#( & closed verse: when was the last time you thought of me? - danviers )

[queensupe]

“  take this.  ”   she extends a solemn palm to @danviers​, the curl of her fingers host to a cluster of vials gleaming in a lurid, fervid green that sloshes to a rolling side.  “  -----  in case.  ”   the implication is solid, crystal clear in a way she hasn’t been in close to a decade of swimming behind the dark amber curtain protecting her from the razor-bladed reality that cuts through in sharp relief now that everything  --  that homelande.r’s true nature  -- is out in the open.  in case means in case of the inevitable snap to the threadbare tightrope she’s been treading, in case she isn’t there.

a slow-rolling undulation weaves the column of her throat  &  unsticks the facts.  “  it’s 24 hours of superpowers.  it might make a difference,  ”  unsticks from around a clotted kernel of humor stuck behind her swallow.  the difference is the minutia, the split-second moment where temporary v could be a parachute in a high altitude plummet.  “  if it comes down to it.  ” //   sc.  

[queensupe]

@danviers​ / sc. 

“  think about it.  ”  she lets her fingertips gentle on the backs of alex’s knuckles.  it’s as intimate as she’s let things get lately with the rising mercury at vought, with the tension starting to tug tighter between them each passing day.  there’s an upturned, furtive plea surfaced over with a vulnerable sincerity rarely shown outside of these four walls.  “  we could go away together.  before things get too bad.  ” 

[queensupe]

@danviers​ | ♡

❛    did  you  see  page  6  today?    ❜    maggie’s  palms  smooth  across  the  bridge  of  alex’s  shoulders  from  behind    ;    she  leans  in  to  press  a  quick  kiss  against  the  side  of  her  neck.    her  thumbs  are  deliberate,  tracing  for  spots  of  tension,  applying  pressure  where  she  finds  a  stiff  place  in  the  fibers.    a  soft  kind  of  humor  snatches  at  the  edges  of  her  eyes.    ❛    apparently  i  have  a  mystery  girlfriend  who  matches  your  exact  description.    ❜  

the  papers  cobble  together  this  kind  of  story  often  with  vought-approved  tips,  or  a  red  herring  thrown  out  with  a  celebrity  queen  maeve  once  stepped  a  red  carpet  with.  tabloids  manage  to  measure  her  unlikely  romantic  life  by  the  number  of  events  she  attends    &    occasionally  by  minutia  of  the  width  of  her  smile  or  gauging  a  certain  flickered  reaction.  

this  time,  it’s  a  grainy  photograph,  nothing  so  concrete  to  grapple  icy  concern  for  homelander’s  eyes  on  their  coupling.    ❛    -----    well,  if  your  description  if  this  blurry  picture.    ❜      a  frown  drags  down  at  her  mouth,  hands  still  working  the  traction  of  a  long  day  away  from  her  alex’s  back.    ❛    if  you  ask  me,  they’d  have  a  better  chance  of  identifying  bigfoot.    ❜  

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: “  you’ll always have me.  ”

soft,  saccharine  promises  always  come  easiest  in  the  near  delirium  of  the  afterglow.    they  dislodge  themselves  freely  when  pins    &    needles  from  the  descent  off  the  liquid  metal  heat  of  climax  still  tingle  in  the  crush  of  her  toes  in  the  bedsheets.  her  defenses,  already  lax  in  the  wake  of  warm  mouths  sliding  together,  hands  clutching  into  gentle  curves,  decline  to  fix  deflection  back  in  place  when  the  form  pressed  up  against  hers  lights  all  the  pleasure  receptors  in  her  skin  aglow.    

even  though  they’ve  settled  into  dozing  lashes,  maggie’s  arm  slung  low  across  alex’s  hip    &    fingertips  tripping  over  the  bow  of  her  waist  to  track  the  intake  of  breath,  she  feels  like  she’s  still  trying  to  catch  her  own.  her  heartbeat  against  her  chest  feels  too  heavy,  jarring  from  the  excitement    &    the  closeness.  it’s  hungry    &    she  doesn’t  realize  how  much  she’s  been  craving  an  assurance  like  that  until  it  settles  out  into  the  velvet  quiet  of  the  bedroom.    

