#also can you believe femslash february is almost over yet??? I have so much more ideas in store oh nuuu!!!

[eatingsomegreeneggos]

Femslash February Day 27: Different - Rarijack 🍎💎

My absolutely favorite femslash ship omg 💗 The true reason I've been able to keep up with this challenge was because I wanted to reach their day no matter what <33

[half-bakedboy]

I know there's only a handful of hours left of femslash February... BUT what about a "The Happiest Season" Clizzy AU? Very random suggestion inspired by no conversations at all. (Also you are great let's be best friends and go to a concert)

Kelly, you wonderful, incredible, perfect human being you. This might be my favorite fic I’ve written this weekend. Obviously, this prompt was inspired by no conversations at all, so you had no idea I would’ve preferred Abby with Riley. So you would definitely not expect that Abby is Clary and Riley is Izzy in this fic. So ENJOY IT. YOU’RE GREAT. AND I WOULD LOVE TO BE BEST FRIENDS. 🥺💜

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Clary wandered the streets of the small New York town alone, wishing that the cold air would quell the annoyance bubbling inside of her. She wanted so badly to just be with Heidi while she explored the town she grew up in, but instead, she was on her own, doing anything she could to stay away from the house she had thought she was invited to as herself.

She wasn’t supposed to be Clary Fray; an art student, out and proud lesbian, strong and brave feminist. No, she was supposed to be Clarissa; a business student, as heterosexual as they come, and an orphan who relied on Heidi for a family. She should have left the moment Heidi asked her to be anything other than herself, but she wanted to make their relationship work. She had never been so in love with someone before, or so she thought. 

“Hey,” a vaguely familiar voice knocked Clary from her thoughts and when she glanced up from the snow-wet cement, Heidi’s childhood girlfriend, Izzy, stood in front of her. 

“Uh, hi,” Clary said nervously, wiping beneath her eyes to ensure it wasn’t obvious she was crying over her dinner a few moments earlier. 

“We meet again,” Izzy teased, widening her eyes playfully. Clary huffed out a laugh, grateful that she still had the ability to do so, and nodded slowly. 

“Yeah,” Clary agreed lamely.

“No Heidi?” Izzy asked and Clary nodded quickly, gulping down the leftover emotion in her throat. 

“No, uh, she’s with her family? I’m gonna meet up with her in a little bit!” Clary said overly enthusiastically because she couldn’t really say anything else without sounding completely pathetic. She glanced down at the bag Izzy was holding and changed the subject easily, “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s--” Izzy cut herself off and glared at Clary with a teasing glint in her eye. “I can’t tell you that because it’s for the Yankee Swap,” Izzy said, hiding the bag behind her back and out of sight. 

“Oh, you go to that?” Clary asked. It wasn’t that she cared that Heidi’s childhood love was still so close with her girlfriend, but it definitely seemed strange that Clary didn’t know that before the trip. 

“Yeah, our families get together every year, unfortunately,” Izzy said with a roll of her eyes. She seemed to notice who she was speaking to and corrected, “I mean, it’s like the best party of the year!” Clary couldn’t help but laugh again and Izzy laughed along with her, both of them nervously rocking back and forth on their heels. It was like neither of them wanted to go their separate ways, but Clary knew they couldn’t stay.

“I’m, um, really glad I ran into you, actually,” Clary began in mock seriousness, “cause I’m having this thing where if I stick my finger in my eye, it, like, really hurts.” She finished with a joking smile on her face. The one conversation they had prior revolved around people asking Izzy for ridiculous medical advice the second they found out she was a doctor so Clary had to play around with her a bit. She thought for a moment that Izzy hadn’t remembered their talk until she replied.

“Oh, hmm. That sounds like a classic case of,” Izzy looked up in thought as if scanning through years of textbooks in her mind before glaring back at Clary, “contact stupiditis. Because it’s a stupid thing to do.” 

“Wow,” Clary said, mock impressed as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Yeah, very dangerous. Once you get to the finger-poking stage, you’re pretty much on your deathbed,” Izzy said, looking almost regretfully at Clary. 

Giggles bubbled out of her again and before Clary could think about it, she blurted, “I would really like to drink some alcohol. Do you know where I could do that?” Izzy considered the question and glanced up at the sky before her gaze met Clary’s again. 

“Yes, but only if I can tag along?” Clary nodded because there was no way she was drinking alone again. 

The last place Clary expected the small bumpkin town in upstate New York to have was a bar complete with drag queens. When they walked in, Clary grinned at the two women up on stage with their makeup impeccably done and their wigs perfectly placed. She had always appreciated good art and drag makeup definitely counted as such. They were playing what sounded like joyful Christmas music but Clary was pretty sure the lyrics were probably raunchy. 

“What can I get you both?” The bartender said as they walked up to the counter. 

“I’ll have a whiskey and coke,” Izzy shouted with a wink and Clary held up two fingers to tack on a duplicate drink for herself. She wasn’t sure what she was in the mood for, but whiskey sounded like the best way to drown her sorrows and warm her frozen body. They both watched the queens perform, laughing and clapping along to their wonderful songs, the tension easing from Clary’s shoulders every passing minute. 

“Alright, so, you have to tell me,” Izzy began once the bartender handed them their drinks and gestured to the newly open booth a few feet away.

“What do I have to tell you?” Clary asked as Izzy held out a hand, gesturing for Clary to head over first. They sat down together on the same side of the booth so they could both see the performers and Izzy glanced at Clary consideringly. 

“What are you doing here with Heidi?” Izzy asked with no hesitation in her voice. Clary choked on her drink and sputtering, grabbed at the napkins on the table. Before she could get a hold of them, Izzy held her chin in her grasp and wiped at her face gently with her thumb, a teasing smile on her lips. 

“I can’t believe you just asked that!” Clary mumbled, not making a move to pull away from Izzy even if she knew she should have. Izzy looked so good from up close. Heidi’s eyeliner was always overdone and she never wore any lipstick, but Izzy was the exact opposite. There was barely any makeup on her eyes, just mascara darkening her already stunning brown eyes, and dark red lipstick drawn flawlessly on her supple lips. Still, Clary was drawn to her beauty in almost every way she had presented it. 

Izzy laughed and leaned back, sipping her own drink before she said, “She must have told you that I was a straight-to-the-point kinda girl. You and I are alike in more ways than one.” Clary looked away, unsure how to tell Izzy that there wasn’t much Heidi told her besides the bare minimum to prepare her for their eventual meeting during the trip. She was supposed to hate Izzy on principle, but she found that it wasn’t that easy. 

“I mean…” Clary trailed off and sipped her drink slowly, already starting to feel the effects of the alcohol easing her nerves. She stared over at the drag queens, wishing it was enough to drop their current subject, but she should have known Izzy would push it. 

“She--” Izzy gaped at Clary who held back her laughter by pressing her lips together. “What has she told you about me?” Izzy asked. Clary couldn’t blame her. If she had her ex’s current girlfriend in reach during her last relationship, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from getting all the dirty details. 

“How are we alike?” Clary countered, but when Izzy said nothing further, she sighed. “She told me that you were her first girlfriend in high school,” Clary offered, “that’s about it.” Izzy seemed to consider the lack of information for a moment and chewed on her bottom lip like she wanted to say something. Clary prompted, “Is there more?” 

“Yeah, a little,” Izzy said unhelpfully. She continued to stare at Clary and after a few moments, she sighed as if relenting to Clary’s pleading gaze. Clary was glad her pity was clearly evident on her face. “We were inseparable as kids. Best friends turned lovers turned almost enemies in the matter of a few years.”

“Enemies?” Clary asked. When Izzy glanced away, Clary reached out to grab onto her hand, lacing their fingers together in what could have been seen as a friendly gesture if she hadn’t hidden them underneath the table. 

Izzy nodded and continued, “We kept it a secret - obviously - and when one of our others friends found out, Heidi, she, uh--” Clary squeezed Izzy’s hand tightly, reassuringly, needing to hear the story almost as much as it seemed Izzy needed to share it. “She wasn’t ready and that was okay for me, but she told everyone I was bi. She tried to tell me later that the only reason she said anything was because she thought I was ready to come out, but--”

“But it should’ve been your choice, not hers,” Clary finished. All Izzy did was nod in acceptance, but when Clary said nothing further, she spoke again. 

“Everyone found out. I mean, small town high school meant everyone knew everyone’s business, you know? And they were so awful. I mean, I had my siblings - Alec and Jace, you haven’t met them yet - around to beat up anyone who made a noise about it, but that didn’t stop me from knowing what was happening. Kids are cruel,” Izzy finished, holding her glass up for a cheers as if pretending the past didn’t hurt her as much as was evident on her face. 

