe it was the jet lag or the clock hands pointing to midnight, but I knew it was time to say good-bye. Reluctantly, we both stood up and tried our best to part ways. As good as it felt to be near him again, I gave him the letter I had written letting him know that I was letting the nation of us go. He took the sealed envelope, and then I watched him walk away for what I assumed would be the last time.My heart didn’t belong locked up in a tower across the ocean from my home. It belonged in my chest, beating, living, feeling, sometimes hurting, but always loving. I deserved to be free, and understanding and needing that more than a dream, I was finally able to let him go.”

_________

Now, let me start by saying, I’ve never understood this and I still don’t. I’ve had that passage saved in my drafts for years because I keep almost anything pertaining to Ville. 

I’ve been a HIM fan since I was about 15 years old, and have followed Ville’s life and work closely. The friendship between them was always apparent to HIM fans in those days, because we saw her in photos with the band often. I used to watch Miami Ink and LA Ink as regularly as pretty much anyone in those days, and I remember when this particular passage of her book was brought to light, the HIM fan base read it and we all had our thoughts. We were all aware of Screamworks being written about Kat (it’s obvious in the lyrics of the album) even though Ville never specifically said Kat’s name when asked about it in interviews.

I remember being baffled back when we as HIM fans discovered this passage from the book. I couldn’t imagine not making that relationship work if it was true love. I’m a bit biased because I adore Ville and he’s like a dream to me, but I just couldn’t understand it. It seemed like she took the relationship for granted or she didn’t love him enough to make it work; but I digress. I get it; love and relationships are complex.

Still, flash forward to this recent interview (the screenshot), she says it was unrequited love, and I’m still not understanding it. Why release all the songs now? Why didn’t she make it work if it was true love? Who is she trying to say was the one not reciprocating (as the word “unrequited” suggests) in the relationship? I don’t understand any of it. More than anything, I’ve had so many questions that I wish I could ask Ville about it all because he only spoke briefly about it all, and it was always rather cryptic. 

I’m only writing this as a HIM fan, and because I love Ville and his lyrics on Screamworks so, so much (it’s an extremely underrated album in the HIM discography, in my opinion) so I’m letting any fellow HIM lovers know she wrote an album in response to it, in case you’re interested. I haven’t followed Kat or her work in many years, so I don’t know what to make of all this, but it’s always been extremely apparent to me when listening to Screamworks that a lot of heart went into it and even pain, not that his lyrics on other albums aren’t like that too, but I felt it more on Screamworks. I feel that Ville was the one who was truly heartbroken.

You all probably know from following my blog that I’m obsessed with love and unrequited love. Any romantic stories, bittersweet letters, heartbreak, longing etc. is just my favorite thing in the world so please excuse the long post, haha.

[kravkalackin]

“Krav, I’m dying. My soul is actively leaving my body, I don’t know how much longer this feeble flesh puppet will hold out. Remember me when I’m gone,” Taako whined into the phone, flopping over on the bed. He could hear Kravitz laugh on the other end at his suffering, while that damned music continued to play muffled through the thin walls. 

“I’ll write a very moving poem in your honor,” he joked, and Taako knew it was a joke but the thought of Kravitz doing something as cheesy and romantic as writing him goddamn fucking poetry might have caused a blush to rise to his cheeks. Just a little bit. 

Then Lup’s loud singing on the chorus came belting out through the walls, and he could very easily focus on that instead. 

“I just don’t get why she had to pick this as her tortured, heartache of a lament,” he complained. 

“I mean, Mamma Mia is a good song? It’s catchy,” Kravitz insisted. Taako groaned, rolling over as he heard the upbeat singing of ABBA fade out for a few too short seconds of bliss before starting up again. 

“Yes okay, and it was fine for like, the first two days. It’s been a week Kravitz, a week! I swear I’m hearing it in my sleep now,” he whined. Sure, he got that Lup wasn’t happy about this, neither of them were. There wasn’t anything the could do about it though, they were spending the summer with another distant relative, maybe they’d get to go back when school started up again, maybe they wouldn’t. The didn’t get a choice and they knew that. 

That was why, usually, they kept to themselves. Didn’t grow all attached to people, all they really needed was each other. 

Taako wasn’t even sure how Barry and Kravitz even happened. Lup broke first though, dragging the huge nerd that was Barry Bluejeans over after school one day like she’d found the greatest toy in the world. Kravitz came later, he had just been an asshole in Taako’s AP world history class who always got pissed at Taako for slacking off but then getting better grades than him. 

Taako figured that was all he was ever going to be until they went over to Barry’s house one day and Kravitz was just... there. Because apparently, the two assholes were brothers. Barry was adopted, about ten or so years ago. 

That was also the day him and Lup learned that Barry’s last name was not in fact, actually Bluejeans. A lot of things were lost that day. 

The point was they fucked up and gotten attached. Now Lup was locking herself in her room playing ABBA on repeat for the entire fucking neighborhood to hear and Taako was losing his goddamn mind. 

“Yes I’ve been broken hearted! Blue since the day we parted! Why, why did I ever let you go?!” Lup’s voice echoed through the walls, and Taako let out another muffled shout into the pillow. 

“Have you tried playing something to drown her out?” Kravitz asked, and Taako rolled his eyes a little at that. 

“I have. It doesn’t work, nothing works! I’m stuck in Swedish pop hell Kravitz!” he whined. 

“You could... go outside,” Kravitz said, and Taako’s frown deepened at that. 

“Yeah sure, I’ll just go live in a tent in the backyard for the summer. Boyscouts here I come, I’m a tent boy now! Snuggle up with the neighborhood racoons,” he said. He was pretty sure he could imagine Kravitz rolling his eyes at that, but it wasn’t like he could just spend forever outside. 

“Has it really been since you left?” he asked, and Taako nodded vehemently. 

“Yes! I knew she was fucking hopeless for Barold but I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said. Sure, Lup hadn’t actually told him, but he knew his sister well enough to know what was up. And this? She was so goddamn lost for the nerd it was ridiculous. 

