You were tired after a long day of work at Jitter’s. Or at least it felt like a long day because Barry, your good friend and long time crush had not come in yet. Usually he came in around lunch time and yet it was one thirty and you had not seen him.
Having a crush on him was difficult since you were positive he was in love with Iris and honestly why wouldn’t he be, she is gorgeous and super smart, meanwhile you believed yourself to be average in every way. Sighing you stood up and grabbed the washrag to go clean off some tables that had recently been vacated.
“(Y/N)!” You heard Barry call from the front of the cafe. You grinned and turned around.
“Barry! Hey, where have you been?” You hoped you didn’t sound too needy. You weren’t usually like this around people you were interested in, but something about Barry made you feel a little clingy, which you hated.
“Work, weird case today so I couldn’t take my break at the usual time.” He responded wearily.
“Weird how?” You asked going around the counter to prepare his usual drink.
“It looks like another one of those meta-human attacks.”
“Cool! Well I mean that’s terrible, but the whole meta-human thing is pretty interesting. Especially how The Flash is using his powers for good.” You replied not looking up from the drink you were preparing, so you didn’t notice how Barry perked up at that.
“Yeah it’s nice to think that at least one person got those powers and decided to use them to help instead of to harm.” You finished off his drink and passed it over to him. He went to pull out his wallet and you shook your head. “Nah it’s on the house today.”
Barry smiled, “Thanks (Y/N).”
You blushed and started to clean off the counter.
“Hey Barry!” You hear a deep male voice call from door. You turn at the sound ready to take more drink orders and you are greeted by the sight of Oliver freaking Queen standing at the door. Your eyes widen and you look at Barry as if to say, You know Oliver Queen and didn’t think to tell me!
“Hey Oliver.” Barry smiles easily after sending a shrug your way clearly not wanting to explain how he knew Oliver.
Oliver’s eyes slid to you and he smiled. “And who is this?”
“Oh, (Y/N) this is Oliver, Oliver this is (Y/N).” You smiled back easily even though a slight blush was present on your cheeks because holy hell Oliver is even more attractive in person.
“Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and you shook it, though he seemed to hold on a second longer than maybe deemed necessary.
“And you as well.”
Meanwhile Barry is more than a little jealous. Since the second Oliver walked in the room your eyes have been glued to him and Oliver is clearly falling into his playboy flirting habits with you. Barry coughed trying to draw your attention away from Oliver.
“Where are Felicity, Diggle and Laurel?” Barry asked, acting a just a tiny bit rude.
“Diggle is parking, I think Laurel and Felicity are just a bit behind me.” Oliver replied smoothly and then he turned his attention back to you. He leaned slightly on the counter which caused to shirt ride up slightly. You glanced down and immediately snapped your eyes back up at Barry’s cough. You blushed and Oliver grinned. “So (Y/N) any drink recommendations for me?”
“I personally always love our Apple Spice Latte.” You replied trying to seem a little more put together because goddamn you weren’t some wilting flower because of the sight of some tanned skin.
“Sounds delicious, I’ll take one of those.”
“Coming right up.” You turned towards the machines and began to make the drink. You missed Barry glowering at Oliver and muttering something about stupid GQ model looks. Though Oliver heard and chuckled.
The bell over the door chimed as you handed Oliver his drink as three others walked in who you assumed to be Diggle, Felicity and Laurel that Barry had mentioned earlier.
Oliver payed and winked at you and then turned to go over to his friends. Your blush reappeared and you quickly tried to tamp it down. You faced Barry and raised your eyebrows.
“What the hell, Barry?” You asked, faking anger.
“You know Oliver Queen?”
“Yeah, but it doens’t really matter. I know him from work and Felicity is my friend so we all hang out sometimes.” He really wanted to steer the subject away from Oliver because he didn’t quite care for you staring at him dreamily. “How is work?”
“Awful, but you know that. Two part-time jobs isn’t the best.” You sighed. “I think I get a solid four hours of sleep on a regular basis.”
“I’m sorry (Y/N). I wish I could help.”
“Yeah well you would think a master’s in political science and another in economics would mean something, but apparently not in this city.”
At that moment Oliver walked back over. He had heard your mention of your degrees and thought maybe he could hire you for his campaign.
“Yeah?” You smiled kindly at Oliver. “Do you need a refill?”
