#woman there are dozens of other people in your vicinity. nobody wants to hear that dumb dance challenge

[chiisana-lion]

i wish all people who watch videos on their phones without earbuds or headphones a very Nobody Wants To Hear Your Goddamn Tiktoks

[from-a-reckless-writer]

ii. secret.

read on ao3

Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Her death took out half the population in the vicinity. A blinding white light piercing through the National City skyline. A deafening boom heard 5 cities over. An explosion so great, even Supergirl was knocked dead.

And so, Lena Luthor dies a villain.

Alone and young. And so, so bitter. An accomplice and ally to Lex Luthor.

Some would even say she was a greater, far more cunning, far more terrifying force than Lex.

There were rumors that the woman had magic at the end of it all. That no one person could be capable of that much destruction without the help of something inhuman.

But well, rumors were all it can be, especially when all possible witnesses perished along with the Luthors.

******

Weeks later, Andrea Rojas holds a memorial event for Lena Luthor; protesters burn the venue to the ground.

Months later, Supergirl returns to the world. More radiant than ever. More alive than ever. Stronger. Better.

Years later, National City recovers fully from the whole catastrophe.

Supergirl is reported to most frequently be seen in the memorial square for the fallen victims. A dozen paparazzi pictures of the caped heroine quietly walking, sometimes whispering under breath.

Praying, somebody on a CatCo article comments. She’s always praying whenever we see her there.

****** The closet doors burst open and out steps Alex Danvers.

A colorful stream of expletives coming right along with her, “Fuckin’ fur coats, goddamn hangers, fucking hitting me in the face—”

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice greets her, “where the hell have you been? And why are you so...dirty? If you track mud on my carpet I swear to God, Alex—”

“I was cleaning your grave, okay?” she snaps, setting down a bucket filled with various cleaning supplies, that Lena’s just now noticing, on said carpet.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex huffs about, crossing her arms, “You don’t have to make a big deal about it. I don’t want to do it again, it’s a bitch for my back pain. I was just pissed about the graffiti. You’d think people would have better manners than defacing the grave of a dead woman. If only they—”

“Thank you, Alex,” she cuts her off, a shy smile gracing her face. She really doesn’t want to hear about the rest of it. And if Alex doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then no big deal shall be made.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she says then, and Alex just nods, grabs her bucket of supplies again and turns to leave.

Although not before saying, “Remind me again why you let Kara win? With the portal?”

Lena just shrugs, dark hair escaping out of her messy bun at the movement.

“She said she’s always wanted to go to Narnia.”

Alex shakes her head, rolls her eyes, “Whipped.”

And well, that sounds about right.

******

There’s a documentary on Netflix about the Luthors. Lena’s face in black and white, on the preview banner, a big red X drawn over it.

Kara snaps the remote in half.

Lena reaches over the blanket, grabs her hand, flicks the TV off with only a swish of her fingers and a glitter of sparks.

“C’mere,” she says, tugging gently, till she has a lapful of Krytonian draped over her. Lena traces her fingers over the crinkle between Kara’s brow, smooths them out, thumb dragging across lips till it pulls to a soft smile.

“We know the truth,” she tells her, “and that’s enough.”

“It’s not fair.”

Nothing ever is.

******

“How’re the kids?” She asks, one hand whisking eggs, the other holding the bowl steady.

“Oh, you know, asking me a thousand silly questions a day. Driving Alex crazy. Never letting me sleep. They’re perfect, really,” Kelly says, and Lena hums in response. Before she catches Kelly popping a blueberry in her mouth, a crime punishable by Lena Luthor’s death stare.

“Those are for the muffins.” A foam covered whisk points dangerously to Kelly’s chest.

She raises both arms in surrender, palms opening, dropping the remaining three blueberries onto the counter.

“You know, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times, yet it still doesn’t fail to surprise me.”

Lena concludes she’s talking about the baking tray hovering in the air, a feet away from them, greasing itself. Or maybe it’s the soup at the stove with a ladle stirring itself.

“What can I say,” Lena quips, smirking, “I’m magical like that.”

******

Andrea finds her on a Tuesday.

One minute Lena is reading quietly on her front porch, the next, there is an explosion of sound in her living room. She throws open her door, magical energy sizzling at her fingertips.

The sight that greets her stops her in her tracks. Acrata pinning Supergirl down, their coffee table destroyed. She sighs internally, she loved that coffee table. It was a wedding gift from Nia and Brainy.

“I knew it,” Andrea whispers, her grip slackens around the hero's throat. She stands up slowly, as if afraid that if she moved too fast Lena would disappear. She leaves Supergirl gasping on the floor; materializes in front of Lena in a cloud of black smoke.

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.” She sobs into Lena’s blouse, arms wrapped tightly around her. Lena embraces her on instinct, her eyes closing briefly, before opening up again to check on Kara dusting herself off.

“Andrea,” Lena croaks, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You can’t tell anyone I’m alive. You can’t tell anyone how I tricked Lex, how I saved Supergirl, how I saved National City.

“Nobody will know,” Andrea promises her.

******

There is a cottage by the woods that nobody else sees, where every Sunday a blonde woman rips apart pieces of wood with her bare hands, where a pale woman with even paler hands grows crops from the barren earth within seconds, where the closet hides cities instead of clothes, where a dead woman and a hero spend their lives in bliss.

