Tag: fic

thank you fic #1

coop-writes:

for the delightful @nerdyfancupcake, who requested happy supercorp fluff. I hope this is something like what you were looking for, friend!


“Sorry!” Lena grins and looks up as the whirlwind that is Kara Danvers collapses into the chair across from her. “Sorry, sorry–I got held up at work, Snapper was having a mood, I think someone spat in his wheaties—”

“Kara, it’s fine,” Lena interrupts, laughing. “I was running late too, actually, I only beat you here by a minute.” That’s a complete and utter lie, and a passing barista hears it and raises an eyebrow, but Kara beams at her with relief.

“I’m glad I didn’t keep you waiting, I’m so glad to see you! It’s been ages.”

“It’s been four days; I saw you on Saturday,” Lena points out, and pushes a caramel pumpkin latte across the table. This isn’t their usual coffee place, but Lena is still fairly certain she picked the right drink for Kara Danvers off their menu. She looked for the items with the highest sugar content and went from there.

“Four days is a long time,” Kara insists. “Anyways, it’s been a very long four days – I’ve been looking forward to this coffee and your face since I woke up this morning, let me tell you. It’s been all that’s keeping me sane.”

Actually, Kara does look more than just flustered, Lena realizes as she watches her friend take a long pull from her coffee mug. She looks downright disheveled – Lena’s used to seeing Kara with windblown hair, but now it’s got a slightly unwashed sheen to it, and her clothing is wrinkled. On top of that, she looks tired. Lena’s not about to push anybody to reveal secrets before they’re ready, but she hadn’t been entirely sure that Kara could get tired.

“Are you alright?” she asks, concerned. “What’s happened?”

Keep reading

“From what she’s seen of the Danvers sisters, they try to die for each other on a bi-weekly basis”

LOL fav line! And this whole fic is wonderful!!

12:01

stennnn06:

A little fluffy pre-relationship agentreign for @roarsaidthedinosaur ! happy birthday!

There’s a quiet knock on the office door that startles Sam out of her late night reverie. Admittedly, she should be focusing on spreadsheets and fine-tuning these numbers, but she’s too busy yawning and getting distracted by literally any and everything else.

Or maybe just one very specific distraction. A persistent, but very pleasant distraction that Sam can’t seem to shake no matter how hard she tries.

Focus, Sam.

Keep reading

Alex Danvers goes on her third date w Sam but does not realize they’re dating

fiddleabout:

It’s Saturday night. It’s Saturday night, and Alex is out, at dinner, with Sam once again.  It’s happened every other Saturday since they separated Sam from Reign, since Sam was ready to go home to Ruby, since the Arias family’s life had returned to something resembling normal.  First because Sam felt she owed Alex her thanks, then because she owed her guilt, and this time because she owed Alex whiskey and a stressless night.

The fact that Alex hasn’t gotten laid in ten months, three weeks, and four days is not on the radar at all.  Just like the fact that Sam has the lean muscular build of an Olympic pole vaulter, the smile of a makeup model, and the brain of a Rhodes’ Scholar is not on the radar at all.  Neither is the way her long fingers wrap around her wine glass, not the teeth that close around her bottom lip, nor the enormous kindness in her heart Alex has seen time and again since Ruby stumbled into her at the waterfront. 

None of that is important.  Not at all.  Because this is not a date, and Sam is not into women, and Sam has been through massive trauma and needs nothing but stability and support and a happy and healthy daughter.

Dinner ends late, as it always does, and Sam steals the check, as she always does.

“Lena pays me an outrageous amount and you know it,” she says, nimble fingers yanking the folder out of Alex’s grip, and Alex coughs past her suddenly dry mouth.  “Besides, I’m the one who asked you to dinner.  It’s only fair.”

“Yeah, but–”

“Nuh uh.”  Sam whips her credit card out and levels a look across the table, accompanied by a pointed finger, and Alex shrinks back into her seat with her hands up.  

“Can’t argue with that,” she says, toasting with her mostly-empty glass and draining what’s left of it.

The restaurant is fancy, the building dark and quiet and the waiters carefully absent almost the entire meal, and the valet appears the moment they step outside.  He whisks the ticket out of Sam’s hand and disappears, leaving them to wait in the cooling air that draws a shiver out of Sam.

“Hold on, here,” Alex says, shrugging out of her jacket automatically and wrapping it around Sam’s shoulders.  “I’m suddenly glad you insisted on driving.  This would have been terrible on a motorcycle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam says.  She burrows into Alex jacket, tugging it tightly around her shoulders, and leans closer to Alex.  “I know you have an actual car.  The bike is just for show.”