Kravitz didn’t say anything for a moment, and right when Taako was starting to get worried he spoke up. 

“Actually, I have an idea. Gimme a second,” he said. 

“Yeah, alright,” Taako said with a shrug. It wasn’t like he didn’t have much else to do after all. He could hear Kravitz put the phone down, and there was maybe a two or three minute pause where nothing happened. Taako was starting to get bored when suddenly the unthinkable happened. 

The music turned off. 

He could hear Lup’s phone ringing for a second, but it didn’t last long before she picked up. 

“Barold! Shit, long time no talk, thought you might’ve forgotten about me,”  Lup’s voice came in muffled through the wall, gradually fading as she moved further away, probably to pace like the lovestruck idiot she was. 

Taako was speechless. 

“Did it work?” Kravitz asked, having returned to the phone. 

“I fucking love you,” Taako blurted out, his face turning beat fucking red as soon as he realized. From the way Kravitz laughed he probably didn’t think it was serious. Of course it wasn’t serious. 

It was kinda maybe a little serious. 

“I’m glad I could help,” Kravitz said, all smug pleased and yeah okay, Taako might’ve fallen a little bit. He wasn’t as bad as Lup thought. 

As long as he wasn’t as bad as Lup, it was probably fine. 

[wlw-peachylsbn]

i think i need some fresh air (feeling under pressure) (narcissa malfoy x reader)

A/N: okay, so my only notes for this fic was "narcissa reads you poems while you suck her tiddy? mommy kink yay". so that's what you're going to get! thanks to @daffodilmoons for inspiring me with their post here!

we have some mommy kink (yes, i am predictable go away), a bit of tit sucking, and fluff.

You sigh, tossing the covers off as you sit up, rubbing your eyes. The clock hanging on the wall reads 2:34 a.m. Great.

You turn to look at Narcissa, a smile instantly coming to your face. She’s sound asleep, of course, but she looks like some sort of angel, her blonde hair tumbling in waves, a peaceful expression on her face. You quietly take her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips, before stealing her robe and padding to the living room. You’ve never been more grateful that her manor is so large. You can just wander around with little chance of waking up.

Of course, you find your way to the library. Multiple bookshelves tower over you, and the soft carpet muffles your footsteps as you take your favourite seat. It’s a plushy, cherry red chair by the window that sticks out from the elegant, silver decor. Narcissa ordered it for you after a playful argument (darling, I love the comfort factor, but it doesn’t match!), and you fell in love at first sight. Or first seat.

A table rests at the side of your chair, adorned with your favourite books and trinkets, and a glass of cold water (on top of a coaster, of course). You take a book of poetry—love poems—and idly flip through the pages before tossing it back onto the table. Usually, you can lose yourself in poetry, but tonight, you just feel restless.

You grab a nearby blanket and wrap it around your shoulders as you stand up, looking out the window. It’s a bit of a chilly evening, but it’s quiet. There are no more of those damned peacocks, just some birds calling and the rustle of the wind. The moon is shining brightly, too.

You sigh, tightening your hold on the blanket that smells like Narcissa. You’ve been having trouble sleeping for the past few days, with nightmares waking you up or simple insomnia. It seems like tonight is the latter.

You sigh again. Life just sucks sometimes! No way around it. School has been an absolute bitch lately. With finals coming up, and multiple projects and essays due, your stress levels are extremely high. Every day makes you come closer to your deadlines. You don’t want your grades to slip, but you’ve spent every waking moment hunched over your desk, your quill scribbling. You haven’t even had time for dates with Narcissa, even.

You slump against the window. The sword of Damocles hangs over your head, and you’re keenly aware of every slipping inch. You know you shouldn’t overthink, but still, your mind falls down a negative rabbit hole with no rope to hold onto.

Dark whispers infiltrate your mind, and the demons in the shadows tip-toe forward, ready to grab you in their claws. You can’t even muster up any courage to fight back; you just allow them to control.

Until you feel a hand on your shoulder. You know who it is. Your love, Narcissa, of course. You would know her blind or deaf, by the warmth of her hand and the softness of her footsteps.

When you turn to face her, the monsters fade away. Her hair is like her halo, and the way she’s smiling at you can only be described as angelic. She’ll protect you; she always does.

“Cissa,” you breathe.

“Darling. What on Earth are you doing up so late?”

“I thought it was early?”

“Early or late, there’s no reason for you to be up at this hour.” She tsks, and although it’s meant to reprimand you, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. She’s worried about you; she cares about you.

“I know. I just couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why ever not?”

“You looked too beautiful to disturb.”

“Oh, hush.” Narcissa rolls her eyes, but you still spot the pleased smile she tries to hide. “I don’t want you to hide from me. Your troubles are my troubles. I can help you, do you understand?”

You glance away, squinting at the door over her shoulder. “I know, I know….”

“Good. You’re not alone, not anymore.” She takes a seat in your favourite chair and tugs your waist, making you tumble into her lap.

A laugh escapes you as you shift to get more comfortable. “Cissa! What was that for?”

“Because I wanted you close,” she replies simply. “Now, what’s been keeping you up at night, darling? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. You’ve been eating less and less and working more and more.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you.”

“I know you don’t. I never said you were. But I am rather worried.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine. Please don’t worry anymore.” The lie slips out without your consent, and judging by her raised eyebrow, Narcissa doesn’t believe you one bit.

“Don’t you remember what I just said?”

“Yes, we’re a team, my troubles are yours, blah blah.” You wiggle closer, moving her silk robe to the side so you can nuzzle into the soft skin revealed.

“ ‘Blah blah?’ And is that my robe?” She tsks again. “It seems you’ve developed a bit of an attitude, little one.”

“Me? I don’t have an attitude!” You ignore how her nickname makes you shiver, instead pressing a kiss to her neck again. “I don’t, Cissa.”