“Actually I was wondering if you would be willing to work as a campaign manager for my campaign back in Star City? It would nicely. Although it would mean moving to Star City for a few months, though I could provide the money for the move.”
You gaped at him. What he being serious?
“Umm yes?” He chuckled.
“Oh did I say that out loud? Ummm… Let me think about it.” You replied shakily.
“Sure thing, he is my number. Can you let me know as soon as possible?”
“A refill would be great as well.” He winked and handed you his cup.
“Yeah no problem.” You quickly made another drink, barely managing to not spill it on yourself in your awed and confused state.
“Thanks.” He left and went back over to his friends who began to whisper and gesture widely, obviously about the offer he just made to you.
During that whole encounter Barry had been glowering at Oliver. He was glad you were being offered a job that would pay better than your current ones. But he didn’t want you to leave and he wasn’t a fan of the extreme flirting Oliver had been doing.
“Holy shit Barry.” You breathed. “Do you think I should do it?”
“Of course, it is an amazing opportunity.” He tried to smile easily, like he wasn’t bothered by the idea of you leaving Central City and him for a long period of time.
“Are you sure?” You tilted your head, looking at him confused; he was usually so supportive.
Barry nodded. “Of course I am (Y/N). I would miss you that’s all.” You reached out and squeezed his hand.
“I would miss you too, but with that new train you could come visit me and it wouldn’t take all that long.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” He chuckled because it really only took him seconds to get to Star City, with him being the Flash and all, but you didn’t know that.
He glanced down at your hand, which was still resting on his. You coughed and pulled it away as subtly as you could. Barry shook his head and grabbed your hand once more. You blushed, curious as to why he would want to keep holding your hand.
“Hey (Y/N)… I want to tell you… That, uh.. before you go and Oliver sweeps you off your feet-”
“What?” Was Barry jealous? Does that mean he is likes you? It has to, right?
“Well you clearly are interested in him and he is interested in you. And that means I have no chance…” He winced.
You laughed, “He is not who I’m interested in.”
“Oh? Who do you like then?”
“You.” You were smiling. Barry looked at you sure that he has heard you wrong. You shook your head and pressed a light kiss to his lips.
So at the
end of the war – ‘The war’. Singular. What a fucking joke. Which war? And when?
One of how many real or metaphorical? – Four-Seven-Niner finds there’s a
certain level of work available to morally flexible combat pilots with nothing
to lose. She comes highly recommended. She comes with her own drop-ship. She comes
with a head full of slip-space trajectories and read for flash-jumps through
the contested voids between one UNSC system and the next. She has a head for
In the end,
she’s just looking for a color.
She finds it
in a space port along the outer systems, eating burgers and fries from a docking
cantina, hair buzzed up the back, sticking up on top. Niner taps her on the
shoulder. She turns around, blinking green and Niner isn’t sure why this occurs
to her: an image of a skyline, a horizon frayed by the rippling green of trees,
a long stretch of rolling hills that climb from her feet to the edge of that
great wood. She imagines a rocket, no, a single bottle rocket, winding a trail
of smoke into the atmosphere. Popping in the sky. The smell of hotdogs on a
burn a little. “Hey, there Carolina.”
woman with a green eyes, a new massive scar across her cheek, she says, “Fuck
lunges out of her seat and Niner’s weightless and spinning. She’s tasting ketchup
and salt. She’s kissing a women two steps from SPARTAN, saying her name to make
it stick. And home is the sound she makes when Carolina says her name (her real
name) in a time of peace.
When: Starting now (14:00 PM EST, February 20th) for the next 48 hours (Closing at 14:00 PM EST, February 22nd)
What: A maximum of 300 words based off the given prompt for the contest. You can take the prompt literally, figuratively, use it in a sentence, etc. Be creative and let those juices flow!
Submissions: All submissions will be through the submission box with the following format:
Title: if applicable
Body: Your drabble, consisting of a maximum of 300 words based off the given prompt. (Obviously Bellarke-centric)
Note: please add an author’s note at the end if you have a separate sideblog that you’d rather be announced at the end of the contest when the authors of the submissions are revealed.
Submissions will be compiled into a singular page anonymously.
To avoid author bias, all entries will be presented to the voting body anonymously with the authors revealed at the end of the contest. The top 8-10 fics move on to a final round of voting for maximum exposure.
The voting will be done by you the followers!
