#since they are part of their pr soft power move

[iimplicitt]

SWAN LAKE | OP81

part one — part two

pairings: oscar piastri x ballerina!female character

summary: on a night out at the ballet in paris, oscar finds himself becoming entranced by a prima ballerina. and once he has his mind set on something, there’s really no other option. if he wanted her, he’d have her.

warnings/an: one night stand (sorta), angst (mostly in part two), slut shaming, ballet, longing, 18+, smut, semi-public smut, he thinks she’s pretty when she cries, a bit of inspo from the movie black swan. collab with @theonottsbxtch who will be writing part two

word count: 3.3k

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He gazed down at the empty stage, waiting for the performance to begin. Others filtered into the seats below, staring at the empty chairs of the orchestra that will soon be filling the space with strings of century old notes. Oscar appreciated the arts, he knew how important it was to preserve things like this. For the culture, etc.

However, if he were being honest he would rather be anywhere else.

When his PR told him he had to make an appearance in Paris that weekend, the ballet was the last thing on his mind. It didn’t make sense to him, not seeing how his profession had anything to do with the ballet scene. “Expanding your reach” is what he’d been told in response. It didn’t matter though, he had nothing else to do and no interviews were involved. He did get photographed on the way in, but that was the most of it.

Sighing, his eyes danced across the stage again. From where he was at, he could see past the curtains. Only slightly, since the intricate hall was still swathed in warm lights from the glittering chandelier above. He spotted some dancers talking or stretching, their forms abstract from the distance and shadows. Only illuminated from their shimmering skirts that caught in the light as they moved.

He wondered why he came alone. Though he supposed they knew better than to tell his teammate to attend. He would’ve been bored out of his mind and asked Oscar to retreat to the bar twenty minutes into the show.

Eventually the lights began to dim and the chattering voices fell into silence once darkness fell.

Oscar didn’t know what to expect, but when she entered the stage he immediately fell into a trance as he watched her move. There was something macabre about the beauty of it. The way he watched her muscles move and contort as she danced. Managing to make the pain look elegant. Soft. Her expression and body emulating the emotions of her character, not needing words as the music guided the plot of Swan Lake along.

It was a demanding role. Watching her expertly morph into Odile. Displaying the torment with elegance he would never be able to cultivate himself.

He felt his heart speeding up and slowing down depending on what strings were being played. His breath being yanked from his very lungs and unconsciously leaning forward. Closer and closer, his mind wanting to topple over the side of the railing just to get near to her.

She was like a siren, beckoning his soul forward. Calling out to all his weaknesses and desires. It was strange and frightening. Unknown. He thought he had run out of things to experience. Believed he had had all his firsts.

There was just something about her.

Something new and exciting. Something to be explored and handled with care.

He watched as she spun, her movements carried out with an air of obsession. Commanding her body in ways most of the human population wouldn’t be able to fathom.

Oscar’s head was spinning as the story unfolded. The longing was palpable throughout the theater, thrumming off the stage in waves that followed the beat of dancer’s shoes hitting the stage. Caught in the breath between notes of music and the strain of practiced elegance.

He knew it must be exhausting, but she looked of the heavens. Swathed in feathers and rhinestones that caught in the spotlight. Her eyelids low and sultry, embodying power and temptation. Yet she was able to convey the jealousy, hope, and despair just as well. A second language spoken through muscle. It didn’t matter if she was wearing black or white while she danced, when it came down to it Odile and Odette were two sides of the same coin. The human experience of love and obsession.

Oscar’s hands gripped the railing as the final act approached, feeling as if the three sisters were winding up his thread and taunting him with a blade. He watched in bated breath, following Odette and reading her. He knew what was about to happen, even though he had no foresight on the performance he could see it in the way she moved.

His knuckles were white on the metal that was now warm beneath his palms. His own muscles tight and strained as he watched Odette drown herself, her lover following suit. Von Rothbart collapsing not long after and the curtains fell.

Thunderous applause followed.

Oscar felt like he could breathe again. As if the enchanter's spell had lifted from him as well. He blinked, coming back down to earth and settling in his bones again. Sobering up from what felt like an opium induced haze.

The curtains lifted again and the dancers bowed. Waving to their audience of admirers. His eyes stayed on her though, she was magnetic that way. Alluring. Addictive. He began to wonder other things about her, like what her laugh might sound like and what perfume she was wearing. Small things that made up the mystery of who she was. A mystery he was now hell bent on solving.

Oscar made his way downstairs, greeting people who recognised him as he went but made sure to make haste. Where to go? Where to wait? He didn’t know how this worked nor did he know what he was doing. He didn’t know what to expect either.

But he had one thing on his mind; he wanted her.

So he’d have her.

Simple as that. The longing settled deep in his bones, foreign yet natural. As if it was meant to be there and was only just awakening. Yawning and stretching, the wings twitching and impatient to finally take flight.

His eyes danced around as the clock hands made their own slow dance past the hour. Tick-ticking and the crowd dwindled into nothingness.

Leaning against the counter of the bar with a long ago melted glass of whiskey next to him, the doors opened again. The final whispers of the performance let out in a soft hum followed by footsteps and sighs from the dancers.

He caught sight of her the moment she stepped out into the low lamp light. Her hair now loose and face scrubbed of makeup yet streaks of charcoal still clung around her eyes, red lipstick leaving a stain on her mouth. Remnants of her other lives that didn’t want to leave just yet.

Her eyes gleamed when she too caught him. That’s what it felt like. Being caught. Suddenly entrapped in a snare.

She slowly turned away, eyes only leaving his at the very last moment as a man appeared in the shadows behind her. Coated in darkness by the doorway, his silhouette leaning down to mutter something to her. Oscar watched with apt attention as a large hand snaked out, gently resting on her waist as they held secret conversation. He looked for any indication that they were lovers, but she held the essence of someone still on stage. Still being watched. Muscles coiled in tension.

Oscar saw the other dancers walking look back over their shoulders, staring into the darkness with faces painted in judgement. Ridicule. As if they were watching a scandal unfold. It was heated, angry even.

He couldn’t stop gazing at them even as the phantom stepped back, his hand dropping away and falling into darkness. He couldn’t stop even as she walked up to him and the other faces only soured more.

“Hello.”

Oscar’s eyes flicked down. He breathed in, out, and smiled.

“Hi.”

She looked him over, picking apart any loose threads with her eyes as she tried to get a read on him. It wasn’t often he met someone who commanded the space they were in so fully, as if they were breathing life into the atmosphere themselves.

He took his own chance to observe her, now that they were so close. She stood tall and leaned slightly on one hip, a light sweater hanging off one delicate shoulder, her skirt loose around her thighs to let the summer night breeze of Paris make its own dance around her.

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to grin at her. “Magical performance.”

She wasn’t fazed or skeptical, she just kept staring at him. Intense and curious, cautious. He was a man waiting for a ballerina after a show, a tale as old as the intricate halls. Except back then, those women rarely had a choice. Being thrown into sex work to appease their more well paying audience by the leashes of their directors.

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she considered him. Her accent was like liquid velvet as she spoke next. “Are you a scout?”

“Not quite, darling.” Oscar stood there, amused as he watched her try to figure him out. Their words were few, but each party tried to be fluent in the other’s body language. Their own pas de deux.

“Then what are you? A fan?”

“Admirer,” he corrected, feeling as though that defined whatever was running rampant inside of him better. “Like I said, you bring magic to the stage. I hope you know that you’re wonderful.”

There it is. A blush. Just a bit, dusting across her cheeks as she continued to have the reins tightened on her expression.

Always on stage.

Oscar stepped closer, careful not to invade her space. Watching in fascination as her neck craned back slightly to look up at him, his eyes dancing briefly over the contours of her throat and he wanted to sink his teeth into her.

His own voice was low, a bit gravely. “What do the dancers of Palais Garnier do after a performance?”

Her hand adjusted on her bag, taking her own step forward, their chests nearly touching. Her eyes gleamed with something more.

“Go home. Stretch. Sleep.”

“And what about company?”

“We tend to avoid it.”

“You won’t entertain a lonely man on a business trip?”

Her lips tilted up slightly. “They’re usually the worst kind.”

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He felt like a teenager all over again as they stumbled through the doorway of her apartment. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he blindly kicked the door shut behind him before pressing her into the wall.

Her ribs expanded and contracted against his palms as he held her, his mouth searching hers for an answer. To say he wanted her was not enough. It never would be, he wasn’t the best with his words. Right now he didn’t need to be. They spoke in their common tongue of bodies moving against one another.

He wanted to have her. It was possessive of him. He knew that. Who was he want such a thing?

Touching her was bliss and at the moment he realised he’d never known it before. He wanted to get drunk off of it. Bottle it up and keep it forever. Keep her forever, if she’d let him.

Their tongues danced and he explored her, every crevice and curve. Hard muscle and soft skin. The build of someone possessed with the addiction of perfection.

His hands snaked up to cup her face, his hips pressing into hers to keep her in place against the wall. The space cramped with no room for mishaps but he knew they’d cause carnage that night.

The heat from her body made it feel as if he’d been thrown into the belly of a dragon, its insides churning and it got ready to unleash its flames. He was in love with every second that she exhaled a breath, singing his name so gently.

Pulling away from the wall, her fingers twined in his hair. Tugging, painful, wonderful. Her body gliding as she lightly placed her feet on the floor, even now conducting her body with precision.

He gazed down at her, heavy lidded and took in her blushed face and swollen lips. His rough hands still held her throat softly, taking in the rapid beat of her heart.

“Angel, you’re going to ruin me.” He kissed her again, his next words being passed in the breath between them. “I know it.”

She smiled at him coyly, catching his mouth again as she grabbed onto his shirt and spun them around. He felt her hands push and suddenly he was falling. Down down down. Odette and Seigfried all over again but this time a mattress met his back instead of unforgiving waters.

When she straddled him it felt as if gravity suddenly lost its power on earth, making him float up and up and when she ground her hips he went hurtling back down again. The sensation unlike anything he’d experienced. A man renewed.

Rising, heating, blowing. The sound of her moan as he flipped them around again, enveloping her beneath him. He was surrounded by the smell of her perfume.

He loved every second of it.

Oscar snaked down, his mouth trailing and leaving hot open mouthed kisses. Tongue dancing over her throat, the temptation to mark her nearly insatiable.

“Oscar.” His name felt like an omen as it left her, winding around his own lungs and making him breathless.

Arching and tightening, sweating and her lips were a grin of cherry red, bitten at lips.

His hands tore at her. He couldn’t help it. Didn’t care that the fabric was ripping and feeling delirious at the sound of her laughter at his urgency. When it was down to just her tights and underwear he sat back on his heels, taking in how she was bathed in moonlight.

“An angel,” he muttered again as his fingertips traced every outline, chasing the goosebumps that began to ripple across her skin.

“I don’t think angel’s take part in such sin.” Her voice was smooth with a French accent, a slight rasp in the back of her throat as she looked up at him. He could tell something else was on her mind. Something she wanted to say.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, hesitant. Still performing.

His fingers hooked under her chin, guiding her face up. “Tell me.” Oscar took in her features, the way even then she tried to keep everything perfect. But he could see her, she was like a book just waiting to burst open so someone would finally sit down and take the time to read. To put effort into figuring her out. And he was starting to, page but page.

Casual intimacy scared her.

Nothing about this was casual. She was his world right now, everyone and everything else could go to hell.

Oscar could get intense, he knew that. Often he tried to tread lightly so he didn’t scare anyone off. But if he wanted this to work, being honest with one another was the only option. If they couldn’t use their words, that was fine. They didn’t need to.

He yanked her up, the sudden movement making a gasp leave her lips followed by a string of light laughs that made his heart skip a beat. Oscar guided her back as his mouth found purchase on hers again, feeling the moment she melted into him. His greedy hands grabbing at her, soaking in the feeling of her holy skin.

They bumped into the door and his hand blindly found the door handle as if he had been there before. As if he was her ghost who finally materialised.

When the cool night air hit her bare back she tensed for only a moment—debating—before falling back into the deep end with him even harder than before.

She became greedy as well, morphing into his own swan queen hungry off the taste of temptation and need. Not caring she was practically naked on her balcony and not caring as his own clothes began to puddle onto the floor.

She found this exciting and it had Oscar grinning into her like a shark who had just caught a whiff of blood in the water.

He bent her over, making sure she found a firm grip on the railing before his fingers tore into her tights and ripped. The sharp sound startling as it carried over the skyline of Paris, the city of love glittering at them knowingly.

One hand took hold of her hip as the other pulled her underwear aside. Not a moment of hesitation as he thrusted his hips sharply into hers, getting drunk off the sound of his name pouring out from her lips.

When she looked back at him it felt like he was aware of the earth spinning. Her eyes startling as they leaked what must have been ichor. Mascara running down her face in messy black streaks with euphoria dazzling her smile.

“You are so beautiful.”

How was he to handle such tenderness? He’d never been in such a position and it seemed the only thing he was capable of was being rough. Edges sharp. Accidentally cutting and leaving a bloody mess.

Lust had been a companion to him before, but this? This was something else entirely and he never wanted to let go of her.

He whispered her name into her neck as he leaned forward, driving himself deeper and taking in the gentle scent of her shampoo.

Her nails found purchase in his hair, clawing and pulling and preening— Oscar was unraveling.

The three sisters pulling and pulling and pulling on the thread.

Grinding and retreating, the silk of her hair spilling against searing flesh. An intimate dance between two starstruck idiots desperate for one another.

He loved it.

Yanking her back against him they stumbled back inside, a chair toppling over and he picked her up with ease as he laid her on the table.

Oscar’s thumb tugged against her lips, her mouth easily dropping open and she was so warm and fuck—

He was done for.

Hands clasped around her rib cage, pulling her to the edge and her legs dangled off his shoulders. Oscar was holding onto her so tight he was sure he was hurting her but she didn’t seem to care. Her own nails were leaving bloody trails as they dragged down his stomach to his hips.

Oscar started to fuck her again. The word sounded harsh but he didn’t know how else to word it. Making love didn’t seem right, that phrasing carried the air of something far more tender.

Her mouth gaped open, his name being shouted over the sound of the table scraping against the floor with every thrust. She was melting in his arms, their pants and moans being carried out by the open balcony doors. The world was falling apart like golden flecks of a fire.

Desire and longing ensnared them, guiding their movements like a crazed puppeteer.

“Angel, what have you done to me?” His words barely made it out as she clenched around him and heaven was roaring in Oscar’s ears.

Faster—quicker— “Fuck” — her hair was twined between his fingers, tugging, biting, aching— “Oscar!”—rougher—his hand was wrapped around her throat.

Her nails traveled to the taught muscles of his back and he leaned further into her, his hand anchored around her neck and face buried in her hair.

Pulling, dragging, sinking.

Her name, another whisper he muttered against her ear followed by a “I’m yours.”

She cried out.

The apartment was in sweet distress, they didn’t keep to one spot for long.

Oscar let the floodgates open and at that moment only he and the moon heard her screaming as she came with him. The streets below were still too hectic, never sleeping. Too loud.

She gently took hold of his face, sighing as her thumbs gently ran over his cheek bones. Their breath struggled to steady in their rib cages as his weight settled against her. Biting her lip she observed him and the mess they had made. “Mon ange, que vais je faire de toi?”

And they started again.

tag list: @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy (let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3)

[pixelatedquarter]

Not gonna get too deep into it because these things are way more personal to me so it is a bit disproportionate and were said back in 2006 (which both indicates a pattern in having incredibly imperialist views but also means he could have learnt since then) but not Gabe using his family history as a shield when the next generation over went through a US backed dictatorship that had them actively flee the country and his takeaway from that was (not an actual quote, it's a summary) "socialized heathcare (where his dad worked at before working directly for the military hospital and then having to run away) sucked and fucked dad over, so when we moved he had to study to be a medical doctor all over again because his degree was not recognized" studying also for free mind you, his dad's alma mater is udelar which is a state funded (but in principle independent to state interests) university that's completely free. This is not some deep lore, the population is small enough to justify that there's literally one school of medicine and his dad has spoken about his time there in publications about his mentor, whom he met in an openly zionist high school (soft reminder that i'm speaking about outside the US, so don't use how minorities nucleate in the US as reference. take the relevant part of what things someone may learn at a zionist high school and pass on to new generations though)

You wanna know why the state of socialized healthcare and education on a country undergoing a right wing military coup sponsored by powers who really really really didn't want countries going 'red' sucked? Because the military regime absolutely destroyed those, by defunding but also suppressing anyone who worked or studied there. On the lower end of the scale intimidating and firing people but like, if you walk in the halls of that place or the ones from the next building over you'll find plaques in rememberance of students (some of them highschoolers) taken from those buildings to be disappeared (practice in which the military kidnaps you and then tortures and murders you, hiding the body in communal graves that then were never disclosed. There is significant trauma attached to those people never being found.). He was 4 when they left. But that's no fucking excuse. I wasn't even born, he knows how to read. He even had his time before he started going off on the 'there is no revolution' or however it was he soft launched cobra.

ok this mainly a vent not an informational post on either gabe saporta's views on the dictatorship or the dictatorship itself and it's not relevant to the situation at hand. other than showing that it's far from new behavior in the larger scale of things. i largely do not believe he means shit on his apology, but am at least glad that someone sat his ass down for the past 24 hs and yelled at him for being a walking pr nightmare and maybe maybe just maybe something genuinely stuck. We'll see.

[savages-weapons]

#BUT cEnSoRsHiP iS gOoD iF i DoN't ApPrOvE  #YEAH YEAH YEAH not really

AO3 is banned in China on 29th Feb, 2020.


You are going to see less and less Chinese fics on the website.


You are probably never going to see Chinese readers commenting in your fics anymore
.

They are the best readers, they never give negative comments and are always supportive. Although you probably don’t know, they talk about your fic in their small communities or group chats and recommend them to other potential readers. A large proportion of Chinese readers love to translate your fic into their language, that’s why you see quite some fics have Chinese translation.


I don’t want to talk about why it is banned. It’s just sooner or later. One more window for the voice of freedom is closed.


I’m a Chinese writer. I write in English. I’m currently living overseas. But if I go back to the country, there’s a large chance you are not going to see me updating again.


I want to remember this day. This day the last Utopia is taken away. This day the iron fist on our throats tightened again.