******

It has been ten years, her hair is more gray than blonde now, her skin more wrinkled than smooth, her hearing though? Her hearing is still better than ever. And it has been ten years since she’s heard that tell-tale whoosh of a cape, it’s been a decade and still, the sound brings her the same thrill, the same adrenaline.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Supergirl? Or should I say, Superwoman, now?”

And oh-

She did not come alone.

Lena Luthor is set gently down on the balcony.

If Cat Grant wasn’t Cat Grant, she’s sure she would’ve already suffered a heart attack from the mere sight of a woman long dead standing breathing and alive in her home. She would’ve shrieked and demanded answers.

“I need a favor,” Kara tells her, stalking closer, hand on her hip. Cat would’ve laughed at that if this were some other time. No need to play the intimidating game with me, Kiera, she would’ve said.

“What is it?”

“I need you to break a story,” she tells her. “You, Cat. I want you, and nobody else to cover this.”

Cat raises her brow at that, she already has an inkling as to what the story might be about.

“A story hmm? This better be good, if I’m to come out of retirement for it.”

This time it’s Lena Luthor who speaks. Cat has been dying to hear what she has to say.

“It’ll be good," she promises her, "It’ll be better than good."

Kara crowds closer to Lena, then; wraps a protective arm on her waist. Cat watches frozen as Lena's index finger lights in flame. What a sight they make.

"You’ll be telling the entire world the last Luthor’s secret.”

[ladyhallen]

Harry Potter Deity AU

If someone believed enough, it would come true.

Magic needed belief to come true, and what was prayer, what was faith but belief? Of course Harry Woke Up.

.

.

It started off as a joke, like all things do before they turn too serious to be refuted as anything as a joke.

Harry had the most ridiculous and stupid luck in the Auror Department, which had its roots from when he’d accidentally elbowed their teacher on his first day and caused as bit of panic among the other trainees when it had caused the man’s nose to gush blood. To everyone’s astonishment, he didn’t get murdered on the spot, but got congratulated for his excellent reflexes.

Two missions with different squads resulted in him having to display that same ridiculous luck cemented things. It continued until he was no longer a trainee and an Auror captain.

“Dawlish, what’s that?” Harry asked, pointing to the mess beside his cubicle. It was an awful sight, filled with little pieces of parchment, odds and bobs, strings and even some blood.

“It’s a shrine,” Dawlish said with a smirk. “For Harry Potter, god of Luck.”

Something in Harry’s brain screeched to a halt.

“Say what?” he asked, pretty sure that his ears hurt.

“Harry Potter, god of Luck. Your Luck is pretty stupendous, Potter.”

At Harry’s disbelieving look, Dawlish intoned, “If you pray to Harry Potter, you can be sure of good luck in your missions. Pray to Harry Potter, and suddenly a malfunctioning toilet will be unclogged. Pray to Harry Potter, god of luck, who tips the balance. If he doesn’t like you, you’d have an awful day.”

It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“Dawlish, I don’t care about it,” he sighed, before looking around and roping a poor trainee to clean up the mess.

Harry should have been more specific in his instructions, because he just said get rid of it, not throw it away, or destroy it.

The Shrine, as it was titled, got moved to the trainee locker rooms and expanded until it had a full blown statue and an altar to put offerings in. This worked very well, because full-fledged Aurors usually avoided the locker rooms and this pretty much guaranteed that Harry would not discover it.

It was an inside joke among Aurors, and it was pretty harmless fun.

Except.

One day, Harry came back from St. Mungo’s limping. He had always healed fast, so he just credited it to his healing factor that he walked on that same day and had to give back his cane.

The cafeteria always had his favorite lemon tart and his lunch was always hot no matter how late it was. He credited it to having casted a more powerful heating charm than usual.

Then one day, a giant acromantula went rogue and had to be put down. Ron had the brilliant idea of exploding it, covering everyone in the vicinity. Except for Harry, who had a clean one foot radius where the slime simply avoided him.

“Really, Harry? You couldn’t have cast a shield charm on me too?” Seamus asked, exasperated.

Harry just smiled, helping in siphoning off the slime and the blood. He doesn’t say that his wand was nowhere near his hand and that he didn’t even think about shield charms. He didn’t freak out about it. After living the first seventeen years of his life as a Living Horcrux, strange things happening to him were par for course.

And then he started hearing them.

.

.

Early morning riser that he was did not mean he was a morning person. Habit ingrained deep in him made him incapable of sleeping in.

This meant coffee. A lot of coffee.

He was in his third cup and feeling marginally more awake when he heard the voice in his head.

‘By Potter’s Luck, I will solve this case. If I do, I’ll sacrifice my lemon tarts and light some incense,’ the voice said angrily and desperately. It sounded like a young man on the verge of tears.

Harry did not choke on his cup of coffee, but that was only due to the exhaustion borne from thirty six hours of desk work.

He blinked several times and dismissed it as a hallucination.

At least, he consoled himself, even if I’m hearing voices again, they’re not talking about murdering and ripping and eating. Casting his mind to the first time he thought he was hearing voices, a young voice was indeed a vast improvement over a hungry basilisk.

.

.

Knee deep into the archives and cross-referencing old cases to new ones, he heard another one.

This time, with his mind marginally more awake and being completely alone, Harry jumped when he heard a woman’s  voice going, ‘Harry Potter himself will keep me awake because if I fall asleep on this assignment, Dawlish is going to skin me alive.’