she  wants  to  dip  into  it  now  that’s  she’s  tasted  it  again    &    again    &    again,  to  drown  in  this  commitment  more  than  any  bottle  of  bitter  bourbon  she  could  find.    

it  hits  some  low,  eager  chord  strung  taut  in  her  chest  along  with  it,  the  one  still  waking  from  the  depths  of  where  desire    &    friction  against  the  sheets  muted  it  into  temporary  silence.  maggie  props  her  chin  on  her  knuckles,  that  happy  sigh  twisting  up  at  the  ends  of  her  lips  withdrawing.    her  touch,  pads  on  either  side  of  the  silvery  scar  left  behind  against  alex’s  ribcage,  stays.    

❛    the  things  i’ve  done...      ❜    she  omits  the  made  me  do  that  often  goes  along  with  her  partnered  behavior  next  to  homelander,  because  by  NOW  she  can  confess  that  all  the  blood  staining  her  palms  is  of  her  choosing.    no  amount  of  denial  can  erase  the  violence  of  bones  snapping  under  her  grip  or  deafen  the  shrill  near-death  screams  of  which  she  has  been  the  arbiter.      ❛    i’ve  killed  people,  alex.    that’s  the  real  me.    ❜  

her  eyes  meet  alex’s    &    she  wants  badly  to  hear  that  this  pledge,  even  blurred  by  the  cooling  prickle  of  sweat  at  the  last  notch  of  her  spine,  has  permanence.  the  vulnerability  steals  away  what’s  left  of  the  air  in  her  lungs.    she  swallows  hard,  busies  her  gaze  at  a  scrape  leathering  the  headboard.    the  shame  is  so  hot  in  her  cheeks  that  she  suddenly  can’t  stand  how  near  they  are  to  one  another.    

❛      ---------      can  you  really  see  all  of  that    &    think  that’s  someone  you  can  stand  behind?    ❜  

[queensupe]

@danviers​​

IT’S  ONE  THING  TO  tumble  into  bed  together  after  a  loosed  cork,  or  to  find  solace  at  the  end  of  a  tensile  rope  of  conflict  in  the  arms  of  an  old  lover.    it’s  another  entirely  to  play  at  romance,  maggie  realizes  from  where  she  lingers  outside  alex’s  apartment  door.    there’s  a  sudden  awkwardness  to  the  pinned  angles  of  her  elbows.    her  arms  feel  gangly  without  purpose    ;    she  feels  underdressed  somehow  without  armor    &    a  circlet    around  her  brow  to  build  her  up.    she  feels  vulnerable    &    naked.    she  feels  HUMAN.    

there’s  a  single,  pink-petaled  rose  between  her  fingertips,  the  thorns  carefully  pared  back  until  the  stem  is  elegantly  shaped    &    clean  enough  to  rest  in  her  palm.    it’s  soft,  sweet,  all  of  the  things  that  they  typically  eschew  for  takeout    &    a  six  pack  of  beer.    &    maggie,  yanking  the  blades  of  her  posture  backwards,  is  making  an  effort. 

  a  bottle  of  good  red  wine    &    two  expensive,  imported  cigars  in  her  pocket    &    an  earnestness  exposed  in  a  smile  riddled  by  the  potential  of  rejection  is  all  that  she  has  when  alex  peels  back  the  door  from  its  frame.      ❛    ----    HEY.    ❜      the  flower,  the  bottle  of  cabernet,  both  seem  over  the  top    &    unwieldy  now  in  the  way  that  she  holds  them  up.    she  seems  to  have  forgotten  GRACE.      ❛    this  is  for  you.    they’re  both  for  you.    ❜    a  tremulous  optimism,  careful  in  its  wobbly-legged  newness,  flicks  the  edges  of  her  smile.      ❛    i  thought  maybe  it’d  be  nice  to  do  something  if  you’re  not  busy.    ❜  

[queensupe]

