You know what the best part about loving hp femslash is???? The fact that they are all possible in the same universe.
Like imagine, the crushes and break ups and love triangles. The getting back togethers, the just one dates, the secret smooches in hidden corridors.
Ginny can go out with Cho for a while and then start something with Luna. Hermione can make out a few times with Fleur in her fourth year and then hit it off with Pansy later. The possibilities are endless!
You don’t take her. Whoever it is that controls this stuff out there, you listening? You don’t take her from me. Because I promise you, I will storm the gates of hell itself to get her back. So just don’t. Just… don’t. Please.
The novice fan doesn’t understand when the word “chemistry” is used to describe your relationship with an opponent. Every step the last couple of years, including the first ever female ironman match in WWE history, you have made this journey with Sasha Banks. How has that chemistry developed and how does it play into taking your matches to incredible heights? (x)
Angela thought about putting up a fight when the other doctors shooed her out of the room, but she instead decided that wouldn’t get her anywhere positive. She would be gracious in her success. She could be.
Besides, Amélie was a bit too out of it to want to talk to her much. She spent a lot of time staring at her hands and offering brief answers to the long questions she was being asked.
So when a parade of more doctors came in, followed by a team of lawyers, Angela was content to leave the crowded room. She allowed herself one little glance back, and could swear she saw those golden eyes lift from examining cyanotic skin to follow her to the door.
Angela could hold on to that a while. She could wait. She could.
Cho and Ginny never got along at school, so it surprises everyone, including themselves, when they team up to take care of an orphaned seal pup that Ginny insists on calling Sedna (which Cho thinks is entirely ridiculous and not at all cute). However, as the weeks turn into months, they become friends…. or something like that.
Late nights in the newsroom, coffee runs turning into stolen moments of goofing around in the face of deadlines, crashing together out of sheer exhaustion – this wasn’t supposed to happen. Neither of them expected catching a moment together amid the chaos to become the highlight of their whole day.
wow, nonny, way to be an asshat. YOU SHOULD WRITE MORE MERRILL/ISABELA. THAT’S AS UN-CULLEN AS POSSIBLE, RIGHT? Something with rain.
I first read this as ‘as far away from Cullen as possible’ and so, fic resulted:
Merrill/Isabela - in the rain - as far away from Cullen as possible
They run along the shore of the Wounded
Coast, shadows streaking at their back clouds low overhead.
Isabela’s boots press hard divots in the
grey, fine sand. Merrill is unused to the stuff, shifting from glass-hard to
sticky and tricky and easy to fall through, her calves aching from the suck and
pull of it. She trips over her friend’s footsteps. There is rain in her mouth.
Merrill stops. The ground is lovely and still
when you’re not running all over it. She lets her hand press into the sand.
Lifts it away and examines the pattern, swallowing cooler air. “Much better.”
Isabela’s laugh is softer than usual. It
might be waterlogged. She crouches low, easy with her boots and her balance,
and Merrill watches water drip over the spill of gold at her throat, heavier
than the shirt that clings to her breasts and stomach in a way that makes
Merrill want to reach out and touch, even though sand does get rather
awfully in the way. Still, the sight makes Merrill smile, teeth pressing into
her own lower lip.
“We lost him in the Rose, of course,” Isabela
says, sigh almost lost. “Templars are so predictable.”
“Except when they’re not.”
Isabela’s eyes grow wide, just for half a
breath. Wide and bright as beach glass. Her hair tangles over her face,
water-dark and water-long, scarf lost halfway down her back. She watches
Merrill and Merrill watches back.
“Except when they’re not, kitten,” she says.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You have other things to worry about,”
Merrill says. “You carry so many knives—”
Isabela leans in and licks a raindrop off the
tip of her nose. Merrill breaks off in a squeak.
“—do you forgive me?”
“—but there isn’t anything to—”
“—yes there is,” Isabela says, cupping
Merrill’s cheek, fingers playing with the beads in her hair until she’s
smiling, and teasing the edge of Merrill’s ear until she shivers. “Why were we
running away from the the Knight Captain, by the way?”
Merrill blinks. “I was shopping for…um… mirror
things,” she manages, mouth twisting on half a lie. “But he had so many
questions, and I wasn’t—” she holds out one palm, the skin shiny and new and
still a little sore at over a small cut at the centre. It’s harder than she
thought, doing it. She watches her friend’s face. Waits for a hiss of sympathy
she doesn’t need or disapproval she could not bear. But Isabela’s face is as
smooth as the sand beneath their bodies.
“I didn’t feel like I could lie well,”
Merrill said. “Not right then.”
“So you ran.”
“And you ran with me!”
“Of course I did.”
Isabela’s fingers dance from her ear to her
lips, and Merrill is grinning, delighted at the small noise the pirate makes as
she sucks one fingertip into her mouth. Bites down just enough for
“But—” Merrill says, breathless, mouth full
of warmth. “If you didn’t even know what—”
Her lips are stopped. Two fingertips this
time. A sharp tap. Something bright and sweet in Isabela’s eyes.
“—That doesn’t matter a bit, kitten,” she
says. “Do that again.”