Clary clanged their glasses together and muttered, “I’m sorry. I-- I’m really sorry.” She knew it couldn’t make much of a difference, but she still felt like she needed to apologize for Heidi. Having the choice to come out on your own terms taken away was horrible, especially when it was by someone a person thought they loved. 

“Yeah, so…” Izzy cleared her throat like the conversation had gotten just a bit too serious for her to handle, “what I meant is that we’re alike because we were - or are in your case - in love with someone who’s too afraid to show the world who they are and brings us down with them.” The word hit Clary like a ton of bricks, freezing her heart and causing her stomach to tighten. As if sensing her discomfort, Izzy squeezed Clary’s hand before she added, “But hey, that was a long time ago and--”

“No,” Clary interrupted, removing her hand from Izzy’s. “It might have been a long time ago for you, but that insight just proves that Heidi is exactly the kind of person she’s been proving herself to be this entire trip,” Clary explained, tossing back the rest of her drink just as one of the drag queens wandered over to their booth. 

“What are we celebrating, gorgeous?” She asked, twirling a strand of Clary’s fiery hair in her perfectly manicured finger. 

“I am celebrating the end of my unhappy and unhealthy relationship,” Clary cheered, glancing over at Izzy who shook her head with a wide grin on her face. Izzy gulped down the rest of her drink in solidarity and laced their fingers together again. Izzy’s hand felt like it was meant to fit in hers and Clary wouldn’t dare to let go. 

“And you?” The performer asked, leaning across the table and resting her very real looking breasts on Clary’s arms. She laughed loudly in pure enjoyment and felt the alcohol heating her skin and muddling her brain already. It was the first time in the entire trip she felt pure joy and it was all because of Izzy. 

“I’m celebrating being able to take this beautiful woman home with me tonight without any qualms, if she’ll let me,” Izzy tacked on, shooting a questioning glance at Clary. The shyness in her chocolate eyes had Clary’s heart warming out of its frozen state and her stomach erupting with butterflies as they gazed at one another. 

Clary hoped that the passionate kiss she pressed to Izzy’s lips was enough of a resounding yes. 

Send me WLW prompts for Femslash February

[flowers-creativity]

‘ can i hold your hand? ’ for the prompts, and whichever characters you want? If you're looking for prompts, that is

Thank you! When I post prompt lists, I’m indeed always happy to get prompts from them :). (Or just randomly, too. I can’t always promise that I’ll do them and especially do them soon but they make me happy :D .)

I’m sorry this took me so long but here, have a little soft Constance/Anne scene with a bit of emotional h/c. May be read as (developing) Constanne for Femslash February :) .

Anne sighed deeply as she dropped onto the chaise longue in her rooms, folding her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. It had been a day full of bad news, and she had the unhappy feeling that it might not be over yet. Groups of enraged citizens were in the street, and she was fearing for the life of those of her countrymen who might encounter them.

She felt the familiar sting at referring to Spanish citizens as her countrymen, even in the privacy of her own head, knowing how she would be judged and damned if she said so out loud. Her marriage to Louis was supposed to help fill the deep divide between the two rival countries but even after finally giving him an heir, it had done little for it. And now this girl, Emilie, was agitating her new subjects to hate her people, her brother. Her brother, the Antichrist! She could not suppress a bitter laugh at that. Philippe, the serious, soft-spoken boy who had been her compass all throughout her childhood when their parents had little time for them, leaving them to each other's company and the supervision of their governess. Philippe who had cried almost as hard as she had when her betrothal to Louis was announced.

Philippe who she hadn't spoken to in years, who she could not even write to without Louis thinking the worst of her.

But no matter how many years and leagues were between them now, her brother could never be the Antichrist as whom Emilie was painting him.

The swell of homesickness and grief that suddenly rose within her threatened to overwhelm her, and she raised her folded hands up to her mouth, pressing them against trembling lips. A sob tore from her throat anyway, loud in the empty room.

Or rather, the room she had believed to be empty …

Soft steps came closer, and she froze. Turning her head, she darted a look over her shoulder and relaxed minutely when she recognised Constance. The young commoner approached her slowly and sank into a curtsy in front of her, looking up at her from beneath thick lashes. “Your Majesty?” she asked, concern evident in the deep blue eyes and her soft tone.

Anne took a deep breath and let her hands drop down, unlacing her fingers almost with effort to motion for Constance to join her on the chaise longue. “It's nothing,” she said, hoping to salvage her pride and dispel that concern.

Constance rose and sat down next to her, taking care to keep some respectful distance between them. It occurred to Anne how strange it was that this young woman, a commoner with whom she was supposed to have nothing in common by rights of their birth and upbringing, had become a steadfast friend in only a few months while she barely had anything to talk about with her other ladies-in-waiting. And how deeply grateful she was to d'Artagnan …

“Your Majesty,” Constance said again, then hesitated slightly. “May I … take your hand?”

Anne looked at her sharply, lips parting in surprise. It was a huge breach of protocol for them to touch, after all. But she realised in the same moment that actually, there was nothing she wanted more. Decorum be damned. They were alone, as she had sent all of her ladies-in-waiting away, and Constance was the only one who had come back. She sighed and nodded. “Please,” she said in a low voice.

Constance gave her a quicksilver smile, passing over her face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds, and reached out, touching her hand almost reverently. She linked their fingers together and pulled Anne's hand into her lap, gave it a light squeeze as she said: “I don't believe it is nothing, Your Majesty. Please, talk to me. I am here to help you shoulder your burden, so let me carry some of it.”

Anne shuddered as emotion rose up in her at the compassionate words again. “I should not think like this,” she whispered, ashamed. “I'm the Queen of France now. But the people they are killing out there … They were my countrymen. They still are.”

Constance held her hand a bit more tightly, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “You can't just stop loving people just because you are supposed to,” she said finally. “And the way they are killing them, it should horrify everyone, regardless of who the victims are. That can't be God's will.”

Anne nodded, almost eagerly. “It is brutal and wrong. And the things she is saying about Philippe ...” She trailed off. “He is not the Antichrist. He is not. He is my brother.” A tear slipped free, and she took another shuddering breath. “I … Right now, I just miss him so much. I want to see him and remind myself of the man I knew, not the caricature as which she is painting him. But I cannot because I'm the Queen of France, and he is the King of Spain, and … oh, I'm being so silly.” She wiped over her cheek and turned away from Constance.

“You're not,” the young woman protested, and soft fingers carefully took her chin to turn her back towards Constance who looked at her with deep sympathy. “You're not just the Queen of France. You're also a woman who loves her brother, and Emilie is attacking him and other people that are important to you.”

Anne sighed and leaned into the comforting touch. She was so tired of being torn in two … “Thank you, Constance.” She squeezed her hand. “I'm so glad you are at my side.”

Constance smiled, raising their linked hands and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of Anne's hand. “There is nowhere else I'd rather be.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Femslash February Day 21

Prompt: Ribbon Fandom: Avatar Pair: Azula/Mai Summary: Mai visits Azula in the institution and helps her fix her hair.  

Mai runs the brush through Azula’s ravaged tresses. The princess isn’t sure if the tingles in her belly come from Mai seeing her in such a pathetic and haphazard state or from Mai simply being there. 

She isn't’ sure why her former friend is visiting. Visiting and talking to her as though they don’t have any bad blood towards one another. 

Mai sighs, “I’m going to have to cut your bangs. Hopefully I can even them out.” 

Azula touches her fingers to her uneven bangs and bites the inside of her cheek. She likes her bangs. At least she likes the one side that she hasn’t made a mess of. She gives Mai and affirmative nod regardless. 

Mai gives the ribbon in her hair a tug. It falls away and Azula’s locks fan out and settle like silk over her shoulders. “Alright, hold still and I’ll see if I can make something of this.”

“You can’t possibly do a worse job than I did.” 

“It’s not as bad as you think.” Mai reassures. “It shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”

Azula shrugs. “If you do mess it up, no one is going to see me anyways, I’m stuck in here.” Here eyes grow more downcast.

“Not for long.” Mai makes the first cut. Azula hears the snip of scissors. “Zuko has been talking about letting you get therapy at home.” 

“Home…” She repeats to herself. 

A few more snips and the floor is dotted with her hair. Mai holds a mirror up. The knots in Azula’s belly grow. She finds that she doesn’t like how it looks without her bangs to frame her face. “I don’t like  it.” She mumbles glumly. 

“Hmm.” Mai hums. “You want me to give you a full haircut? I think that I have a good haircut for you.” 

Azula hesitates. She supposes that Mai can’t make her hair look any worse. Unless of course she puts a deliberate effort into doing so. “I don’t know…” 

“It’ll suit you very well. Trust me.” 

There it is. 

That’s the problem. 

It always is. Azula fidgets with the ribbon, curling it around her pointer.

Mai rolls her eyes. “It’s a haircut not a second attempt at friendship.” 