@danviers​ said: 29. a kiss on the inside of the wrist

SPOTS TO KISS

MOMENTS  LIKE  THIS  where  she  is  unlocked  from  the  golden  cuffs  banded  around  her  arms,  loosed  from  the  cage  of  her  bodice,  are  hers    &    HERS  alone.    there  is  a  stillness  that  comes  with  settling  soft    ---    the  loose  sling  of  her  collar  hanging  high  over  her  clavicles,  a  couch  cushion  worn  down  by  late,  laughing  nights  of  old  movies    &    takeout  from  their  favorite  thai  place,  the  blurry  edges  of  alex’s  smile    ---    that  unties  the  knot  blooming  in  her  breast  in  the  wake  of  all  the  things  she  has  done  unrecorded  by  the  press’  adoring  eye.    

white  containers  brushed  with  bright  red  lettering    &    unfolded,  blossomed  open  with  half-eaten  heaps  of  sticky  rice,  soy-glossed  tofu,  &  clumps  of  noodles  litter  the  coffee  table.  there’s  a  bottle  for  each  of  them  between  the  fluttering  napkins  half-tucked  underneath  a  bag  here  or  a  carton  there.    maggies’  chopsticks  bury  into  a  colorful  array  of  steamed  vegetables,  sticking  out  like  a  sword  buried  in  the  stone.    

it’s  so  domestic,  so  simple.    it’s    free.    

(    for  now,  at  least,  she  doesn’t  have  to  consider  the  headlines  or  vought’s  greedy,  gnashing  teeth  sinking  into  this  safe,  quiet  scene.    she  doesn’t  have  to  consider  how  vought  will  rewrite  the  story  of  a  queer  hero,  how  they’ll  repaint  her  armor  in  rainbow  strokes  or  force  her  interest  back  toward  a  more  appealing,  red-state  ideal    )  

❛    i  love  this,    ❜    she  exhales  with  a  slow  smile,  sated.

she  can  curl  into  the  waiting  slide  of  an  arm  around  her  ribs.    she  can  rest  her  head  against  the  cradle  of  a  shoulder  that  she  can  call  HOME.    there’s  a  familiarity  in  the  fingers  lacing  through  her  own,  knuckle  over  knuckle.    &    when  they’re  like  this,  she  doesn’t  notice  the  faint  marks  that  they  both  share,  the  silver  spaces  where  scars  linger  from  boxing  blows.    it’s  just  the  easy  palm  over  the  back  of  her  hand.    she  can  be  unclosed,  lax,  rest,  when  a  pair  of  lips  presses  against  the  instep  of  her  wrist  above  a  spot  that  has  been  broken    &    resealed,  across  the  crossroads  of  veins  carrying  a  steady  rhythm  back  to  her  heart.    

she  can  lean  her  gaze  back  with  none  of  the  sharpness  that  she  reserves  for  the  seven,  with  only  comfortable,  close  affection  for  this  woman.    this  moment  is  hers,  not  crafted  by  a  marketing  department.    it’s  theirs    ;    she’s  happy  to  belong  to  someone  else  now,  content  to  stay  tucked  up  in  this  space  for  as  long  as  she  can.        

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ | semi-plotted starter 

❛    this  new  partnership  is  a  real  match  made  in  heaven.    ❜      her  casual,  observational  sarcasm  is  a  distraction  from  the  unwieldy,  awkward  tension  building  in  the  boardroom.    the  vought  international  table  is  open  to  the  DEO  for  the  first  time.  terse,  political  tit-for-tat  volleys  back    &    forth  the  angled  v  in  the  room  with  concessions    &    agreements  jotted  down  by  starchy,  static  lawyers  with  ballpoint  pens  that  cost  more  than  most  people’s  first  cars.    

maeve  is  there  as  a  figurehead,  pauldron    &    bracers  gleaming,  the  perfect  capstone  to  suggest  that  the  alignment  between  tactical  gear    &    the  splashy  spandexed  seven  will  achieve  the  perfect  balance.    but  she  doesn’t  expect  alex    ;    it’s  a  rare  crack  in  her  armor  that  now  she’s  scrambling  to  paste  over  with  the  diversion  of  small  talk.    

❛    -------    i  guess  it  didn’t  occur  to  me  that  we’d  be  working  together.    ❜      an  assistant  hands  over  a  clattering  cup  of  coffee    &    a  styrofoam  container  scribbled  QM  in  a  smear  of  black  sharpie.    the  concept  of  being  coworkers  with  alex    (    the  last  time  they’d  seen  each  other  it  was  a  prim  parting  of  cardboard  boxes,  a  handful  of  leftover  belongings  handed  over    )  is  enough  to  make  her  chainmail  smile  falter.  