Harry dropped the report on the floor and groaned.

“Fuck this,” he muttered.

He closed his eyes and opened them to his Mental Palace. There was a letter on the desk he had fashioned on a whim and upon touching it, he knew what was happening.

Sarah Brown, Lavander Brown’s cousin. Fell ill to the flu last week and asked for an extension for all her desk assignments. Only finished half-way and asking for a miracle because she was so behind it wasn’t funny.

Harry opened his eyes in the real world and thought that while Sarah not falling asleep would be good, her finding all her references faster and getting even two hours of sleep would be better. He thought about it for a moment and found that yes, he could grant her that at least.

.

.

Mentally controlling somebody’s luck, Harry found, was simple.

Controlling somebody’s luck where it didn’t affect everyone else’s was something else entirely.

Because luck was all over the place and there was absolutely nobody controlling it. Except for Harry.

He could direct it to do whatever he wanted and it was a bit terrifying to have this type of command over anybody.

He could make somebody trip and die. He could make a person win the lottery forever. He could also make them choke on their sandwich while eating.

Small, terrible things that he did not like to dwell on.

.

.

Prayers drifted their way to him.

The more smoke involved, the faster it got to him. The more emotion, the louder he heard it. The more they believed, the more he felt the empathy and the need to answer.

There were, of course, repeat people who prayed to him. It took a simple matter of balancing their luck. Too much good and the Karma waiting on them would get bigger. It was merely allowing which bad luck he allowed that would not ruin their day too much.

Such as allowing a person’s shirt to be ruined but making them meet their potential love interest while they wept in the bathroom about the silk shirt.

.

.

Harry didn’t even blink anymore when the next prayers he heard were from Hermione.

‘Harry James Potter, god of this so called Luck. Come here this instant.’ The voice was Hermione. The tone was Hermione. It was so clear that it almost felt like Hermione was standing behind him, about to twist his ears.

Probably god of luck or no, Harry was in no way ready to face Hermione Granger in a temper.

Mentally bracing himself, he apparated to where he felt pulled to and found himself face to face with his upset friend.

“Err, hi, Hermione. What can I do for you?” he asked, mentally wincing. He’s waiting for the ear twist. He’s prepared for it.

Instead, she groaned. “Merlin’s pants!” she shouted, stomping away from him. “I thought Ron was joking?”

He blinked at her in confusion, watching her dump tea leaves in a teapot and summoning the boiling hot water with a flick of her wand.

“What, Hermione?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just lost a bet. Because Ron told me you’ve become some sort of minor deity for the aurors. And I told him it was absurd. Because gods don’t exist!”

Harry’s eyebrows have gone so high up his forehead. “You made a bet.” Against Ron, who was an Auror. Who, like all Aurors, had their lucks slightly balanced to the good side by Harry. Hermione, who worked in a desk, did not have such luck skewed slightly because he didn’t think she’d need it.

“Uhm..”

“And another thing,” Hermione continued without pause. “Did you know that Ron is using your blessing to find bargain sales? We have so many potion ingredients that were sold for half the price. We could start our own store if we want, we’d only need the capital to buy a spot in Diagon Alley or Hogsmead!”

She placed the tray in front of him. For the first time, he saw the worry in her face.

She touched his hands and he grasped it tightly.

“Are you alright, Harry?” she asked, voice going gentle in the rare moments when she thought he needed comfort. “Did. What happened to make you..?”

He smiled at her. “Its...well...You do know how our spells work, don’t you? If you believe it will work, and you have the will and the magic to make it work, then it will happen. That’s how accidental magic happens for children. Well...somehow, someone made a shrine.”

Hermione looked bemused. “And I take it people prayed,” she added for him. “It doesn’t...hurt you, does it?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Just. Sometimes, it’s distracting. I see a balance of scales for each person and a large one for the whole world.”

Finally, he shared something that’s been disturbing him for a while. “Did you know that the Lovegoods have the most weirdly balanced Luck scales I have ever seen?” his voice was almost plaintive.

Hermione laughed at him, and all was right in the world.

.

.

Harry realized he needed to leave the Auror department when all those cold cases started getting solved, and that all crimes suddenly happened around Aurors, who had the full authority to do it.

A petty thief stole from Kingsley of all people and ended up getting caught. And then, in processing, they all realized he was also responsible for the murder of a dozen other wizards in the past three years.

It was alarming and Harry had to leave. He was unconsciously skewing things in the Aurors favour.

“Where are we going, mate?” Ron asked, because of course he left with Harry. Ron didn’t like being an Auror and only stayed for him.

Harry slumped against the wall, looking around the passersby hurrying in their grocery shopping.

“Guess we could make a store,” Harry said. He’s a bit disappointed, because he did want to help capture criminals. But if he stayed too long, people would start talking. “What kind, is my question.”

Ron smiled. “It’s us. We’ll figure it out, don’t you worry. And if you don’t have a plan, there’s always Hermione.”

Ron was the absolute best and Harry did not deserve his friendship.

.

.

That’s all, folks!

If y’all have a title, I’d appreciate it because I have absolutely no title.

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Dating Lena Luthor (jealousy)

a/n: whoa, this got away from me. I didn’t know which direction this was going in... I just wrote. And look at that, the garbage muse demanded both perspectives of jealousy. Bless the garbage muse!