She thinks that Mai is only joking but she also considers that, perhaps, she does want it to be a rekindled friendship. The notion unsettles her. 

“Alright.” She decides. “You can cut it.” If she ends up liking what Mai does with her hair, she will take it as her sign to trust the girl with larger matters. If this is a ploy to further humiliate her then she will retreat back into the safety of self isolation. 

Mai picks up the scissors, not knowing how much weight they truly hold. She clips up the portions of Azula’s hair that she isn’t working with. “You seem like you’re doing better. : 

Azula shrugs. It’s all relevant. “A little.” Not shrieking and conversing with things that aren’t there is a start. 

“I guess you’ll do better at home.” Mai replies as she cuts away. “TyLee was always good at cheering you up. Even if you won’t admit it.” 

“She makes me happy.” Azula confesses. “Made.” She corrects. “You both did.” She adds very quietly. 

“Well maybe I’ll make you happy again today.”

Azula swallows. “Maybe...I hope so.” She tries to sound confident or at least nonchalant. But she feels so meek and small. 

Mai nods in way of an answer. Something about her continued silence makes Azula want to speak. To alleviate the awkward tension. It could be that she is the only one who feels the tension. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” Mai mutters coldly.

She knows this, but it doesn’t lessen the desire. Her conversation having failed, she stares at her palms. 

“But things can get better.” Mai adds. “They got better for me.” 

Because I’m no longer in your life. Azula fills in. She doesn’t say it out loud. It must bleed through in her posture because Mai says, “don’t move so much. Things are a lot easier without having to worry about a war.”

But Azula doesn’t know anything else. She isn’t sure that she will be able to adjust. This time she creates the silence. 

Mai takes a step back, she looks Azula over and resumes snipping. Azula watches her locks fall. 

Long locks. 

Her stomach sinks. 

“Almost done.” 

“You hate me.” She remarks simply. 

Mai inhales deeply. “I don’t hate you. I’m mad as hell, but I don’t hate you.” Azula wonders all over again, why she is here doing her a favor. 

She goes quiet again. She doesn’t even know how to begin to fix things. “I don’t want you to be. Believe it or not, I don’t like being alone.” 

“Geeze.” Mai laughs. “What have they done to you? I haven’t seen this level of brainwashing since Ba Sing Se.”

“They haven’t done anything. I’m just…” she pauses. “Sad.” Sad, resigned, and fresh out of dignity. 

“If it makes you feel better, I broke up with Zuko. He’s been ignoring me to focus on his duties as Fire Lord.”

It doesn’t. In fact, it makes things worse. It makes her feel as though she had been abandoned for no reason at all. Until she recalls her less than spectacular treatment of the woman. Her lower lip quivers and she finds herself biting the inside of her lip. 

Mai steps back again. She ruffles Azula’s hair, it feels so much lighter. “There, you’re done.” Mai holds up the mirror again. 

Azula swallows. She runs her fingers through her hair. “It’s so short.” She isn’t sure how to feel about it. The neat and orderly way Mai has it styled tells her that the girl hadn’t cut it so short out of ill will. Still, the princess isn’t sure how to feel about having hair reaching only just below her ears. 

“Very observant.” Mai qups. “You implied that you wanted a fresh start, so I figured that we can start with your hair.” She picks up the ribbon that had once so tightly confined Azula’s hair. “We’ll start by discarding your dad’s restrictions and traditions.” 

A small act of defiance. Embracing imperfections. Azula thinks to herself. She inspects her reflection further. The face in the glass is so familiar, yet profoundly different. Perhaps more mature, more angular. 

“Well?” 

“It’s…” she trails off. Going to take some adjusting...a lot of adjusting. “Nice, I suppose.” It certainly isn’t unflattering or poorly suited. “Thank you for making something of my mess.” 

“So you’d trust me to cut it again?”

“I suppose.” She hesitates. “I. I trust you.” Though it sounds more like a question than a statement. 

“That’s a start.” Mai says. 

“Visiting hours are up.” Calls a voice. 

Azula frowns, it is always when things are beginning to pick up. “You’re going to visit again, yes?” Her stomach lurches; it was a wonder that she even stopped by this time. 

“How else am I going to hear about how everyone reacts to your new haircut?”

Azula tries a smile. It is small and somewhat melancholy, but there no less.  She holes the ribbon out to Mai. “I guess that I have no use for this.” 

“True.” Mai agrees.

“Hold on to it for me?” 

“Sure.” Mai agrees. She takes the ribbon, unwittingly accepting another test of faith. She heads for the doorway and pauses before going through it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Somehow, parting ways with the ribbon feels like she is setting this in stone. The door closes and she runs her fingers though her hair once more. 

It is a reminder of a fresh start. 

Of a chance to tell Mai just how much she means to her. A chance to finally vocalize the love she had so carefully repressed.

[quarterfromcanon]

No One’s Really Got It Figured Out Just Yet

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 13 - Tease [3,289 words]

The bridal shower was for everyone but the bachelorette party was just for the Gurl Group. Against her better judgment, Valencia made arrangements at a karaoke bar. Even though the bride-to-be was notoriously off-key, she knew that singing pop hits with her “#squad” was the activity the guest of honor would enjoy most. She, Heather, and Paula could grin and bear it for one night in order to give their girl the special memories she deserved. All good intentions aside, though, the elated screech that tore out of Rebecca when she learned where they were going was enough to leave them all wincing and rubbing their ears.

The four of them opted to share a car for the hour drive to their destination. Rebecca led Paula into the backseat to begin planning song choices. Heather rode in the passenger seat beside Valencia to read directions off the app.

Rebecca skimmed through Googled suggestions and mumbled to herself. She lifted her finger away from the scrollbar, turned sideways, and grabbed Paula’s wrist. “Oh my gosh, wait. ‘Mickey’ would be really cute, right? But it could be like my own little spin on it: ‘Hey, Joshy!’”

Paula’s face went slack with horror. “Good Lord.”

Valencia and Heather rushed to her aid.

“Dude, no.”

“Uh-uh. Unanimous veto.”

Rebecca held up her hands. “All right, I get it. Consider it scrapped. That would alienate the rest of the audience anyway. Plus, Josh won’t even be there to sing it to, so like, what would be the point?”

Everybody relaxed. Paula tilted Rebecca’s phone so they could both see the results. “Here, let Mama take a look at what else you’ve got.”

Rebecca eagerly scooted over and indicated a few additional options she thought might suit the purpose. Crisis averted, Valencia and Heather returned their focus to the road.

“It was really cool of you to put everything together for her,” Heather said in an undertone. “You totally saved her ass stepping up like that.” Her eyes fell on where Rebecca’s face was reflected in the rear-view mirror, wreathed in the pale white glow from her screen. “Also, you can already tell it lifted a big weight off her shoulders. This is, like, the happiest she’s looked in weeks.”

Valencia’s face flushed but she managed a casual shrug. “She’d have done the same for me.”

Heather smiled. “Yeah, but I feel like the result would’ve been some kind of huge, chaotic production.”

“She does love her grand gestures,” Valencia concurred. “There’d have been skywriting or a billboard or something.” 

“Right, and matching outfits.”

“Of course. Custom-made.”

They both chuckled and shook their heads. 

As they reached the next stoplight, Valencia stole a lingering glance at Heather. This was the longest they’d spent in each other’s company since their afternoon of day drinking, and she had yet to suss out her stance regarding the moment that passed between them. Valencia honestly remained uncertain if there had been such a moment at all. Maybe she still needed to get laid after the disastrous attempt at Home Base. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the dream during the Santa Ana winds. All Valencia knew was that what started out as fairly innocent fun ended with fingers and legs tangled together and Heather’s face mere inches from her own. Under the unique circumstances of the day, there was just enough plausible deniability that it could all be in her head, but that was the problem. The breathless pause was stuck in her mind, playing on loop until she could hardly stand it. Every time her thoughts were free to wander, all she could see were Heather’s lips -- parted, pink, perfect; all she could feel was the warmth of Heather’s torso locked between her thighs.

Valencia gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles paled from the pressure. She gulped and stared intently forward, determined not to turn to the side again. It had to stop now. Whatever confused muddle of feelings prompted this uninvited ardor, there had to be some way to drive it back into nonexistence. Yes, she had appreciated Heather’s kindness and care more than usual lately, and yes, her friend had shown her respect and consideration when others did not. Still, that was not reason enough to be thinking of her in any other context than the relationship they already shared.

“You get off here.”

Valencia jumped and blinked rapidly. “Hmm?”

“Our exit is straight ahead.” Heather held out her arm and pointed through the windshield. Her soft skin brushed the back of Valencia’s wrist, making her tremble involuntarily. 

“Oh. Right.” Valencia flicked on her signal. “Thanks.”