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: ❛ i’ve seen enough horror movies to know where this is going. ❜

HALLOWEEN-THEMED SENTENCE STARTERS

❛    is  that  so?      ❜    she  tilts  back  into  the  welcoming  cushion  of  the  sofa,  the  slant  of  her  smirk  tippling  just  toward  wily.    the  scene  before  them  is  dimly  lit,  camera  too  close  on  the  heroine’s  features  as  she  marches  toward  some  unknown  end.  strings  churn    &    crescendo  toward  suspense-laden  anticipation.    maggie  has  one  arm  slung  across  the  back  of  the  couch,  haphazard  in  the  way  that  her  fingertips  brush  the  cap  of  alex’s  shoulder  on  the  other  side.    a  bowl  of  popcorn  wedges  between  them  while  they  watch  their  way  through  the  month’s  spookiest  offerings.    

on  the  screen  looms  a  grey-wash  monster  just  come  into  frame    ;    she  catches  it  from  the  corner  of  her  eye,  gaze  still  trained  on  alex,  watching  the  flickering  movie  reflect  in  the  minutia  of  movement  playing  across  her  expression.      

❛    does  that  mean  you  don’t  need  anyone  to  hold  your  hand  through  the  scary  parts?      ❜    she  asks  as  the  picture  of  nonchalance  before  reaching  back  to  skim  a  kernel  up    &    crunch  it  through  a  skeptical,  smiling  bite.    

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said:  “that was a brave thing you did today.”

❛    all  part  of  the  job,  right?    ❜      

in  the  smothering  coronet  of  studio  lighting,  she  takes  a  different  tone.    the  seven  will  always  be  there  to  protect  you.  beneficent,  like  she’s  some  sort  of  unearthly  deity  sent  to  bless  the  earth  with  her  safeguard.  all  warm  smiles,  lipstick  a  focus  group-chosen  shade  designed  to  provoke  INSPIRATION,  admiration,  lust  in  the  right  demographics.    

behind  the  scenes,  it’s  always  the  same.    the  blistering  bore  of  the  lamps  swelters  the  blush  right  into  her  cheeks  without  a  need  for  a  makeup  brush.    her  magnanimity  dims    &    ferments.    queen  maeve’s  shoulders  slack  as  though  with  the  dissipation  of  shuttering  camera  clicks  so  goes  her  strength.  her  BRAVERY  is  a  few  printed  lines  marching  out  on  a  page.    

the  people  she  saved  are  the  even  scales  on  either  sides  of  justice’s  unwieldy  grasp.    this  victory  isn’t  her  hand  on  the  ledge  of  a  bus  straining  every  tendon  tight  enough  to  snap  under  her  skin.    there  are  losses    ;    she’d  held  the  crumbling  corners  of  a  building  on  her  back  with  trembling  fingertips  until  the  caps  of  her  knees  broke  down  into  the  biting  shin  bones  below.    

now,  joints  still  aching,  still  sore  at  the  angles  in  a  way  she  hasn’t  felt  in  years,  she  can’t  summon  up  the  soot-soaked  silhouettes  of  the  families  that  had  made  it    (    just  the  wide-shocked  eyes  of  the  little  girl  who  hadn’t    ).    

she  doesn’t  bother  to  turn  her  glance  the  rest  of  the  way  in  alex’s  scrutinizing,  soft-eyed  gaze.    the  SINCERITY  in  it  on  top  of  the  shambles  of  the  building  still  weighing  her  down  is  too  much  for  her  to  carry.    instead,  she  borrows  from  her  endless  bitterness.      