[owl127]

Request: omega kara (with or with out powers) gets taken by someone who hates her alpha

Ship:supercorp

The whiskey burned on Lena’s throat, the usual suave touch a harsh reminder of her failure. The crystal cup trembled on the glass desk of her office, and it took her a moment to realize she was the one shaking.

"Mrs. Luthor?" Jess’s voice followed the soft knock. Lena didn’t respond at first, taking another sip of the Glenmorangie. "You asked to be informed of any developments?" Jess added, and Lena was on her feet in a second.

"Did the D.E.O. find her?" She asked while throwing the door open, and her secretary barely flinched at the half-drunk move.

No one blamed Lena for any of this; she was already excellent at blaming herself.

"We got an update from the DEO, yes," Jess said, checking the tablet in her hands, "it seems they have located Supergirl."

Jess was part of the small, selective group of people who knew the true identity of Lena’s wife. "Is she okay? Is she alive?"

If Jess saw desperation in Lena’s eyes, she didn’t comment on it. "Dr. Danvers said she is alive, but the situation escalated to a hostage exchange. They are asking for you."

Lena had her own team deployed to track Kara, but of course the D.E. Fucking O. had found her first. "I’ll be there ASAP. Get my helicopter ready."

"It’s on the roof waiting for you, ma’am."

Gods, this girl deserved a raise.

Lena was either too exhausted or too drunk for small talk, so as she entered the D.E.O. war room with a small visitor badge, she zeroed in on her sister-in-law. "Where is she?"

Alex shared her agony, so she kindly ignored Lena’s alcohol breath and recited the main points of Kara’s abduction.

Ambush. Kryptonite. An alpha posing as Lena, a bait.

"How did Kara fall for that?" Lena asked as Alex recounted the tale. "She would have noticed the difference in the scents."

"They had your clothes," Alex explained, "and I’m willing to bet Kara didn’t want to risk it."

"What do they want?"

At that, Alex finally took a breath. "L Corp research experiments. Apparently, this is not the kind of thing your PR team likes to handle."

"How do they even know what we have?" Lena sat down on one of the chairs. She was a mess, and she knew it. It had been 48 hours since Kara’s disappearance, and Lena was not dealing well with it.

"Lena." Alex knelt next to Lena’s chair, one hand on her thigh. If there was one thing Alex and Lena bonded over, it was the fact that they would do anything to keep Kara safe. "We know who has her."

"Who?" Lena spat the word with venom, though she already knew. There was only one person in this whole world who hated her enough to target the most precious thing in her life.

Alex pressed a button on her tablet and turned it to show Lena. Lena felt bile on her tongue at the short clipped video.

"Lena!" Lex greeted the camera, his beard immaculate, though his cream suit had a blood stain. "You have something I want, and I," he turned to show Kara behind him, her arms raised and bound in a sickly green glowing chain, "have something you want. I’m sure we can make a deal."

He continued to talk, but Lena’s attention was limited to Kara. Her face was swollen, her lips split; Kara was not used to being hurt, and her face contorted in pain.

Lena looked up at Alex and saw the hardened stare, and then and there, there was another promise between the alphas.

Lex was not getting out of that alive.

[ana-benn]

Public Relations

This is Steve knowing how thirsty these hoes be....

It's me...

I'm these hoes.

Warnings: Dom/sub relationship, smut, Steve Rogers, pining, angst, jealousy

Pairing: Steve/Stark!reader

Title: Public Relations

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As Tony Stark's daughter, and personal PR specialist you'd weathered a lot of storms.

As the chief PR strategist for the now defunct SHIELD, you'd learned to keep a level head and roll with the punches.

As Steve Rogers girlfriend? Well that's where you'd learned to let go of the control and let the Captain take over. He was firm, and left very little room to wonder who was in charge at any point. Even your dad and Nat had stopped teasing you about dating the 100 year old virgin.

In all honesty Steve was probably the kindest man you'd been with, and he made a point of making sure you were comfortable and satisfied. You trusted him with everything inside of you. It was sometimes difficult to find the hard dominant edge to him, but you were in love and every part of him balanced out every part of you.

Today though? Today you were in the conference room of a prison staring at the hard eyes of your boyfriend with your dad in the corner and an assassin of mythological proportions 20 feet below you. You were here as the Avengers PR manager, NOT his girlfriend or his submissive, though that hard edge in his eyes as you stared at him and he stared back was definitely one you'd seen on a few occasions.

"Steve, General Ross agreed to let you walk out of here a free man. Just sign the papers and we launch the story that you didn't sign so you could get close enough to the Winter Soldier to bring him in. Sam's agreed to go along if you do!" You plead with him.

"What about Bucky?"

"Steve, he bombed the UN!" You said exasperated, you'd been going through this dance for over an hour.

"No he didn't! He was halfway across Europe," Steve ground out.

"Okay, but you can't fix that from prison," you reasoned.

"Did you read this thing y/n?"

"Of course I did. I'll admit it isn't perfect but people are scared. Just sign it Steve." There was a new weariness to your voice now. You knew this wasn't a battle you would win.

Just as that realization dawned on you an alarm went off.

The next few hours flew by. Steve, Sam, and the Winter Soldier broke out. General Ross issued an ultimatum about getting them back, and your dad suddenly seemed to age 10 years.

One thing was abundantly clear though:

As far as the Government was concerned, Steve was no longer an Avenger.

...........3 months later.............

You'd spent the last three months in a fog.

The first month was spent caring for your dad and getting him back on his feet, before Pepper came in and took over. Then you'd gone back to you and Steve's two-bedroom apartment and burried yourself in work. Now since you'd been home you found yourself slowly purging Steve. It hurt too much to see the photos, or have his clothes hanging next to yours. So you'd taken to putting his things in the spare bedroom. Out of sight, but still there. You weren't sure if he'd ever come back to get it, but it felt wrong to throw it away.

Your moods shifted constantly. On one hand you missed the quiet talks and late night conversation, on the other you wanted to hate him for hiding the man who murdered your grandparents. You felt sick at how easily he'd turned against your father. Still you found yourself stealing his clothes and spraying his aftershave on his pillow when you couldn't sleep. Needing his scent and familiar things to bring you comfort.

More than that you found yourself feeling more overwhelmed and anxious all the time now. There was no break from being your business persona. You were constantly being a strong woman on her own, being thrown to the wolves each and every press day. There was no one for you to lean into and hand the reins to anymore.

You missed demanding kisses with rough hands. Sharp thrusts and teeth in your soft flesh. Being completely at someone's control without fear and in complete bliss. Your body knew the difference too, you couldn't even get yourself off anymore, you needed to be dominated.

Which is how you found yourself out to dinner with a guy Pepper knew from Stark Industries. Quinton was a nice enough guy you supposed, but had none of the power behind him Steve did. You knew it wasn't going anywhere after the third time he apologized for talking about the project he was working on with your dad, but you didn't want to be rude.

So you small talked your way through dinner, and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek as you walked to your car. Thanking your foresight to drive separately, and avoid an awkward ride to your apartment. You made the drive home, and as soon as you turned on the light you yelped out loud.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing here?” you said as you made your way to the open blinds. “You should not be here. You’re literally wanted by the UN.” 

“Who was he?” came Steve’s tight reply.

“Who was who Steve? Friday, disengage Stark monitoring software and erase the last three hours of feedback,” you said. “Authorization, Y/N Stark,” Automatically moving to protect your fugitive boyfriend.

“Don’t play with me kitten,” Steve ground out. “The douche at the restaurant.” 

“What, did you follow me? You're talking about Quinton? You disappear for three months with the assassin who killed my grandparents and you’re jealous of a blind date?” you questioned, temper rising. “You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore, I gave you an opportunity and you didn’t take it.” 

“Really kitten? You think you call the shots now?” Steve said, standing up and walking towards you. “You think I don’t know what you want? What you need? What you’ve been craving?” 

With each step he was backing you towards the wall, “You don’t know what I want Steve. You left remember,” you said, hating how weak and broken your voice sounded. 

“I know kitten, and I’m sorry for leaving you, but I’m here now,” Steve’s voice softened. His eyes darted to your lips, and before you could register who kissed who his hands were lifting you up to him and you lips melded in an earth shattering kiss. 

As your hands settled on his head you felt his bulge press into your core, “Steve,” you moaned.

“I thought I didn’t know what you needed,” he smirked as his lips moved to your neck and his fingers worked their way under your skirt. “Now beg for me kitten, or I’ll have to make you.” His fingers began teasing your wetness under your skirt.

“Please Captain, I’ve missed you,” you whimpered. "Don't tease me, please, you don't know what it's been like."

“I know kitten,” he murmured as he plunged two fingers into your core. You groaned as he began pumping into you. “Such a good girl aren’t you honey. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh God, Captain..... I....I’m going to......” you moaned out embarrassingly quickly.

“Shhhh, I know. I’ve got you, cum for me. I want to feel you,” he said as he pulled your long awaited orgasm from you.

As you were coming down you felt Steve enter you, pulling another groan from you. You hadn't even been aware that he'd unbuckled his pants.

“That’s it kitten, you take me so good baby,” his hips pounding you in your entryway. “I’m going to make sure you remember who owns this pretty little pussy. You knew that before you even tried to go on that date didn't you? Who makes you feel like this?”

“Steve!” you cried at a sharp thrust.

“That’s right honey. I do," he growled into your neck.

He was quiet after that, focusing more on marking any exposed skin with his lips and teeth. His hands, frustrated at working around your panties chose to just rip your clothing from your body. You moaned at his raw power, pawing pitifully at his shirt wanting his skin on yours.

He separated his lips from you long enough to pull his shirt over his head. He immediately reaffixed his lips to you, and brought a hand to your clit. He worked your body, focused now on bringing you to the edge. As you fell over he held you tight to his body, as he moved back towards your shared bedroom.

You noticed his throat tighten at his side of the closet being empty, and an unidentified look in his eyes at the sight of his aftershave and t shirt on your nightstand. Your hand found his face, bringing his eyes to yours, "I missed you."

His lips reattached to yours. You both knew a real conversation needed to happen, but for tonight you needed to surrender and Steve needed to lay his claim. There was a hunger in him for you that he needed to satisfy like a panther reclaiming his land. He was all hands and teeth, with soft words and possessive demands. By the time you dozed off on his chest that night, pure exhaustion settled deep in your bones, you knew no matter what came next you knew you weren't going to let Steve leave again. You needed each other, and this dance you'd learned together optional. You belonged together, and that was all you cared about.

Tags: @beauvibaby

[wordstro]

[2:48 PM] + hero/villain au + "we're quite a pair, aren't we?" + part 7

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 masterlist

a/n: 2.5k, gender neutral as always, I know I said this is the last part but i'm gonna need a couple more or else this will be too long! warnings for cursing, wooyoung being toxic, and an astrology joke because I couldn't help myself lol

-

jung wooyoung's fiery gaze is unwavering, unrelenting, and it has you frozen to your spot. you do not know whether you are terrified or in awe of the sheer power displayed before you. flames curl around him like wings, heat scorching your skin as he moves closer. despite his promises to you, to selfishly keep you alive, you think this is it. either you will stop wooyoung, or you will die trying.

a hand on your elbow pulls you out of your thoughts and back to reality. back to the screams of civilians, to the skeletons clawing themselves out from the cracks in the concrete, all headed your way at a slow, daunting speed. there are so many of them, like moths swarming a flame or those zombie movies you used to watch on movie nights with your team, with wooyoung wedged between you and san and popcorn nestled in your lap. your heart withers in your chest, but the terror the looming army of skeletons dredge up within you does not quell.

hongjoong levels you with a sincere, determined look, his voice low, "you are not going up against him alone," his fingers drop from your elbow to your hand and he squeezes it as he used to when you were both in university, "not again. not anymore."

at any other time, the show of sincerity would bring you to tears after everything, but you don't have time that. not now. instead, you give him a grateful smile before you switch gears.

"it's fine, joong. you need to find seonghwa and jongho and make sure yeo...that he's..." your heart sinks in your chest as you trail off at the thought of yeosang's fate.

"i know." hongjoong sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, before he swivels on san. they have a silent exchange, one you can't decipher, but san nods in response and hongjoong grits his teeth. hongjoong's gaze keeps flickering to wooyoung's approaching figure even as he looks between you and san.

hongjoong says, "protect each other."

you both nod. hongjoong steps back, his eyes lingering on wooyoung, before he disappears into thin air, no doubt stepping into one of the many dimensions he can flit through. he's likely already on the other side of the army to confront seonghwa. the skeleton army spreads into the city streets, like ants, aimless as they descend upon the city. you ignore the guilt surging within you as you block out the screams and cries of civilians, turning your focus entirely on wooyoung.

"you think this is poetic justice or something?"

"what?" you blink sideways at san. he cranes his neck as he stares at wooyoung, and his expression is the calmest you've seen it in a while, as if all the anger has melted under wooyoung's scorching heat. all that is left is a sad sort of resolve.

"two of the three people who love wooyoung most," san gives you a sidelong glance and a knowing half-smile, "teaming up to beat his ass into the next decade. the alliance's pr team could never set something up like this."

your heart twists at his words, but you manage a small smile back. "should you really be romanticizing a beat down, san?"

"i can't help it," san shrugs, "i'm a cancer. we romanticize everything."

you snort, and san smiles, and you know right then that you are not the only one who's resolved to stop wooyoung or die trying.

before you can say another word, flames burst up into the sky all around you, a fire wall that cuts you and san off from the rest of the city. you watch some skeletons burn to crisps before you, blackened bones clattering into the rubble, cement melting.

you hear wooyoung laugh.

then a molten piece of rubble is soaring in your direction at a speed you can barely fathom, let alone dodge.

~.~.~.~.~

you come to all at once, and you feel as if you've been hit by a truck. a burning truck made of solid metal. multiple times.

you don't have time to assess the damage, only that you know your vision is blurred and you have burns and the smell of burning skin and hair is not pleasant at all and that you're - holy shit, you're practically embedded into the side of an office building, half your body hanging in the air, unsupported. you blink away the spots in your vision, shaking the ringing in your ears, and grip a steel pipe protruding from the gaping hole you've caused and look over the side of the building to -

"- fucking asshole!"

"you've said that already."

you recognize san's shout and wooyoung's infuriatingly nonchalant response, drifting from beneath you.

you lean over and recoil at the sight of san swinging at wooyoung with a vengeance you only imagined from him until this point. wooyoung dodges each hit with ease. he knows san's fighting style, even after all these months. wooyoung and san used to train together often, alongside yeosang.

"i knew you were bad at throwing punches, but i didn't know you were this bad. heartbreak made you this soft?"

wooyoung's tone is mocking, mean. you bristle, yanking at the protruding pipe beside you. it groans in protest, but you don't have any other weapons, so a giant corporation can handle a missing plumbing pipe or two.

san lands a punch. "that one's for y/n," then san tackles wooyoung to the ground, straddling him before he lands another punch on wooyoung's face. the sickening crunch seems to echo despite the chaos in the city. san's biting words echo as well, "and that's for yeosang."

wooyoung merely laughs, "is that it? yeosang hit harder than you."

san blinks, and the silence that follows has you pausing in your attempt to wrench out the stupid pipe from the cement building.

"hit?" san's voice echoes up to you, "past tense?"

wooyoung doesn't respond. san grabs him by the collar, yanking him close to say something you can't hear from up here. you finally pull the pipe from the building, water bursting from the severed pipe and spilling over you.

whatever san says to wooyoung flips a switch in him, one that you've seen too often in that underground apartment. in the blink of an eye, wooyoung has san by the throat, fire bursting from his other palm, poised and ready for the finishing blow. you lock eyes with san over wooyoung's shoulder, even as he grips wooyoung's arm. his lips are moving, and whatever he's whispering to wooyoung has anger rolling off him in waves. you jump from the side of the building, landing right behind him as you swing at his head. the road crumbles beneath you at the force of your jump, making you miss wooyoung by an inch. he turns his fire on you and it whizzes past your head, inches from your ear. the smell of burnt hair floods your senses once more.

wooyoung meets your gaze.

your grip remains tight on the pipe in your hands, but your voice wavers when you whisper, "is yeosang...is he dead? did you kill him?"

"those are two very different questions."

"woo -"

wooyoung grabs the pipe and it starts to melt in his hands, molten metal dripping between you both. you yelp at the way it burns your hands, pulling your stinging hands away just as san lunges for wooyoung's feet. without turning, wooyoung swings the pipe straight down into san's lunging hands. the movement is too fast. the instant rotting scent of burning flesh causes you to lurch back, even as san lets out a loud scream. he phases away fast enough to avoid the brunt of it, but from the way san cradles his hand against his chest as he scoots away from wooyoung, you know the pain is bad.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, brandishing the molten pipe in his hands. "this is fucking pathetic," he eyes san in annoyance, "you're fucking pathetic."

if you hadn't known what to look for, you'd have missed the way san's shoulders deflate at the insult.

you push your way between them, blocking san from wooyoung's harsh gaze. you shove wooyoung so hard he stumbles back, his eyes widening slightly as if he'd forgotten your strength. maybe he has, since you spent months unable to use it on him. then, he turns his angry, mocking eyes on you, stepping towards you.

he tilts his head to the side, eyes boring into your face, "did that hit too close to home for you, y/n?"

your fists curl at your side. his gaze flickers to your fists. his smile is vindictive.

"you think after this, they'll let your crimes slide?"

he takes another step closer, flicks his wrist, and all you hear is san shout behind you before he is blocked off by a wall of fire. you're encircled by fire, by wooyoung, and wooyoung merely laughs once more.

you shove him away from you. his back hits the fire behind him, but it only seems to push him back into the circle. wooyoung is unaffected by the strength of your shoves, his gaze unwavering. each time you push him back, he stumbles back only to step forward. sometimes his flames push him back to his feet when you push him to close. he continues to advance on you as if your strength is nothing. as if it isn't enough.

if you wanted to, you could shove him a hundred meters into the ground or toss him into the sky, into one of the office buildings peeking over the wall of fire even. but you don't. despite everything, you can't. yeosang doesn't need to be here to speak the strength out of you. you know it, and so does he. san knows it too, you realize, and that's why he landed punches for you.

"stop it. don't come any closer." you grit out, shoving him once more.

he laughs. there is nothing amusing about it, "do i need to remind you what you've done?"

"i'll kill you, wooyoung," you stand your ground, arms raised, but your voice wavers when wooyoung steps even closer, until his chest brushes against your raised knuckles, "i swear i will."