When they approached the bar, it appeared as though there may not be a lot of parking spaces left available. Fortunately, there was one near the back of the building, a few strides away from the sidewalk. Valencia pulled into the vacant spot and everyone exited into the night air. A quick push of a button opened the trunk, and Valencia reached inside to withdraw a pale pink sash and a veil attached to a plastic crown.

Rebecca squeaked. “Do I get to wear those?” She covered the bottom of her face with her hands and bounced on her heels. “Put ’em on me, put ’em on me, put ’em on!”

“Okay, okay, hold still.” Valencia’s arms rose and fell with Rebecca’s celebratory hopping until her friend finally contained all that energy. She divided the task of accessorizing by passing the crown off to Paula and then looped the sash over Rebecca’s shoulder.

While Paula secured the veil, Rebecca lovingly traced her fingers over the letters running down the material. “Aww, look, it says BRIDE TO BE with a little heart on it, and it’s so sparkly! I’m gonna cry. You guys are the best.”

Rebecca threw her arms wide and they all closed in for a group hug. 

Heather’s palm rested between Valencia’s shoulder blades. “All right,” Valencia declared as her back went rigid. “Let’s get inside and sign up before all the slots are taken.”

___

First, it was Paula’s turn. She downed half a beer and took the stage. The Gurl Group whooped their support, which turned into a shout of delighted surprise when the opening of It’s Raining Men began to play. What Paula may have lacked in vocal confidence, she more than compensated for with sheer attitude. Rebecca’s response was something akin to a proud relative and she believed it necessary to tell every passing patron that it was her best friend currently commanding the floor.

Paula returned to their table five minutes later to uproarious applause from her three biggest fans. If anything, Rebecca’s enthusiasm only heightened from that point, which worked out just right since she was next after someone from a booth on the other side of the room.

The girls all tensed. Paula had done her level best to steer Rebecca away from catastrophe, but none of them knew for certain what track was ultimately chosen. They found out soon enough.

“Natalie Cole,” Heather acknowledged with a slow nod. “This is gonna get real interesting real quick.”

“At least her claps are synchronized,” Valencia noted optimistically.

Rebecca leaned close to the microphone. “Hey, everyone. How’re you doing?” Her nose scrunched and she beamed. “This is dedicated to the man of my dreams, Joshua Felix Chan, my own everlasting love, without whom I wouldn’t have any of the amazing women in my life who are sitting right over there.” She gestured into the darkness. Paula, Valencia, and Heather gave the crowd uncomfortable waves and nods. “We’ve pried into each other’s secrets, tried to sabotage each other, slept with some of the same men, but come out the other side stronger than ever.” Even through the gloom, Rebecca detected the mortified reactions at her table. She checked the faces of the surrounding strangers. “Too much? Eh, it’s fine. It’s my bachelorette party; I’ll overshare if I want to.”

Mercifully, the long musical intro ended and Rebecca dove into the lyrics. Her performance was almost more like talking than singing, but it was comparatively tolerable to everyone’s ears, considering the options that were turned down on the ride there. 

Paula waited until Rebecca looked their way once more and gave an encouraging thumbs up and nod. “Yay, Cookie!”

Heather gamely swayed in her seat and tapped the heel of her boot against the chair leg. Her shoulder bumped Valencia’s and she smiled. Valencia felt herself mirroring both the expression and the movement. They let their arms make contact with a little more force each time, giggling when the collision nearly threw them both off balance. The crowd copied Rebecca’s clapping and seemed charmed by her sincerity, at the very least. 

“Get ready, ladies, here it comes,” Valencia mumbled as Rebecca approached the last minute of the song.

“Oof.” Paula adjusted her grimace into a cheerful mask. “That was an ambitious key change.”

“That’s a word for it.” Heather’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.

Her hand found Valencia’s under the table and squeezed. Valencia’s stomach somersaulted, but she clasped just as hard in return, and they both tried very hard to keep their grins from faltering while Rebecca closed out the number.

Rebecca came back to her chair with visible joy shining from every pore. “That might have literally been one of the greatest experiences of my life.” She picked up a napkin and dabbed it across her glistening forehead. “What a rush! And I wasn’t nervous at all.”

“You really have a presence,” Paula complimented with careful word choice.

“They won’t forget you,” Valencia added.

Rebecca’s lower lip protruded. “That is so sweet.” She took a drink and then tapped her palms against her kneecaps. “Who’s next? Heather? What’re you gonna do? No, wai-wai-wait. Don’t tell them. Just tell me. It’ll be fun. Our little secret.”

She leaned to the left with one ear angled expectantly. Heather hesitated but obeyed the nonverbal command. She cupped her hands against the side of Rebecca’s face and spoke quietly. Rebecca’s eyes lit up and she clapped. “Do you need someone to do air harmonica?”

“I don’t really think that’s a thing...”

“Watch this. I’ve got it.” Rebecca plucked up one of their appetizer mozzarella sticks and feigned playing the instrument in question. “It’s good, right?”

“Super convincing.” Heather’s features were neutral but her eyes were amused. “Is this maybe because you wanna get back in front of an audience as soon as possible?”

Rebecca’s shoulders touched her earlobes. She tried to accentuate her freckles with the lifting of her cheekbones. “Maybeee?”

“Uh-huh. Okay, you can come with me, goofball.”

So she did. Heather stopped below the rise and coaxed the microphone down to her. She smoothed the back of her skirt and and sat on the edge of the stage. Rebecca followed suit, breaded snack in hand, and waited through the initial notes with closed eyes and a soulful expression. Heather observed the theatricality with arched eyebrows but did nothing to curb it. Rebecca peeked out, caught hold of Heather’s fingers, and tucked them under the fringe of the skirt in lieu of a pocket. Heather laughed but played along just as the words appeared on the screen behind them.

“Alanis Morissette,” Paula identified in a nostalgic voice. “The early years, still aimless and grungy. My sister’s oldest was really into the album this came from. It was back when cassettes were a thing. God, that feels like forever ago. You were old enough to remember that era, weren’t you?”

Valencia nodded vaguely. Her attention was attuned to one person only. By the time Heather reached the first “baby,” Valencia’s heart throbbed with such intensity in her chest that it left a physical pang in its wake. Goosebumps rose along her arms and she leaned forward until the table pushed into her abdomen.

Heather completed the first chorus and accepted Rebecca’s offered high five. A genuine smile stretched across her face and stayed there. Valencia’s lips curved up to match, albeit in a distracted way while the thudding behind her ribs began to feel like it might somehow choke her.

Rebecca’s promised harmonica solo arrived, and she played the faux mouth organ with spectacular gusto. Heather guffawed and applauded. Her gaze drifted across the room and locked on Valencia. She winked. Valencia coughed as her own saliva hit the back of her throat. She snatched up her cocktail and drank. 

“...maybe later you two could do it.”

Valencia spat the alcohol back into the glass. “What?”

Paula’s brow furrowed. “I said I saw the sign-ups and there are still a couple of openings near the end of the night. If we’re all still going strong, maybe we could divvy them up. Rebecca and I could take one and you and Heather could duet.” She reached over and patted Valencia’s spine. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” Valencia rasped and forced the muscles in her face to relax. “Just went down the wrong way.” Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Of all the times to use that phrase...

Heather gestured for Rebecca to take it away one last time on the cheese stick harmonica and then they both rose to their feet. They were met with approving exclamations and claps from more tables than just their own, and Rebecca skipped back to where the others sat waiting. 

It was a difficult act to follow, and Valencia’s palms were damp. She polished off the last of her drink while a few public hamming enthusiasts walked onstage. When at last it was her scheduled time, the remaining three women tapped their empty glasses against the table and called out bolstering comments. 

Valencia’s knees knocked as she ascended the stairs. She fixed her ponytail and cleared her throat before approaching the microphone. Her fingers curled around the stand while the music began to play.

“Three little birds sat on my window, and they told me I don’t need to worry...”

She looked at her table of friends with obvious affection. Rebecca’s hand flew to her heart. Paula jokingly murmured, “Tweet, tweet.”

Valencia ducked her head and continued. Heather was nearly motionless. The only sign of agitation was the idle fiddling of her fingertips along the stylized edges of her skirt. She gave away no particular emotions, and yet Valencia found it nearly impossible to stop searching her eyes. On impulse, she opted to decrease the distance between them.

She walked back down the steps and passed through the crowd. Rebecca was thrilled and shouted something about their queen knowing how to work the room. Valencia perched on her recently vacated chair and leaned an elbow against the table’s edge. She hooked a finger around the elastic tie at the back of her head and slid it free, allowing her hair to tumble loose. Rebecca and Paula, more-than-willing to stand in as avid groupies, imitated fangirls and reached to touch Valencia. Her growing confidence was evident in a brief smirk. She brushed their outstretched palms with her own and suppressed a laugh when they both pretended to swoon. 