- - - - -

If anyone asked you, you’d say it happened so suddenly, unexpectedly but naturally. The juxtaposition of it all was nothing new to you - Lena herself was seemingly a mass of contradictions. When you first laid eyes on her you weren’t as intimidated as most people would be, but you were still wary about how to act around her.

She’d sensed this too, but that was expectation. She was always some level of guarded around people, and she was especially reserved around new people. Almost everyone had their opinion on Lena Luthor, but you were part of the very few minority whose opinion counted under the “don’t really have one” section. You’d met her while you were working, and she came in and ordered from you. You’d made small talk with her, even put a little smiley face on her coffee cup after you’d asked for her name. All she gave was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she politely thanked you and made her way out. You thought nothing much about the situation.

The days between became shorter and you found she’d drop by frequently. She eventually engaged you in conversation, and even stayed for a few minutes if it wasn’t busy. This had become a consistency of your day: you’d come into work, sometimes you’d see Lena, and always she would spend some time conversing with you. You only started getting suspicions after two weeks of your coworkers mentioning a nicely dressed woman asking for you by name when you weren’t at work. You figured, the next time she dropped by, you’d leave your number on the cup for her discreetly.

And with a stroke of luck, she came by only two days after you resolved to make a move, and if you passed off her coffee to her with shakier hands than you’d usually do - well, she hadn’t said anything and you most certainly weren’t going to bring it up.

A day and a bit had passed and she still hadn’t used your number. With a little disappointment, you try not to dwell on it too much when she walks in with a blonde woman chattering away beside her. Her eyes sparkle and she chuckles at something the woman has said, and you realize it. You’re an idiot. Nice going, trying to go after a woman who’s clearly taken. Lena puts her arm on the blonde’s forearm as they stop in front of the cashier and you make your way over.

“Hey, what can I get for you?” You cringe just the tiniest bit when you hear the mild aggression in your tone. You hope it’s subtle enough to not warrant mentioning.

“Always so good to see you.” Lena smiles at you and you try to ignore the swoop in your chest as you see her genuine excitement.

“Yeah, totally. Just your usual, Lena?” You’re already clicking away at the till and moving to make her order.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said this was your favourite, huh?” The blonde speaks up, and your irrational hatred springs up because she sounds so pleasant.

“Ah, of course. (Y/N) is the only person I trust to get my coffee just right.” You try futilely not to let that get to your head and concentrate on getting Lena her coffee without dropping the stupid thing. “Thank you, darling.” Yeah, none of this is going to work.

The blonde just laughs and jesus christ even her laugh is so sweet.

“Oh, by the way, this is Kara.” Lena introduces you and you wave awkwardly.

“Yup! That’s me!” Kara waves just as awkwardly but she’s seemingly disproportionately excited and freaking nice about it and she is so perky and you can just tell already how sweet she is. You want to hate her, you really do. Somehow, you know you just can’t.

“Will you be getting anything, dear?” Lena asks her.

You inhale sharply as you try to get through what may be the most trying few minutes of your life, ever. You deserve something nice after this - after all you are still standing through the world’s most emotionally taxing coffee order.

Kara nods excitedly and an image of a puppy flashes through your psyche as you put in her order of a dozen sticky buns which, holy hell, they’re the size of your fists what is she doing with all of those?

You try not to ponder the thought too much, seeing as though you’ve deduced, naturally, that she and Lena are probably going to share them and you so deserve a drink after your shift but then-

“Kara, you haven’t even eaten lunch yet.” Lena’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Yeah, duh, that’s why I’m ordering now.”

Despite yourself, you’re laughing at the blonde and when she looks at you, she tilts her head and then cracks a smile, looking all too pleased with herself.

“Clearly, the professional agrees with me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.” Your mood lightens a little and Kara’s given you cash to pay off her so-called lunch.

They’re about to leave and Kara looks far too excited as she sticks her entire face into the paper bag you’ve put the sticky buns in and you hear a muffled thank you coming from her as she waves her entire arm in your direction (you think how lucky it is that no one is in her general vicinity). Lena stays a few paces behind her and winks at you.

“Really sorry I can’t stay and chat like we usually do. I’ll see you soon?”

You try not to get too excited about the implication. “Well, I’m certainly not going anywhere,” and you lazily wave your hand as you gesture around the shop.

She takes another moment to regard you and then she smiles. “Of course.” And then she’s walking off after Kara and you spend the rest of the day in an even tempered mood.

That very night you get a text from an unknown number while you were yell-singing to your 90s R&B playlist.

????: “Figured now is a good time to use that phone number the cute barista gave me, since I didn’t get to have my daily fix of conversation that I’m usually treated to.”

You stop in your tracks in the middle of R. Kelly’s Bump N Grind and stare at the message for an unnecessarily long time when another notification pops up.

????: “Unless, of course, the unfortunate twist of cruel fate rears its ugly head and decides this number doesn’t actually belong to the cute barista and I’ve thus been bamboozled :(”

You can’t believe your luck, and suddenly you feel a little bit lighter (ignoring of course, the alcohol buzzing slightly through your blood)

you: “ahhh, but sweet luck smiles upon you this time. it’s definitely I, the cute barista”

Lena: “Well, that’s lucky :) I’m glad I made the right decision.”

Lena: “I am sorry about today, I really did wish I could have stayed like I usually do. It’s always nice talking to you.”

you: “it’s really no problem. I like talking to you too. Especially since you’re probably so busy and you’ve cooped yourself up in that big scary office all day, it’s good to see you’re still alive sometimes”

Lena: “Aha! The big grinding wheels of capitalism never stop, I’m afraid.”