"come on, y/n. we both know you can't," wooyoung snorts, "you can barely even hurt me. we're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"don't compare me to you. you've hurt me time and time again," you remind him, pushing him back once more, "you just threw a fucking lava rock at me."

he shrugs, "but did it kill you?"

you let out a scream of frustration, lunging at wooyoung, tackling him to the ground. you grip his tattered collar, ignoring the way his heated skin almost burns, and you raise your fist.

he says, with such ease, as if you aren't seconds away from breaking his nose, "killing me won't stop a thing. it won't stop your anger or any of the fighting. this is only the beginning, y/n. kill me now and you'll only create a martyr."

your fist shakes midair, your grip tightening around his collar. he's right. his ideologies have already found a foothold within disenfranchised communities. you could tell that much from the brief bits of news you were able to catch on television between serum injections and blank spaces. wooyoung is always fucking right.

wooyoung's eyes flicker from your raised fist to your face, and his eyes are unreadable.

his voice is the softest murmur, but his words cut right through you, "all i have to do is say the words, you know. then we can have the city by nightfall."

you can't imagine the idea of mindlessly joining wooyoung's side. after reconciling with hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and san. after yeosang risked his life to get you out. you can't fathom why wooyoung insists on making you go through that again.

you drop your fist to his collar, and you yank him up with both hands, the sound of his collar tearing further filling the silence between you both. you search his gaze for a long moment before you whisper, "why are you doing this to me?"

it's a genuine question, and for once, wooyoung appears entirely genuine as he thinks over his response. "there are two sides to every war. those who win, and those who are dead," wooyoung's eyes flicker over your features, "i don't know what i'll do if you die, so i'm picking your side for you."

his tone is quiet, an admission almost, and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. you need to get away from him. bile rises in your throat at the thought of his words, the meaning behind it, the way a miniscule part of you still stirs at the admission. you always used to wonder how he felt about you, and when he betrayed you all, you used to lament that you were not enough to make him even consider staying. now, you're getting an admission under all the wrong circumstances and for all the wrong reasons. you continue to back away, until the heatwaves emitting from his fire wall burns at your skin, sweat dripping down your back.

wooyoung merely sits up and watches your reaction with unreadable eyes.

"you're doing this because you care about me?" your voice curls around the word care. your heart hurts.

wooyoung drags a hand through his messy hair, his gaze falling to his feet for just a moment. he nods. he appears subdued like this. vulnerable.

"that's fucked up," you whisper, "it's unfair. it's - it's -"

"i know," wooyoung says, sighing as he tugs at his hair, "i know, y/n."

his brown eyes meet yours, and he holds you in his gaze for a moment too long. your fingers curl into fists as you look away first.

"what about," you grit your teeth as you address the wall of fire behind him, "what about san? joong? mingi and yunho? you don't care if they're dead?"

"if the villain alliance needs their powers, we'll have them take the serum."

he doesn't answer your second question, and you can't help but look at him again. you can see the way your question affects him though, the tick of his jaw and the brief flicker of guilt. but his words sit heavy on your shoulders.

one day, he'll take their autonomy from them as well and you'll be forced to help.

"i hate you," you tell him.

wooyoung's voice is soft with pity, "no you don't."

jung wooyoung is always right, and you hate that most of all.

another siren breaks through the city, and you're suddenly aware of just how eerie and silent the world has become. the siren doesn't sound like anything the alliance had trained you on, the low hum of horns grating on your ears. wooyoung seems to know what it means, though, craning his neck as a small grin tugs at his lips. he brushes the dirt from his tattered clothes and flicks his wrist. the flames around you dance further into the sky.

"that's your cue," he says to you.

you shake your head in a last stand of defiance. you hope he'll listen. for once. but, he sighs, as if you are merely a child throwing a tantrum.

then he says the words and your vision spots.

you disappear.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Spread - 11th of March 2021

This is speculation only.

11th of March 2021

Question: What is behind the media stories of an olive branch?

Interpretation: Prince Harry is behind these stories. It is a strategy to force the Queen to make the choice to let PH and MM return as members of the Family (carriage rides, photo ops, balcony appearances etc), implemented by the media. 

MM has done this before. This is the same as the media pieces saying that Doria was spending Christmas at Sandringham, that PH would return for Remembrance Day last year, and other stories of like ilk.

Detailed analysis following later.

Added: Prince Harry may not be the one behind this, but he is the most prominent figure and energy in this spread (The Hermit card = Virgo = Prince Harry, major arcana, only major arcana card in the spread). I am trying to be fair as I haven’t finished a detailed reading of all the cards yet.

===================================================

UPDATE

Interpretion: The articles about the Queen extending an olive branch are a PR strategy by Harry and Meghan to force the BRF to take them back and give them money, security, balcony appearances, carriage rides etc. Harry is the dominant energy in this spread.

The first card is the Six of Pentacles. 

Here we see the craftsman Daedalus being rewarded for his work by King Minos.

For me, in this spread, this card is all about money and power. It tells me that Harry and Meghan used to be the recipient of the Queen's favours. Now they want to be the ones giving out the favours - the ones wearing the crown instead of the one asking for favours, and they also want to be rewarded for their work with lots of money (the pile of gold coins). They want to be both of the people in the image - the one in the crown with the power to grant money/favours, and the one receiving the money favours. They want to be both.

In the card, the craftsman (Daedalus) is paid for his work by the King. Harry and Meghan want to be paid for their work with lots of money, but the work will only generate money if they are part of the BRF (the King is the one holding the coins).

This card also raises questions. Who is paying the newspapers to say that the Queen is extending an olive branch to Harry? What favours have been bestowed/called in to get this story printed (or not printed)? The side of the throne is decorated with a tree. Someone in a position of power wanted this story out in the papers. The tree is a carving, artificial, not natural/real. This tells me that this story is an artificial construct.

The second card is the Hermit card. 

This is the card of Virgo, and Virgo is the sun sign of Prince Harry. This article is all about Prince Harry. Notice that the article puts Harry in a position of power (the King on the throne) and HM the Queen as the supplicant (the one extending the olive branch/asking for a favour). Harry has the power to say yes or no, not the Queen.

The Hermit lives retired from the world. Here we see him wandering through the night. That tells me that this is something that was done in secrecy, not out in the light of day. The tree on the side of the throne confirms this, as it is hidden on the side, not on the back of the throne, facing the crowd, for all to see. Look at the bareness of the palace floor and the dry, cracked ground under the Hermit. This was an act designed to cause desolation, not growth. There is not fertility (green grass, flowers, trees etc) coming from this act. It is designed to hurt and not to heal. Hence the Hermit carries a scythe, the instrument of death.

As the Hermit is a major arcana card, and it is the only major arcana card in the spread, it is the dominant energy. This is all about Harry.

The third card is the Seven of Cups. 

This card is about making decisions and choosing between different options. It shows Psyche, the soul, beseeching the goddess Aphrodite for the return of her husband. This is the same power imbalance and the same energy that we find in the first card, the Six of Cups. Someone is asking for a favour from a more powerful person. In the first card, the supplicant was given money, the reward for his labours. Here the supplicant is given nothing, while the goddess points to seven gold cups. The supplicant, Psyche, the soul, needs to make some choices. They want everything, but all the cups are not on offer. The goddess points to one only.

The supplicant kneels on a rocky outcrop, barren except for a few small patches of moss. The goddess, the person in power, stands in the rich and fertile sea.  The supplicant is poor, barren, lacking in green growth, while the goddess is immersed in the fertile bounty of the sea. Here Harry is the supplicant. He is in a position of limited growth (only a few green mossy patches on his rock) and he wants access to the abundance of the Queen and the BRF.

Harry (and Meghan, as the two power/supplicant cards show a pair of men and a pair of women) want to regain their 'in' to the wealth of the BRF. They still want it all - all the cups - to be free to do what they want in America and have the BRF finance them, suppress the press for them, order the British police to pay for their security, etc. These are the seven gold cups. The Queen (the goddess) is saying 'No. You made a choice. You choose the cup of life in America, so that is what you get.' Harry is begging her to change her mind, but she points sternly to one cup. One cup, one choice. Harry and Meghan can not have it all.

The card is the suit of cups, which is the suit of emotions. This tells me that emotions are bound up in this decision. Harry could be playing on the emotions of the BRF to get what he wants - I am your grandson, family, I have mental health issues, you killed my mother etc.

The fourth card is the Ten of Pentacles. 

This is the card of maximum wealth, security, and a happy family life. This is what Harry wants. This is the image that he has been pushing to the media in his PR stories. Look at the land behind the couple on the card - green, rolling hills, lots of water - to me that says fertility, abundance.

Harry wants to return to England and be part of that wealthy family. He wants the money, the paid security, the balcony appearances, the photo ops with senior royals, the carriage rides - all the trappings of royalty. However, Harry also wants to remain in America with his family. He wants the wealth and security oif the BRF and the freedom to do what he wants and make money in America. As per the card before, he wants all the golden cups.

In the picture on the card, the child is playing with a horse. The image of the Trojan Horse has been appearing in my mind since I first heard of this story. Someone, a child of the BRF - not a literal child, but someone below the Queen in the order of succession - is playing with the idea of turning the olive branch story into a trojan horse for Meghan and Harry.

In the card before, the Seven of Cups,the goddess, who represents the Queen, has her back to the Ten of Pentacles card. She stands in the way, blocking access to the wealth and security of the BRF.  Harry is begging her to let him pass and enjoy those benefits.

The fifth card is the Knight of Wands. 

This is an adult fire sign adult, possibly a Sagittarius person, but for me this card says Meghan Markle (a fire sign woman). This is a volatile, exuberant, headstrong person, prone to rushing in without thinking things through. They move very quickly, without giving thought to the consequences of their actions. They are good at generating ideas and 'spin' (as the suit of wands can represent PR), but bad at following through with the ideas and putting the work into them to make them manifest in the world. They often take up an idea and make noise about it to get attention, and they are easily bored.

The card shows the Knight rushing towards the Ten of Pentacles card, waving the fiery torch of PR. They are approaching from the opposite direction to the person in the Seven of Cups, behind the back of the goddess/the Queen. Below them lays the slian body of a Chimera, a mythical beast.

This tells me that Meghan Markle has created a slain monster (I escaped the evil BRF!) as part of her PR. She has created the monster (the evil BRf) and slain it (I escaped!) as part of her PR, and now she is using her mythical scars from this mythical battle (I was oppressed! Silenced! Kept a prisoner!) as part of her PR (the Chimera is a mythical beast, so the 'monster' is not real). She is doing this  to force her way back into the BRF, and she is using PR (the torch) to do the forcing. This is going on behind the Queen's back, i.e. the accusations have come out of nowhere. It is an impulsive and foolish decision, and Meghan has not thought through the consequences.

The underlying energy card is the Queen of Swords. 

This can be an air sign adult, and/or an adult who is employing thought/strategy to get what they want.  For me, here, it is about the use of strategy to get your way. The suit of swords is the air suit, and air is all about thoughts, nit emotions. These thoughts/strategy are fixed on a certain aim, and emotions have no part in the process. The people involved in this strategy do not care about who they hurt as long as they get their way/achieve their aim. Emotions may be used and manipulated as part of the strategy, but there is no softness or caring in the strategy makes - only the cool, hard focus on the end result.

In the card, The Queen is sitting on barren ground. She is pouring water from a jug onto the ground. The water is not from a river or stream, there is no attempt to cultivate the ground. Instead the water is carried from another source and poured onto the barren ground of the Queen's existence. This tells me that Harry and Meghan do not want to work for their money (cultivate the ground and make it fertile). Instead, they want to gain wealth from other sources (the water in the jug) and pour it onto the barren ground of their lives. 

In conclusion: 

The articles about the Queen extending an olive branch are part of a PR strategy by the Harkles to gain access to the perks of being a working member of the BRF without doing the work. It is a two pronged attack, with Meghan creating a mythical monster out of the BRF and then slaying the created monster with her interview, thus putting her in the position of a hero with respect to the BRF, and Harry using emotional manipulation and playing on his family ties. The Queen has blocked Harry but is now being attacked from behind by Meghan.

[pianomanblaine]

Healing Scars

Being intimate with Erik is more than Christine could have ever dreamed of, but when she realises how insecure Erik feels about his body, she is determined to make him see how much she desires him.

AO3 FFN

They had only been intimate a handful of times since their wedding, but Christine was addicted already. His hands on her skin stoked a fire inside of her that she would gladly be consumed by. She would burn for all eternity if it only meant he never stopped touching her.

Inexperienced as he was – as they both were – Erik was a quick study, cataloguing every breathy moan and whimper for future reference, finding those places on her body where she liked most to be touched and kissed, and lavishing attention on them until she felt she would explode with pleasure. He worshipped her as if she were his personal goddess.

She wanted nothing more than to return the favour, mapping his body with her hands, her lips, her tongue, to discover all the delicious sounds her Maestro could make. Whenever she attempted to start her explorations, however, he would always find a way to stop her. Most of the time she didn’t even realise it was happening. Before she even had the time to think about it he had her pinned underneath him, distracting her with his mouth and his talented musician’s fingers until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone what she had been planning to do.

Tonight was turning out to go down a similar path.

Christine was completely naked already, but Erik had yet to shed any clothing apart from his vest, shoes and socks. Determined to rectify the situation, she started to unbutton his shirt. She had barely reached the third button when she felt his hands cover hers, guiding them away from his chest towards his face. It was then, when she felt the twisted skin of his unmasked face beneath her fingers – it had taken some convincing before he agreed to leave off his mask during their lovemaking – that she realised how desperately he wanted to keep her attention away from the rest of his body.

‘Erik, what’s wrong?’ she asked, straightening up on her knees where she was sitting on the bed to look at him.

‘Nothing at all, my love,’ he replied a little too quickly, not meeting her eyes as he spoke.

‘Then why won’t you let me look at you?’

‘My dear,’ he chuckled nervously, ‘you are looking at me.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ She winced slightly at how harsh her voice sounded to her own ears, but she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by his constant rejection of her touch.

Erik remained silent, restlessly kneading the fabric of the mattress beneath his fingers.

Very well then, she thought, it seemed like action on her part was needed to draw him out.

She moved to straddle him, and when he still refused to look at her she brought a finger under his chin, softly pushing up his face in a gesture he had used on her so many times before until he couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer.

‘I can tell something is wrong, love. Please tell me what it is. I promise I won’t judge, I only want to help.’

Erik sighed deeply, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her palm before finally answering.

‘I haven’t let you look at me because… Well, frankly, because I’m ugly.’

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she kept quiet, allowing him the chance to elaborate.

‘You have been so extraordinarily kind as to allow me into your bed. You continue to insist that you want to see my face, which I still find hard to fathom, but I cannot deny you if that is what you truly wish. However, I simply cannot bear for you to look upon this hideous body, Christine.’

Her heart broke a little at his admission. She grabbed his face with both hands and tried to pour every ounce of love she felt for him into her eyes and into her next words.

‘Darling, how can you think your body would disgust me? You’ve told me that you have scars, but I honestly wouldn’t mind them. They’re simply another part of you, just like your face, and I’ve told you time and again that I don’t want you to hide your face any longer. I want to see the real you. No masks. No barriers.’

‘Oh Christine,’ he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before continuing, a pained expression crossing his features. ‘You say that now, but you don’t understand. Your body is so smooth and soft and beautiful.’ He gently trailed a hand from her breast down to her waist to emphasise his words and her breath hitched at the featherlight touch. ‘Mine is hard and sharp, every inch of skin covered in scars. And unlike my face, which has been my burden since birth, these scars have not always been there. They were put there deliberately by people who wanted to harm me but didn’t live to tell the tale. Every single one of those scars is a reminder of a monstrous past that haunts me, no matter how badly I want to forget.’

Christine was lost for words. She knew about his past and wished more than anything that she could take all that pain away, but nothing she could do would erase what had happened to him.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could say anything.

‘I’m so sorry you feel that way, but I need you to know that I meant what I said. I hate that the scars are there because it means you suffered physically as well as mentally, but they don’t disgust me, Erik. The past is behind us, and right now I am only interested in the present and the future.’

He looked at her disbelievingly, although Christine thought she could see hope begin to shimmer through in his gaze. ‘A future with me, scars and all?’

‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Erik, I love you. I’ve told you so before and I will keep telling you until you’re sick of hearing it.’

He scoffed at her words. ‘Even if they were the only words you spoke to me for the rest of your life, I could never tire of hearing them,’ he swore, his eyes burning through her with that same passion she had seen there every time they had been intimate since their wedding night.

‘That might be true, but no matter how many times I say it, I’m still not convinced that you believe me.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but she brought a finger to his lips to silence him.

‘I think there’s a part of you that still believes I will run at the first opportunity. That you are undeserving of love. But you’re not, Erik. So please, let me show you how much I love you, as you have showed me.’

A single tear rolled down the deformed side of his face, telling her that he had recognised the truth in her words, and she bent down to catch the little bead of moisture with her lips. She continued to cover his face with kisses until she felt him shudder underneath her. Her fingers sought out his on the mattress, giving them a little reassuring squeeze.

‘Trust me,’ she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear, ‘please’.

Trust was a hard thing for him to learn given his past, she understood that, but she also knew that he was unable to refuse her anything and she was proven right when he indicated his assent with a single nod. His golden eyes pleaded with her, for what she did not know, but she made a silent vow there and then that she would do everything in her power to be worthy of his trust.

Christine kept looking him in the eye as she continued to undress him. He didn’t try to stop her again, but shrugged off his shirt when she was done unbuttoning it, dropping it on the ground next to the bed. She recalled how he had described his body as hard and sharp, and it was true. Erik was terribly skinny, so thin she could easily count his ribs. But beneath all of that lay an incredible strength, and so much passion it took her breath away. Skinny he might be, but weak he was certainly not. There was nowhere on earth she felt safer than wrapped up in his arms. If only she could make him see that.

She captured his lips in a soft, reassuring kiss, but when he moved to deepen it, she leaned back.

‘Lie back for me?’ she asked and as he obeyed without complaint, an idea struck her and she guided his hands above his head. ‘I want you to keep your hands here. Don’t move.’

‘What?’

She felt him tense beneath her, the initial confusion in his eyes quickly transforming into panic.

‘No. No Christine, please, don’t ask this of me,’ he begged, ‘I can’t.’