“What can I say?  I like to act like I’m cool.”  Alex shoves her hands into her pockets and crooks her elbow out for Sam to wrap a hand around.  “Your kid thinks I’m awesome.”

“You are,” Sam says softly, hand tight around Alex’s elbow.  There’s a weight to her grip, pulling Alex around to face her, and in the next moment Sam’s lips are on hers, warm and soft and confident, Alex’s mouth moving easily against hers in a way that is hasn’t since Maggie, since an engagement, since saying goodbye.  

Alex wrenches back, an exaggerated step pulling her out of Sam’s orbit and nearly dislodging the jacket draped over her shoulders.  “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“What?” Sam stares dumbly at her, shrinking into the jacket, cheeks too red even for the cool fall air.  “Why are you– I’m the one that– I kissed you.”

“I shouldn’t have– you’re not interested in me– I didn’t meant to presume,” Alex rushes out, hands shoving further into her pockets. “I’m so sorry.”

“Alex,” Sam says slowly.  “Did you think I wasn’t going to kiss you eventually?”

“What?”  Alex blinks back at her, the chilled air on her arms forgotten.   

“This is the third date, I thought– I’m sorry if it’s too fast, I know that after Maggie–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alex says hurriedly.  “The what now?”

“Third date,” Sam draws out after a long moment.  “We went to the burger place on the water, and then the Italian place last weekend, and then this.”

“Those were dates?”

Sam stares at her, eyes widening slowly and jaw going slack.  Her cheeks go dark and she slaps a hand over her mouth.  “I thought– I asked you out, you said yes, I thought that you knew I was– you didn’t know?”

“This was a date?” Alex squeaks out, the tips of her ears going hot, and she wishes briefly for an alien to attack the whole block right that moment to give her a reason to disappear for maybe forever.  “You were– those were dates?”

Sam sucks in a deep breath, and then another, and pushes her way up to standing more straight, shoulders more sharp, pulling her way up to her full height.  “I asked if you wanted to go out to dinner sometime.  And you said yes.”

“I thought you meant as friends!  I didn’t even know that you were gay!”

“I mean, I’m not, for whatever that matters,” Sam says with a wave of one hand. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not into women, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m not into you.”

“Oh, God,” Alex mutters, hands pushed against her cheeks and stomach twisting around itself.  A black hole opening up under her would be so convenient right now.  “I thought that you were just–friendly, and scared of being back in the world.”

“I like you,” Sam says slowly.  “Romantically.  And this is the third date we’ve gone on.  At least by my count.  Not counting every time you came to my house to hang out with my kid and crashed on our couch after drinking with me until two in the morning.”

““Oh, God,” Alex mumbles again.  “I can’t believe– I just assumed you weren’t into me, I thought you were just being nice because Maggie and I broke up–”

“A year and a half ago,” Sam says drily.  “I like you.  And want to date you.  So can I kiss you again?”

“Oh,” Alex says, voice weak and faint, just like her ankles and knees and entire spine, to be honest, because Sam is within arm’s length again, being tall and beautiful and composed like she always is, being smart and eloquent and Sam and talking about how she wants to kiss Alex again.  “Yeah.  Let’s try that again.”

“Great,” Sam says softly.  Her hands curl around Alex’s hips, palms warm against her chilled skin, and her chin drops when Alex’s arms wind around her neck and then they’re kissing, again, for real, lips moving warm and easy against each other, soft and calm and weightless against the history of everything they’ve fought through.  It’s easy and real, kissing Sam, and Alex pushes closer and holds tighter, not ready to let go yet.

#31 Prostitute/Client AU, Kalex

nike-ravus:

This one got rather long! But that’s what AUs do (Also, don’t feel you need to restrict prompts to Kalex and E2, I am happy to contemplate anything. Ahem, supersanvers & MJY in particular :P)

Read on AO3

Alex could not look away. Her chest caught tight, like parachute silk suddenly strained to bursting with wind. The waterfall tumble of golden hair, the ducked head and shy smile, the blueness of her eyes beneath dark lashes, the creamy softness of her skin. How was Alex supposed to breathe in the face of that. And her kindness, the warm press of her hand as Alex made her confession.

Keep reading

Sister?

nerdsbianhokie:

Small convo between Kara and a recently come out as agender Alex

Alex toyed with the tips of their fingers. They pulled their hands off of the counter, and set them in their lap, rubbing their palm with their thumb.