“Well, if you’re a good girl, then you’ll tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh loudly but rest against her chest, closing your eyes. You’re tired. You’re always so tired. But you push through your exhaustion and say, “I’m just really stressed because of school. I was having a good start to the semester, but now, I’m feeling pretty burnt out. I don’t want to disappoint …”

“Disappoint?” she prompts. “Finish your thought, sweetheart.”

“Disappoint my family. Disappoint me.” You swallow. “Disappoint you.”

“Oh, honey.” The kindness in her tone makes you grip her robe in your fists, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. Everything is going to be alright. Look at me. Look at me, please.”

You don’t want to, but she grabs your chin gently, tugging so you’re looking into each other’s eyes. You can’t imagine how you look, hair mussed up, dark eye bags, and a slowly escaping tear. But Narcissa looks at you tenderly as ever, reaching up to wipe your tear away. “You won’t disappoint me.”

“But—”

“Hush. You could never disappoint me. Never. Especially over a grade. I just want you to try your best. That’s all.”

“Everyone says that but—what if my best is not enough? I’ll be a failure, Mommy.” To your utter humiliation, the nickname you associate with comfort and safety slips out. You bury your head in the crook of her neck again, this time intending to never leave.

“Sometimes, the things we love and work hard for, don’t work out. That has nothing to do with our failures or triumphs, simply that the time wasn’t quite right.” Her hand comes up to rub your back in long, smooth strokes, thankfully not commenting on your Freudian slip. “Your grades have nothing to do with you as a person. They are a separate entity, completely. The only things that define us are the things we allow, understand?”

You nod shakily. “ ‘m still really worried.”

“I know, my love. I’m not expecting that fear to go away in five minutes. But if you allow me to stay by your side, I swear I will always be your support when you fall. Always.”

“Always,” you whisper. A seed of hope worms its way to your chest. With Narcissa by your side, how can you do anything but fight?

“But we can plan tomorrow, darling. Our goal for tonight is to get some sleep.”

You nod, already half-asleep on her chest. The exhaustion you’ve been pushing away slams into you like a ton of bricks, and you yawn. “M’kay.”

“Shall I read you some poems? I know you love them.”

“If you don’t mind, Mommy.”

“Of course I don’t, darling girl.” Her hair tickles your cheek as she leans forward to grab the book you were reading earlier. “Would you like to hear Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning?”

“Mhm.”

“ ‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.’ ”

You know the next line by heart. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height. It’s quite close to how you feel about Narcissa, but not entirely. There are no words for how you feel for her. Sometimes the truest feelings are the hardest to put into words because there simply are no words. But it’s close. And you think she knows.

Narcissa’s voice is so lovely. Husky from sleep and soft and melodic. She has a perfect reading voice. She’s perfect.

You shift, a little whine leaving your mouth. You’re on the verge of falling asleep, but you’re missing one key thing.

“Oh, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Tired?”

You nod, snuggling closer to her.

“That’s alright, dear heart. Just rest now.”

“Mommy,” you whine again. You don’t want to say it, so you grasp her robe and tug, exposing her breast. “Please?”

“Oh, I see now, darling. You just want Mommy’s help to fall asleep, don’t you, lovely?” Narcissa coos, pulling her robe more to the side. “I know, baby, I know. Come here.”

Finally. This is what you’ve been waiting for. You eagerly latch your mouth on her nipple, closing your eyes and sucking.

She laughs quietly, running her hand through your hair, playing with the ends. “Slow down, darling. Just relax now. Mommy’s got you.”

You nod, eyes half-lidded. The bud in your mouth hardens with every suck or lick, and it is arousing, to an extent, but it’s mostly just … comforting. There’s something you can focus all your attention on, something that’s anchoring you. You keep sucking, listening to Narcissa read, and finally allow yourself to fall asleep.

[organabanana]

What spring does to cherry trees || Supercorp

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: mostly fluff, with some porn for flair, pre-canon, but also, post-canon, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees. What does that even mean? It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained. No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak. Kara doesn't like poetry. Until she does.

Notes: Written for a very patient anon who prompted me with “Seeing the cherry blossoms in Washington DC” but I got sidetracked by Neruda and my favorite of his poems and it turned into This.  It's poem number fourteen, found in "Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada" (Twenty love poems and a song of despair) by Pablo Neruda, which you can read here (Spanish) or here (English). I mostly translated the lines I needed myself, so I can't guarantee they'll match the official translation (I'm also not sure there is such a thing as an official translation, so there's that). With special thanks to the most patient anon in history for the prompt, to @lavenderrry for praising my vibes, and to @emiltons for the gorgeous graphic.

[ao3 link]

The first time Kara encounters Neruda's poetry she's nineteen and bored. In her defense, she thought taking a poetry class would make her feel sophisticated and cultured, but all she feels is annoyed at the insistence of using language to obscure your message rather than share it.

And yes, yes, she gets it. It all sounds very pretty and evocative. It's just Kara has been hiding her true self in plain sight for the last six years, and she can't understand why anyone would willingly and needlessly do that to themselves. To their feelings. She may never have been in love, but Kara is pretty sure if she ever is -- if her heart ever feels full to the brim with the kind of big feelings her professor keeps making them read in metaphors and symbolism -- she'll want to make them clear as day.

I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees.

What does that even mean?

It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained.

No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak.

***

Kara doesn't take any more poetry classes, and she doesn't think of Neruda (or any other poet, for that matter) for years. She has so many other things to think about. She moves to National City and starts working for Ms. Grant. She grows into herself, she thinks. She becomes Supergirl and feels more like herself than she has since her pod left Krypton. She dates, a little bit. Dips her toe in the dating pool, if you will. She meets Lena Luthor.

And that's the second time she runs into Neruda. Right there on a shelf in Lena's living room, on a book that looks well loved and well read, spine full of small cracks and lines from being opened over and over again. Kara has always thought you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their shelves.  