‘Shhh, don’t worry, love,’ she murmured, interlacing her fingers with his, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

‘But I – I need to touch you.’

It was true, he always had his hands on her during their lovemaking, squeezing and caressing every bit of skin he could reach, as if to make sure that she was still there. As if he needed to be certain that she would not simply disappear into thin air. But if she allowed him to touch her, he would certainly use it to distract her whenever he started to feel self-conscious under her ministrations and that is exactly what she did not want to happen. Tonight would be about him.

He tried to wriggle his hands free, but she pushed them back down unto the bed.

‘I know, and you will,’ she promised. ‘Just not yet.’

For a moment Erik looked as if he would object further, but no words left his lips. He simply gazed at her with a mix of fear, hope and adoration. Christine continued to whisper soothing words in his ear, rubbing gentle circles into the palms of his hands with her thumbs until the tension slowly seeped out of him.

Finally, finally she could explore her husband’s body like she had always wanted to, but she had to take things slow for his sake. She wanted him to feel every bit as loved and wanted as he made her feel every day.

Arms were a safe place to start, she decided. She let her hands wander from his palm to his wrist and down his upper arm, following a prominent vein with her fingers, keeping her touch light and soft. She noticed a few scars here and there, but there weren’t all that many. The majority of them must be situated on his torso then, she suspected.

She kept her focus on his arms for a while. When she looked up after a minute or two, his eyes were closed, his limbs loose, body practically melting into the mattress. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so relaxed. It was such a difference compared to his desperate, panicked state mere moments ago and she silently congratulated herself on the progress she was making.

She mapped out the same trail her fingers had followed with her lips and Erik let out a contented hum. While her mouth left little kisses across his upper arms, her hands continued their path downward until they reached his armpits. He hissed at the tickling sensation, but didn’t otherwise protest as she explored further.

After his arms, she concentrated on his neck and throat, committing to memory the beautiful moans he uttered as she grazed her teeth across his skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. ‘I love this spot,’ she murmured, placing a lingering kiss on the bit of skin between his jaw and his earlobe. ‘I love how sensitive you are here.’ He didn’t reply, but tried to push closer to her lips, wordlessly asking for more. It was all the encouragement she needed.

From there, she let her hands and mouth wander lower, towards his chest, and that’s where she started encountering more scars.

He opened his eyes and tensed slightly when her fingers brushed the first one, watching her intently. She felt the rough ridges of flesh beneath her fingertips, but they didn’t evoke revulsion as Erik expected they would. All she wanted was to caress them until they became a source of pleasure rather than pain. She skimmed her fingers over every scar that came across her path, coaxing little whimpers from his lips, and then kissed and licked the marred skin until he was writhing with need underneath her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his skin in between kisses and hoped he understood how badly she truly wanted him, with or without scars.

When she thought he was starting to feel overwhelmed, she shifted her focus to his nipples instead, watching with fascination as they hardened at her touch. The needy moan that escaped his throat as she swirled her tongue around the little buds made desire pool hot in her stomach. She knew from experience how incredible it felt when he did that to her, but she hadn’t expected it would be just as pleasurable for a man. This was definitely a spot she would come back to in the future.

As she scooted down to focus her ministrations on his stomach, she felt his hard length, still caught beneath his trousers, brush against her naked buttocks and he bucked up against her.

‘Please, my love,’ he panted, ‘please, I need you. Let me touch you. Let me have you.’

She had originally planned to move on to his cock next, using her hands and mouth to pleasure him before letting him into her body, but he seemed so desperate already and to be honest, she wasn’t sure she could make herself wait much longer either. Witnessing his pleasure, knowing she was the one to make him feel that way, only fuelled her desire for him. God, he was beautiful, and he was hers, and she needed him.

Without further ado she unbuttoned his trousers and removed them, and he groaned when her fingers brushed his cock. She noted that he didn’t move his hands to help her undress him, still obeying her command to keep them above his head.

As soon as she was settled above him again, his hips started moving, rubbing his cock against her ass, causing her to let out a needy whimper of her own.

‘Yes, okay, give me your hands,’ she ordered him, and he was only too eager to comply. She placed one of his hands on her breast, which he started squeezing immediately, moaning loudly when he was finally allowed to touch her. His other hand she brought to her entrance, guiding two fingers inside and wasting no time in pumping her hips against them. Her breath hitched at the delicious stretch and when he brought his thumb against her nub and started rubbing in little circles, she nearly reached her peak there and then. But tonight was about him. His pleasure was her priority now.

She thrust down on his fingers a few more times before moving off of them and from the moment he had both hands free, they were all over her body. It was as if, now that he was finally able to touch her, he couldn’t decide where to start, wanting to feel her everywhere at once. She let his hands roam her body, revelling in the feeling of his long, slender fingers against her skin. When his hands started drifting down her stomach towards her mound she stopped him. Instead she guided them to her backside and then took his length in her hand, positioning it at her entrance and slowly sinking down on it, never breaking eye contact.

The way he moaned her name once he was fully inside of her was a sound she would never tire of hearing. She could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to hold back, giving her time to adjust, but she was having none of that. She started sliding up and down his length, urging him to move and when he did, she bent forward, capturing his lips in a demanding kiss.

He buried a hand in her hair, pulling her closer still and taking control of the kiss, licking and sucking at her mouth like he could never get enough. When coming up for air became unavoidable, he moved his lips to her neck, latching on to her pulse point and sucking hard. She cried out his name in ecstasy.

‘Erik! Erik, I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ he gasped, ‘God, how I love you.’

He was pumping into her in a frantic rhythm now and she knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He usually made sure she reached her climax before chasing his own, but that was not how she wanted it to go this time.

‘Let go, love,’ she urged him, ‘don’t wait for me. Take what you need.’

A deep groan rumbled from his chest and in a single fluid motion, he grabbed her and spun them around so he was on top of her. Erik pounded into her at a relentless pace until she was seeing stars. He tilted up her hips a little, slightly changing the angle of his thrusts so his cock was pushing right against that bundle of nerves which caused sparks to shoot through her entire body. With one final pump of his hips, he spent himself inside her, repeating her name over and over again as if it was the only word he knew, and he took her right over the edge with him.

He collapsed on top of her and Christine had never felt more cherished and at ease than there, pinned underneath his weight. She was unable and unwilling to move, wishing she could stay in this moment with him forever.

When their heavy breathing had returned to normal, Erik slowly blinked open his eyes and gazed down on her with unbridled adoration and devotion. He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, then her nose, her chin, her forehead, peppering her whole face with kisses, making her giggle, and then finally planted a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips.

‘You are an exceptional woman and I cannot believe my luck that you are mine,’ he said reverently.

Christine beamed up at him, her heart fit to burst with all the love she felt for this extraordinary, beautiful man.

‘Then it seems we are both extremely lucky.’

[rouiyan]

𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘞 𝘔𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ part of the before i met you collective ⧐

synopsis: after an accidental leak, the news of you and jeno’s relationship becomes the talk of the world. to satiate the incredible curiosity of fans and news outlets alike, the two of you take on a variety show, knowing brother. will this bold move prove to everyone that your relationship is more than just a publicity stunt?

✧ lee jeno x (fem.) reader ✧ idolverse au, knowing brother au, established relationship au

✧ genre : fluff ✧ word count : 1.9k ✧ disclaimers : minor swearing, i talk about eyes a lot lol

✧ author’s note — was supposed to be a short drabble but i got carried away and ended up going into so much unnecessary detail. super fun to write; this idea expertly fought my incoming writer’s block.

you let out a suppressed laugh as jeno profusely denies the apologies that come his way from the girl that just recently joined the makeup team. she had used a much thicker brush than needed on his lips and in turn, they’ve grown almost twice the size, the natural mauve color spilling over the edges. he gives you a pointed look but it’s taken with less seriousness than he’d like, his lips clearly making the expression funnier than intended.

“stop, y/n,” he mumbles, though his face is more of a pout as you crane your neck to watch him, the same girl now fussing with makeup remover blocking your view of him. as she leaves to grab a thinner brush, jeno turns to look at his reflection in the mirror and you make your way across the room to stand next to where he is seated. the both of you stare at each other’s reflections in the mirror, smiles filled with soft adoration. “you nervous?” he speaks, eyebrows shifting up ever so slightly. you swear the way the lights of the vanity reflect off his pupils make it look like he holds the stars in his eyes (and you're sure he does). nodding, you express to him the pressures you’ve been facing, “i hope we do well.”

he hums and removes his stare from the mirror to the actual you, looping his arms around your waist loosely. “we will, babe. we’re unstoppable when we’re together, you know?” he feels more than hears the soft chuckle that you let out and he raises his head to look you in the eyes. “i guess you’re right.” 

it’s been a little over a year since jeno asked you out, right outside the convenience store a few blocks down from the nct dream dorm. a chilly two a.m. snack run where jeno had spontaneously been gifted with the confidence to tilt your head up with his index finger and swoop in for a kiss after his heartfelt words were received with tired enthusiasm. he thinks about that night a lot more than he’d ever admit. 

he also thinks about a similar night, only three weeks ago from now, outside the same convenience store, this time at three a.m., when his hands intertwined themselves with yours on instinct and when you looked up at him with that pretty little smile of yours. he can still hear the shuffling of feet behind him, the click and flash of a camera following. he can still feel the way his heart stopped as he drew his and your hats lower, turning over his shoulder to be face to face with a camera peeking through the shadows. he can still remember the way his hand unwinded from yours, instead wrapping around your whole frame, bringing you closer to his chest and further away from view. he could still hear your heartbeat against his, erratic, and he still remembers praying to dear god that they didn’t catch your face. he stills feels the guilt gnawing at his gut when he found out that it was too late. what was supposed to be a simple first anniversary was turned into a day of phone calls, pr meetings, frustrated managers, and even worse, angry sasaengs camping outside both of your dorms.

he knows it���s not exactly his fault, though he did admit that to the higher ups much to your dislikes, but he can’t help but feel responsible for all his desperate fans going after your reputation, your job, group, family and friends, and most importantly, you. in all honesty, he also received plenty of backlash from your fans as well but it aggravated him much more than it should’ve that people would dare talk shit about his girlfriend. 

making headlines, your relationship with jeno was widely labeled as sm’s bid for attention and monetary gain, however untrue that was. most fans were in denial because of countless other situations where a rumored couple would be later revealed as a publicity stunt, especially since you and jeno were of a big company and from popular groups. of the many game plans that were presented to the two of you, he found this one the most effective. to go on a variety show together and show the compatibility and chemistry between the two of you, to verify your relationship as real and deserving of humanly respect.

jeno is brought back to reality as a colored brush is applied to his lips once again. he looks up to gauge what had happened whilst he was spaced out and sees that you are talking animatedly to the manager that had accompanied you here today, a bright look on your face as your fingers fiddle with a water bottle lid. after getting his makeup done, properly this time, he stands and stalks over beside you, half listening to the conversation about mic settings. with a pout, you hand the water bottle to jeno and he immediately unscrews it, neither of you looking at each other, the act seemingly a casual exchange. 

jeno corners you before going on set, hands on your shoulders, to tell you that, “we’re going to do great, princess.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease and leaves a pink dust across your cheeks, blooming under the blush that’s applied on top. he gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze and slips in a few more encouraging compliments (“so pretty,” tucks strand of hair behind your ear, “i got quite lucky didn’t i?”) before the two of you are called on set to start filming.

the cameras start rolling and as the hosts go about their usual introduction banter, you slip a finger into the indent in the door and on cue, slide it open, revealing your smiling face, jeno’s secure hand on your back, reminding you that he is there with every step into unfamiliar territory. the hosts turn and gape at the pair, having not met backstage to save the guests as a surprise. hodong, is the first to talk coherently among all the commotion, “wah, the power couple of the century is here today!” chuckling at his comment, you and jeno take your places behind the podium at the front, wary of their stares on you. for a second, you feel as if you are in an actual classroom, introducing yourself on the first day of your transfer with an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach. 

“hi, it’s nice to meet you, i’m y/l/n y/n, from sm high! please take care of me!” your nose scrunches at how cringy the school name sounded in comparison to when you and jeno were making it up back in the dressing room. jeno follows with his introduction after you politely bow, “hi, i’m lee jeno, also from sm high! please take good care of us!” a chorus of applause echoes around the three-walled setup and you feel jeno’s hand move from the small of your back to rest upon your shoulders; unconsciously you lean into his frame, his warmth inviting you in ways you don’t even process.

“so the rumors are true, huh?” you look over at soogeun, one of the hosts that you had chosen to sit next to. he’s kind from what you can tell, and almost exactly like the person you see on tv. the other hosts are busy chatting with jeno and you look over at them before settling on the man speaking to you. “yeah,” your voice is soft, “they’re true.” a smile adorns your face as you say this and the little moment that’s caught on camera is enough to melt the audience, (or so the editors think as they go through the tape after filming). 

the hosts inform you that instead of the ‘ask about me’ segment they’re going to, instead, ask the two of you questions, more or less about your relationship. you figure that this has a lot to do with the whole reason you're here and you feel comfortable knowing that you get a chance to explain, to clear the air of assumed rumors. 

the first to ask is janghoon, a simple question to start the segment off, “how did you guys first meet?” jeno and you take turns answering the questions, jeno taking the lead on this one. “it was… january of 2015, i think. like, one year before i debuted and y/n was new to the company. i remember that she was chosen to be in a debut group almost instantly after she joined and some of the other boys in my group were talking about how talented she was.” he takes a second to look over at you, seeing the way your eyes light up when they meet his, “i first talked to her at a showcase, i think. she was already pretty close with mark and haechan, from my group, because they trained together for a bit. even then, i remember her being probably one of the prettiest girls i had ever met. and it wasn’t just the looks though, she- y/n’s always been a kind girl and i guess that i always thought she was too good for me… i still do, for the most part.” 

your eyes are slightly wide when he finishes and he gives you a questioning look. “wow, i don’t remember talking to you until that one halloween party…” the room falls to silence before everyone laughs at jeno’s bewildered expression, clearly baffled at how you didn’t even remember when the two of you first met.

the show moves on good-naturedly before heechul pops the big question, “do you guys love each other?” he says it rather sarcastically, in case you are uncomfortable in answering, but you take it upon yourself to make this situation into a bit of a turning point in all the fun. “of course, jeno’s a big part of my life. whenever i’m not onstage or working, he’s always the one i’m with. this job, it really isn’t the easiest. besides getting to do what we love we also have to be watched constantly, but it’s okay for me at least, having someone like him by my side makes it all okay.” you can almost imagine the cameras showing jeno’s face at this moment, the little hearts edited into the frame of the captured scene, his expression a mix of shy smiles and lovesick eyes. it’s easy to say when you mean it and you know that it’s also easy for jeno when he simply wraps you up in his arms, with content coating his embrace and without care as to the cameras shooting in all directions.

it’s safe to say that the episode went viral, only a few hours after its airing. most fans gushed over your relationship with jeno, sharing screenshots of you in his arms. jeno loves how some fans are even shaming those who look down upon your relationship and he's even happier that he’s allowed to take you out on dates, to add you as a plus one to special events, and to finally be able to call you his, loud and proud.

(bonus: jaemin is beyond excited to watch the episode right when it comes out, popcorn and lights dimmed in preparation. he even dragged a poor renjun to watch it with him, claiming he needed a shoulder to cry on if you guys were being too sweet. he didn’t actually cry, but renjun practically vomited as he watched jeno hoist you up upon his shoulders to reach the basketball hoop during the game segment. he hurled towards the trash can.)

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

I liked your ava post, do you have more aboout usm. The WHOle usm team?

I can’t say I have many many hcs but I’ll give you where I think they might end up after SHIELD, and two songs that fit them if that works. 

Peter: I don't know why but I feel like Peter would want to look for his parents once he leaves SHIELD and while doing so, he ends up in a lot of team ups and building up more of his rogues gallery. Basically I imagine stuff from the comic with spider clones, dating MJ, briefly rejoins the Avengers then leaves. Yeah I don't have much for him since comic history leaves people to choose what they want. Imagine Dragon's Beliver because he does have such a heavy pain inside, but that's the thing, he keeps it inside until he snaps them into his fight for justice. "First things first, I'ma say all the words inside my head. I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, The way that things have been.Second thing second, Don't you tell me what you think that I could be. I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea...Taking my message from the veins. Speaking my lesson from the brain. Seeing the beauty through the pain!"

Danny: I'd like to think that he stays in NY to start Heroes for Hire with Luke as soon as they leave SHIELD. They're bros, and he justifies the absence that New York needs Iron Fist more than K'Lun for the moment. He also tries his hand at getting Rand Industries back on track. I also think he does return to K'Lun eventually as King and mystical head. After his work at Rand Industries, he feels more confident as a leader and is willing to stand up to the monks when it comes with changing some of the old ways. Allowing him to travel back to NY to see his friends while keeping the mystical origins of K'Lun sacred. I think Nature Boy rather fits him, soft and melodious and Danny learning he is not alone sort of. "There was a boy. A very strange enchanted boyThey say he wandered very far..Very far over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye. But very wise, was he."  Les Miserables’ Who am I mainly because I imagine Danny has some identity issues between feeling worthy of the Iron Fist, feeling torn between the US and K'Lun. Ideally, he would end up learning being one does not give up the other part of himself. As one would say they can coexist in a balance. "Who am I? Can I conceal myself forever more.. Pretend I’m not the man I was before?....How can I ever face my fellow men? How can I ever face myself again?"

Luke: As said above, with Danny, when they leave SHIELD, they create Heroes for Hire, they ride or die forever.  Together they clean up their part of New York and Luke comes to terms with some of his past and the people he dealt with in jail. He also meets Jessica Jones during this time and she becomes his new partner (in more ways than one) when Danny leaves for K'Lun. He sometimes does freelance work for SHIELD, mainly at the behest of his parents, sometimes as a favor to Fury. He also sometimes comes by the Helicarrier to be a surprise mentor to whatever new hero they pick up. He is the main instigator of team reunions.

Adam Levine’s If I got locked away totally fits him after the time he spent in jail and scared of being seen as weak, it really fits him and his insecurities. "If I got locked away And we lost it all today. Tell me honestly, would you still love me the same? If I showed you my flaws. If I couldn't be strong. Tell me honestly, would you still love me the same?" One call away also fits him simply for his caring nature and how he'll do anything for his friends, "I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the daySuperman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away/ Call me, baby, if you need a friend. I just wanna give you love...No matter where you go, know you're not alone. I'm only one call away."