Lena: “Kara adores you, by the way. She thinks you’re a genius for those immaculate sticky buns, in her words.”

you: “LOL, hate to let her down but... you should tell her I don’t actually make them. Nobody in store does actually”

Lena: “Nothing can convince her, I will tell you that. That girl is the only person as stubborn as me. She’s the only one besides my secretary who can drag me away from my desk to go to lunch.”

you: “well that sounds vaguely unhealthy”

Lena: “Indeed, I’m quite lucky I’ve got a friend like her to remind me to be a human.”

Friend. A friend like her. Idiot. You decide from thereon out not to jump to conclusions so quickly, and you’d kick yourself in the shin for your unnecessary bitterness if you could.

Lena: “You should drop by my office sometime, whenever you’re free of course. I realize it may be too much to ask of you, especially since you have your own life and other obligations I’m sure you must attend to. But it would be nice to see you more often. You may be the only thing I look forward to most days.”

You smile to yourself, truly not believing your own eyes. For once, you got lucky.

you: “I mean, if that’s the case, who am I to tell a pretty lady no?”

And that’s how it starts. You’d only been to her office a few times - she’s spent more time coming to the coffee shop than you have visiting her. The weeks go by and Lena assures you it’s no trouble - that her getting out of her office for fresh air is surely well needed and you don’t need to worry about visiting her an equal amount. Jess, her secretary, still knows to let you in whenever you come by, equal parts being the attentive secretary that she is and from the very special access to Lena’s office that only you and Kara have. The first time you ever stopped by, Jess stared at you questioningly, almost in a challenge before gesturing you toward the direction of Lena’s office. You felt the burning weight of her scrutiny on your back, and still couldn’t shake it off when you bade her goodbye.

The next instances you’d seen Jess, she’d looked at you with something in her expression you couldn’t read, but you didn’t think much of it. Each time, she’d smiled at you sweetly and you realize she’d become much friendlier with you whenever she saw you - as friendly as she could get, you think.

That didn’t shake you much, not necessarily. What did confuse you was the employees who began to stare at you while you made your way through the lobby, or the evident weight that settled in an elevator whenever you got into one full of L-Corp employees.

At first, you were supremely uncomfortable, and you’d thought to bring it up to Lena but thought against it. You were so self-conscious and immersed in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the L-Corp employees milling around in the lobby checking you out or gossiping about you.

“What an absolute stunner.”

“Do you think Miss Luthor is getting in on that?”

“That’s not fair, doesn’t she have something going on with that reporter?”

“You already know that’s never happened. Jess said so.”

“Jess did not say so, Jess would never divulge anything about Miss Luthor.”

“Well she hasn’t shot the idea down! That’s all we need...”

“Well, if Miss Luthor doesn’t make a move on that hottie that’s always visiting her, then I will.”

“You would never.”

“I could dream.”

Lena had always insisted she’d call you a car whenever you visited her, but you insisted you could walk since everything you had to do was in a nearby radius anyway. One day, you decided to surprise her and bring her on a date for a late lunch. Dressed in your motorcycle gear, you dismounted your sportbike and took a take out bag of food out of your backpack to keep it from spilling anywhere else. You walked through the lobby and security let you in after signing your name, and again, past your untrained ear, the gossip milled about.

“Oh my god, a motorcycle too. How much hotter could anyone possibly get?”

“You’re really in over your head, you know.”

“I wonder when Miss Luthor is going to make it official.”

You made your way to Lena’s floor and spotted Jess. She was typing away at her computer when she saw you and spared you a glance as you wordlessly left the bag of take out on her desk.

“You are truly a miracle. Bless Miss Luthor for having you.”

You smirked at her and made your way to Lena.

“Hey,” you said as you closed the door behind you.

“Hello, darling.” She took the time to glance at you and smiled as she continued typing on her laptop. “I’m almost done here.”

“Hurry, I miss you.”

She smiles brightly again but otherwise undeterred. “We’ve been texting all day.”

“I know, but it’s not enough.” You smirk as you sit down in the chair across from her and leave your arm hanging off the back.

“I’m sure you can wait a few more minutes.”

“No, I can’t.” You pout at her and give her your best sad puppy eyes and somehow, she knows what you’re doing because she doesn’t need to glance up when she answers.

“Don’t do that, you know I’m weak for that.”

“I know. It’s how I get my way. I’ve been thinking about you all day, please hurry so I can kiss you and not feel bad about it.” You know you’re being annoying, but Lena biting her lip and finally stopping in her task to look at you tells you the sentiment isn’t unwelcome.

“Darling, you don’t have to feel bad about kissing me, ever.” She tilts her head slightly and gives you a smirk of her own.

“Well, how about you finish whatever you’re working on so I can do all the things I want to do to you and have you entirely to myself.”

“Oh, sounds promising.” Lena is typing again and you try not to laugh as you see her look of concentration and the sheer determination now much clearer on her face now that you gave her an incentive.

“You’re bad for me, you know.” She closes her laptop and stands up to walk towards you in one fluid motion and you grin at her.

“Me? I’m just the lowly barista.”

“A lowly barista with a really nice motorcycle.” She sinks into your embrace and leans up to kiss you.

You hold her gently at her hips and kiss her at last, sighing contently.