They glanced up at Kara as she gestured wildly, nearly throwing her slice of pizza across the room.

The cheese on the slice, however, slid free and hit the wall.

Kara froze. She stared at the cheese, then turned to Alex.

“Oops.”

Alex snorted. They stood, only to have Kara wave them back.

“I got it,” Kara said.

Alex shrugged, sitting again.

They watched Kara clean, their shoulders growing heavy as the doubts crept up again.

Kara turned. She frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Alex shook their head. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

Alex sighed.

“See,” Kara said. “You can talk to me, Alex.”

Alex ran a hand through their hair.

“Are you sure?” they asked. “That you’re alright with…it.”

It.

Alex’s most recent stop on this journey of self realization they’d stumbled into.

Well, maybe two self realizations didn’t necessarily make it an entire journey, but everything was different. The way they thought about themself was different. The way the people closest to them viewed them was different.

This one hadn’t hit them with a leather jacket and dimples, but had crept up on them through research.

The idea of gender being an actual thing, for them, at least, was one that had slowly lost merit as they thought about it. Until they had come around to the idea that maybe they just didn’t have a gender.

Agender.

A term they had found on a list online.

A term that had just clicked.

Kara tossed the cheese and napkins then stepped up to Alex.

“I’m sure, Alex.”

Alex looked down, playing with their fingers again.

Kara let out a light sigh.

“Alex, you’re my…”

Kara paused.

“You can still use sister,” Alex said.

“Are you sure? I can use sibling or anything you want.”

Alex sucked in a deep breath.

Sister…sister was hard, but didn’t grind against them the way woman or her or ma’am did.

Sister was a them and Kara thing.

Kara was their sister.

They were Kara’s sister.

The Danvers’ sisters.

As wrong as it sounded in their head some days, as wrong as it sounded to their ears on occasion, they could deal with sister.

Because it was Kara.

“I’m sure,” they said.

Kara narrowed her eyes, then grinned.

“Alright. But if it changes?”

“You will be the first to know, promise.”

That’s it. I’ve been thinking about this for ages, basically since the idea of nb!Alex first started, just never actually got around to writing it.

As much as I love all the nb!Alex stuff, it often kind of glosses over Alex’s choice to go from ‘sister’ to ‘sibling’ with Kara, and Alex’s hesitance is almost always shown as being about how Kara would react. Which, fair, Alex would very much be worried about how Kara would react, but it’s no small thing for Alex to make that mental switch herself.

From a personal standpoint, as an agender person who kinda wants to talk to their siblings about it, that’s not an easy thing. It also took me a while to realize that sticking with ‘sister’ was mostly for their comfort and cause it is what I’m used to. For Alex, so much has been defined by being Kara’s sister, so much weight is put into it. It’s something that will take time for them to figure out.

I may eventually add a second part with Alex deciding to go from ‘sister’ to ‘sibling’ but we’ll see.

Also, I went with agender instead of non-binary simply because I’m agender, and never see it in fics. If you have a nb!Alex tag you want to use, that’s fine, but otherwise, please stick with agender.

Novel Giveaway – Chasing Stars

mermaidandthedrunks:

Hi guys!

Exciting announcement time. My debut novel, Chasing Stars is going to be available for pre-order on Wednesday March 7th. 

That’s in 3 days! 

To celebrate, I’m giving away 20 free copies of the novel in e-book form.  

The giveaway will run from today, March 4th, to the day of the official book release on March 21st (when it will also be available for pre-order on Amazon). 

Winners will be announced on the 22nd. 

So what’s this book about anyway?

For superhero Swiftwing, crime fighting isn’t her biggest battle. Nor is it having to meet the demanding whims of Hollywood screen goddess Gwen Knight as her mild-mannered assistant, Ava.

It’s doing all that, while tracking a giant alien bug, being asked to fake date her world-famous boss, and realizing that she might be coming down with a pesky case of feelings.

A fun, sweet, and sexy romance about the masks we all wear.

TO ENTER: REBLOG THIS POST.

 – That’s it. A simple reblog and you could get a copy of this super novel. 

 – I’ll be using a random generator to choose winners, so only one entry per person, please.

WINNERS MUST PLEASE:

– Be willing to share their email address so that prizes may be delivered.

– Respond within 24 hours to initial contact.

If you can’t wait and want to pre-order the book from Ylva on the 7th feel free: https://www.ylva-publishing.com/product/chasing-stars-by-alex-k-thorne/

Goodluck and happy reblogging ♥♥

a star wars thing, just ‘cause

nonasuch:

I’m at ECCC all day today, but here is a thing I wrote a while ago to tide you over.