Ava: I think once Ava leaves SHIElD, she has some trouble with the amulet whether form being on her own, knowing SHIELD isn't there watching her every move or just cockiness that she can handle it now. Either way, I see her as  taking a break from the amulet. Reasoning her father wanted her to keep it safe, it didn't mean she had to put it on and be a hero. Ideally, she goes to therapy to work through all these issues before ever putting it on again. I imagine she goes home to PR too. I think she could go into bounty hunting, it's more freelance, she helps put baddies away and she can put her investigative skills to good use. Eventually she'd be White Tiger again but for more superpowered threats than every day patrolling. Just breathe from In the Heights not only for the spanish influences but also the utter fear of returning a failure, "Straighten the spine. Smile for the neighbors. Everything's fine, everything's cool. The standard reply: Lots of tests, lots of papers. Smile, wave goodbye and pray to the sky, "Oh God!" And what will my parents say? Can I go in there and say, "I know I'm letting you down..."  Alyssa Greene from The Prom. The lyrics speak for themselves of the utter perfectionism and drive, "The hair has to be perfect. The As have to be straight...Trophies have to be first place. Ribbons have to be blue. There's always some competition or hoops for jumping through. Just have everything perfected by the time you reach eighteen" 

Sam: Admittedly I don't know much about Nova lore or backstory as the others but I think he'll go back to space. Not necessarily as part of the Guardians because honestly I think they had enough members without him. Maybe as a solo act before he finds the other Nova Corps. I definitely see him as becoming a trainer there, finally being the leader he always wanted to be. I also want him to reconnect with his family so he does travel back to Earth to visit them and then swoops by NY for some reunion with his old team before heading back to space. 

Bieber’s Lonely fits Sam because at the heart of it all, I think that's what he is. Lonely, he's still young and trying to navigate these powers and his place in the world and space and what his identity is. And no one else can quite get that. "Everybody knows my name now. But somethin' 'bout it still feels strangeLike lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself and seein' somebody else. And everything is not the same now. It feels like all our lives have changed Maybe when I'm older, it'll all calm down. But it's killin' me now. What if you had it all, nut nobody to call? Maybe then you'd know me 'cause I've had everything. But no one's listening and that's just f- lonely." Shawn Mendes' Wonder works for similar reasons. Mainly I imagine him singing it to his missing father who inherited so much but knows nothing personally about him, "I wonder why I'm so afraid of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint. I wonder, when I cry into my hands. I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man and I wonder if someday you'll be by my side and tell me that the world will end up alright. I wonder..I wonder."  And then a party song for each 

Sam: All I do is win by DJ Khaled "All I do is win, win, win no matter what. Got money on my mind, I can never get enough ('Nough) And every time I step up in the building Everybody hands go up And they stay there And they stay there, up, down, up, down, up, down 'Cause all I do is win (Win), win (Win), win And if you going in put your hands in the air, make 'em stay there" 

Luke: Finesse by Bruno Mars, "We out here drippin' in finesseIt don't make no sense Out here drippin' in finesse You know it, you know it We out here drippin' in finesse It don't make no sense Out here drippin' in finesse You know it, you know it" 

Peter: Another one bites the dust by Queen "nother one bites the dustAnother one bites the dust And another one gone and another one gone Another one bites the dust Hey I'm gonna get you too Another one bites the dust"

Danny: Normally, I don't think Danny would be into party music, too much cursing, too much noise to distort the mind, that stuff. But Rihanna is catchy. "I wanna take you away, let's escape into the music, DJ, let it playI just can't refuse it, like the way you do this Keep on rockin' to it Please don't stop the, please don't stop the music I wanna take you away, let's escape into the music, DJ, let it play I just can't refuse it, like the way you do this Keep on rockin' to it Please don't stop the, please don't stop the, please don't stop the music" 

Ava: Woman by Ke$ha "I'm a motherfucking woman, baby, alright I don't need a man to be holding me too tight I'm a motherfucking woman, baby, that's right I'm just having fun with my ladies here tonight I'm a motherfucker"  This other cool blog is much more into USM and has tons of hcs if you want more of this stuff, @im-rewriting-ultimate-spider-man

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[djemsostylist]

It's been a few days and I've read a lot of takes and had a lot of long talks with @lolo-deli and I'm firm on where I stood Thursday. People who are pro this new season have been busy with PR, and I've seen the same points over an over. 1. We don't know why they broke up, we don't know what they both did, 2. we can't blame Eda, 3. we will get to see them fall in love again, 4. we will see Serkan with a second pregnancy, and perhaps the key, 5. we needed a reset. Oh, and 6. their daughter will bring them back together. Last season was a mess and we needed a blank slate. I'd like to address these points, if for no other reason than it will make me feel better.

You are correct. We don't know why they broke up. The most popular theory seems to be "Serkan pushed her away", which I think is both because it can make Eda "not the bad guy" and also because he has done it before. I'm not going to belabor the point, but we have spent the rest of the series since then showing a Serkan who learned from that mistake has been willing to anything to be with her. I know amnesia Serkan was a mess--but he also had fucking amnesia. And once he was back, we got back our soft boy who wanted nothing more than to be with her. If they have him push her away, it's for plot reasons, not character ones. So maybe Eda reaches a breaking point. Okay, over what? Him not telling her about the tumor? That's her last straw? She endured everything else, but him delaying telling her about the tumor is the last straw? Does she leave him while he's dying? In treatment? Sees him through and leaves him after? I think no matter how you look at it, for them to break up after all they have been through makes no sense to me. Why would they? As I said in a previous post, what could worse than what they have already endured? In any case, either of them leaving the other, again, means I'm forced to wonder why we would ever want them BACK together. If something happens to break them up for 5 years, then obviously it's not meant to be. If they can't figure out a way to make it work after all they have been through, what would five years of bitterness and stewing do to make either of them ready for a relationship together? (And the teaser makes it pretty clear they *are* bitter.) Instead of seeing a counselor, trying to work through their communication and trust issues, if their choice is always "run and dump" and they've learned nothing in 39 episodes, then what is the point anymore? This is not a second chance romance. This is a toxic relationship I no have an investment in.

We can't blame Eda. Look, I get no one wants to hate Eda. I don't want to hate Eda. My girl has been through hell and back, and she's endured a lot for love of this man. I'd have supported her leaving in 15. I'd have supported her deciding not to trust him in 20. I'd have even supported her leaving towards the end of his amnesia, if she thinks there is no hope. But I'd argue the fact that she stayed, that she worked through her issues with him after 15 and chose to be with him means she knows what she's getting into. She knows who he is at his core, and if he was worth all the pain she went through in the 30s then yes, we very much CAN blame Eda. Even if Serkan broke up with her, pushed her away, I very much can and do blame her for keeping his child. I've seen people say there was a miscommunication, that she tried to tell him and he wouldn't listen, maybe he says he doesn't want kids. I'd argue that if he did, it was because he was dying, otherwise why a sudden 180 from Serkan-I-Want-To-Build-A-Library-For-Our-Children Bolat to "no kids?". Which she should find weird and also realize the cause. Again, it would be for plot reason only. Regardless of what happened between them, the second there is a child involved, to quote @lolo-deli you put on your big girl pants and learn to fucking communicate. Even they aren't together, doesn't mean they can't raise a child together. Unless he's a drug lord or a mafia boss or a serial killer, together or not, he deserved to know about his daughter. He deserved the chance to be in her life from the minute Eda knew. Period. I'm not going to cry for Eda's pain of raising her daughter alone in Italy when she literally could have just told him, and you know he would have moved the moon to make sure his daughter felt safe and loved. At least, the Serkan I know. And the Eda I know would not have let him push her away without letting him know about a baby. Not a girl who knows firsthand what it's like to grow up without a father. So I'm sorry, but if we were hating Serkan for being asshole when he had amnesia and we were hating Aydan for keeping secrets...then I'm hating Eda for keeping a child and a father apart. I'm tired of the "all men are trash and boss queen" all or nothing mentality. I really, truly am.

Look, at no point do I want to have to watch Serkan Bolat fall in love with Eda (again) or his daughter. I've already seen him and Eda do that before, I spent 39 fucking episodes on that. And having to watch Serkan fall in love with his daughter because he didn't get to know her from birth is about the most depressing, least romantic, and most heart wrenching thing I could possibly imagine. This isn't a baby, like so many people keep saying. It's a child. A whole entire formed person and Serkan doesn't know her. Because Eda kept a secret. I hate it.

And it doesn't matter if he gets to see the second pregnancy, bc he still missed the first, and every single thing will be a reminder of that. And I don't know how Serkan, who has always felt unworthy (and justified or not is what led to most of the problems in their early relationship) gets over the fact that Eda thought so little of him that she would rather have her daughter grow up without a father than attempt to get in contact with him and let him have a role in her life. I just don't. That's soul crushing. "Am I such a horrible person that you didn't even want her to know me?" As much as I don't want Eda to suffer anymore, I also don't want Serkan to either. Maybe that makes me an antifeminist. Sue me.

Look, last season was a fucking mess. No one is denying that. Part of it is on the writers, part of it is on the producer who kept hiring and firing writers, part of it is on the fact this show should have ended 20 episodes ago. And I hated the 30s, have no desire to watch them again. But the thing is, you can't ignore the episodes that have been written. As much as we want to. Things happened--and that includes character growth, promises made, words said. You can't just do a reset. And I'd argue that breaking up a couple that said they would do everything in their power to make each other happy, who got rings tattooed on their hands as a sign of never, ever being a part again, wouldn't just break up and not see each other for five years. At some point, it becomes toxic. Lack of communication, selfishness, immaturity, stubbornness--do we even want these people together if something was so awful they separated for 5 years and Eda kept a whole baby a secret? Five years is a long to be apart and not once thing about making amends until they are forced into it. What is the point of that reset?

I hate this. So, what, if Eda hadn't randomly brought their child to an awards ceremony and the girl hadn't happened to see Serkan, then they never would have attempted to get back together? It's not like they couldn't get in contact with each other. How is the fact that without their kid (which Serkan didn't even know existed) they would never have reconciled a cute plot?

Let's not argue that this isn't anything other than it is--a ploy to bring in new fans and/or try and get old fans back on the part of the producer. If someone can explain like I'm 5 how this plot is good, I'll listen. But to quote a tweet I saw, you can't use the words angst, pain, suffering, or heartache, because those are not good reasons. You also can't say "but last season" bc I know. I was there. Last season sucked. I get it. It's not a reason to not even attempt a happy ending.

For now, I'll leave it at this. If your kind of love story is two people who have learned nothing, who only know how to fight and hurt each other and break up and think nothing of using a child as a pawn, than I'm happy for you. This season sounds great. But you can't convince me this was necessary, you can't convince me this was "always the plan", you can't convince me this will be anything other than pain, heartbreak, and a way to try and milk SCK for all it's worth before they are forced to cancel or Hanker finally says "we're done."

[metamorphosesrp]

THE ROTH FAMILY

Based on the series Succession, this is a request for THE ROTHS, the family behind the shadowy MORPHOS CORP. If the Impact of 1999 is the blood in the water, then the Roth family are the sharks that followed. Arriving from Washington D.C. for the feast, they established the Genesis research facility in 2000 and have been using it for the last 21 years to explore the depths of the Novum Stretch as well as to conduct top secret experiments on how the Stretch affects plants, animals, and people.

Their company, Morphos Corp, was originally established in 1971 by family patriarch Charles Roth. Since its inception, Morphos has had a diverse portfolio dealing in government contracting (military, weapons, security) and pharmaceuticals. Their research on the Stretch is their latest power grab, as they secretly seek to monetize/weaponize their findings. Click here for more on the Morphos subplot.

The TL;DR of them is this: they’re rich, they’re ruthless, and they won’t leave until they get what they’ve come for. Even as the Backburns’ and town hall’s disdain for them grows, Arkney and Bellmore have become severely dependent on the money, jobs, and prestige Morphos and the Roths have brought to the area, and the Roths know and leverage this. The patriarch has dictated that each of his children fan out and insinuate themselves in different parts of Arkney and Bellmore society to increase the family’s presence and hold on the area.

If you’re interested in playing any of the available roles in this request, please reach out to any of the admins on Discord, once our server is open! Note that it is not necessary to have seen the show to participate, though it’s highly recommended for the vibes! See the group pin board for even more vibes.

Full blurbs for the roles can be found below!

THE LOGAN Charles Roth, 80 Written by Mady

THE LOGAN is no other than the founder and CEO of Morphos, Charles Roth. Charles may have come from some relative privilege but he has taken whatever wealth he was born with and tripped it, then did it again and again. After joining the military, he started his own business, Morphos.. The Morphos corporation has grown and with it his own, and the Roths at large, prominence. He is a ruthless man, cruel when necessary, manipulative, clever and driven above all else. He puts his business and family name above all else and is willing to kill for what he wants. Not the forgiving type, he's a formidable father, boss and possessive leader of the Roth family.

FC: Donald Sutherland

THE MARCIA 50-70 Reserved for Hobie

Third wife of Charles Roth, THE MARCIA is not to be underestimated. Having gained her own wealth in pharmaceuticals, she and Charles met through business and they were attracted to one another's power, wealth, and intelligence. MARCIA is unsympathetic, and at times antagonist, with Charles' children. Appreciating a man that has worked for what he has, she thinks of his adult children as spoiled, ungrateful, leeches on their father's hard earned legacy. The two have been married for ten years and she's fiercely loyal but more than capable of looking out for herself in this nest of vipers.

FC: Charlotte Rampling

THE CONNOR 42-50 Open

While the oldest of the four Roth siblings, THE CONNER doesn’t exactly act like it. He’s prone to frequent flights of fancy and, though he thinks himself highly effective, he mostly is anything but. He has the least influence on family and company dealings and occasionally has to be asked to cease and desist for the sake of preserving the Roth’s and Morphos’ reputation. THE CONNER is also Charles’ son from his first marriage and, as such, does not share a mother with his younger brothers and sister. What he’s doing now (read: his next big likely-to-be-doomed venture) is up to the player.

Suggested FCs: Alexander Skarsgård (pictured), Michael Shannon, Jon Hamm, Hugh Dancy, Bill Hader, Matt Bomer

THE KENDALL Jasper Roth, 40 Written by Vive

As THE KENDALL, Jasper is the hapless, over-achieving, by-the-books second son who once had Big Dreams™ of taking over as Morphos’ CEO upon his father’s retirement. However, that all went out the window five months ago when he found his then-lover was using him to get kompromat on the company and Jasper went to his dad for “help” (read: because of this, his then-lover was killed). His guilt, shame, heartbreak, and captivity to Charles’ whims has turned him into an increasingly run-down version of his former golden boy self, and he has been coping with a return to drug use.

FC: Daniel Brühl

THE ROMAN Remy Roth, 35 Written by Grim

As THE ROMAN, Remy has had a nice life coasting off of his family's name and their overall success. Spending a lot of his time partying, schmoozing, and generally just testing people's nerves with his sass, the time has come for him to pull his weight for once. Remy's easy-going nature is nothing when compared to his work ethic, a hidden gem that has driven him to impressive social heights. So now he's learning he's much more than just the family name and is working on 'coolifying' the town, in his eldest brother's words. A entrepreneur and restaurateur, he's already established a local brunch eatery and is working on starting a nightclub to breathe some real fun into an otherwise dismal town.

FC: Daniel Radcliffe

THE SHIV Anthea Roth, 33 Written by Lina

The youngest of the four siblings but, arguably, the most put-together and capable one. THE SHIV has always had a hand grasping her father's sleeve, seeking his approval and admiration at the cost of her own independence. She's swallowed down dreams of travel and creative exploration in favor of being the Good Girl, and she's chiseled down her softness to a sharp point; twisting her empathy into a tool for finding weak spots in her opposition. Engaged to THE TOM but she chose him with her family in mind rather than her own heart. Commitment is hard without real attachment and she's seeing someone else, someone local, on the side.

She once worked for Morphos but has recently carved out a piece of the Town Hall, working as a Communications Advisor for the Mayor's Office. She handles their optics and engagements with the towns – all behind-the-scenes, of course. THE LOGAN expects her to report back and keep him apprised of the inner workings of local politics, and she's happy to do so.

FC: Elizabeth Debicki

THE TOM 30-35 Open

Appearances have always mattered to THE TOM — how he feels about himself is refracted in how others perceive him. He's caught up in the heights of wealth and status, believing that it's the secret to a good life. He comes from an upper class background, not anywhere close to Roth-level affluence but enough to be disconnected from the “real world”. Engaged to THE SHIV and while he loves her, that love is compounded with greed, insecurity and desperation. Often lashes out at those “under” him, like COUSIN GREG, to assert himself and take back control. He has secured a position on the Morphos PR & Legal team, some would say through special treatment and they certainly aren’t wrong. Up to you if he’s fit for the job, or if he’s coasting by on his fiancées name.

Suggested FCs: Trevante Rhodes (pictured), Jon Kortajarena, Alfonso Herrera, Ben Barnes, Aldis Hodge, Manny Montana

THE COUSIN GREG 21-27 Open

The COUSIN GREG is the son of Charles Roth’s estranged sister. Very much green in all regards, they have (clumsily) insinuated themselves in the family’s business to secure a job and have been #trying to do what they must to keep that job. At first glance, COUSIN GREG isn’t much—they are naive, overly optimistic, and do not share the family’s ruthless instincts. However, they are not to be underestimated, as they are in fact listening, learning, and biding their time to make their own moves. Is basically the glorified assistant to THE TOM.

Gender is open and character can be biracial.

Suggested FCs: Charles Melton (pictured), Zazie Beetz, Jordan Fisher, Sasha Lane, Sean Teale, Laura Harrier, Xavier Dolan, Noami Scott, Gavin Leatherwood, Ashley Moore

THE GERRI 55-65 Open

THE GERRI has been working for the Roths for several decades and is currently serving as Morphos’ Director of PR & Legal. They are very much loyal to Charles Roth and the company, and work as his general counsel on all matters of decision-making. Loyalty aside, however, THE GERRI has been around the block and knows how the game works. They are not above making their own allegiances with those that suit their purposes and are astute in hedging their bets to ensure they land on the winning side no matter what. Vaguely a warped parent-ish figure to the Roth children, with some wine aunt vibes.