❛      -------    show  up,  save  the  day?      ❜      it’s  blithe,  pointed  in  a  way  that  feels  chopped  off  at  the  ends.      ❛    lather,  rinse,  fucking  repeat.      ❜

[queensupe]

@danviers​ said: ❛  it’s  gonna  be  okay ,   okay ?  we’re  gonna  figure  this  out .  ❜

she’s  stumbling  over  the  leaning  tower  of  her  own  grief    &    looking  to  tumble  somewhere  SAFE.    so,  she’s  here,  seeking  out  the  comfort  of  arms  that  she  herself  rebuked  with  scar  tissue  crowding  out  her  courage.    tonight  is  too  fresh  a  wound,  rendered  deep  below  the  calloused,  coarse  shell  she  promised  in  front  of  the  media’s  glaring  spotlight.    it’s  not  the  kind  of  seething,  familiar,  raw  pain  that  she  can  dull  with  an  amber  douse  of  whiskey.    

so,  maggie,  still  trussed  in  her  crown,  her  costume,  is  wobbling  in  front  of  alex,  in  a  place  she  has  borrowed  her  own  greedy  invitation.    

her  want  is  at  war  with  the  sharp  needle  print  that  slices  a  section  from  her  heart  when  their  eyes  meet.    her  hands  cross,  forearm  over  bracer,  to  shield  the  yearning  grasp  of  her  fingertips  in  the  battled  leather  of  her  own  hips.    she  hasn’t  earned  the  RIGHT  to  beg  precious  forgiveness  or  for  alex  to  be  the  ballast  joist  that  bolsters  up  her  waning  strength.    

❛    this  was  a  BAD  IDEA,    ❜    she  says  with  her  chin  tucked  askance  into  her  collar  as  though  she  could  shield  her  mistake  there,  as  if  she  isn’t  still  planted  in  front  of  alex,  too  naked  with  all  her  emotions  playing  across  her  typically  stalwart  but  quivered  lip,  her  habitually  smooth,  flexing  brow.    when  she  lifts  her  gaze,  all  of  the  grappling  inquest  is  clear  in  the  way  she  searches  for  a  refusal,  for  an  EMBRACE.    ❛    i  just  thought  that  maybe    ------        ❜      maybe  for  tonight,  maybe  for  tomorrow  morning,  maybe  something  soft  to  counterbalance  the  bruising  mottling  nowhere  on  her  skin  but  everywhere  under  the  surface.    

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: [ UNZIP ] :    sender unzips/unbuttons receiver’s dress/shirt - s l o w l y

PROMPTS

ALEX’S   EYES,   WHEN   SHE   CATCHES   THEM      between   heavy-lidded,   slow   blinks,   are   so   dark   that   maggie   can’t   suss   out   the   space   between   the   barrel   of   her   iris      &   the   warmth   of   widening   pupils.      she’s   sure   from   the   way   her   own   vision   seems   too   sharp      &      hazy   with   heat   at   the   same   time   that   there’s   a   similar   swelling   of   ink   in   her   own   gaze.      

all   of   the   casual   touches      (      shoulders   scuffing   in   the   hall,   a   familiar   elbow   nudging   familiarity   in   a   dragging   board   meeting,   fingertips   dancing   knuckle   over   knuckle      )   are   echoes   of   this,   building   back   up   toward   this.      it   starts   as   something   simple,   an   olive   branch   extended   out   between   them,   a   palm   settled   at   a   bicep,   gently   squeezing   to   say   goodnight.      

&      then,   they’re   kissing   like   no   time   has   passed,   like   they’ve   just   learned   that   they’re   allowed   to   know   each   other   like   this   again.      the   grasp   at   an   arm   grows   into   cupping   steadily   at   a   jaw,   clutching   greedily   at   the   the   back   of   a   neck   with   a   thundering   pulse   playing   along.      

❛      i’ve   missed   this,         ❜      hushes   out   between   them   as   though   saying   it   any   louder   might   break   the   spell.   alex’s   fingers   are   deft,   the   breadth   of   her   touch   expansive   as   it   moves   over   the   curves   of   her   shoulders,   her   hips,   plucking   at   the   top   button   near   maggie’s   collar.      the   pad   of   alex’s   thumb   brushes   over   the   bare   space   gaping   open   outside   her   neck      &      it   summons   a   shiver   that   reaches   the   full   length   of   her   spine.      ❛      ---   you,      ❜      sounds   thinner   than   she   means   it   when   alex   pauses   on   her   way   to   the   next   button   with   a   seal   of   her   lips   just   east   of   where   her   throat   bobs.      