Somewhere in the galaxy, there is a hall, bright and high-ceilinged and bedecked with flowers. It’s full of people, full of reverent silence and the muffled sound of weeping. At the front of the hall, there is a low stage, and a podium, and a body, lying in state.

A man steps up to the podium, somewhere in the galaxy. He’s tall, unbent by his years, with steel-gray hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache. The smile lines that usually mark his face are all smoothed away by grief. He’s dressed in blue, like many in the hall, but the cloak he wears is lined in black as deep and sparkling as a starfield.

He doesn’t speak, at first. The little droids that float through the hall, recording holos of the mourners and the flowers and the reverent silence, helpfully add his name to their feeds, and the long list of titles he was heaped with in the years after he joined the First Rebellion.

“We didn’t do this often, in the Rebellion,” he says. “We rarely got the chance. We still don’t. Most of the time, the friends we lost, the comrades and the leaders, they were lost in ways that didn’t leave a body behind. They left us, and we kept going, without time to mourn or space to mark their leaving with much ceremony. So in a sense, we’re lucky to be here today. We’re lucky she left us the way she did, with this chance to mark her passing. We should be grateful.” He falls silent, but his face doesn’t crumple, his composure holds. “I am grateful, I think.”

He looks out at the rows of people that fill the hall, turns to regard the people who fill the stage. “There aren’t many of us left who knew her, back in the old days.” he says. “She was still so young when I first met her, and even then she was already the bright, fierce heart of the Rebellion. I could never imagine her as anything else, and I’m not sure she could, either, by then. She kept that light burning for so long. She used it to kindle the New Republic. She used it to kindle the Resistance. She gave a piece of it to everyone she ever knew. We carry it with us, and always will.”

The little holorecorder droids swoop low over the stage, buzz past the flowers, pause to exchange a quick trill of Binary with the droids clustered at the back of the hall. They keep their volume muted, out of respect. They capture every detail carefully.

“People called her the mother of the New Republic,” the man at the podium says. “I don’t know if she ever liked that much: she said that democracy has to be built by as many hands as possible, as many parents as possible, if we want it to be strong. But she was called the mother of the Resistance, too, and I don’t think I ever heard her complain about that. 

“She felt a very strong sense of duty, all her life. She was the daughter of a queen. She outlived her homeworld, she outlived most of the people she loved, and I think.” He pauses; he falters, for the first time. The droids back off a little, let their lenses go a touch blurry. “I think all she really wanted was to know that her children would outlive her. That the things she brought into the world would survive, and thrive. That they would keep the light burning, when she couldn’t any longer.”

He falls silent, again, searching for his next words. “There aren’t many old-timers like me left,” he said. “Most of you here today are children of the galaxy she fought for. It’s not quite the galaxy she wanted to build, I know. But we’re getting there. A little closer, every day.

“If I could ask you to do one thing, for her sake, it’s that you keep the light burning. Keep fighting for the things she fought for: for peace, and for justice, and a galaxy free of tyranny. Do the work that needs to be done, even when it’s hard. Even when we’re weighed down by grief. That’s what she did, every day of her life.”

He steps back from the podium, and bows his head. “Goodbye, Princess,” he says. “May the Force be with you.”

On the stage, a young woman sits, facing the crowd, her face a stone mask. She wears her hair tied in three knots down the back of her head, and her clothes are not quite the Jedi robes of old, but they are something like it. She wears a lightsaber at her hip.

She doesn’t turn to the man who is not, really, in any sense but the metaphysical, sitting next to her. She doesn’t need to, or want to.

“Well?” she says, though she doesn’t say it out loud. He hears her perfectly, anyway. “Is this what you wanted?”

There is a long silence between them. The mourners are singing a hymn, an old Rebel fighting song tuned to a minor key.

“No,” says the man who is not sitting next to her. “No, this isn’t– I didn’t mean–”

And suddenly he is not sitting next to her at all, in any sense or manner or plane of existence.

He doesn’t matter, anyway. The last Jedi stands, to join the other pallbearers.

On the other side of the galaxy, the Supreme Leader of the First Order– of what’s left of it, anyway– sits alone, too stunned even to rage.

Everywhere else, in all the places the thoughtful little droids beamed their transmissions to, people are mourning, or weeping, or raising toasts, or singing old Rebel fighting songs.

In each of their hearts, they keep a little piece of Light aflame.