Suggested FCs: Viola Davis (pictured), Carla Gugino, Angela Bassett, Salma Hayek, Marisa Tomei, Monica Bellucci, Demi Moore

THE RAVA 34-40 Open

THE RAVA is married to THE KENDALL and has been around the family for several years. Though she loves and cares about Jasper and vice versa, their marriage has largely become one of convenience. Beyond this, the details of her life are open and discussable with Jasper’s player (vive). They could be separated or approaching divorce, she could be cool with his affair or not or not know, they could have kids that she mostly raises or not, etc.

Suggested FCs: Oona Chaplin (pictured), Sofia Boutella, Hannah John-Kamen, Alexa Davalos

[gemstoneconstellations]

Pretty boy makes me pretty stupid

Summary: anon request for a “sassy but awkward af around her crush” reader who says dumb things while Bakugo, the oh so loving best friend, makes fun of her for it.

Wordcount: 3250

One good thing about UA, other than it being one of the top schools in Japan, is the new dorms. There is so much freedom; besides the large amount of homework and high expectations that came with being a UA student, the dorms are very laid back. It made bonding with classmates easy and presented the opportunity to mingle and meet with the students from the other classes.

It also presented the perfect opportunity to meet the perfect boy. 

You were dragging your feet as you made your way from the dorms to the school. You’d just spent the whole night working on a mock publicity event for a pro-hero for your media and marketing class. Business course students have nearly three times the amount of homework when compared to the other classes and this week seemed to be worse than usual. You were exhausted and contemplating whether a fourth cup of triple-shot espresso was worth the potential heart attack when suddenly, you were face first in the grass, wondering what had just happened.

“I told you fuckers to hurry it up, but do you two ever listen to me? Nooooo.”

“Hey! I needed to do my hair; it takes time to look this good.”

“Guys! Seriously?” You were still trying to orient yourself when you were hoisted off the ground. “I’m sorry about them; we have an early guest speaker today and are running late. You okay?”

You blink up at the figure that was helping you dust off your uniform. Concerned red eyes were staring right into yours, throwing you off and into a daze. Is it your deprived brain or is there an angel before you? “Um, yeah.” It must be your brain because when the boy before you smiled at your response, you swear he sparkled.

“Shitty Hair! Hurry your ass up!”

He waved to the people shouting before turning back to you. “Ah, sorry I have to go, and sorry about my friends knocking you over.”  He lowered his head to you and then ran after the other two students waiting for him.

“What were you doing? Were you flirting? My bro is growing up.”

“No, I was cleaning up after the two of you like always.”

“Fucking excuse me?” The three of them continued to banter, completely forgetting about you. At some point your feet began to move again, on autopilot, towards the school building.

You couldn’t shake out of your daze all the way to class, where you sat down at your desk with your head in your hands as you stared into space. You didn’t even notice your classmate and friend taking his seat in front of you. “Ugh, I’m so tired. That assignment has been really kicking our asses. Everyone looks half dead or already decomposing.”

��Mmhmm.”

“I think I’ve maybe slept about ten hours in the last week. Did you get any sleep last night? I know you said you forgot to do something in the proposal.”

“Mmhmm.”

He turned around to look at you, concerned that you weren’t saying any actual words. “Are you listening ___?”

“Mmm.” You just continued to hum, blinking at nothing in particular.

“Hello? ___? ___!” A hand waved in front of you, mildly startling you and making your eyes focus on your classmate. “What is wrong with you?”

You sighed, laying your head down on the desk, using your arms as pillows. “I think I saw a red angel.”

“How much coffee did you have? Did you sleep at all last night?”

Your brain was trying to process what was being said, but you were so sleep-deprived that nothing stuck. “Sleep… what’s that?” Eyelids too heavy to keep open, you succumbed to the darkness and went into a deep slumber.

“___! Did you just die? Can I have your math homework if you’re dead?”

~

Thankfully, the teachers had mercy on your class and the business course students got a small break. This meant that they went home with only a couple of assignments, rather than an entire backpack (or briefcase for some extra-people) full of paperwork. 

It took  sleeping for an entire day over the weekend for your brain to start making sense again. However, you were still unsure if the red-eyed angel was an actual, real boy or a very vivid daydream fueled by the large amount of caffeine in your already exhausted system.

You got your answer during a joint project with the hero course students. The business students had to work on scenarios to help improve the hero-image of the heroes-in-training for mock interviews. 

Your class was assigned to 2-A and your partner was a very soft spoken boy, Koda. Things were going smoothly as the two of you tried to work out what he needed to improve on when screaming suddenly started at the  front of the room. “I can’t do this! You are just impossible! You can’t just yell at people and expect them to thank you for it! A powerful quirk doesn’t make you a good hero, ya know?!”

“Hah?! Fuck you! You know jackshit about being an actual hero! You couldn’t make it as a hero, so you decided to ride the coats of those who can! You fucking hero-wannabe!” Explosions went off in the blonde’s hands as he stands up to shout back at your classmate.

Your classmate yelped and pushed his chair away. “That’s it! I can’t work with the constant threat of being exploded!”

Aizawa sighed in front of the room as he sat up from inside his sleeping bag. “It hasn’t even been five minutes…I’m too tired to deal with this. Trade partners with someone, I don’t care. Just be quiet and get your work done.” The tired hero lay back down and closed his eyes. That’s it? Are teachers even allowed to nap in classrooms?

You were questioning the hero course’s future when your name was shouted. “___! You need to switch with me! You’re the only one who would be able to handle him.”

“Huh?”

You jumped back as your classmate made a beeline for you, practically pushing people out of the way. “If this beast explodes, you would be the only one that wouldn’t get hurt. We won’t have to worry about you.” He grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you.

Dizzily, you try to decline since you were happy with who you got as a partner. “But Koda and I—”

You were cut off as e fell to his knees, hugging your legs. “Please! I will either die from him or me stabbing myself with my pen! Please!” You cringe as he began to bawl his eyes out, snot threatening to spill from his nose as he did.

Nope, nope; a shiver went down your back at the image of his bodily fluids touching your bare skin. You pulled your legs away and started kicking him off. “Oh god that’s so fucking gross! Okay, okay! I’ll switch! I’ll switch! Just stop it already! I’ll switch with you! For the love of god and my sanity, please wipe your nose with a tissue! Not my leg!” What the hell had the infamous Bakugo said to make him like this?!

You hand your sad, sniveling classmate the notes you’d made with Koda and begrudgingly dragged your feet towards the front. Sitting in the seat beside Bakugo, you dropped your head onto his desk loudly and gave a not-so-enthusiastic robotic introduction. “Hello, I’m ___ ___, it’s sooooo nice to meet you. Please take care of me as we work together.” All that work with Koda, down the drain…now you have to restart with the asshole of the hero course and the class is half over!

“The fuck?”

You sigh to yourself again and hand over your notebook with mock interview questions, not even looking up as you spoke. “Here, I know you aren’t much of a talker and we don’t have a whole lot of time left, so just answer these questions. The first five are for me to get a feel of what type of hero you want to be and how you want to be seen by the public. The rest are basic talk-show type questions; answer those like it is a real interview please. When you’re done, we’ll go from there. And please answer them fast; I do not want both of us to fail because you feel like being an ass.”

Surprisingly, the notebook was taken from your hands and you could hear pencil scratching against paper. “I don’t fail at anything,” he muttered. Huh, so that’s what motivates him.

After a few minutes, the two of you were silently sitting as everyone else spoke with their partners. You were so tempted to take a nap. “These questions are so fucking personal.” So the rabid Pomeranian of UA does know how to speak at a normal tone.

“Yeah, that’s pretty typical. People are nosy about their idols; they want to know everything. That’s why you have to be careful about how you word things. Not just for possible misunderstandings, but also to protect some of the privacy you have. I’ll help improve your answers while keeping your personality and image in mind.” You finally sat up and began to stretch your back. Glancing at the notebook, you are surprised to see he was more than halfway done.

He huffed as he scribbled down another response. “This doesn’t sound like business-type shit.”

Leaning against the desk with your chin resting in your hand, you began to read some of his answers. Like you expected, they were going to need a lot of work. “It’s PR stuff; it all helps your popularity and brings in more money. So it’s a different part of business type stuff. I want to be a PR Manager, so this kind of assignment is right up my alley.”

Bakugo hummed as he silently continued the questions. Another few minutes went by; class was close to being over, with less than ten minutes left. “So what did that loser mean about you being able to handle my explosions?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat; your quirk isn’t not something you are very comfortable with telling someone like a hero-in-training, but he can’t say anything worse than what others have. So, fuck it. “It’s my quirk. It’s similar to a shock absorption-type quirk, but my body takes the energy from the force of impact to make my body more solid and keeps it from taking damage. It doesn’t make me stronger since it stops my muscles from tearing and growing mass. I still go flying if hits hard enough. Sometimes I break whatever I run into if I hit it hard enough. Really, it just makes it impossible to get hurt if someone hits me and my hand won’t break if I punch someone. It is lame and boring, I know. At least I’ve never had a bruise before.”

For some reason, Bakugo kept surprising you by asking questions you never expected. “So if I threw you into a wall, it wouldn’t hurt and you’d might break the wall?”

“Uh, I guess? Never really tried, though I did break a desk when someone pushed me once.”

He snorted at your owlish expression. “Your quirk is lame? You sound like some other idiot I know.” Bakugo looked over; you followed his eyes to Kirishima, who was in the center of the class. Like he could sense someone looking at him, the redhead turned towards you two and smiled. Your eyes widened as his teeth practically sparkled, taking in his red hair, and memories of someone who had helped you when you were half brain-dead came to mind. He waved at you and a daze came over you as you gave your own meek wave. Okay, he really is that pretty.

The bell for lunch went off, waking you from your awkward blatant staring. You tried to quickly gather your things and went for your notebook, only for it to be lifted away from you. Bakugo grabbed your wrist with his free hand and began to drag you with him. “I didn’t finish it yet. I’ll finish them after you show me your quirk.”

“Huh?”

He paused for a moment to look back behind him. “You heard about her quirk, right nerd? Let’s go; I know you’re fucking dying to see it in action.”

“AH, c-coming Kacchan!” Midoriya proceeded to follow Bakugo as he dragged you away. And that’s how you ended up being tossed around like a rag doll in the hero’s course training hall. Did you just somehow become friends with Bakugo Katsuki? You had no idea. At this point, you were just going along with what he wanted as he dragged you around. Both of you finally ended up in the cafeteria, exhausted, and found the closest empty table to collapse at after Bakugo told you to sit somewhere.

At least you are sitting down now. You had no idea where Bakugo went, but you aren’t being tossed around or interrogated anymore. “What he do to you?”

You groan at whoever had just asked you another damn question. “I don’t want to talk about iiiiiiaaaaaaaa…” Your tongue lost all ability to form words as soon as you opened your eyes to see Kirishima sitting beside you. Other people were now sitting at the table but your focus was on the sparkling redhead before you.

He raised an eyebrow at you and that’s when your brain noticed the cute little scar at the top of his eye. Are scars supposed to be cute? “You okay? Seriously, what did Bakubro do to you?”

“I didn’t do jackshit.” You jumped at the sound of trays being dropped, signaling Bakugo’s return. He motioned to the tray in front of you as he sat down and began to eat his lunch. He bought you lunch? That’s kind of nice…after everything. You gratefully began to eat. “I wanted to see if what they’d said was true and it was fucking was. She can’t punch for shit but she makes a good weapon.” 

You choked on rice at Bakugo’s snicker. “Hell, no. You are not using me like some kind of bat. You and Midoriya suck, big time!”

“Ooooh, Kacchan and Deku sucking together.” Ashido and Kaminari both teased.

“Shut the fuck up before I beat you to death with ___!”

“Don’t use me to threaten people!”

And that’s how you were sucked into the hero students’ group. You went from barely catching glimpses of them to playing video games with them in their dorms. Even though the project with Bakugo was done, you still joined them at lunch and hung out outside of class. Which meant more time for you to stare at Kirishima.

“You are going to be my fucking PR manager when we graduate.” Bakugo declared as he sat in front of you. The hero students had gotten their grades back on the public relations project and, surprisingly, Bakugo had listened to you, passing the mock interview with one of the highest scores.

You smiled brightly at him as you continued to eat, others sliding into their seats as you spoke. “I’d rather die.”

Kaminari elbowed Bakugo in the side, earning a growl from the ash-blond. “Man, you are not delicate at all. She’s a lady who needs to be treated with care.”

Bakugo shoved Kaminari away from him, knocking him into Mina. “Pfft, she’s anything but delicate. Would something that’s delicate be able to go through two walls of concrete without getting injured?”

“Wow, you’re pretty strong for someone who’s in the business course.” Your body froze at the sound of the deep voice coming oh-so-close directly to your left. You glance over to see Kirishima smiling down at you and you found yourself momentarily forgetting how to swallow, chewing on the now tasteless food longer than you needed to as you stared at the gorgeous boy.

A foot kicked at your leg, waking you up. You turned back to your tray, stuffing your mouth more. Somewhere along the line, after you'd remembered how to swallow, you realized that Kirishima was still looking at you, patiently waiting for you to respond. “No, I’m not anything special. My quirk just lets me take a punch.”

God bless everything on this earth for letting you hear that boy chuckle like you’d actually said something funny. “Cool, maybe we can fight sometime?” You watch him pick up a piece of meat. Speaking of meat, you can’t help but admire all the fine work that the hero course has done for those arms.

Fuck, he’s looking at you again. His cheeks were so full and looked so fucking soft and squishy, you wanted to touch them. Ugh, he’s throwing that smile at you and you’re just fucking melting in your seat. Your swooning also killed your brain cells. “You can punch me anytime.”

The entire table went quiet, though you could practically hear Bakugo fucking grinning. “What?”

You quickly turned back to your food, laughing loudly and awkwardly. “I said sure, anytime! Wow the food is really good today!” Someone just put you out of your misery. 

The asshole in front of you tried to pretend to cough into his hand, but his shaking shoulders were a dead giveaway that Bakudick was laughing at your pain and deserved a swift kick in the shins. “Ow, motherfucker.” You ignored his glare and finished your lunch.

“Anyways! My mom finally sent me a bunch of my horror movies, anyone up for a night of fear and jump scares?!” You could kiss Mina for changing the subject, all eyes turning towards her. The table started making plans about movie night in one of their dorms during the weekend. You zone out for a moment, thinking about the assignments you should make sure you finish before  Bakugo comes to drag you to this gathering while he mumbles about if he has to suffer through social interactions, so do you. 

“You coming too, right?” Kirishima turned to you, closer than he was before, looking you right in your eyes.

There’s no way you can say no. “Yeah, I love spooky things and jump scares...” Not really; ghost movies freak you. Most jump scares leave you unable to sleep with the lights off and limbs tightly wrapped in your blankets, afraid of what might come out from the dark unknown under your bed.

“More like you like the idea of jumping on Kiri-�� You flung some food at Bakugo, not caring if some got in his eye. He’s too observant for his own good. Bakugo wiped his face, snarling. “That’s it! You wanna fucking go?! I will fucking throw you across the fucking campus!”

Lunch was over and you were hanging back from the group, who was talking about what they will be doing during their hero training classes. 

“‘You can punch me anytime’,” Bakugo mimicked you,  snorting beside you and gesturing towards Kirishima, who was laughing at something Kaminari was showing him on his phone. “Real smooth. And you fucking piss yourself whenever someone catches you by surprise, so I know that horror movie stuff is bullshit.”

You bump the asshole with your shoulder. “Shut up, like you have room to talk. We both know it wasn’t you who was interested in how my quirk works.” Your eyes spot a familiar head of curly green hair. “I wonder if Midoriya likes horror movies?”

“I will fucking murder you.”

[hurricanerin]

Not Just One of Your Many Toys 1: Don’t Tell Me What to Do

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale/OFC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, loss of virginity, power imbalance, general dickishness

Summary: Ransom and Olivia have been thorns in each other’s sides for fifteen years.  They’ve tolerated one another, coaxed each other through major milestones, and trampled on one another’s hearts.  After years spent healing from one of Ransom’s toxic outburst, Olivia finds herself subpoenaed by the Drysdale family as a character witness for his criminal trial.  Their son is out of control, and the one person with the best chance of getting through to him wants absolutely nothing to do with the man.   

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Boston, 2005

 There has never been a moment in my life that I haven’t known exactly who Ransom Drysdale is.  We met in the fall of 2005, right after my dad was promoted with General Electric and my family had moved to Boston from Puerto Rico for his new job. I was 13 and Ransom was 19, and I could’ve told you within 5 minutes of enduring his company that he was a playboy and a Grade A narcissist.  

My parents and his mom, the legendary Linda Drysdale, had closed on our new house the week before.  When my papá had mentioned to our realtor that he had 6 engineer brothers and sisters in PR also looking to move to the Boston area, Linda immediately swooped in and took over the sale.  We had moved into the new house for two days when who showed up on our doorstep with a giant Harry and David gift basket on his mother’s behalf? Ransom.  I’ve never seen my mom so taken with a man so quickly.  It was absolutely nauseating.  

My mom and I had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast with my little brother when Ransom waltzed in, ruining our meal.  While he charmed my mom, I shooed Gian from the table, stuffed him into his coat and boots and shoved his toast into his hand.  

“You’re gonna miss your bus, vete,” I said with an affectionate push.

He waved me off, but I could see his smile as he scrambled out the door towards his friends.  When I turned around, Mamá was on the phone, distractedly scribbling on a notepad at the center island.  Ransom had seated himself at our table and was examining the gift basket. After retrieving a pear, he rearranged the treats so it looked as if nothing were missing.  Catching my eye, he shot me a grin, took a bite of the fruit and flaunted it in front of me.

“Want some?”

My mom’s groan of frustration cut off my retort as she hung up.  Without missing a beat, Ransom hid the pear behind his leg.

Clipping her beeper to the waist of her skirt, she motioned at my backpack.  “Ol, you need to get your school stuff and hop in the car, I have to go to the hospital early.  I need to drive you; school is on the way.  A patient needs to go into surgery now.”

I scowled and put my hands on my hips. “I’m taking the bus with my friends. You said at this school I could!”

Already gathering her coat and keys, she shook her head.  “I’m sorry, mija.  Not today.  Come on, we need to go.  I can’t leave you alone at home for that long.”