The Winner: will receive a banner created by our graphics team, bragging rights, the opportunity to choose February’s prompt, and a spot on our winner’s page along with their winning entry in our sidebar until a new winner is revealed.
Each author may submit up to two entries. No more than two, but two is not required.
extended version of the 300-word drabble I submitted for @bellarkefanfiction September flash fic contest.
Start with Bellamy Blake.
But it’s not Bellamy standing in front of her anymore.
She can tell from his intense, raptor-like stare on her, the cold fingers that tilt her chin up, the relaxation in his body language in contrast to his barely repressed terror moments before he took the chip. She can tell by the way he cocks his head at her when she begs, “Please, Bellamy, don’t, I know you’re in there.”
“Bellamy isn’t home right now.” His voice is familiarly deep but oddly flat, without inflection. He turns his head and nods to Jaha and Abby, who’ve finished securing the noose from the ceiling.
Hot tears roll down her cheeks and she tugs again futilely at her bonds. He took the chip to stop them from killing his sister, and now they’re using him to kill her. “Don’t, Bellamy,” she whispers brokenly. “Please, I know you can hear me. Fight it.” He doesn’t react. “Don’t do this.”
Bellamy finally turns back to her to appraise her, apparently unaffected by her words. After a moment of examination, he lifts a hand to swipe a thumb along her tear-stained cheek. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, cupping her jaw in a horribly tender way. “It’s not for you.”
notes | So I’m starting to get in the holiday spirit and I went to a hockey game last night and the scarf part popped into my mind, so you get this. Hope you enjoy!
idea to go to the botanical garden’s annual light show the day before Christmas
Eve. Ever a lover of their holiday displays, she’d bought the tickets weeks
ago, insisting that they’d all need something to get them into the holiday
spirit, claiming that with their busy lives (jobs and meta humans and the
myriad of related disasters that seem to come with the territory) they’d be too
distracted otherwise. She is, of course, completely right—so much so that they
barely make the final minutes that it’s open, but they do: Caitlin pulls them
into the lot (all still tugging on more weather appropriate clothes) about five
minutes before the ticket counter closes (Barry’s pretty sure he’s still
bleeding somewhere, but had decided against mentioning it, when he’d seen Iris
looking anxiously prepared to be disappointed, and Caitlin standing with her
coat over her arm).
That was half
an hour ago, before the temperature seemed to drop substantially, leaving them
on the far end of the gardens, wandering slowly as they take in the lights and
chatter in little groups. Iris is tugging Eddie along at the front of their
group, eager to see everything and snap an occasional picture, completely
missing the adoration on her fiancé’s face as he sneaks in shots of his own,
Iris’s smile lit in Christmas lights, wide eyed and completely happy. A little
ways behind, giving them space, trail Cisco and Joe, trying to brainstorm ways
to trick out Joe’s front yard (at least on Cisco’s side, Joe’s mostly just
Caitlin are a little father back yet, strolling quietly through the displays
and commenting here and there about what they find particularly well put
together. Or at least, that’s ostensibly what they’re doing—Barry at least is
also sneaking occasional looks at Caitlin, enjoying the way she smiles slightly
at the simpler arrangements, unassuming and typically full of meaning.
Eventually, he realizes his distraction and shakes loose enough to notice more
than the curve of her lips and the lingering directions of her gaze.
Written for the Bellarke Fanfiction Flash Fic February 2016 contest - the prompt was ‘hands’.
H ot and heavy, his palms rest on her hips as he pushes her into the metal wall of his room. Clarke hadn’t come here for this. She had come here to yell at him, for him to yell at her, to break this tension pulling taut between them like a twisted string since she had returned. When it finally snapped though, they didn’t break apart. Instead, they crashed together, Bellamy’s mouth coming down on hers greedily and his hands pinning her in place, as if he was scared she’d leave again. She wouldn’t though; she liked his taste too much.
A fter the first time, he was wary that too much had changed too fast. Two nights later, though, he opened his door and there she was, hands reaching for him insistently. Her fingers clenched into his shirt as she sprung up to kiss him. As his mouth opened for her, his thumbs rubbed against her hipbones, then up her stomach as he shucked her shirt off. Clarke was just as eager, though their urgency wore off as they realized they had time to explore each other. No rush needed, hands slowing as they ran against as much skin as possible.