"Pablo Neruda," Kara says, one finger tracing a line down the spine of the book like she's trying to read something in the pattern of the cracks, "I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I don't dislike it." Lena's heels click-clack on the hardwood floor before she sets the bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table and sits on the couch. "Have you made up your mind on what we're going to watch?"

Kara can hear the faint electrical hum of the TV being turned on, but she's a bit too distracted by the book to focus on deciding whether tonight is a night for a romantic comedy or an epic drama. She couldn't say exactly why this book feels important. It just does. Maybe it's because Lena keeps so much of herself hidden somewhere not even Kara's X-Ray vision can reach, and finding little clues about her thoughts and feelings feels a lot like she's struck gold.

Yeah. Maybe that's why.

Her fascination with the book only grows when she pulls it out of the shelf only to find the title written in Spanish. "Veinte poemas de amor--"

"And a song of despair," Lena finishes in English. "Atonement? I've heard good things about it."

"No way. I said I could be persuaded to watch a tear jerker, but I did not sign up for actual depression." Kara brings the book along when she walks over to sit down next to Lena. She's so focused on the book, still, that she miscalculates her landing just by an inch or so and her thigh bumps against Lena's as she settles on the couch. But Lena doesn't move away, and Kara figures there's no reason why she should. They're friends, after all. Close friends. Figuratively and now very, very literally close.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Kara speaks again, breaking the silence before it solidifies into something potentially awkward.

"I don't. It's a bilingual edition. Can we please pick a movie?"

Kara would love to do exactly what Lena wants. In fact, giving Lena everything she wants has become sort of a constant in this fledgling friendship between them. It just feels nice, you know? Giving her what she wants and making her smile. But this book. It's all so very distracting.

"So. Do you prefer the twenty love poems, or the song of despair?"

Lena rolls her eyes, but she can't quite hide the amused smirk behind the glass when she sips her wine, so Kara knows she's not nearly as annoyed as she's trying to appear.

"What is it with you and Neruda? I didn't know you were a poetry fan."

Kara scoffs. "I'm not." She still remembers the feeling of relief washing over her when she saw her passing grade on that stupid course and realized she'd never have to read another line of poetry in her life. "I don't even like poetry. I'm just curious, that's all."

Lena cocks one eyebrow at her. Studies her, in a way that makes color rise to Kara's cheeks and has her wondering if Lena can see through people, too. 

"Anyway!" Kara shakes her head like she's hoping that'll make the blush fade. "The love poems, or the song of despair?"

"The poems," Lena finally concedes, "and I'm very surprised you don't like poetry. You seem the type."

"What?" Kara is already thumbing through the edge of the book, trying to find the place where it'll open naturally and hopefully show her which of the twenty love poems Lena happens to like the most. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, you have a big heart. Big feelings." Lena looks into Kara's eyes like she's trying to read all those feelings right there in shades of blue, and Kara finds herself looking down at the book just in case. Just in case all those big feelings she can't even name herself are there for Lena to read. "Seems like a recipe for liking poetry."

Kara shakes her head and pushes her glasses up, just in case. Just in case the lead in them can shield more than just her powers. And just as she's about to argue -- just as she's about to tell Lena precisely why she doesn't like poetry -- she opens her book and her gaze lands on a familiar phrase.

"Quiero hacer contigo," she reads out loud from the page on the left, and her fingertip is already finding the next verse on the right when Lena finishes for her.

"What spring does to cherry trees."

If Kara was just Kara Danvers, she'd have missed it all. She'd have just heard her best friend speak a line from a poem that -- much like most poems -- means very little to her. But she's not just Kara Danvers. So Kara hears the way Lena's heart beats just a little bit faster. The way her breath catches just so. The exact fraction of a tone her voice drops when she speaks. The faintest hint of a sigh.

"See? This is why I don't like poetry." Kara chances a look into green eyes, and she's so very grateful Lena has no superhearing to tip her off to the way Kara's heart seems to trip all over itself.  "'I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees'. What does that mean?"

Kara swears -- she swears -- she catches Lena's pupils dilating just enough to make her think she knows exactly what the poem means. 

"It's not about what it means, Kara. It's about what it makes you feel." Lena lets out a soft chuckle, something light and airy like this is just a silly little conversation with no weight to it at all. Like she can't feel the way the air itself seems to have changed into something new. 

"Is it your favorite line?" Kara pretends she can't hear the way her own voice has changed, too.

Lena shakes her head. "No. My favorite is actually--"

Kara hears the DEO alarm before Lena's fingertip can make contact with the paper, and she almost considers ignoring it. She almost considers letting whatever danger is looming over this whole city have at it because finding out what's Lena's favorite line in her favorite poem seems far more important right now.

But of course, that would be crazy. Crazy! Kara would never.

"I'm so sorry, Lena, I--" Kara stands up, already hearing Alex's voice telling her where she's needed as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and pretends to read a text, "I have to go. I forgot I had this thing with--"

"Go." Lena's smile is just small enough to make Kara's heart twist in an uncomfortable way that's become familiar since she started lying to her friend. "Sounds important. I understand."

Kara nods, just once. "Tomorrow?"

Lena's smile doesn't grow, but it suddenly reaches her eyes, and something settles in Kara's chest. "Of course. Tomorrow."

Five hours later, foe defeated and safely locked away at the DEO, Supergirl touches down on Lena's balcony. There isn't a single light on inside the apartment, and Kara hesitates for a second by the sliding glass door. She shouldn't sneak into Lena's apartment in the middle of the night. That's a little creepy, right? Even if she knows Lena's said over and over again Kara's welcome any time.

It's just.

That book.

Lena's favorite line.

Kara may never be able to sleep again if she doesn't find out what it is.

So with a non-zero amount of shame at her own choice, Kara ends up sliding the door open and slipping into Lena's living space. She listens for Lena's breathing to make sure she's asleep, and once she's satisfied that's the case she makes a beeline for the shelf and the now-familiar book. It doesn't take her long to find the page she'd been reading before, and soon enough she's reading the lines Lena had been pointing to.