she   MUST   be   the   strongest   woman   in   the   world   to   hold   onto   her   composure   with   the   way   it   all   slows   down   from   a   forest   fire   to   a   smoldering,   simmering   burn.      a   hot   mouth   at   her   neck,   at   the   bared,   pale   juncture   of   shoulder,   careful,   deliberate   loosing   of   one   button   at   a   time.      

the   truth   is,   it’s   dangerously   close   to   slipping   free   of   her   grip,   which   is   trained   now   in   the   fistfuls   of   fabric,   white-knuckled.      it’s   usually   the   armor   that   is   clinging   too   tightly,   begging   to   be   unclasped   at   the   end   of   a   heavy   day,   but   right   now,   the   threads   snagging   on   fraying   loops   have   every   ounce   of   her   impatient   focus.      

❛         -----      i   think   we’ve   waited   long   enough      ;      don’t   you?      ❜         urgency   rebounds   in   the   expand      &      contract   of   leaping   breath,   in   the   slice   of   her   chest   that   is   open      &      exposed.      maggie   dips   to   help   the   effort   along   with   one   brow   cutting   high      &      sharp   against   the   teasing   drag   that’s   not   enough   for   everything   that   they   haven’t   had   for   the   past   few   years.      bright   color   blooms   at   the   caps   of   her   cheeks      ;      the   bend   at   her   lips   is   almost   sweet.      ❛         we’ve   got   all   night   for   you   to   have   your   way   with   me.      ❜

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said:  ❛  some  risks  are  worth  taking .  ❜

THERE’S  SOMETHING  BETWEEN  THEM    that  the  time  that  heals  all  wounds  cannot  force  to  fade.    all  the  hours  that  they’ve  been  spending  together,  deo    &    vought  international,  results  in  moments  of  brushing  elbows,  hallway  conversations,  sideways  stares  that  build  on  themselves  to  craft  a  tension  so  fraught  with  the  electric  attraction  between  them  that  it’s  all  she  can  think  about.    

(    the  piercing  dark  of  alex’s  gaze  is  more  present  than  the  scar  tissue  memory  of  leaving  an  apartment  with  a  soggy  cardboard  box  full  of  her  meager  possessions.    )    

they’re  HERE  again  at  the  precipice  of  something  more,  furtive  glances  giving  way  to  close  contact,  boundaries  eroding  until  when  she  looks  at  alex  she’s  left  with  parted  lips  trying  to  remember  all  of  the  reasons  she’d  given  for  keeping  their  relationship  in  the  shadows,  trying  to  understand  why  she’d  extended  out  an  arm  to  keep  alex  AWAY.    

her  eyes  drop  to  a  mouth  more  tempting  when  it’s  kiss-swollen  or  spread  into  a  smooth  smile.    &    whatever  designs  she’s  had  at  keeping  the  walls  up  between  them  bursts  into  flame  at  the  concept  of  burning  away  the  hours  with  alex  in  her  arms.    her  tongue  is  too  thick,  denial  too  thin.  

❛      -----  okay,      ❜    she  concedes,  hand  close  around  alex’s,  reeling  her  in.    a  quick,  ginger  nod  split  the  seconds  that  separate  them,  affirming  that  this  is  a  risk  she'll  gladly  leap  to  meet.    ❛      okay.    ❜

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: “ you can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me.  ”

EXES WITH FEELINGS PROMPTS

❛    I  KNOW.    IT’S  WHY    ---        ❜    frustration  bubbles  up  behind  the  brim  of  her  front  teeth  compressed  ridge  to  ridge.    she  forces  her  gaze  down,  away  from  alex’s  because  when  they  lock  eyes  it’s  too  hard  to  maintain  this  concrete  wall  of  an  exterior.    her  explanation  trails  off  anyway.  

it’s  why  i  pushed  you  away.    she  doesn’t  say  it,  doesn’t  need  to.  she  can  remember  the  coolness  in  alex’s  tone  telling  her  things  were  over.    it’s  why  her  voice    ---    usually  so  collected,  so  sharp    &    pointed    ---  fractures  when  she  protests  that  there’s  NOTHING  between  them,  that  even  the  proximity  of  alex’s  fingertips  edging  close  to  the  outstep  of  her  hand  is  enough  to  make  the  breastplate  hitch  tighter,  inch  the  bands  of  her  imprisoning  ribcage  close  around  the  leaping  quickening  of  her  pulse  in  response.    

color  blooms  high  in  the  ballasts  of  her  cheeks.    