My nose started to sting.  I didn’t want to sit at school alone for an hour and have to explain to my new friends why I wasn’t on the bus like everyone else.

Carefully watching the interaction, Ransom cleared his throat.  “Mrs. Santos, I would be happy to stay with her until her bus comes.  I’m home on break from Yale for the week and would love nothing more than to get to know your daughter,” he offered, radiating charisma.

“Oh Ransom, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Honestly, our house is only a few streets away, so we’re practically neighbors.  It would be no problem.”

She hesitated, glancing from Ransom to her watch. Back home, we didn’t have babysitters. Family played that role.  I couldn’t imagine leaving her 13 year-old home alone with a strange man was high on her list of things to do in the US.

Ransom read the situation well.  “Mrs. Santos, my girlfriend is just at my parents’.  Why don’t I give her a call and the three of us can clean up the kitchen until…,” he motioned at me.

“Olivia,” I snipped.

He didn’t flinch.  “Until Olivia’s bus comes,” he finished with a smile.

“I suppose… that would be alright,” Mamá agreed.  “Your family is so kind!”  Sighing in relief, she snagged me for a kiss goodbye and scurried towards the door.  “Behave, Ol! I’ll see you at dinner,” she shouted over her shoulder.

I listened to the garage door close and turned to find him thumbing through the Harry and David catalogue while dabbing pear juice from his lips with a napkin.  I glared at him for a minute.

“You and your mom are just being nice to my parents because I have a lot of aunts and uncles moving here,” I accused.

He looked up, laughing in surprise.  Nodding his head to the side, he shrugged a shoulder, “You’re not wrong.  Did they tell you that?”

“No, but I can tell.”

A soft ping sounded and he patted his pockets, pulling out a phone from his jacket.  He continued nibbling at the pear until all that was left was the core, then absently dumped it on my abandoned breakfast plate.  I walked closer and peered at the screen in his hands while he typed furiously.

“Do you have any games on your phone?” I asked.

“This isn’t a phone, it’s a Blackberry.”

“Do you have any games on your Blackberry?  Like Snake?  My mom’s phone has Snake.”

“No, it doesn’t have Snake,” he snapped as he pulled a headset from his jacket pocket and plugged it into the headphone jack. Almost immediately it rang and he slipped the earpiece on, pushing me.

“Jackson?”  He sighed at me in irritation and turned away.  “Yeah, come up this weekend.  They’re two Norwegian bitches, semi-professional skiers or something. Super hot.  They’re in the US to train but stopping to vacation in New England or whatever.”  He ran his finger along the wicker of the gift basket while he listened to his friend respond.  With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head.  “No, no, we don’t need to take them sailing for them to put out.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping.  I knew it was rude to both stare and eavesdrop, but I had never met anyone who was so blatantly awful.

“They’ll fuck us because I’m crazy rich, bro, don’t worry,” Ransom chuckled.  He leaned back against the table and rolled his eyes as his friend prattled on, until his gaze landed on me.  His eyes widened.

“Shit,” he muttered.  “Jax, I’m not alone.  I gotta go.”

He yanked the earpiece off and tossed it on the table, leaning towards me with his elbows on his knees.  

I scowled.  “You don’t really have a girlfriend who’s coming over.”

“Olivia,” he said with a practiced smile that actually reached his beaming eyes.  Ignoring my statement, he took me in for a moment, cataloguing my appearance as his gaze came to rest on my neck.

“That’s such a pretty necklace you’re wearing, did you pick it out yourself?”

My insides tingled a little.  I didn’t like-him-like-him or anything, but he did look like a prince and he had complemented the starfish necklace my parents had given me for my birthday last summer.  It was my favorite.

“It was a present from my mom and dad, from when I turned 13 last year.”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.  Something about me being a kid.  I didn’t know what that meant, because he made an angry face. But that quickly went away and then his prince face was back.

“That was my friend Jackson on the phone,” he motioned at his Blackberry with his thumb, “We go to college together.  We joke around a lot,” he chuckled, rubbing my shoulder. “You do that with your friends, too, right?  Tell jokes, mess around?”

Confused and skeptical, I nodded.

“And you don’t always tell those jokes to your parents, because they don’t understand them.  You keep them between you and your friends.”

I raised my brow, trying to look formidable.  “You don’t want me to tell my mom what you were talking about.”

The friendliness in his expression melted away, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards instead.  “Exactly.”

 To this day, I wish I could say I stuck up for myself; that I told my mom how much of a jerk he was.  How he was a deceptive, womanizing liar who didn’t deserve an ounce of our time.  But, I didn’t.  Instead, I stooped to Ransom’s level.

My family had money; my mom was a physician and my dad a senior engineer for GE.  We lived very comfortably.  We had spent several months in the US in an apartment before finding the house, during which they had been earning American salaries and making more than ever.  But, both of my parents came from humble means, sent a lot of money back home to their own parents and grandparents, and did not appreciate the materialism I faced every day at the private school they sent me to.

And Ransom had… a lot of money.  He had made that clear over the phone.  I’m not proud to admit that I requested the Tiffany heart tag bracelet I had seen other girls wearing at school in exchange for my silence.  I’m even less proud that, after scoffing at my proposal, Ransom walked me right past the Tiffany & Co. on Newbury Street and in to Cartier and had me pick out a bracelet there instead.  He said he hadn’t bought Tiffany for a girl since he was my age and that he wasn’t lowering himself.  I still have the bracelet buried in my jewelry box, though I never put it on.  Considering its origins, it feels dirty to wear, but I can’t bear to part with it.

 Boston, 2007

 In 2007, we found out my dad had a mistress.  He had paid for her to move over from PR and had been supporting her in Boston for two years.  That would’ve flown in PR, but in the US, my mom’s friends wouldn’t stand for it. (Especially the female divorce lawyer next door.)  That was more or less the end of my dad’s presence in my life.  There’s a chance he might walk me down the aisle one day, but that’s only if Mamá insists on a super Catholic wedding.  

My dad leaving didn’t affect me like it did my mom and Gian. I had my friends and tennis, but Gian was younger and quieter; he and my dad spent a lot of time with little robot projects and those LEGO sets and I could tell he missed him.  Mamá was lonely at home, too; she and my dad had been together since high school.  She had spent a lot of time taking care of him, despite her working 60 hour weeks.

A few of my dad’s sisters hung around as moral support, but Papá eventually pressured them until they stopped coming to see us.  However, there was an additional isolated party within our vicinity who also needed a group of humans to latch onto; someone with the capacity to fill the role of both quasi-paternal figure (figure, not role model), and platonic spouse.

I’d seen Ransom with Mrs. Drysdale; at best, she spoiled her son.  At worst, she placated him with money, demeaned and dismissed him.  Even I didn’t appreciate how she treated him and most days I didn’t like him.  After graduating last in his class from Yale, Ransom took the year off to get away from her. Not a normal “take the year off” where you travel to learn about yourself, or work, or anything like that. Instead, Ransom bought property in the Maldives and imported $500,000 worth of Dom Perignon—the Rose Gold kind—, and flew in ballerinas from Moscow while telling his mom he was joining the Peace Corps for a girl.  When there was fraud on his black AmEx and he had to phone home for help, there was hell to pay when the call came from not Mongolia.  Linda cut him off and kicked him out.

For six months, but still.  This was Ransom.

My mother, bless her heart, would have absorbed all children needing a home if she could.  And, though he was 21, Ransom definitely qualified as such a child.  I honestly think Ransom needed the mothering, too. Growing up with a nanny paid to give you care is not a replication of a mother’s love, which he never had in the first place.

Ransom always showered Mamá with attention, asking how she was with utter sincerity while maintaining direct eye contact, thanking her for the work she did as a cardiac surgeon, and other general sycophantic niceties.  I was terrified that would change for the worst after he moved in, despite their generous age gap.  A freshly divorced woman could’ve been new prey for him.  It wasn’t that she didn’t know who and what he was—she was under no illusions.  But she had a soft spot for the broken bad boy with mommy issues and indulged him.

I watched him like a hawk when he was around her, but he never made a move.  He certainly let her wait on him; she cooked him food from scratch and listened to him talk while she cleaned up the kitchen, but he was never salacious.  I still give him props for that.  It would have been an entertaining game for him, one he would’ve easily won.  

It helped that he was gone half the time.  He still had his car, keys to the Hamptons house and access to his friends’ jets and properties.   I’m pretty sure Richard was also slipping him $50k a month because Ransom rebuilt his wardrobe pretty quickly.

I will admit I was slightly… antagonistic towards him during the beginning of his time with us.  I may have picked a few fights.  He wanted to watch Sin City because of Jessica Alba; I wanted to watch the Corpse Bride.  He left questionable-looking hair trimmings in the shower drain and you can bet I was pounding on his door.  He gave me that look when I thought I had dressed nicely, and I may or may not have launched myself at him.  But, near the middle of his stay, we learned to co-exist, and even had some decent conversations.  I chilled out when I saw how he was with Gian.  

I’m not sure Mamá ever officially asked Ransom to step up while he was living with us, I think the only conditions she had was that he tip the cleaning people an extra $150 for how bad his room was, not have his douchey friends over past 10pm, and no sleepovers with the opposite sex.  But, it was obvious to everyone under our roof that Gian looked to Ransom for companionship.  And, to my utter surprise, Ransom kind of delivered.  He took Gian to the U.S. Open and up to Lake Champlain to golf a few times, and they’d hang out at the house when Ransom was home.  

Then, one day I heard him call Gian his charity project to his friends as they sat out on the porch.  The second he came inside I punched him in the arm over that.  The weirdest part about Ransom and his awful behavior is that he only kinds of means it.  I mean, the idea was there, he had had the thought that Gian was less fortunate than him and needed his help.  But I also know he genuinely loved my little brother and was making spending time with him out to be a bigger deal than it really was.

Six months to the day, Ransom had a moving company at our doorstep at 8am sharp.  He only had a few hanging wardrobes worth of clothes to move into his new apartment; all of the furniture was being delivered by the dealer, but the man couldn’t lower himself to drive his own U-Haul.  By that time, I had developed an appreciation for Ransom.  It was kind of nice to have someone older to talk to, even though he had no conception of what real life was like.  He was okay.  I didn’t miss sharing a dwelling space with him, but I did kind of miss him.

 Boston, Fall 2009

 That fall, I was 18 and a senior at the Winsor School and Ransom was 25 and bullshitting his way through his Master’s of Science in Business Analytics at Princeton.  I preferred not to ask questions regarding his attendance or grades.  I figured the less I knew, the less I could be implicated in some scandal involving the university and bribery.

High school wasn’t a great time in my life. The kids at Winsor were spoiled and came from generations of overachievers.  You could say there were a lot of Ransoms, I suppose; self-serving, arrogant, brutal, conceited, rich kids.  I’m not saying I didn’t share some of those traits, I knew I was fortunate, but I liked to think I was a decent person.  As a result, I was relatively lonely.  I had the varsity tennis team, and that fit my basic  need for socialization.  But not once did I ever entertain the thought of a boyfriend.

As the years progressed, I waited for the mutual attraction for my peers to arrive.  It never did. At that age, even if boys had adopted the air of sophistication they had seen modeled at home and had the ability to charm, they severely lacked in a different department, like intelligence or maturity.  I shut down every advance without a second thought and didn’t look back.

Until, that is, my Senior year.  As leaving home was becoming a reality, I decided I didn’t want to go to college a virgin.  I just didn’t.  Things happen in college, things you don’t always have control over, and I liked control.  I liked control very much.  And I wanted to have control over when and how I gave it up.  And I wasn’t giving it up to some 18 year old I had dated for a three months who couldn’t kiss and also didn’t have the experience to help me enjoy the process.

But I knew someone who did.

I smirked as a key sounded in the lock, Ransom had never given his back from a few years ago.

“Ol?” his voice echoed up the stairs.

“In the kitchen!”

The old stairs creaked as he ascended, heading straight for the refrigerator without even looking at me.

“Hey,” he nodded in greeting.

“Hey.”  For the first time in my life, I was nervous talking to him.  I’d texted him, asking if he could stop by, which wasn’t out of character.  He usually popped in at least once a month to return a book, pick up a sweater he forgot that my mom had washed or have dinner with us.  He lingered, even after moving out.  The flight from Princeton to Boston was only an hour, and it meant a lot to Gian, to all of us, really, that Ransom still visited.

While Ransom dug through the fridge, pulling out some leftover chorizo, I set about throwing together some protein smoothies for us.  He had left a container of ridiculously expensive something something collagen protein at our house the last time he was there and it was expiring soon, so I split the remainder between us.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fuss with the microwave.

I raised a brow.  “You know how to use kitchen appliances?”

He took an exaggerated bite of a sausage slice. “Selectively,” he winked.

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing.  Ransom’s “selective” helplessness didn’t need encouragement.

I think what we worked in was companionable silence, but I’m not positive.  I was pretty geared up, so it was hard to tell.  Settling at the table, I laid plates out for both of us, chewing my lip.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“I can’t get you into Yale early decision, but I can get you in,” he said as he reached for his smoothie.

I rolled my eyes.  “I’ve already gotten into Brown on my own, which was my first choice, thank you. What I need is… different.”

“What is it?  I’ve got cash with me.”

“Ransom!  Listen to me. Just let me ask my question.”

“Okay!” he chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he swirled his glass.

“Okay,” I repeated, my heart pounding in my chest. I made myself look him in the eye. All of a sudden I wanted to cry? What if he said no?  What if he laughed?  What if he never talked to me again?

“Ol, you’re getting pale.  You look like you’re about to ask me to skin a cat.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled, seconds away from losing my nerve. I inhaled deeply, folding my hands on the table in front of me and sitting up straight.

“Ransom,” I began.

“Olivia,” he countered, his face comically serious.

“I want you to take my virginity.  Now that I’m 18—.”

“Hah��You what?  No you don’t, Olivia, you don’t—.”

“I do.”

“Ehhhh,” he made a pained face and shook his head.  “I mean, what do you mean by virginy? What have you done before?”

“Nothing.”

“But you’ve given head though, right?”

I tried to mask my embarrassment with a look of disdain.

When Ransom gaped in surprise, I kicked him under the table.

“A handjob?”

“I said nothing,” I bit out.

The corner of his mouth pulled upward and he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.  “What about like… getting off with each other?”

I shook my head.  

“Sexting?”

“There’s no one I want to sext.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“But like…”

“I’ve never touched or been touched, Ransom.  I’ve never seen a man naked, okay?”

He sighed.  “I don’t do virgins.  It’s a personal policy.  Especially someone like you who has absolutely no experience.”

That stung, but I kept trying.  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No—.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Ol, I don’t date—.”

“Ransom, this is exactly the type of arrangement you want!” I hissed.

“This should be something you do with a boyfriend, someone your age who you care about and who cares about you.”

I groaned and stormed into the living room, plopping into an easy chair.  

“I don’t want a boyfriend.  I’m going to Brown in the fall, so dating someone now would be pointless. And in Providence, between Chi Omega, studying, volunteering, and AMSA, I just won’t have time for a relationship.”

Ransom couldn’t suppress a laugh as he tailed after me.  “You’re as heartless as I am.”

“I’m not heartless,” I argued.  “I’m practical.”

He gave me a patronizing smile.  “You’ve never done this before, you don’t know how you’ll feel afterwards.  It’s sex. Girls get attached.  I just can’t do that, babe.”

"You can!  Ransom, you can.  I won’t get attached.  I’ll leave you alone after.  I won’t text you for a month.  Please? I—,” my cheeks flamed as I looked down at my hands.  Bickering and bantering with Ransom was easy.  Acting like I disliked him was easy.  But being vulnerable with him?  That was terrifying.  “I want it to be you,” I whispered.  “I don’t trust anyone else.”

With a sigh, he perched on the arm of my chair.

“I’m going back to Princeton on Sunday.  Even if we did it tonight, we wouldn’t have 48 hours together.”

“I don’t care!” I slapped the seat of the chair. “What if—what if I get roofied and lose it to some guy and don’t even remember it?  Or—or someone, you know… one in every four women faces sexual assault in college…”

That perpetual, devious gleam in Ransom’s eyes disappeared.  Something brutal and vicious replaced it.

  “I’d kill him.  I’d kill anyone who touched you like that.”

My chest tightened.  I’d never seen him that serious before, not even when he argued with his mom.  It was a little terrifying.  But, I had carried pepper spray on me for years since moving to the city and I already knew my parents were sending me to college with a SipChip, not that I’d be going to parties anyway.  I tried another angle.

  “I know I’m not the girls you normally sleep with—blonde, white, with yachts and horses and trust funds—

Darkness cast over his face.

“Olivia,” he interrupted.  Brow creasing, Ransom lifted his hand near my face, then hesitated. With a growl, he cupped my jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, brushing the knuckle of the opposite hand against my cheek.  “And trust funds are so mundane.”

I rose from the chair and leaned against his leg. “Then why don’t you want me?”  It took everything in me to keep my voice from breaking.

Ransom shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ol, I’ve known you since you were a kid.  I can’t—I just don’t see you that way.”

“You still see me as a child?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Butterflies flapped madly in my belly, but I held my breath and stepped forward between his legs until our chests were pressed together, trapping my hand between us at his groin.  Praying that I applied what I had read correctly, I timidly felt for his cock. He grunted when I wrapped my hand around the outline of its shape and followed it with a shy stroke.

“I am not a child,” I husked in my best seductress voice.

“You said you’d never touched or been touched,” he accused through clenched teeth.

Both proud and embarrassed, I ducked my head. “I don’t like entering a situation unprepared.  I read a lot and watched some videos.”  Realizing the implications of my statement, I turned beet red.  “For research, I mean!”

That earned me a genuine smile.  Sliding one hand around my waist he pulled me closer, then used the other to firmly guide my palm over his half erect cock, rubbing it back and forth.  I blushed as I felt him harden under my fingers.

“What else did you research?”

"Stuff,” I mumbled.

Rubbing his thumb along my hipbone, his gaze fell to his lap, watching my hand work over his erection.  Then his eyes deviated to my front, trailing up my belly to my chest, which was, admittedly, heaving, and slowly made their way to my face. Looking someone in the eye had never made me clench down there before.  It was unexpected, but not unappreciated.

I could see Ransom thinking, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine as he reasoned with himself.

“You need to think this over, you need to really consider what you’re asking me and decide that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice rough.