Heather was still watching with crossed legs and an unreadable stare. Valencia longed to push a little more, anything to unearth some clarity of intention, but there was a fine line between playful sexiness and blatant flirting -- a delicate boundary she was resolute not to cross. For the time being, she settled for grazing her nails across Heather’s shoulder in passing and sashaying back to the stage.

“She’s really good!” Rebecca projected her voice over the audio.

Heather rubbed her tingling shoulder. “Yeah, she is.”

___

More than an hour passed before their next number, a group opportunity they tipped the D.J. extra to provide. Rebecca was practically buzzing with anticipation. She’d spent the majority of the past sixty minutes talking them into and through a Spice Girls chart-topper. Despite Paula’s protestations that the English stars didn’t hold the same sentimental value for her as the other three, she found herself their designated Ginger. Rebecca had laid claim to Scary, namely because she wanted the chance to sing the nonsense syllables Mel B. used to express her relationship desires. Heather was appointed Sporty Spice, for reasons Rebecca asserted were obvious, aesthetically speaking. Since Posh was vocally present mainly in the chorus, Valencia was named Baby for the purpose of the act, although she adamantly refused to let Rebecca put her hair in pigtails. 

Only two microphones were available for use, so they had to employ a buddy system. Paula and Rebecca shared one while Heather and Valencia were handed the other. Valencia’s lungs tightened at the prospect of singing eye-to-eye with the woman who had been distracting her all night. Then Heather moved to stand behind her instead and Valencia instantly broke into a cold sweat. The speakers came to life before she could say anything, and suddenly it was too late to change it. When Heather needed to perform her part of the first verse, she urged Valencia closer by the waist and leaned over Valencia’s shoulder to access the mic. Valencia’s line immediately followed, and she could feel Heather’s breath ghosting across her neck while she sang.

When the vocals went back to Rebecca and Paula, Heather began to move her hips in time with the beat, a dance of which Valencia was painfully aware given their nearness and the firm press of fingers over her hemline. She tried to mimic the motion with a shimmy of her own. They achieved synchronicity and Valencia’s pulse rumbled deep in her eardrums. Their second shared verse crackled with tension. Heather’s other hand was now fanned against the bottom of Valencia’s rib cage. It would have been so easy to make eye contact over the microphone, but Valencia merely angled her gaze in Heather’s direction. Such risky vulnerability required more courage than she could muster, and her nerves were already on edge.  

The song came to an end. Heather relinquished her grip on Valencia’s body as they took their bows and went back to their seats. 

“I think that was officially our showstopper of the evening.” Rebecca reached for her refilled glass. “To the power of friendship!”

They all participated in the toast and downed several mouthfuls of their respective drinks. 

“Great job on the choreography too, by the way.” Rebecca patted the space between Heather and Valencia. “You leaned into the subtle homoeroticism from their music videos, but made it feel authentic rather than performative. Bravo.”

Valencia became very interested in a circle of condensation on the table. Heather was studying her in profile, she could feel it, and yet she could not open herself up to that scrutiny. 

Paula looked back and forth between them. “You two really committed up there, huh?”

Heather nodded and twirled a martini pick around her fingers. “Sometimes, when you’re singing a song, it just really grabs hold of you. It also helps if you and the music go way back. Right, V?”

Valencia’s cheeks burned with another blush and she shifted forward so her hair would cover them. “Yeah, it makes a difference when there’s a personal connection.”

“Exactly.”

Valencia was not certain that her interpretation of Heather’s replies existed free from bias. It strained the confines of coincidence to think none of the recent sparks were apparent to the other half of the equation; however, the possibility that they were perceived and reciprocated was a notion too fateful and frightening to confront.

She turned and lifted her eyes to meet Heather’s. So much of what lived behind those watchful irises remained a mystery, but the unspoken words in them now were as clear as if Heather had whispered in Valencia’s ear:

Your move.

[breeeliss]

[Femslash February]: Movies

an AU where Lila is actually gay as shit and the last person she wants to flirt with on her first day of school is Adrien Agreste >:P

Day 19: Movies

Words: 2295

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

[Previous: Autumn]

Marinette really needed to start showing up to school on time so that she wouldn’t keep missing important developments.

She was barely in the building for fifteen seconds and Lila was all anyone was talking about. Apparently coming in two minutes before the bell rang was enough to completely miss the fact that Lila apparently knew Jagged Stone, Prince Ali, and seven Hollywood directors. Chloe was the mayor’s daughter and even she didn’t have that much clout.

She walked past Mylene -- saying something about how Lila was personally invited to the Lancôme Fall 2015 Couture Party a few months back -- and bumped shoulders with Alya. “Who on Earth is this Lila girl?”

Alya looked up from her phone and jutted her chin across the courtyard. “She just started here.”

Marinette lifted a brow and saw Nathanael talking animatedly with a girl that she didn’t recognize and happily exchanging numbers with her. “Uh huh....”

“She gave me an interview, did I tell you?” Alya grinned and pulled up the video on her phone. “Apparently Ladybug saved her life once. My Ladyblog had the most hits ever afterwards.”

Well, that was something Marinette would’ve definitely remembered if it had actually happened. She scowled as she scanned through the video of this Lila person laughing into the camera and waxing on about this dramatic rescue that Ladybug never pulled off. “Who the heck is this girl?”

“I don’t know but she’s got the most incredible life,” Alya said. “And now she’s going here. She’s totally awesome, apparently her and Ladybug are really close friends.”

Marinette scoffed defensively. “Um...I’m close friends with Ladybug. I got you that personal interview with her. You know, the one that got you a thousand new followers?”

Alya laid a hand on her shoulder. “Oh no, of course babe, and that was fantastic. But Lila has like super duper insider information on Ladybug never heard before. It’s going wild.”

“You cannot be serious,” Marinette frowned. “Where is this chick, I need to have a quick chat with -- ”

“Oh my goodness, I don’t think we’ve met yet!”

Marinette barely had a chance to finish her sentence before Lila practically skipped across the courtyard and slid up right next to Marinette, less than a foot away from her face. Marinette jumped in surprise and leaned her body away from her while Lila folded her hands behind her back and pinned her with a sly smirk. “U-Uh,” Marinette mumbled.

“This is Marinette,” Alya helpfully supplied. “She was that best friend I was telling you about. She’s also our Class Representative.”

Lila’s eyes widened in interest as she laid a hand on Marinette’s shoulder, letting her thumb rub circles into her arm. Marinette’s eyes warily darted to Lila’s hand and back to her face. “Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! You must be so smart. Popular too I bet.” Lila’s eyes darted down to Marinette’s hip. “Gorgeous purse, by the way. Although, no surprises there.”

Marinette felt her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something, but she was too confused to let the words come out. “Oh she made it!” Alya said. “She’s a designer. A very talented one at that. She makes her own clothes and everything.”

“That’s amazing!” Lila gasped. “I bet they’re beautiful. A girl like you must have a good eye for fashion. My mother’s really close friends with Yves Saint Laurent, I’ve always had such an appreciation for fashion designers and their work.”

Her saying she knew Yves Saint Laurent was almost as laughable as her claiming to have personally known Ladybug, and Marinette struggled marvelously to hold back her eye-roll. Instead she forced a smile. “That means a lot.”

“You should definitely show me your designs some time,” Lila said, lowering her voice in a way that made Marinette’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’d be a great chance to get to know you better. We are going to be in the same class, after all.”

Marinette blinked and looked down at Lila’s hand that was now sliding down Marinette’s arm and circling around her wrist. Lila was standing really close, biting the corner of her lip, staring down at her fingers that were now rubbing the back of Marinette’s hand, and peeking back up at Marinette’s face through her lashes. Did Lila talk to everyone like this? She darted her eyes to Alya in a silent plead for help, but Alya was too busy telling Lila more about Marinette’s designing to even notice. It didn’t even look like Lila was paying attention to anything Alya was saying. She just kept giving Marinette these looks that were making her feel inexplicably warm and monumentally nervous.

What was happening!?

“Say,” Lila asked. “Do you happen to have a study block on your schedule next?”

Marinette swallowed. “U-Um, yeah. I think so.”

“Oh perfect!” Lila grinned, grabbing both of Marinette’s hands in hers. “We can study together! This history project they gave us is a little over my head. Might be more fun if the two of us try to figure it out together.”

“Oh, uh, I mean, that’s -- I mean, no that sounds -- “ Marinette jutted her thumb towards Alya. “I was actually going to -- ”

“Nah, it’s cool Marinette, you two hang out. I was gonna bug Nino about our maths test next week anyway. Gives you guys a chance to bond. Thanks for the interview, by the way, Lila! Great stuff!”

That traitor!!