&    the  pressure  binding  her  lungs  is  too  much    ;    the  space  between  them  is  too  small.    the  gravity  between  them  is  too  immense,  too  beguiling  to  ignore.    she  can’t  tell  the  truth,  can’t  manage  another  falsehood.    

but  she  can  bridge  the  gap  between  them    &    do  the  first  HONEST  thing  that  strikes  certain,  solid  into  the  cavern  of  her  chest.    her  palm  curves  along  the  line  of  alex’s  jaw  with  her  thumb  brushing  just  over  the  tenuous  spot  where  her  heartbeat  resides  without  enough  time  to  truly  relish  it.    waiting,  thinking,  would  mean  that  she  would  never    ----    

her  lashes  dash  up,  down,  a  quick  search  for  resistance,  no  stopping  to  second  guess.    her  touch  captures  the  rising  jut  of  a  hipbone,    &    she  bows  in  to  let  their  lips  seal  in  a  promise  that  she  can’t  bring  herself  to  form  into  words.    in  a  kiss  charged  up  with  years  of  toeing  up  against  the  push-pull  dance  they’re  locked  into  now,  maggie  offers  nothing  but  sincerity.    she  wants  alex    ;    she  wants  this,  the  two  of  them  together.    she  wants    &    wants    &    wants,  with  their  mouths  together,  grasp  winding  up  into  hair,  teeth  crashing,  EVERYTHING  that  she  can’t  have.

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: “  i wanna be the one you go to. the first one you tell when there’s something good. the shoulder to cry on when it’s bad. and every mundane thing in between. i want to share it all with you.  ”

SOFTER PROMPTS

THERE’S  SAFETY  IN  SOLITUDE.    she  repeats  this  to  herself  like  a  mantra    ---    before  she  severed  the  bond  between  them  that  had  become  more    &    more  tenuous    &  frayed  by  the  end,  in  the  whiskey-dosed  time  stretched  between  so  bare    &    thin  that  it  was  little  more  than  a  brittle,  aching  prison,    even  now,  with  alex  standing  in  front  of  her  more  solid,  warm,    &    REAL    than  she  can  conjure  with  the  hot  blaze  of  tobacco  or  the  searing  bolt  of  bourbon  on  her  mouth.      but  the  phrase  is  starting  to  fade  a  little,  starting  to  lose  its  meaning.    it’s  not  as  tangible  as  the  very  palpable  imprint  of  her  pulse  taking  shape  against  the  inside  of  her  chest.  

alex  says  everything  with  such  conviction.    it’s  captivating  on  its  own,  the  way  her  eyes  are  so  unflinchingly  big    &    dark,  how  she  looks  straight  at  maeve  like  not  even  the  slightest  shred  of  doubt  could  move  her.    it’s  more  powerful  than  maeve’s  self-supplied,  numbing  motto.    

i  want  that,  too.  is  the  thing  that  she  can’t  summon  up  between  parted  lips,  between  the  wilting,  yearning  knit  of  her  brows  winding  tight  across  her  expression.    they’ve  been  edging  closer  together,  blurring  the  line,  starting  to  reconstruct  that  tie  between  them  over  the  weeks.    wanting  is  not  the  problem.    

so:    ❛    i  wish  i  were  as  strong  as  you,    ❜    is  what  she  says  instead,  a  weak-tilled  rejection  because  she  isn’t  ready.    she  blinks  against  a  burning  prickle  starting  to  claw  at  the  backs  of  her  eyelids.    it  isn’t  because  she’s  too  NUMB    ---    the  spike  in  her  breast  that  rives  deeper  as  the  words  pass  her  lips  is  enough  to  dispel  any  consideration  of  that  sentiment.    but  it’s  because  an  old  chamber  of  her  heart  that  had  been  left  vacant  is  starting  to  fill  again.    because  solitude  is  the  only  guarantee  that  she  won’t  lose  what’s  already  out  of  reach.    

it’s  a  reminder  that  she  has  given  this  up  because  breathing  out  that  simple  statement  HURTS  but  alex  is  still  breathing,  still  WHOLE.      ❛    ----    i’m  sorry.    ❜

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: “don’t do that. don’t shut me out.”