How you must have hurt getting used to me, to my savage, solitary soul, to my name that sends everyone running.

The words wrap around Kara's heart like a vice. If she could do it without blowing her cover and putting Lena in danger, she'd go in her room right now just to wake her up and tell her what Kara thinks about her soul. About her name, too, while she's at it. She'd tell her everyone else is free to run if they want, but Kara isn't going anywhere. 

But she can't do any of those things. 

***

The two lines stay with Kara, sort of swirling under the surface of her thoughts. She never actively thinks about them -- about poetry in general, for that matter -- but they're there. 

She remembers them sometimes. When their friendship grows and strengthens and one day Kara realizes Lena may be the person she loves the most in the world (tied with Alex). When the secrets and lies catch up with her and she thinks she may have lost Lena for good. When she finally gets Lena back.

It's been five years since she snuck into Lena's apartment that one night to find out about her favorite line in her favorite poem. Five years since she's actively thought about Neruda and the book and the words inside it. But for some reason, when Kara wakes up a couple hours earlier than she needs to and finds herself unable to sleep, she feels like that's precisely what she needs to read to soothe her brain. Maybe poetry will have the same sedative effect it used to have in college.

Wearing only an old t-shirt, Kara walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, scanning the shelves where she thinks she last saw that book. It's hard to keep track when your book collection has multiplied and turned into more of a home library situation than anything else, but she eventually finds it -- spine still cracked and pages still well-loved and well-read -- and settles down on the couch.

Kara flips from poem to poem, not really paying attention to any of them. A line from the third and then two from the eighteenth and a word or two from the seventh, eyes flicking between the Spanish lines and their English counterparts on the other side of the page. It's soothing, in a strange way. Like white noise, she figures. Nonsensical but calming. Until she lands on the fourteenth. 

"Oh, those cherry trees," Kara half-groans in a whisper. The cherry trees and the spring and the convoluted way to say I love you. And Lena's favorite lines. 

Kara feels it all over again. The pang of pain at the sight of that line.

My name that sends everyone running.

It lands different this time, five years into a friendship that turned out to be so much more and nearly went up in flames at one point. Because of names and lies and... well. Everything else. Lena was right after all, wasn't she? It's not about what the poem means. It's about what it makes you feel. And right now Kara feels a lot more than she'd be able to put in words if she had to.

Maybe Mr. Neruda was on to something after all.

"Hey," Lena's voice is laced with sleep, and Kara smiles as she listens to her footsteps bringing her closer, "what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

Kara wouldn't call it the middle of the night -- more like a very early morning, really -- but she's not about to argue. "Reading. I couldn't sleep."

"Everything all right?" Lena reaches the back of the couch and makes the most of the rare height advantage over her girlfriend to press a kiss to the top of blond hair. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Kara opens her arms before Lena can even think about sitting next to her instead, and smiles at the familiar weight of Lena sliding onto her lap. Even as she shrugs off Lena's question, Kara is already burying her face against the soft skin of her girlfriend's neck, breathing her in and letting the familiar scent filling her lungs soothe her like no amount of poetry ever could.

"Kara," Lena's fingers slide into blond hair, blunt fingernails scratching at Kara's scalp and making her hum in delight, "that's not an answer."

"No reason. I'm just not tired anymore I guess." A deep, content sigh. "Baby, you're so good at that."

There's still a slight crease between Lena's eyebrows, but that doesn't stop the smile Kara's praise brings to her face. "You'd tell me if I had to worry?"

Reluctantly, Kara pulls away from the warmth of Lena's neck. Her arms wrap around Lena's waist as she looks into green eyes. "You know I would."

And Kara watches Lena let the words sink in. They've had this conversation before, and Kara knows they'll have it again. They both have sore spots that need special care from time to time. And just to keep Lena's mind from going down any sort of rabbit hole, Kara decides it's time to continue a conversation they left unfinished five years ago.

"It didn't hurt at all, you know. Getting used to you." Kara shows Lena the book she's been holding, and grins when Lena smirks as the reference clicks.

"I thought you didn't like poetry," Lena chides, taking the book and flipping through the pages until she lands -- unsurprisingly, if you ask Kara -- back on poem fourteen.

"I don't. It's like... giving feelings a secret identity."

Lena arches one eyebrow, looking somewhere between amused and curious. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you know," Kara leans in to steal a quick, soft kiss, "say I want to kiss you. I can just say it. That's better than hiding it behind some kind of... flowery metaphor that'll make you wonder if I'm even saying that in the first place. Right?"

There's this look on Lena's face. Kara knows it well. It's like a challenge. Like she's playing chess and she's already thinking six moves ahead and knows you're toast whatever you do from that point on. Kara finds it nothing short of delicious.

"So you're saying," Lena says, and there's victory right there simmering under the surface of her words because she knows -- she knows -- she's won, "you'd rather I say 'this is a lovely sunrise we get to see together'," Lena's gaze drops to the open book in her hand to refresh her memory on the line she's about to quote, but she makes sure she's looking into blue eyes once again when she speaks, "than 'so many times we've watched the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans', right?"

Kara swallows, hard. Her cheeks burn with a blush that will simply not be contained, no matter how hard she tries to keep some semblance of dignity. Her mouth feels dry all of a sudden, heart beating just fast enough -- hard enough -- that she's sure even Lena's plain human hearing can pick it up. And the look on her girlfriend's face lets Kara know she knows exactly what's currently happening to her.

"W-- well." Kara blinks, shaking her head like she's trying to physically clear the fog inside. To her credit, she thinks she manages to sound more indignant than turned on. "I mean that's unfair. You made it hot."

Lena lets out a delighted chuckle that hits Kara right in her heart, like a little pinball ball making it ding with the knowledge that Lena Luthor is happy enough to laugh. Really, truly laugh. 