Marinette was about to beg Alya to stay and save her from....whatever it was Lila was doing with her eyes and with her hands and with her everything, but Lila was already yanking on Marinette’s wrist and taking her up the stairs towards the library. “Thanks Alya! I’ll be sure to bring this cutie pie back safe and sound for you!”

“Cutie pie?” Marinette muttered in confusion.

“Come on, let’s try to find somewhere quiet and out of the way.” Lila giggled and tapped her finger against Marinette’s nose. “I don’t want anyone interrupting us, after all. What do you think?”

“Er....”

“Ah, look! This table’s perfect!”

Lila pushed her down into one of the chairs at the study table and smoothed out the hair on the top of her head. “You stay here and I’ll go look through the shelves for the books we need, okay?”

“O-Okay?” Marinette replied. Lila winked at her and scurried off in between the shelves, leaving Marinette to sit in her chair, blink down at the study table, and take a moment to process. 

Did she just get kidnapped by the new girl? Did that actually just happen? Was she actually letting it happen?

Marinette scrubbed her hands over her face. Part of her just wanted to pack up her books and leave. Lila was very obviously a liar if that fabricated Ladybug interview was anything to go by, and Marinette had a feeling that everything else she said about herself was full of nonsense too. She had no desire to associate herself with someone like that. But Lila practically latched onto her on sight, whisked her away in private, all after touching her and staring at her in a way that was really kind of weird but not entirely unpleasant and Marinette just didn’t know what to do with all this information. She only met the girl five minutes ago, and already delusions about having a quiet morning of studying were being shot to Hell. 

Lila came back and slid a small pile of books on their table and moved her chair until it was right next to Marinette’s. “So,” Lila sighed, resting her chin in her hand and staring at Marinette with sharp eyes. “Tell me about yourself, Mari. Can I call you Mari?”

“Um,” Marinette hesitated. “I....thought we were doing our history project?”

Lila waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about that for now. We can talk for a bit before we start working, can’t we?”

“I guess....”

“So you’re a designer and you’re best friends with Alya and you’re our Class Rep. Any other cool things about you I should know?”

Marinette froze up, not used to anyone taking such a strong interest in her so quickly. “U-Um. Well, my parents own a bakery that I help run on the weekends. So I’m a pretty good baker.”

“Really?” Lila grinned. “That’s so cute! Where is it?”

“Across the street,” Marinette explained. “Tom & Sabine’s. You probably passed right by it on the way to class.”

“Right! They had those precious cakes in the window decorated with rose petals.”

“Mmhm, I did those this morning.”

Lila leaned forward and laid a hand over Marinette’s. “You made those? They’re absolutely beautiful, Marinette. I can’t believe you’re so talented.”

And there it was again, that stupid warm/nervous/tingling feeling that made Marinette want to run and stay rooted in her seat at the same time which wasn’t fair because she was really trying her best to not like this girl. Even Chloe seemed annoyed with her which was enough of a reason for Marinette to keep her distance. But Lila just kept putting herself closer and asking more questions, and was it normal to feel this strange around another person you just met? A part of her really just wanted to call her out on being a liar about Ladybug, but she couldn’t do that and keep her identity a secret. Which meant that Marinette needed to come up with a better person to put distance between them. 

She tried switching topics. “It’s honestly nothing. We can talk about it after we get a start on this project, though.”

“If I visited the bakery one day, could you bake me something?”

“S-Sorry?”

“You know,” Lila smirked, walking two of her fingers up the back of Marinette’s hand and along her arm. “If I asked for some sweets made just for me, could you bake them for me?”

Lila was gripping her elbow now, and a shiver went through Marinette’s body as she struggled with figuring out what to say. “Y-Y-Yeah, I, uh....you’d have to....fill out an order form first....”

Lila chuckled, and the sound was so low and sultry that Marinette inhaled sharply in response. “Absolutely. I’ll be good and fill out the form for you. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to be the one to make it for me,” Lila replied, leaning in close enough for Marinette to see the mascara coated on her lashes. “Not your parents. Just you. It’d be special if it was coming from you. And it’d make me really happy.”

Lila was darting her eyes down to Marinette’s lips and Marinette was about 0.0034756 seconds away from self-combusting on the spot. “I-I-I-I mean, I’m not uh, um. You see, I’m not as good a....a baker as my parents. Y-You’d probably want them baking instead.”

“No,” Lila said. “I want it to be you. It’ll be like a special little secret between the two of us. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess,” Marinette said unconvincingly. She really wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying, and was instead distracted by Lila’s knee pressing against the side of Marinette’s thigh. 

“Do you like movies?” Lila asked, keeping her voice low and deep. 

What was that about trying to put distance between the two of them? Marinette was pretty sure she was failing marvelously on that end. “Who doesn’t like movies?”

“Let’s go to your house and watch some together,” Lila said, not bothering to frame it as a question. “I love rom-coms, and scary movies. Gives you an excuse to cuddle up next to someone under the blankets. It’s so dreadfully cold here compared to Italy. Cuddling up with someone as cute as you would make me feel so much better.”

Cute? Did she just call her cute? Like actually? She didn’t think she could think back to any boys who’d ever called her cute. At least not like this when they were inches away from her face, stroking her skin, and smiling so sweetly at her. “Oh....” Marinette breathed out. 

“You’re so warm,” Lila laughed, rubbing her thumb against the sensitive skin on Marinette’s inner arm. “I bet you’re an amazing cuddler. Especially on cold nights.” She sighed and let her shoulders drop. “I wish I had someone as warm as you to sleep next to at night. Might help with the horrid homesickness.”

Marinette bit her lip and was definitely starting to feel that warmth from earlier turn into a heat that was burning on her cheeks, across her nose, and up to her ears. Her mouth was moving and words were coming out without her realizing it. “I-I could ask my mom about a sleepover.”

“Would you?” Lila asked excitedly. “Oh that would be so much fun! It can give us time to get to know each other better. And then you can ask me whatever questions you want. It’ll be such a great night. Do you have a movie in mind?”

“M-Movie?”

“Yeah,” Lila nodded slowly. “Remember? We’re going to watch movies at your house. And you’re gonna make me something yummy from your bakery. And we’re going to cuddle together. Isn’t that right?”

Holy crap, what did Marinette just agree to? “S-Sure, I can, uh....pick....s-something. Movie a pick. I mean, pick a movie! I mean -- ”

Lila chuckled and interrupted her rambling. She finished leaning in and placed a quick kiss on Marinette’s cheek that was just a little closer to Marinette’s lips than she was expecting. Marinette let out a small squeak and straightened up her back as LIla pulled away and licked her lips. “You’re adorable, Mari. Do you know that?” 

Marinette shook her head, the words caught in her throat and leaving her unable to speak. Lila reached up to tuck Marinette’s hair behind her ears. “Well you do now,” Lila beamed. “I’m so lucky to get to be friends with you. I already feel so at home here. Thanks for being such a sweetheart.”

“You’re, uh.....you’re welcome?”

Lila giggled again and pulled their book towards them. “I’ve distracted you enough, darling, I’m so sorry. Come on. Let’s try and get some work done.”

They worked in silence for the rest of the period, not that Marinette could concentrate what with Lila stealing glances and sliding her foot against Marinette’s leg under the table the entire time. She was gripping her pencil so hard she was pretty sure she’d cracked the plastic casing, and worst of all she couldn’t even say anything back. This felt like being around Adrien but ten times worse. 

Wait. Like being around Adrien? But she had a crush on Adrien. So did that....?

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

No, no, no. 

When the period ended, Marinette decided to hang around a little bit and wait for Alya so that they could walk to class together. Lila pouted and looked a little put off at the news, but she waved goodbye to Marinette and headed to their next class anyway, quickly scribbling her phone number on the back of Marinette’s hand and telling her to text her after school. She walked across the library towards Alya and Nino’s study table in a daze and found the two of them packing up their bags and getting ready for their next lesson. 

“Hey!” Alya smirked. “So, how was studying with Lila.”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “Movies....”

“What?”

“Movies,” Marinette repeated. “Or movie. Probably movies. And baking.”

Alya lifted a brow. “Babe, are you catatonic or something?”

“And cuddling. Oh no cuddling.” Mairnette covered her face with her hands. “Cuddling in blankets. Like on the couch? Or in my bed? She probably meant bed. Oh my God...”

“Marinette, you are blushing like crazy, what’s the matter.”

She breathed in deeply and peeked at Alya from in between her fingers. 

“I think I have a date.”