“How’d you know I brought it today?”

She merely hums as she leans up again for another kiss. “I have my ways.”

“Are you spying on me, Miss Luthor?”

“Of course not.” She gathers her purse and coat as you wait for her, and you both make your way towards the elevator. You wave a goodbye to Jess as Lena announced her departure, and all the secretary spared was, “Bye Miss Luthor, have fun, take your time coming back!”

Lena rolls her eyes and you both get into the empty elevator. When you reach the lobby, the entire place seems to simultaneously quiet and become utterly aware of your presence. Again, you feel unnerved. You can’t ponder it too much because Lena is pulling you in for a kiss and her arms wrap around your neck. You instinctively place your hands on her waist and bring her closer to you, returning her kiss and moaning slightly when her tongue licks at your lips. She sighs contently when you squeeze at her hips and bite her bottom lip, and she runs her hands through your hair as you deepen the kiss. Before anything else can escalate above the realm of PG-13, you reluctantly pull away and she’s smiling at you.

You smile back and seem to have to catch your breath, but you glance up and see the eyes of various employees looking at you, some scrambling to look away, others shamelessly staring in awe. You hear a few whispers but can’t make sense of any of it and Lena takes your hand and intertwines her fingers with yours.

You follow happily as she takes you toward the exit, not missing the way she looks at the employees who still stare at the pair of you and you finally put words to your suspicions.

“What was all that for? I thought you didn’t like PDA.”

“Well, I certainly like kissing you.”

“You didn’t do it to make a point did you?”

Lena looks up at you seriously and your hand still holds hers. She’s about to say something but you interrupt her first.

“Oh my god, no way. You’re not jealous are you?”

She answers a bit too quickly, “I don’t get jealous.”

“You’ve never kissed me like that before.”

“I think the several nights I’ve spent at yours beg to differ-”

“Not in public then.”

She squints at you and you squeeze her hand as you pull her closer to take her other hand. “Baby, you don’t need to be jealous.”

“I told you, I have no reason to be jealous, let alone of all the employees who should be working rather than spending their hours-”

“Hold up.” You smile as you spot the crinkle in her brow that she gets whenever she’s annoyed. “Are you being serious?”

She pouts her lips, actually pouts, and the crinkle only lets up just the tiniest bit. “Jess may or may not have caught onto some rumour mill between the employees.”

You look at her, trying to spot any traces of a joke. “Babe, really. You don’t need to be jealous.”

“I mean, why should I blame them for commenting on how good looking you are? I can’t say I disagree. It’s just unnerving sometimes and I wonder why you would even put up with me when there are plenty of other-”

You pull her to you so that she’s pressing against you and you interrupt her rambling as you lean in for another kiss. She sighs and calms reasonably down before you speak.

“No matter what anyone says or what you may think, I don’t want to hear about what anyone else has to say or what they might think. You’re the only one that matters and you’re the only one I’ll listen to, because it’s you that I want. Just you.”

She looks at you for a few moments before she sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just new to this, it’s been a while.”

“Oh I am absolutely not complaining. Do keep kissing me like that all you want, whenever you want.”

You laugh as she swats your arm playfully and you take her hand to your lips and kiss it as you both walk in the direction of the restaurant. Lately, your efforts to convince Lena to ride your motorcycle with you are futile, but she’s relented with a ‘maybe after work when I don’t have to be in this skirt’, to which you easily replied, ‘I can totally help you out of it anyway, all you need to do is ask’, to which she rolled her eyes at you and you had to peel your eyes away from her biting her lip.

[silversong79]

Waves (Argument Chapter 11)

(I seriously doubt anyone but @kaminoanbat is still reading these but I’m still writing them!!! Slowly!!! This chapter is all Rowan, since my darling son has a very loud voice that’s easy to write and I was feeling down. Also: I may or may not have borrowed some words from Sindarin as Lothic words. I regret nothing. Enjoy!)

The dinner table took up most of one corner of the kitchen, a large circle of some native wood with chairs surrounding it. Some of them had been scratched or carved, and at least one had been broken and put back together. It was kind of homely, in a lived in sort of way. Not something Rowan had ever had much of; it gave him a strange, almost nostalgic feeling. Which made no sense at all.

The whole house was like that - patched together in ways that shouldn’t work, but actually made things stronger. Cheerful, fierce and unapologetically chaotic. The flagstone floor, rough and unpolished, dully reflected the light from a dozen different types of lightbulbs in the homemade fixture on the ceiling. The air was warm and full of laughter and the scent of unknown spices.

“Damyan Erithuda, I know you do not have those damned urchins at my dinner table,” Draake’s voice was deceptively lazy; anyone in the immediate vicinity could hear him perfectly. The twi'lek man didn’t even turn from where he and Doriana were preparing a meal.

Rowan turned to look at the nautolan boy across from him, who hurriedly stuffed what looked like a ball of spines into his sleeve.

“Nope!” he squawked, his head-tresses swaying as he violently shook his head.

“He’s lying.” A tiny gungan wandered into the kitchen and spoke with a totally deadpan voice. He couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, and Rowan had yet to hear his name.

Damyan screeched, outraged. “Dar'go! Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”

Dar'go rolled his eyes on their eyestalks and turned to Ligara, and from what Rowan could hear they were talking about some kind of xenobiology. On Ligara’s other hand, Dreu was talking to a younger zabrak man. At first glance it looked like a heated argument, but both of them were smiling.