"What?" Lena asks, still grinning, fingertips teasing the soft hairs at the back of Kara's neck like it's nothing -- like she doesn't know what she's doing to her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ohh no, ma'am," Kara grins, cheeks still burning with the feeling simmering down low in her belly but too charmed by her girlfriend's teasing smile to stop, "you don't get to pretend you didn't do that on purpose."

"Kara," Lena says, in that way, because she knows, she knows, she knows Kara's weaknesses so perfectly well, and Kara wouldn't have it any other way, "I was just quoting Neruda, I didn't do anything."

"You did the voice thing!" 

"What voice th-- Kara, if you can't just admit plain language and poetic language are simply not on the same level I--"

"You purred the words! How is that fair!?"

Kara presses her lips together like she can retroactively keep the words from exiting her mouth. Too late, though. Lena looks positively delighted.

"I purred the words?" Lena echoes, barely able to keep a straight face. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. She's openly pleased with herself. Smug, even.

"I mean. I mean," Kara says, and she touches the bridge of her nose with one fingertip because for a moment she's forgotten there are no glasses to push up at all, "obviously it's not the same. Poetry and prose, they're inherently--"

"Different, right," Lena finishes Kara's thought, "so you see how you'd use one or the other depending on how emotionally charged--"

Kara shakes her head. "But you don't need flowery metaphors to convey emotion! You can just say what you mean and mean what you say."

"But you just said it yourself. It felt different when I just said it's a sunset, and when I quoted--"

"You purred poetry at me, Lena, of course I'm going to feel a certain kind of way!"

And there it is. Kara feels it in her bones. The checkmate Lena had seen coming a mile away. She sees it right there in the smirk on her girlfriend's face. In the way Lena's pupils dilate just so. The way her tongue peeks out to lick her lips as she looks at Kara like she's lunch.

Or, you know. Breakfast, as the case may be.

"You feel a certain kind of way?" Lena shifts on Kara's lap and they've been together for long enough that Kara absolutely knows there's nothing innocent or coincidental in the way Lena's night shirt (Kara's high school gym t-shirt, mind you) rides up to expose Lena's lace-covered ass. "What kind of way is that, Supergirl?"

Kara perks up at the sound of her name. Her other name. Because maybe it wasn't checkmate after all. Maybe it was just check. Because the thing is, it's not just Lena knowing all of Kara's weaknesses. That knowledge very much goes both ways. And Lena calling her Supergirl? 

Oh, Kara is absolutely not the only one who's feeling a certain way.

"You know." Kara shrugs slightly, pretending to still be the mouse in this little game. She rests one hand on Lena's knee and lets her palm slide up her thigh, slowly, listening to Lena's heartbeat speeding up with each inch of skin Kara explores. "You know the way I mean."

Lena's breath hitches just so when Kara's hand slides further up, and Kara savors the sound of Lena's heart tripping over itself when her fingertips drag along damp lace.

"You're listening, aren't you?" Lena cocks her eyebrow, but her lips stay parted and her breathing comes in short, warm puffs so the whole thing really doesn't come off as stern as Kara is sure Lena would like. 

"Hmm?" Kara knows she's probably pushing her luck, but she bats her eyelashes anyway, her face the very picture of innocence as if her fingertips weren't tracing the very edge of Lena's panties, hinting at what they could (will) do if she just happened to push that fabric aside. "Listening to what, baby?"

Lena tries not to -- Kara can see the struggle right there in her eyes -- but she whimpers anyway, quiet and just barely audible to the human ear. 

"Kara." It tries to sound like a warning, but it falls just this side of pleading instead. Lena blushes so very pretty when she's feeling a certain kind of way.

"Yes, Lena?" 

"You're listening," a breath, slow and measured like she wishes she could take in a deep one but her lungs can't quite cope with that right now, "to me."

"Well, I mean," Kara shrugs slightly, like she can't feel the warmth of Lena's pussy against her fingertips, "I try to. I feel like it's good girlfriend etiquette."

Lena is trying so hard to look at least moderately annoyed. It's not working at all, but Kara can see that's her intent. She also knows exactly what Lena means, too. She means Kara is listening to her. To the beat of her heart and the air in her lungs and all the tiny, inaudible (for everyone else) sounds that tell her exactly how much Lena wants her. 

"You're listening to what you're doing to me." Lena drops the book on the floor to wrap both hands around Kara's neck, hips shifting forward just enough to get more contact with Kara's hand between her legs. Kara knows Lena doesn't need superhearing to notice the way Kara's breath catches in her throat. 

"And what am I doing to you, baby?" Kara won't cross the barrier of Lena's panties just yet, but her fingers becomes more purposeful, less teasing as two fingertips press against Lena's clit through damp lace. Lena's eyes flutter closed and she takes in a sharp breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and Kara rewards such a gorgeous sound with a kiss to Lena's jaw. "What Spring does to cherry trees?"

Lena must feel Kara's teasing grin even if she can't see it, because she lets out a breathless chuckle even as her hips start rocking to meet the movements of Kara's fingers. "Just admit poetry can express richer emotions than prose ever cou--"

Kara's mouth is on Lena's before she can finish her thought, and Kara would maybe feel a bit guilty for interrupting, but Lena's fingers fist in blond hair and pull her close and there's no way someone who's offended would kiss her like that. And Kara isn't even listening anymore, because Lena's tongue is in her mouth and all she can hear is her own heart thumping along anyway.

When she breaks the kiss, Lena keeps Kara close. She's panting slightly, breath hot and wet against Kara's lips and pupils so dilated Kara wonders if she can see her at all. A quiet, hitched moan escapes parted lips, and Kara swears there's nothing in the world -- in the universe, really -- more beautiful than Lena when she's like this. Like putty in her hands. And Kara just can't resist. 

"Admit you purred," she whispers against kiss-swollen lips, knowing if there's one chance for her to win an argument with her girlfriend this must be it. When she has Lena rocking against her fingers, wet and wanting and just the right amount of needy to get her to give in, for once. 