[hexiewrites]

we will never be satisfied

pairing: narcissa black / lily evans setting: georgian era / ~1790s. a winter’s ball. word count: 1837 written for: the femslash february trope bingo and my free space, which I have decided is a “regency era” au, except it’s more like georgian era (#historymajorproblems) so I dunno anymore whatever. It’s also a hamilton au - is that a thing yet? and hp femslash february in general! a/n: yes okay things I am aware of: I shamelessly ripped a bunch of dialogue and other things from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton’s “Satisfied” (preemptive warning, this ends just about how you expect it’s going to). I split both Eliza and Hamilton into two people, basically. (a formal apology to Peggy, who unfortunately here is portrayed by Bellatrix Lestrange neé Black). I also completely and utterly without shame stole, butchered, and modernized the brilliant Mary Wollstonecraft’s work (and, a bit of herself as well) A Vindication on the Rights of Men and its sequel A Vindication on the Rights of Women. I fucked with timeline and historical accuracy, and more importantly I made some characters pretty damn gay. welcome to hell, babes. as always, a big thanks to my beta/inspiration @nymphadoraholtzmann! this was her idea and she has been very patiently waiting for me to write it for like… probably at least a month so. you can also see the beautiful graphic she made for this concept right here!

(my bingo card) (my other writing)

Narcissa Black was bored. It didn't usually happen, especially not at such a lovely ball. Soldier's red coats brightened the ballroom and their brass buttons glimmered in the flickering candlelight. Narcissa brushed a hand down over the green and silver brocade of her dress and sighed, rather despondently. Her eyes flickered the room and spotted her oldest sister Bella dancing with her husband, Rodolphus, and her middle sister Andromeda giggling next to a soldier.

Once again, she was reminder of her father's stern words, before the ball. There would be no grinning soldiers or pretty peasants in her future, no following her heart or joining the swiftly growing revolution. No matter that she was educated, intelligent, and ambitious. There would only be a marriage to a wealthy man, a continuation of his family line, and the reminder - again and again and again - that she was supposed to be a boy and since she hadn't managed that, the least she could do was uphold her family’s honour by marrying a Lord.

Scanning her eyes across the room again, she couldn't help but notice a redhead woman who happened to be walking in her direction. The woman's dark auburn hair probably should have clashed with her red dress, but instead the two seemed to compliment each other, offsetting the woman's pale creamy skin. Narcissa forced herself to look away, glancing back at the ball.

"You strike me as a woman who’s never been satisfied," said a voice from her left. It was musical and magical and Narcissa had to swallow at the way it sent tingles down her spine. She turned and there was the redhead, more beautiful up close with large intelligent green eyes that Narcissa knew would be burned into her brain forever. Narcissa had never seen anything like them and it took her a moment to remember herself, her place.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she managed, in her best aristocrat voice. "You forget yourself."

The woman smirked, stepped closer. She radiated a confidence that was striking and terrifying, bold and courageous and something about it burned so brightly it nearly hurt.

"You're like me," the woman continued, lifting a hand to brush a strand of long red hair away from her face.

"Oh?" Narcissa asked, lost in green eyes and soft words and some underlying promise of more.

"I've never been satisfied." The woman continued, a grin tugging at her lips.

Narcissa couldn't help herself. She tipped her head back and laughed, her own lips quirking up in a matching smile, before she leaned in a little closer. "Is that right?"

The beautiful green eyes darkened just a bit, and the grin tugging at the woman’s pink lips shifted into something that should have been terrifying. “I will never be satisfied.” Something about the way she said it, the way her voice dipped lower and that look in her eyes tugged at something low in Narcissa’s abdomen and she shifted her legs slightly and fought the urge to bite her lips.

Deciding she couldn’t go another minute without learning the woman’s name, she extended her hand. “My name is Narcissa Black.”

A pale hand extended and caught hers, and Narcissa noticed almost immediately that the woman’s skin wasn’t quite as soft as hers. The woman lifted Narcissa’s hand and brushed her lips over the skin carefully, then looked up and smiled again. “Lily Evans.” She introduced herself, and Narcissa ran back through her mind of the hundreds of other wealthy families she knew. Clearly not Royalty, or nobility – Narcissa had had the family tree of every other family deemed acceptable burned into her brain since she was old enough to listen.

“Where’s your family from?” She asked, almost disappointed when Lily dropped her hand. The woman paused at the question, flicked her eyes to the side, and something in Narcissa’s stomach crashed.

“Unimportant,” Lily hedged, waving a hand as if dismissing it quickly. “There’s a million things I haven’t done.”

Narcissa swallowed, closed her eyes quickly. When she reopened them, Lily was still standing there, looking at her, tracing her eyes over Narcissa’s face and lips and Narcissa knew she had to drop this, to turn and run right now before she got stuck but she couldn’t seem to.

Instead, she kept her eyes on Lily, tried to determine why the woman was there. “Are you one of the soldier’s wives?” She asked, tipping her nose up in slight disdain, unable to help herself.

It was Lily’s turn to laugh, and Narcissa couldn’t help that her eyes were drawn down to watch as the woman’s chest bubbled up and nearly spilled over her corset as she did so. Narcissa’s mouth went dry and she swallowed, and forced herself to look up.

“Goodness no.” Lily shook her head now, and then she shrugged simply. “I’m an author.”

Narcissa raised a delicate brow. “And what, pray tell, do you write?” She had never met an author before, she didn’t think. But she was interested to know if Lily wrote more about cooking or housekeeping – not that she’d ever personally had to do either.

“My current piece is titled A Vindication on the Rights of Women.” Lily stated, something akin to a twinkle in her eye.

“Hmm. And what, exactly, are the rights of women, in your opinion?” Narcissa asked, trying to figure out what exactly a text with such a long name would be about.

Lily smirked and a self-satisfied air settled around her. “Nothing too radical,” she promised, though the lilting tone in her voice seemed to suggest otherwise. “In my previous work, I wrote against the aristocracy – instead, I believe that the people should have control over the state. I believe that the arrangement of our society, in which some individuals benefit by climbing over the backs of others, is horrendous.”

Narcissa choked. She was standing here speaking to a revolutionary. What on earth would her father say, to know that she was speaking to someone who, in all likelihood, supported the war that was going on! That supported this nonsense of revolution, of killing the monarchs. Who wanted to destroy the very lifestyle her ancestors had worked so hard for. Unfortunately, Lily’s emerald eyes were drawing her in and she couldn’t help but ask another question. “But what does all of that have to do with women? We’re not the ones fighting.”

Lily seemed to almost take this as a challenge and she rested a small hand on Narcissa’s arm, and Narcissa’s skin nearly burned under her touch. “I believe that, if a woman were to wish to, she should be able to be involved in whatever she so wishes. We, as women, are essential to our nation. We are more than just… just property to be sold to the highest bidder.” Narcissa was already thinking of her older sister’s engagement, a flurry of paperwork and a lack of meetings. Of her sister, in line next with similar arrangements already being set, and herself – the discussions of Lucius Malfoy that filtered up the stairs and into her bedroom. Lily was still speaking. “As long as we, as women, think rationally – there is so much more that we could all achieve.”

Lily had clearly gotten worked up speaking, her hand had tightened around Narcissa’s arm and her cheeks and chest were starting to flush. Narcissa wanted to catch the woman’s hand and run, take her away from this awful party full of people who would destroy her ideas, who would crush her enthusiasm and try to teach her her proper place. She had the brief idea that perhaps they could run, that she could spend the rest of her life watching the redhead’s skin flush and drawing laughter from her lips.

And then reality caught up to her, crashed into her like a pile of bricks and she remembered who she was. She was Narcissa Black. The third daughter and third disappointment for her family. To make up for her unfortunate gender, her primary goal in life was a good marriage to a rich man – not to spend her days with a woman who was likely penniless. None of this could ever work and she tore her eyes away from the green ones staring back at her and then scanned them across the room.

When they landed, what she had to do suddenly became clear to her and she turned back to Lily to scan her eyes over her beautiful face one last time. “Come with me.” She insisted, and slid her hand down into Lily’s, relishing in the feeling of small fingers and slightly rough skin.

“Where are you taking me?” Lily asked, laughter clear in her voice as Narcissa led her across the dance floor.

Narcissa paused, looked back at her destination. “I’m about to change your life.” She insisted.

“By all means.” Lily replied, and they crossed the last few steps of the dance floor in silence.    

When they arrived, she flashed a smile to the men that now stood in front of them

"My cousin Sirius Black," she introduced, gesturing to a man in a soldier's uniform and long shaggy hair. "And his friend, James Potter." She didn’t know James well, but she did know Sirius and she knew that despite his redcoat, he believed in the revolution and their actions. That he had joined the war effort here in hopes that he could pull it apart brick by brick. His parents were disgraced, and he looked more pleased than she had ever seen him. She only assumed that James was the same.

James scanned his eyes across Lily's form and Narcissa held the sneer back from her face. He looked like a lovesick puppy. He looked helpless. She wanted to send him away, to catch Lily in her arms and do… something. Something that she was sure she was not supposed to want to do with anyone other than her husband – let alone another woman. Especially one with such dangerous ideas.