Then there was Jop squad, all sitting close together in another corner. They spoke among themselves, not wanting to intrude on the family reunion. Rogue- very unlike his brothers- seemed at home. A large, fat tooka was curled up in his lap and was reading something off the datapad he’d grabbed off the ship. It was a very…open atmosphere, but Rowan couldn’t shake the feeling that Draake was watching them.

Making sure we won’t hurt his children, he thought. He doesn’t know us.

Doriana bumped her hip against her father and spun around him with her skirts flaring out around her knees, laughing as she did. Rowan stared, mesmerized for a moment. She looked so perfect, smiling openly with all her sharp teeth on display and her night-blue eyes flashing. He’d never seen her look so relaxed. Would she ever smile at him like that?

Abruptly he turned his face away and stared at the scuffed floor. She was in her home, surrounded by her family. He didn’t belong here, did he? No. What right did he have to intrude on her life like that? He shouldn’t be thinking like that, shouldn’t stare at her like some lovesick puppy. As quietly as he possibly could, Rowan stood up and edged toward the door. Maybe a walk would clear his head, let him think sensibly for once in his life. He needed some air, that was all. He wasn’t running away. Right?

His hand was on the doorknob, just about to turn it, when he felt her arms around his waist.

He turned, breath catching in his throat – she was closer than he’d expected, and they were face to face now. That look on her face was killing him. A lift of the white stripe above her eye, a slight smirk, a tilting up of her chin. A question. A challenge.

“Going somewhere?” she murmured, and he was close enough to see the dimple in her cheek as her smile widened. She rested one hand on top of his, on the door handle. Her skin was cool.

“I – no. Yes. Nowhere.” Damn it all, why did he forget how to speak when she looked at him like that? He had a functional knowledge of a dozen languages and when he met her eyes… “Nothing.”

“I see.” She hadn’t actually laughed at him, but she was definitely laughing. He could see it in the sparkle of her eyes. “Going nowhere. Can I come?”

“Neither of you is coming anywhere.” Rowan jumped and swore under his breath at Draake’s voice right behind his shoulder. What was with this family and sneaking up on people?

“Sir,” he said as he hurriedly stepped away from Doriana. “We – I – nothing was -”

“Relax, Dad,” she laughed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “What Rowan is trying to say is that we were just going to go for a walk, so I can show him the cliffs.”

Draake crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. It would be very, very difficult, Rowan thought, to lie to this man. “That’s great. But no, you’re not. It’s dinner time.”

“Yes sir,” Rowan said, and barely stopped himself from snapping a salute. As he made his way to the round table where everyone was sitting down, he could’ve sworn he heard Doriana sigh in frustration. But that was probably just wishful thinking.

…..

He had no idea what he was eating, but it was delicious. Well, to be fair, everything that wasn’t dry rations tasted amazing. But Rowan hadn’t known that food could be art. Or poetry.

Everything was spicy, full of flavor and color, or sweet and cooling. He didn’t talk much at the table, more than content to eat and listen and watch as the others enjoyed themselves. And they did. His boys were much more relaxed now. He could even see Cat eyeing the ceiling beam above them to see if he could make the jump.

He glanced around the table again, noticing where each person was and who they were talking to.

Good. Everyone seemed happy, and sufficiently distracted.

Now, he had nothing on Cat, or Crow. And he could never hope to match any of the Erithudas in sneaking up on people.

But for someone so tall and strong, Rowan was capable of moving with quite remarkable stealth. He eased his chair back slowly from the table and stood up. When he was sure nobody would notice, he slipped away from the table and out the door into the night.

The air smelled like rust and salt - and something he couldn’t name, but the taste of it on his tongue made him think of lightning. The sky was rich dark green and blooming with stars now. He’d probably been to at least a few of them. Rowan’s breath fogged in the air, not from cold but from the mist over the ocean far below. He could hear it moving, the endless sighing of waves, the pull of tides.

If he wasn’t careful, Rowan could easily fall in love with this place.

He sighed and pulled his braid over his shoulder to undo it and comb his finger through his long hair. That always helped him focus.

Were they ever going back to the GAR? And did he want to? He had to answer that, and fast, before he fell any further. Because if he let himself fall the way he wanted to, and then he had to leave…

His stomach clenched at the thought of it. Of being with her, kissing her, laughing with her - and then leaving her alone. He couldn’t.

But how could he not?

“That doesn’t matter,” he said out loud. “It’s our duty. We have to go back.”

Neither sea or sky seemed inclined to answer.

He gathered his hair back, reached up and back behind his head to redo the braid. He didn’t have to look. His borrowed shirt pulled away from his stomach as his hands moved with motions as familiar as breathing. He’d never yet cut his hair, and he’d been braiding it since Geonosis. Not a single person had been able to make him cut it. Not the Kaminoans, not the Jedi, not any of his brothers. He didn’t have tattoos, and aside from the tree, his armor was plain. But the hair, that was his.

“You are very, very good at disappearing, miluir,” Doriana’s voice said as she came up behind him to stand at his side.

There wasn’t a reason, but for a split second, time froze - and the rightness, the wholeness of standing beside this woman and looking out over this ocean under this sky, both terrified and fascinated him. His chest ached.