"Kara." It's practically a whine, and Kara swears it sounds like victory. Until she sees the glint in her girlfriend's eyes, and Lena gets her checkmate move after all. "Shut up and fuck me."

Kara feels the words rather than hears them. They hit right between her legs and spread all over her body, and you know what? Kara really is okay with losing under these particular circumstances.

Two fingers hook under the crotch of Lena's panties and Kara tugs lightly, almost like she's testing the strength of the lacy fabric. "Do you really like the..." Kara's voice trails off as Lena pulls the t-shirt up and over her head, blue eyes staring unabashedly at her girlfriends breasts as she struggles to finish her thought, "...these?"

It's just polite to ask before tearing someone's panties to shreds, if you ask her, even if you're currently transfixed at the sight of her breasts.

"I don't care." Lena's voice is doing that thing again, except this time Kara is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose at all, it's just that's what Lena sounds like when she needs Kara now and isn't that just the best thing ever? "Baby, please, I don't care."

Kara doesn't know if she rips the panties off first and then leans in to catch Lena's left nipple with her mouth or if it happens the other way around, but she honestly doesn't care either, as it turns out. All she knows is two fingers slip inside Lena in one smooth, firm thrust, and her free hand grabs Lena's right breast, and then--

"More," Lena moans, breathy and greedy, but when Kara starts thrusting harder into her Lena shakes her head, "no, no-- more fingers," and Kara lets out a quiet whimper around the stiff nipple between her teeth. 

Kara pulls her fingers out of Lena and stretches her ring finger to join the first two before sliding them back inside. Her movements are slow and careful, all of her senses focused on detecting even the slightest hint of discomfort in her girlfriend until her three fingers are fully inside Lena. 

"Go on, Supergirl." 

Lena's tone is just the right amount of teasing to make Kara chuckle lightly, mouth leaving Lena's breast to trail kisses up her sternum and to the freckles on her neck as her arm starts pumping once again. She's so very close, Kara can tell, and even more so when she turns her wrist just so to press the pad of her thumb against Lena's clit.

Lena's fingers dig into Kara's scalp, into the strong muscle at her shoulder as Lena holds on and rides Kara's hand, hips rocking hard and fast in time with Kara's thrusts. Kara couldn't listen to any one thing if she tried. It's a symphony of sighs and moans, whimpers and ragged breaths and stuttering heartbeats that nearly overwhelms her senses until she feels Lena clench around her fingers, hips losing their rhythm as Lena comes with Kara's name on her lips.

Kara pulls her face away from Lena's neck just so she can look at her. Watch her come around her fingers and then relax, chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath. Kara swears there can't be a more beautiful sight in the universe, especially not now, with the sun rising and bathing Lena's damp skin in early morning light. And as much as Kara tries to suppress it, there's a thought running through her head. A line from that stupid poem with its stupid cherry trees.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body... 

"You're thinking very loudly," Lena whispers, already resting her head on Kara's shoulder as her fingertips play with the hem of Kara's shirt, "what are you thinking?"

For a second, Kara considers telling her, but Neruda's words aren't what comes out when she opens her mouth. "Just how beautiful you look," she says, which is in fact the truth. Kind of. She can't let Lena win every single time, right?

***

"Apparently the first cherry trees got here in 1910, but they had to burn them all because of a bunch of insects." Kara holds the little guide book in her hand as she reads, her other hand safely in Lena's as they walk along the Tidal Basin. "These ones are newer, from 1912."

 "Oh, like the Titanic!" Lena looks delighted with the coincidence, and the bright smile on her face makes Kara lean in to steal a kiss from her lips. Her fiancée is super cute when she lets her inner dork show, if you ask Kara.

"See? I told you buying an actual guide book would be worth it!" Kara holds the small book in her hand with the pride of someone who's just won an argument (for once). "Where else are you going to get that kind of high quality trivia?"

"You do know the prototype L-Corp keychain I gave you last week can access Google, yes?"

"Not the same."

"Not to mention the actual supercomputers we all carry around in our pockets. Or the high-tech communicator in your wat--"

"Lena!" Kara groans. "Look around! The cherry blossoms! The quaintness of springtime! A romantic stroll along the river! Where's your sense of romance?"

Lena chuckles lightly, her free hand sliding up Kara's arm to wrap around her bicep. And Kara would complain about the obvious use of one of her many Lena-related weaknesses, but you know what? It works.

"Kara Danvers," Lena says, voice low and teasing, "that's all very poetic."

Kara rolls her eyes, but she can't quite stop the bright smile that's already appearing on her face. "Don't you start with me," she warns, not very convincingly. 

Lena presses a kiss to Kara's shoulder, and it makes color rise to Kara's cheeks even through the soft fabric of her cardigan. Even after all these years. But she figures if there's one day to be particularly enamored with one's fiancée, that's the day she's scheduled to receive a Presidential Award for her contributions to science and the betterment of humanity.

Not to brag. But Kara is proud.

"I love you," Kara says, because she can't not, "and I'm just so proud, I--"

Lena presses a finger to Kara's lips, stopping what was potentially about to turn into a whole speech about the many ways in which Lena Luthor could not possibly be any more perfect if she tried. 

"Kara," Lena warns, all cocked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips, "you promised. You promised you wouldn't cry before the actual ceremony."

And Kara would argue. She'd argue that she's perfectly capable of going on about Lena's many virtues without actually crying, but you know what? Her eyes are feeling just a tiny bit misty already so she's just gonna go ahead and trust Lena on this one.

"You know what I also love?" Kara presses a kiss to the pad of Lena's finger and obediently changes subjects. "Sushi. Let's go get some." Kara starts walking away from the beautiful soft pink trees and in the general direction of the street festival, tugging Lena along. She's all for the romance of blossom-watching, but she'd be lying if she said hearing about the culinary side of this whole festival hadn't excited her a bit more than that.

It's only when she hears a sigh coming from Lena that Kara's focus shifts from food to the woman next to her. That wasn't a happy sigh. 