"Lily Evans," the redhead said, extending a hand and offering a small smile. "Pleasure to meet you."

James grinned and caught the hand, pressing his lips to Lily's smooth skin. Lily flushed and then flicked her eyes back to Narcissa, who was still looking steadily at James. She had known it would work – not that she was sure why, but she had known it all the same.

"James Potter. The pleasure is all mine." He assured her, stepping closer. Narcissa closed her hand into a fist, dug her nails into her palms, inhaled.

"Thank you for your service." Lily said, polite interest in her voice, nothing like the confident undertone from when she's spoken to Narcissa.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it." James purred, and Sirius snickered beside him.

Lily giggled, and Narcissa's heart shattered.

"I'll leave you to it." Narcissa nearly whispered, and she never looked back.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Knowing Mortality (Femslash February)

Prompt: Wings Fandom: Avatar Pair: AzulaxTyLee Song Rec:  Within Temptation’s Stairway To The Skies

Summary: Azula makes a sacrifice on the battlefield and is left for dead. In her final moments she sees an angel.

A little warning for a mildly graphic description of character death. I tried to keep it tasteful though. Also going to note that in this fic, Azula and her family are not royals. 

Blood seeps between her lips, she doesn’t know exactly where it is coming from. She does know that she has a blade in her belly, it leaves her queasy and shaky. She does know where her fellow combatants are. She thinks that they thought she was already dead, so they have left her to actually die. Or maybe they knew she wasn’t dead yet but have deemed her as a lost cause and left her anyways.

No matter, they are right.

She will be dead soon.

Azula clutches her middle as the pain flares to a higher intensity. She doesn’t want to die. She isn’t one to blabber on and on about how she is to young to die. But she is the youngest on her team. The youngest and the smallest. She considers that this is another reason they have chosen to leave her. But this doesn’t add up, she is the youngest and smallest but she has respect. Respect and authority. She was a battle away from becoming a general.

It becomes apparent that they truly had thought that she was already a corpse.

She is starting to feel like one.

She hopes fervently that someone will come back for her.

That a lone traveler will spot a dying girl and provide aid.

An hour or so passes and not a soul comes by.

The meadow is vacant and Azula knows that no one is coming.

She has seen it before. The battle has turned the place into an unusable wasteland. Farms can’t be grown on soil so charred and bloodied. The vegetation that was there is dead. Flowers have been burned to the root and those that haven’t, have been sucked dry of water. Where the ground isn’t blackened, it is cracked beyond use. There isn’t a body of water to utilize.

There is no reason for anyone to weather the stick of dead bodies.

They have always romanized death on the battlefield. They told her stories of war heroes, immortalized by their final acts. They painted it as this glorious and honorable thing. As an empowering, brave sacrifice. But she feels anything but. She is terrified. Terrified and dirty. Far from glorious, blood coats the lower have of her. Her face is clammy and muddy. She smells like death and defecation. The pain has turned her stomach enough for her to heave a mix of blood whatever else was in her body. It isn’t empowering, it is silently humiliating, even if no one else is around to see it. She doesn’t feel like a hero. She feels like a frightened child.

She is a frightened child.

She doesn’t feel strong.

She feels weak. Right to her very core.

And she grows weaker still as her blood wells around her.

She cries to herself because she doesn’t want to die. She’d departed from her family on awful terms. She wanted to one up Zu-Zu in front of father, who constantly flashed all of his wartime badges. She wanted to make her mother feel guilty for not caring for her as much as Azula thought she ought to.

She is going to feel guilty alright.

Because her daughter isn’t coming home.

Though she wants to, Azula can’t even cry out. It hurts too much. She thinks of sending a lightning bolt to her chest. But she is too weak to produce anything more than a tiny spark. A spark that she very well might have imagined. Her body shudders.

Breathing is becoming a task and she is certain that her eyes are glossing over.

Still, the pain doesn’t relent.

There is nothing noble or bold about this.

But Azula doesn’t die so soon.

Her body holds on for another three days.

She wishes it didn’t.

She feels a warm hand cup her cold cheek. She is shivering violently. The quivers of death. A part of her still isn’t ready. She still doesn’t want to die. But the pain is unbearable and the discomforts of laying in her own filth and clotting blood are even worse. She wants to die as much as she wants to live. She doesn’t want to die, she realizes, she just wants someone to take her out of this miserable state. She wants someone to save her.

The same hand brushes hair out of her sticky face. She doesn’t know how this person can stand to touch her. “It’s going to be okay.”

But Azula knows that it isn’t.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Azula squints, trying to focus on the girl talking to her. But what she sees doesn’t make sense and she decides that what she is seeing as a hallucination brought about by her dying brain as it shuts itself down. A final defense mechanism to distract her from what is about to happen.

It is a good distraction, she must admit. And she doesn’t mind succumbing to it. The fingers stroking her cheek seem to shimmer with white-gold light. The light doesn’t seem to come from within so much as it looks like the light is pouring onto the hand.

“Who are you?” Azula tries to choke out, but she doesn’t think that she has managed anything tangible. Somehow the girl still knows.

“My name is TyLee.” She takes Azula into her arms. Azula has the awareness to feel bad for probably dirtying the girl’s white gown.

Azula reaches out and brushes her fingers against wings that look like they are made of diamond and pink pearl. But they feel like they are made of silk or...it is like a fabric she has never felt before. “It hurts.”

“I know.” TyLee nods. She can see the sorrow in her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

TyLee offers a sad half smile and Azula knows.

She wasn’t ready, but she nods anyways.

“You’re going to feel a lot better soon.” She holds her hand above Azula’s chest. The glow on her hand seems to double in luminosity. And then she stops, seeming to hesitate. “You took the blade for someone else?”

Azula nods, the motion ails her.

“You loved her didn’t you?”  She leans in closer and Azula detects the scent of fresh rain on summertime hay.

Azula’s lower lip quivers and her eyes burn.

“She made it out alive.” TyLee notes.

Azula tries to smile. At least she isn’t dying for nothing at all. She doesn’t know how TyLee can stand to do so, but she brings her lips to Azula’s. The taste is like vanilla and sugar. The feeling is like being wrapped in silk and bathed in warm light. Her stomach flutters pleasantly as pain is enveloped by a gentler feeling. Like brushing up against the wool of a koala-sheep or finding oneself in the middle of a swarm of butterflies.

She supposes that dead isn’t so dreadful.

.oOo.

When she wakes her body feels lighter.

Weightless.

Perhaps it is because she doesn’t have a body at all.

She looks down at the one she once had. It looks even smaller than she had imagined. Her eyes are closed. She almost can’t recognize herself, death had hollowed her cheeks and paled her skin so much.  Her hair is matted with blood and grime. Her body isn’t as elegant as it had been before the war. A raven is already making use of the wound that ended her.

A lump forms in her throat and she thinks that she might cry all over again.

TyLee takes her hand. “You don’t need to see that.”

She doesn’t want to.

TyLee sweeps a hand through her hair. Silky, black hair that smells of  burning sage. TyLee takes Azula’s hand and holds it up for her to see. It has the same radiance that she has seen on TyLee’s but with a blue tinge instead of gold. Her skin is still very pale, but in a lively, glowing way.

Azula feels celestial.

Divine.

And she supposes that there is a reason for that. She is somehow still afraid.

“That will pass.” TyLee notes. “It’s kind of hard to adjust at first…” She trails off, following Azula’s gaze to her ravaged physical self. TyLee cups Azula’s cheek again and turns her head. “Don’t look at your human body, it’s better if you don’t.”

TyLee is right. Her physical form has been lost to her and there is nothing to gain from staring at it and making herself ache more. Nothing to gain from putting more fear into her...does she have a soul anymore? Perhaps she is only a soul now. She shouldn’t be afraid still.

“That will pass.” TyLee repeats herself. “You still have a good part of your human mind with you. Eventually it will fade and you won’t be afraid anymore.” She takes Azula’s hand.

“Will I remember?”

“Your human life?” TyLee nods. “Of course. But you won’t long to have it back, that will pass too.”

Azula doesn’t know if she believes her. The girl drifts closer and pulls her into a hug, her wings folding around Azula’s new form. A form she is not yet familiar with. Not yet comfortable with. She doesn’t know if it suits her aesthetically. But it can’t be any worse than what is down there.

“You’re beautiful.” TyLee notes, stroking her wings.

Wings that Azula is now aware that she has. Wings that she has been using wholly instinctually. Wings of a radiant blue. Wings of blue feathers that end in fire not unlike the kind she had mastered in life. Perhaps this form will suit her after all. “Can we go somewhere else, this place is depressing.”

TyLee smiles. “Let me show you your new home.”