POST-TRAUMA STARTERS

ALEX  IS  DISARMING.    &    maeve  is  not  easily  disarmed.    it’s  the  sharp,  straightforward  tone  that  never  takes  the  teflon  deflection  of  maeve’s  diverting  sarcasm  at  face  value,  the  steadiness  of  her  unwavering  gaze  that  seems  better  suited  than  most  to  be  able  to  SLIP  under  the  links  of  armor.    the  barbed  quip  readying  itself  to  vault  off  the  tip  of  her  tongue  stalls    &  rolls  back  down  to  settle  in  the  bulb  of  her  gulping  throat.    

❛    ----    i’m  not.      ❜      she  manages,  at  first,  a  weak-tilled  attempt  at  putting  up  a  front.    she  makes  a  defensive,  half-confused  sound  that  borders  on  a  laugh    ;    it  bends  at  her  brow,  drawing  the  two  halves  together  in  a  furrow.    but  it  doesn’t  hold.    she  swallows  hard,  all  of  her  characteristic  bravado  vanished.    the  tension  slacks  out  of  her  expression  even  as  it  charges  up  harder  between  them.    the  old,  nervous  habit  of  tracing  up  the  spider  crack  fracture  that  never  healed  quite  right  in  her  forearm  with  her  thumb  takes  up  her  attention  so  that  she  doesn’t  have  to  meet  that  steady,  piercing  gaze.   

it’s  HEAVY,  the  weight  of  it.    she  wants  to  run    ;    her  skin  is  too  tight    &    she  can’t  stand  the  itch  crawling  underneath.  she  doesn’t  want  to  run    ;    she  wants  the  SAFETY  of  knowing  that  there’s  someone,  the  anchor  to  hook  on  the  inside  of  her  heart    &    hold.    it’s  a  war  that  takes  those  unseamed  brows    &    twists  them  back  together.    the  battle  of  it  all  plays  out  in  flickers    &    flashes.    her  jaw  is  hard,  tight  when  she  relinquishes.      ❛    ----    i  won’t.    ❜    not  this  time.    

[queensupe]

@danviers​​ said: “  look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything.  make me believe it,  and i’ll go.  ”

EXES WITH FEELINGS PROMPTS

CONFRONTATION  IS  HER  LIVELIHOOD    ;      she  is  never  more  tangible  than  she  is  when  her  hurtling  right  hook  glimmers  in  the  golden,  halo  gleam  of  her  gauntlets    (    except  when  they  find  DESTRUCTIVE,  wounding  purchase    ).    but  standing  here  in  front  of  alex,  her  posture  is  on  tenterhooks  against  the  high  gangling  stems  of  her  boots.    she  doesn’t  have  any  camera  flashbulbs  to  embolden  or  any  alcohol  fumes  running  hot  under  her  skin  to  anesthetize.    

she  can  still  feel  alex’s  pulse  thundering  against  her  greedy,  seeking  mouth,  the  desperate  drift  of  a  KISS  down  every  notch  in  her  spine  that  flint  strikes  an  old,  dimmed  passion  back  into  full,  wild  flame.    

her  denial  is  a  threadbare,  faltering  thing,  as  flimsy  as  the  print  of  sheets  still  ghosting  along  her  legs,  exposed  by  the  pale  early  morning  light  that  caught  her  in  the  midst  of  her  weakness.    

❛    ---    it  was  just  a  hookup,  a  one  time  thing.      ❜      shame  burns  bright  in  her  cheeks.    the  only  thing  she  can  hold  for  her  own  in  this  discussion  is  her  refusal  to  meet  alex’s  challenging  gaze.    maeve’s  chin  ducks  down,  her  cowardice  hot  on  her  skin,  HEAVY  where  it  strains  her  tissue  paper  excuse  close  to  ripping.    ❛      you  were  familiar.    that's  all.    ❜