"Are you okay, baby?"

Lena smiles. It's not a fake smile, but there's a hint of something in it that isn't fully happy, either. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's just... between the cherry blossoms and all this talk of sushi, I guess it made me a bit nostalgic for Sendai." 

"Sendai?" Kara looks at Lena with curiosity written all over her face. "What's Sendai?"

"Oh, it's a city in Japan. I lived there for a few months for an exchange when I was in college. Did I never tell you?" Kara shakes her head, her face the picture of delight at getting to learn something new about Lena. "There was this little restaurant near Tohokudai, I swear they had the best sushi in the world." Lena hums, letting her eyes flutter closed for a second like she's trying to imagine the taste. "I'd do anything for some negitoro maki from that place right about now."

Kara listens intently to her fiancée's words. She knows it's just a silly little comment. She knows Lena will be perfectly happy eating the undoubtedly delicious sushi currently being sold at the street festival. And yet.

She can't resist a chance to make Lena just that little bit happier, can she? 

So Kara looks around to make sure they're not being watched, and lets go of Lena's hand. "Be right back."

"Where are you--?"

But all Lena gets is a quick kiss and a gust of wind on her face before Kara disappears.

She's only gone for a couple of minutes -- just enough for Lena to wander back towards the cherry trees -- and when she comes back she's holding a small box which she immediately presents to Lena.

"Sushi for my... sushi," Kara lets out a chuckle, her now-free hand coming up to scratch at the back of her head like she's aware she may have gone just a little bit overboard but she's hoping it won't be too much, "Sendai's beautiful, by the way."

Lena's smile is soft, and Kara has a feeling -- not to toot her own horn -- if she'd been listening she would've heard Lena's heart skip a beat. 

"Kara Danvers," Lena sighs, shaking her head like that'll do anything to hide just how charmed she is right now, "you're something el-- what's that?"

"Nothing," Kara shifts slightly and puts her hand -- and the little carton box it's holding -- behind her back, fully intending on letting the focus of this moment be on her romantic gesture, but Lena raises one eyebrow and Kara loses her resolve. "Potstickers." Kara's voice is quiet as she shows Lena the box. "What? I was in the neighborhood!"

"In the neighborhood of," Lena squints slightly as she reads the words on the box, "Shanghai?"

"Well, China is next door to Japan, if you think about it."

Lena chuckles, clearly too charmed by this whole thing to even continue teasing Kara about it. "Thank you. For this. You didn't actually have to fly all the way to Japan to get my favorite sushi, but I appreciate it."

Kara shrugs, chopsticks already grabbing the first potsticker in the box. "I'd go way farther than Japan to make you happy. You know that."

"I do know," Lena nods, looking just a little thoughtful, like she's just now realizing she fully believes Kara would stop at nothing to make her happy, "you even promised when you proposed."

Lena wiggles her finger, flashing the kryptium ring that's been there for a few weeks now along with a teasing smile, and Kara can only shrug. "Well, I meant it," she says, popping the potsticker in her mouth and leaning against the trunk of a nearby cherry tree.

"I know," Lena says again, but this time she's smiling, amusement shining in her eyes, "if only Lex had figured out the one true way to have the world in the palm of your hand is to make a Kryptonian fall in love with you."

"To be fair, I really don't think your brother is Kal's type."

***

Eight hours later, they're seeing the Tidal Basin from above, the cherry blossoms looking nearly white in the moonlight. They could be in National City already, but Kara figures there's no reason why she can't take the scenic route with Lena in her arms and enjoy the view without the crowds and the bustle they experienced earlier today. Perks of being your own private jet.

"Go a bit lower, baby," Lena's voice is soft against Kara's ear, like she's afraid if she speaks too loud she'll break the spell and they won't feel like the only two people in the world anymore, "I want to see the flowers."

Kara doesn't make her wait. Lena's just been awarded an actual medal by the President, and spoiling her a little is the least Kara can do. So she dips until they're hovering just above the soft pink blossoms and then a little lower still, close enough that Lena can smell the sweet, fresh scent of Spring.

The night is clear and quiet, just cool enough for Lena to reach for Kara's cape and pull it forward to wrap it around herself. Kara holds her a little closer, just enough to hopefully provide a bit of extra warmth, and she figures it was the right move when Lena slips one arm from under Kara's cape to reach for the tree and pick a particularly pretty blossom from one of the branches that's closer to them.

Lena looks at it for a moment, twirling the little stem between her fingers like she's pondering what to do with it. And then she turns and tucks Kara's hair behind her ear, sliding the small flower between soft blond strands and smiling when she's satisfied it'll stay exactly where she wants it.

"Happy?" Kara chuckles, something soft and quiet and a little teasing because there's something equal parts amusing and endearing about Lena's perfectionism when it comes to silly little things like putting a flower in Kara's hair.

"Very."

And there's something about the way Lena smiles, more with her eyes than with her mouth, that makes Kara see, clear as day, just how serious Lena is. How sincere, when she says she's very happy. 

Maybe that's why Kara gets a little transfixed just looking at her, suddenly aware of just how different this Lena -- the Lena wrapped in her arms and her cape, wearing her ring and smiling with a smile that's just Kara's -- is from the Lena she first met all those years ago.

"Kara Zor-El," Lena's voice is soft just like the sound of Kara's true name on her lips, "what are you thinking about?"

And Kara wishes she had the words to tell her. But how does she even begin to explain what she's feeling right now? How she's still the same Lena that made Kara's heart trip all over itself the first time she saw her, but she's so very different all the same time. Brighter. Lighter. Loved. God, she's so loved, and Lena knows it, finally, and that's what's different, maybe. Not just Kara's love, because Lena's had that from the very first day, probably, but the fact that Lena can feel it now. 

How do you put that in words? I love you just doesn't feel like enough. 

And then it hits her.

"I'm thinking," Kara smiles, cheeks pink with the knowledge that she's just been proven wrong, "about what Spring does to cherry trees."