N othing could stop her from tracing the freckles on his face with her fingertip, mapping constellations into his skin as he slept. This thing of theirs was new, struggling to bloom in the face of such a heavy past. Softened by sleep, however, the boy Bellamy could have been appears, and she never could keep her hands away. Every time he would wake under her touch, blinking with confusion at her fascinated stare. She’d just keep her hands where they were, stroking her thumb over his lips until he rolled onto her and she found a better use for them.
D rifting awake one morning, he heard the scrape of charcoal on paper. With sleepy eyes, he watched Clarke sketch him, her fingers covered in black dust that glimmered in the dawn light. Her hands moved furiously, as if trying to capture a fleeting moment. Something warm burst in his chest, and he flipped the blanket off his naked body. The next time she looked up, her cheeks flushed pink at the revealing sight, her hands freezing over her work. Then she laughed, undressed, and came to join him, seeking hands leaving smears of black all over him in the process.
S oftly but surely is how their fingers intertwine for the first time outside the private walls of their bedrooms. More than a few people blink at their interlocked hands as they pass. Bellamy glances down in question as the stares continue, but Clarke just smiles at him, squeezing his palm. He grins back, bringing their hands up to shoulder-height, kissing her knuckles tenderly, pointedly. They don’t let go, and eventually, not a single person bats an eye at Bellamy and Clarke walking through camp with their hands clasped tightly together, as if that’s where they were always meant to be.
a/n: written for bellarkefanfiction’s February Flash Fiction contest.
In the end, it was the feeling of Bellamy’s hand in hers that brings her back.
Being in the City of Light was like walking through the Garden of Eden; a perfect surreal reality, the elimination of all pain, the absence of struggle, the opportunity for peace. Days had passed since she last saw Bellamy, the kind of days that stretched and pulled and felt like eternity in this new virtual world. With every passing moment, the City of Light felt more solid, and her knowledge of reality faded and faded, slipping further and further out of reach.
Lexa is there with her and she’s somehow real and not real, a variety of the woman Clarke knew but not quite right, like someone made a copy that missed just a few details, and tried to improve upon others, but the image falls flat. The image is too perfect, too ideal, yet she wants to believe it. Here there are no life or death choices, no more pain, no more Wanheda … gone are the memories of Bellamy’s tears as he reminded her that she left him, gone are the memories of Abby’s disappointment, of Octavia’s judgement, of Lexa’s manipulation, of Raven’s pain, of the hundreds of bodies around the dropship, around TonDC, around Mount Weather, around Arkadia. Yet, gone are the memories of Bellamy’s arms, of Raven’s smile, of Abby’s concern, of Monty’s comfort, of the promise of something more that first appeared on a Unity Day long ago… gone is the memory of having someone so solidly by her side, so firm in his support, so steady in hand. By eliminating the negatives, the City of Light eliminated the positives, and Clarke could no longer remember the feel of Bellamy’s hand wrapped around hers, of what it was like to look into those eyes and feel real love, real trust, real belief. Not even the ALIE could recreate or perfect upon that.
Her memories of reality fade and fade, and then she feels it.
Her physical form lies prone in Arkadia, fretted over by her mother and her friends, and while before he was gone he is now there. The moment his warm familiar hand takes hers, pressing her knuckles to his lips, then his lips to her forehead, everything comes back.
This world is wrong .
It’s missing one key element, the one thing that even ALIE cannot recreate.
What use is perfection and utopia, without the ones she loves? What use is fiction, when it blurs and greys out and fades the best pieces of reality? Clarke feels his hand, breaking through the haze, feels herself awaken, feels Clarke Griffin emerge again. With this touchstone, her touchstone, she steadies, and she decides . There is a place where she belongs, a place where she fits, and he’s right there, steady and loyal, holding her hand as his own touchstone.
In the end, it was the feeling of Bellamy’s hand in hers that brings her back.
I want to do something... let's see if it works. FLASH CONTEST!
Okay, the first one to submit a request for a one shot in MLA format, gets the one shot with whomever they want!
You can research how to write in MLA format, that’s not cheating. I don’t expect all of you to know that format, but I just want to do to this in spirit to my comeback to classes (I’m still crying over that).
You can make a snapshot of your screen after you create the document with the MLA format and post it to me on a ask. Or whatever you think of. I’ll be waiting.
Remember to include this information:
Your name & age.
A physical description.
Something about you that you’d like me to use for the one shot.