And then it was gone. The white parts of her face and montrals glowed faintly in the starlight, reflecting the green sky. She looked up at him again with that expression that was unique to her - like she was expecting something amazing from him.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she sighed, tilting her head back to look at the sky.

“I’ve never seen such beauty in all my life,” he said softly, looking at her.

Doriana looked back at him quickly, her lekku darkening to steel-grey. “I love my home,” she said. “I love it even when it’s trying to kill me. Which happens quite frequently.”

“I can’t say that surprises me,” he laughed. He wanted to wrap his arm around her waist, but he wasn’t sure…

“Do you know what I love most about Asfaloth?” she murmured, walking closer to the cliffs and beckoning him to follow. He did. She sat down at the very edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side. He felt the side of his lips pulling up in a smile. Of course she wasn’t afraid of heights. He sat down beside her. He could just see the beginnings of the white stripes on her thigh, tapering down toward her knees.

“I love the danger,” she grinned. “I love that it’s a beautiful place that will kill you if you don’t respect it.” She shifted her weight and leaned against him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she’d just stopped his heart for a second.

“I love its stubbornness too,” she continued, unbothered by how still he’d gone trying not to disturb her. “That it’s wild, not something that can be contained or controlled. But something that just might be a powerful friend, if you know how to ask.”

Was she still talking about Asfaloth? He wasn’t sure. She turned so she was looking up at him, leaning so close her lekku was draped over his shoulder.

It was too easy. If he’d had any warning he might’ve tried to stop himself, but as it was -

Natural as breathing, he leaned in closer and kissed her. Barely a kiss, just the barest brush of his lips on hers - but in that almost-kiss was light and fire and the cool of her skin and the flash of her eyes -

Horrified, he hissed in a sharp breath and jerked back, scrambling to his feet and holding one hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry!” he said, backing away from the cliff. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“Rowan,” she interrupted, half-laughing at him. “Why in the universe should you be sorry? It was just a kiss.”

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Just a kiss. A kiss that had shown him what he could have, if he stayed. If he never went back to the war.

“I….” His voice was shaky, as were his hands. “I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.”

She climbed to her feet and came to stand in front of him, took both of her hands in his. Just like he remembered, her skin was soothing and cool.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” she said evenly, smiling up at him. “I’ve not exactly been subtle about this, I thought you’d know pretty well by now how I feel about you.”

Well. There was all the flirting, yes. But he could never for the life of him tell if she was serious, and all those cues she’d given - how was he supposed to know if they were real or not? He had no idea.

“I know,” he said. “I was just…I don’t think I can…” he trailed off uselessly.

Her forehead creased in confusion. “Rowan, is there - do you have someone you left behind, like Rogue? Is there a Winger for you?”

“No,” he said, trying to breathe evenly. “There’s nobody. There never has been.”

She nodded, and didn’t look insulted or betrayed. “Could there ever be anyone?” she asked. “Because I know not everyone has feelings like this.”

He had to laugh at that. She was right, of course, but with how deeply he felt for her… “No, it’s not like that,” he said. “Believe me, it’s very possible.”

She narrowed her eyes and smacked his shoulder.

“Then gods-dammit, what am I doing wrong?” she said, exasperated. “If you’re not into me, I’ll be fine with that, just tell me so I can get over you already!”

“Doing - no, you’re wrong - wait…” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Where had that fancy vocabulary gone now? He took a step back, pulling at the end of his braid as he took a breath, and focused on the end of her montral as he spoke.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. Actually, I…I’m afraid I may have…accidentally f-fallen in love with you.”

When he risked a glance back at her eyes, she’d lost the joking look from before. Her dark blue eyes were shining with tears.

“Why is that a bad thing?” she whispered, and the hurt on her face twisted a hot knife in his chest. “Why do you keep running?” Angrily, she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, like the tears were an annoyance.

“Because it’s not supposed to be for me!” He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so loud then. “Because I was born to die. Because if I do what I so desperately want to, you’ll get hurt. I have to go back.”

He hated that he was crying too, but he couldn’t help it, seeing her tears. “I can’t give you my heart for an hour, or a day,” he went on. “I can’t do it. If we - if I love you, I will love you until there’s no more breath in my body. But I’m supposed to be a good soldier, and it’s -” He scrubbed his hand down his face, taking her hands in his.

“Because if I give you my heart,” he whispered, “I don’t want to have to take it back when some clanker gets lucky with a blaster shot. I can’t hurt you like that.”

For a long, long moment, there was no sound between them. Nothing but the endless sighing of waves. She stared back at him, unblinking, and he could hear the sharp hurt in the shaking of her breath like broken glass.

She was going to slap him. Or kick him off the cliff, or tear out his eye.

She lunged toward him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. Properly this time.

She was much, much better at this than he was, but that didn’t matter now, all that mattered was her - she was fire and light, rain and thunder. She was the glint of sun on a knife and the sweetness of a baby’s breath. She was everything.

And he was happy to follow her lead.

I will follow you anywhere, beloved, he thought, still crying even as he kissed her hungrily. All the days of my life belong to you.

By the time he opened his eyes and broke away from her, his breath was ragged and they were both lying down, just a few feet from the edge of the cliff.

“Don’t go back,” she whispered, lifting her hand to brush her thumb over his swollen lips. “Stay with me, Rowan. Just stay.”

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Yes.”

There was a lot to talk about, things to figure out. But that could wait until later.

For now, there was him, and her, and the sound of green waves flecked with stars and mist.