My pussy throbbed at the sound, and it took extra concentration not to let my eyes close.

“When have I ever made a rash decision about something this important?  I started thinking about this a year ago.”

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.  “Of course you did.”

When his hips gave an involuntary thrust against my palm, he gently pulled my wrist away.

“That’s enough for now.”

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes.  “Did I do it wrong?  Is that a no?”

He massaged his closed eyelids with his index finger and thumb, exhaling shakily.  “It should be a no.  A good man would say no.”  

Drawing me against him once more, I whimpered as he ground his cock against my belly.  “But I’ve never been a good man, have I, Olivia?”

He didn’t give me an opportunity to respond. The kiss was firm, but delicate. No tongues or biting or slipping or sliding, just lips pressed together, gently massaging.  When he sucked at my lower lip I surprised both of us with a soft moan, causing him to bury his hand in my hair and tilt my head for better access.

I completely lost track of everything, because the next moment of consciousness I had was gasping for air as he pulled away. My fingers were tangled in his hair, my hand clutching his sweater like it was a lifeline, and his thigh was situated between both of mine, applying pressure to my clit that was making me see stars.  Now my mouth was wet, but I didn’t care.

Once I could see straight, I dove for his mouth again, but he stopped me with an unyielding grip on my chin.

“Change,” he rumbled.  “We’ll go to dinner at Menton, I’ll pull some strings and get us a table.  Then back to my apartment.”

I squinted, still reeling from the kiss. “We’re not going to Menton first, that makes it sound like a date.  This isn’t a date, we have one mission to accompli—.”

He gaze grew cold.  “If we do this, we’re doing it my way.  You’re going to listen to me.  I’m in charge.”

My eyes flicked back and forth between his as my entire face and neck glowed pink.  

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Say ‘Yes, sir,’” he corrected me.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated softly.

The pleased smile that spread across his lips gave me a warm feeling in my belly.

“Tonight, I’m going to destroy your pussy,” he whispered against my ear, sucking at my lobe, “I’m going to make you come like a whore.”  Moving to my other side, he spoke softly again, his warm breath against my cheek making me shiver.  “Your future husband will resent me for the rest of your lives, because I’m going to ruin you for any other man.”  Nuzzling my nose with the tip of his, he kissed the corner of my mouth.  “And you’re going to love it.”

I couldn’t help myself.  I was throbbing, there was pressure building in my belly and the man had barely laid a hand on me.  With a high pitched whimper, I sought his mouth again, but he wrapped his huge hand around my throat and shook his head as he held me back.

“Go.  Pick out something nice to wear.  Something you feel pretty in.”

Mouth dry, I nodded.  He caught my arm as I went to leave.

“And Olivia?  Not a scrap of clothing underneath.”

[tsthrace]

clexa + jail + college + activism

Thought I’d repost the whole story here for those of you that don’t do ao3.

9,500-word one shot No content warnings Enemies to lovers Break up/Make up (sort of)

Sneak peek: “Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.”

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest.

Madness

She had been stripped. She had been probed and prodded in places even lovers had never gone. She had been assigned a number by a male officer who referred to her only as “inmate” and refused to look her in the eye. She had been given a sandwich of dry bologna and moldy bread and a styrofoam cup of yellow-tinted water.

But none of that was worse than the manic smile on Clarke’s face.

“Can you calm her the fuck down?” The woman who asked had a tangle of long brown hair and dark circles under her eyes. She couldn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting, and her eyes scuttled from side to side like she was watching a tennis match on fast forward.

Lexa rolled her eyes. Kettle meet pot.

“She’s not with me.” Lexa threw a sideways glance at Clarke who paced the wall of bars in the holding cell. Lexa kept her face flat, but she felt her heart pounding. 

“What the fuck, Lexa!” Clarke's sharp voice rang off the cinder block walls. She didn’t stop pacing, that empty, wild smile still spread across her face.

The fidgety woman let her eyes rest on Lexa for a split second. “She seems to know who you are, sweetie.” Her eyes took off again.

Lexa rubbed her eyes hard. What was left of her eyeliner smudged across her fingertips. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. She was supposed to give an inspiring speech to tens of thousands of people in green shirts, rousing them to a roar no one in Exxon Mobil’s Houston compound could ignore. Drone shots would capture the magnitude of the gathering packing Springwoods Village Parkway so that every road into the campus was blocked—no one would get in and no one would get out while they were there. They had been planning it for months. Every move was choreographed. The timeline was carefully managed so as to be inconvenient but not unsafe for the people inside. But then Clarke’s Extinction Rebellion infiltrated. They brought superglue, chains, locks, signs, and 400 of their own people who were also highly choreographed, though their timeline was, well, flexible. Indefinite.

“We can spin it,” The words tumbled out of Clarke’s mouth like rocks in a landslide. “This is a win, Lexa. It’s a win. They’re already working on it. It’s already on the news.” Her eyes looked nowhere and everywhere, alive and wired to the point of vacancy.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with her?” The woman’s glance bounced back and forth off of Clarke.

Lexa didn’t know. A battle was waging inside her. Clarke had sabotaged the biggest day of Lexa’s career. She had commandeered her protest, her cause, undermining its legitimacy and stealing its power. Lexa was angry. But she was also worried. In all the years she had known Clarke, she’d never seen her like this. 

---

They met at UVA in their Approaches to Environmental Politics course. Clarke, a sophomore who had no business being in the upper-level class, was paired for the final project with Lexa, a senior who was just trying to get through her final semester. The project was broad and ambitious: plan one action that would have a meaningful impact on the growing climate crisis in the United States. It could be anything: legislation, corporate policy, activism. Break the action down into manageable parts. Be detailed. Account for opposing factors.

Lexa’s concentration was Environmental Policy, but she was tired. She wanted to find the plan with the fewest variables, the least amount of pushback. A major corporation like Walmart calling for biodegradable packaging in all their stores. Google switching exclusively to sustainable energy for their data center operations. Lexa hated capitalism. She faulted the constant profit and growth it demanded for getting the world into the climate crisis in the first place. But she knew, for the purposes of this project, that working within capitalism would be easiest. Being “green” was in; big moves in sustainability would be a PR dream for these corporations. And it wouldn’t disrupt the lives of the general public.

Significant change with little pushback except from the most radical in the movement. And then Lexa could graduate.

“We block railroad tracks all over the country, so that coal trains can’t get where they need to go.” This was Clarke’s idea. “We chain up to each other as blockades on the tracks. We set up camps around those blockades as a system of support and to control the narrative when the media arrives.”

It turned out that Clarke was one of the radicals. She had a dozen ideas and a hundred unconventional approaches to each of those ideas, and they all boiled down to massive disruption for the sake of an ultimate good. 

“If this plays out and all your dreams come true, millions of people will be without electricity.” Lexa rolled her eyes. “All you’ll have is a bunch of people resentful of your movement. That’s gonna be the narrative.”

“So you just want to sell out?” Clarke returned the eye roll. Her face still had the soft roundness of a girl still trying to become a woman. Her voice seemed an octave too high. “You want to work with the people who created the mess in the first place?”

“It’s not selling out, it’s being realistic.” Lexa wondered if she had been so naive when she was a spry underclasswomen. “Besides, do you know how many contingencies we’ll have to plan for? National guard. Fox News painting us as lunatics. Working class railroad workers pissed that they can’t do their jobs. Do you think they’re gonna get paid when the trains aren’t moving?”

“This isn’t the time for incremental change, Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes darkened in a way that startled Lexa. “This is a crisis. We could be at the point of no return in a decade. People need to make sacrifices”

“This is a final project for a college class, Clarke,” Every word came out slowly, deliberately, quietly. Clarke didn’t know her well enough yet to know that Lexa getting quiet should set off alarms. “I just want to get an A and be done. You can save the world after I graduate.”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Clarke’s face looked more sad than angry.

“I do care, Clarke.” Lexa sighed. Clarke’s words stung, and it surprised her. “And I plan on doing the actual work when I get out of here. So can we please just make it easy on ourselves for now?”

“If you cared, you’d take every opportunity you get to make a difference.”

The next six weeks were a string of arguments, eye rolls, and unsatisfying compromises. Their final product earned them a B-minus. On the last day of class, Lexa strode out the door without even a glance in Clarke’s direction. 

But then UVA gave her the best package for grad school, and she found herself on campus for another two years. Her first year of classes kept her far away from the undergrads. She’d seen Clarke a few times in the coffee shops on the edge of campus and once at the library, but had always managed to keep her distance. For some reason, the sight of Clarke gave her a vague sense of guilt. It picked at her like a vulture picks at roadkill. 

But Lexa’s fellowship required her to TA her second year. The thought of teaching Intro to Poli-Sci made her want to claw her eyes out, but Lexa made sure it didn’t come to that. She engaged in a quiet networking campaign in which she happened to be at the same bar as the dean and then somehow got herself invited to dinner at Dr. Gudmundsson’s house. The professor’s children were delighted by her explanation of why rain happens. The following week she was assigned to assist in the professor’s Sustainability and Adaptive Infrastructure course, a high-level class that required more support of student research than actual teaching. 

Adaptive infrastructure had become Lexa’s speciality during her grad studies. Intentionally building entire cities from their sewage systems to the top of their skyscrapers in the image of its people’s shared values would require not only intellect but power, and Lexa was both smart and ambitious. 

She almost didn’t recognize Clarke in the second row of desks on the first day of class. She looked different. Her face curved more sharply towards her chin, her jaw line harder. Her blonde hair had been long two years ago, but now it barely reached past her ears in a scrappy bob. There was a steadiness in her eyes balanced by a glimmering intensity. She hadn’t become a woman so much as she had become so much more herself. 

Clarke noticed her, though, and threw a dismissive smirk at Lexa before she turned to square her shoulders to the front of the room.

A wave of irritation rolled through Lexa when she realized she was biting her lip. She sighed. At least they wouldn’t be assigned any final projects together. Besides, maybe Clarke’s approaches had gotten more sophisticated. Maybe she had grown up since the baby curves on her face had melted away. 

The first assignment proved otherwise. Lexa graded all the weekly assignments, and Clarke was furious with her six out of ten points. 

“Is this some kind of long-awaited vengeance?” Clarke had stormed into Lexa’s tiny office during office hours.

Lexa barely looked up from the email she was reading. “Are you serious?”

“I followed the assignment. I hit all the requirements.” Clarke pointed at her phone where, presumably, a copy of her graded assignment was on the screen. 

Lexa couldn’t see it in the glare of the office light, but she remembered it. It was creative, clever, but not what she was supposed to do. Her head didn’t move, but her eyes shot up to meet Clarke’s.

“You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you’re only studying Chicago’s bus system in order to disrupt it.” She let out a deep breath. “And you did a great job finding the limitations in routes and efficiency. I can tell you understood the study, which is why you got six points.”

“But I followed the assignment.” Both of Clarke’s hands were now on the edge of the desk as she leaned in.

“No.” Lexa sat back and closed her laptop. “You didn’t. And you know you didn’t. Maybe you can get away with that in other classes, but we need you to follow instructions. You can get creative with your final project.”

“Will you be grading that, too?”

“Part of it, probably.”

“Then I doubt I’ll be able to get too creative.” Clarke huffed and slung her backpack over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

The rest of Clarke’s assignments were flawless, though her analysis had a spiteful flourish to them. Each time, she found the most obvious conclusions and spent far more words than necessary coming to them. After four weeks, Lexa could only laugh. She had to hand it to her: even as she colored within the lines, Clarke managed to protest. It was artful.

They didn’t acknowledge each other in class. Most of the other students held Lexa with an earnest and completely unearned reverence. She had a presence, a silence that made her intriguing. The boys gave her shy smiles when she walked in, and she’d acknowledge them with a curt nod—which only drew them in more.

Halfway through the semester, Lexa noticed Clarke lingering in her office doorway. She could tell from her body language that she did not want to come in.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Ms. Griffin, can I do something for you?”

Clarke looked up. “Can I come in?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Clarke walked in and looked back. “Can I shut the door?”

Lexa was intrigued. “Uh, sure.” She smirked. “You’re not here to yell at me, are you? Your work has been more than acceptable.”

“No, it’s not that.” Clarke sat down in the chair uninvited. “I...uh...I need a recommendation. From Dr. Gudmundsson. But she told me I had to go through you.”

“You could have emailed me.”

“That felt...cowardly.”

Lexa’s forehead creased. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean, given our history.”

“Clarke, it’s not like I have any say in your recommendation.” Lexa sighed. “It’s just a form that I need to fill out. Or you fill out, ideally, and give it back to me. Dr. Gudmundsson glances at it, I draft a letter, and she signs it. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing for you, but maybe it’ll feel less disappointing to know that I’m basically her administrative assistant. For this kind of stuff, at least.”

“It’s…” Clarke paused and took a deep breath. Streaks of sunlight streamed through the branches of a tree and broke across her. “Look, I know how this works.”

“Good.” Lexa shrugged. “I’ll email you the form.”

“Can we just do it now?” Clarke was chewing on her lip, her finger tapping on the arm of the chair.

“Uh, sure.” This wasn’t how Lexa wanted to spend her office hours. “Let me just pull it up.” Her eyes darted around the screen. “Okay.” She asked some logistical questions about Clarke’s major and concentration, electives she’s taken, and planned graduation date. Then she went to the next part of the form.

“Okay, so who are we sending this recommendation to?” 

Clarke smiled and looked down. “Friends of the Earth in Ireland.”

Lexa typed. “Okay, for what, though?”

“Their Extinction Rebellion training program. It’s kind of like a fellowship.”

Lexa stopped typing. “Aren’t those the people who superglued themselves to the gates of, like, a hundred coal mines last July?”

Suddenly, Clarke was looking her straight in the eyes. “Yes.” 

Lexa felt that strange guilt wash over her. She sucked in her lips and decided not to comment. She looked down at the screen. “So what do you think your intellectual strengths are?”

That night, Lexa was having a drink with some of the other TAs when she noticed Clarke across the bar. She was with a group, sitting next to a completely unremarkable young man whose face was giving her his complete and devoted attention as she talked. It wasn’t clear if Clarke knew he was there. 

Lexa smiled. Boys are so ridiculous.

She sipped at her beer and silently nodded through the TAs’ complaints about work conditions and bad pay. It’s not that she didn’t agree with them, but it was all they had been talking about for the last thirty minutes, the last thirty days. And she only had one semester to go. By the time it was actually resolved, she’d probably be gone.

She scooted her chair out and left her ranting colleagues to find the bathroom. Two gender neutral bathrooms lined a narrow hallway, and both doors were locked. As she waited, wondering if the narrow hallway was ADA compliant, one of the doorknobs rattled and Clarke emerged.

“Oh, hey.” Clarke looked past Lexa, almost like she was embarrassed.

“Hey.” Lexa studied Clarke’s face. It was strange to see her looking unsure. She waited for Clarke to move so she could get into the bathroom. She didn’t move. Instead, she leaned against the door frame.

“Can you believe this virus thing?” she asked.

“What?” Lexa squinted. 

“The virus, the Coronavirus that’s going around in China. Seems like a pretty big deal.” Clarke finally looked at Lexa. “I’ve heard there are some cases in Italy, too.”

Lexa remembered seeing something on Twitter but hadn’t paid much attention. “I haven’t heard much.”

“I just wonder if we should be nervous.” Clarke’s confidence seemed to return. “I don’t think this country is prepared for anything like that.” She scoffed. “I mean, I don’t think this administration is prepared for much of anything.”

Lexa tilted her head. She didn’t know why Clarke was suddenly bantering with her about viruses. “Can I…?” She looked behind Clarke, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry” The hallway wasn’t so narrow that they couldn’t get past each other, but their arms brushed against each other in a way that made Clarke look back when she got to the end of the brief corridor. Lexa was already closing the door behind her. Clarke bit her lip and went back to her table.

At the start of their next class, Lexa noticed that Clarke looked up when she walked in, though she looked away quickly.

It was Lexa’s task that day to explain the students’ final project. It was relatively straightforward:  choose one infrastructural element in your hometown, assess its current efficiency in terms of sustainability, and design three ways to improve that efficiency—two of which were realistic given financial, social, and political limitations, and one pie-in-the-sky, no holds barred approach.

Lexa had a feeling which one Clarke would devote most of her time to.

To her surprise, Clarke dropped in during her office hours again a week later. She didn’t linger outside the door this time, she just walked right in. Even more surprising, it was to ask about writing policy and navigating local government legislation. 

“I mean, tax breaks created a society of stand-alone homeowners, right? So why can’t tax breaks encourage high-density living and co-housing?” Clarke spoke breathlessly. When she committed to something, she threw herself in, even if it was housing policy.

“Aren’t we talking about Bangor, Maine?” Lexa asked. “Isn’t that a small town?”

“Not tiny.” Clarke squinted, annoyed. “And besides, high-density housing isn’t just for big cities. It’s not just good for sustainability. It helps build community. When people encounter each other everyday, they start to care about each other. People are super isolated in Bangor.”

Lexa nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t need to know the particulars. She was just glad Clarke was finally recognizing how long-term change realistically happened. “So what are your other two approaches?”

Clarke pulled out what appeared to be a folded engineering map of a Bangor neighborhood. “Do you mind?” She nodded at the blank space on Lexa’s desk.

“Sure.”

They both leaned over the map as Clarke pointed out potential locations for rainwater collection tanks. 

“This is pretty ambitious,” Lexa said, her eyebrows raised. She looked down again, her hands gripping the edge of the desk, her long hair tumbling towards the map and hiding her face. 

Before she could stop herself, Clarke reached up and slid the loose hair behind Lexa’s ear. They both froze. Lexa felt goosebumps shoot up her arms. Clarke bit her lip in a dare. She didn’t mean for this to happen, but maybe...she did?

Lexa eyes shot to the map. She felt Clarke’s hand slide over hers. She glanced over and saw the line of Clarke’s neck curving delicately as her head tilted in her direction. She suddenly loved that line, wanted to run her finger over it. 

She swallowed hard and pulled away.

“We...this…” She fumbled her words. “We can’t do this.” She looked up at Clarke with stony eyes, though uncertainty lingered at their edges.

“Oh, right.” Clarke grabbed at the corner of the map, sweeping it in a wave off the desk. She didn’t bother to fold it as she gathered her backpack with her other hand. She turned towards the door without looking back. 

At that moment, both of their cell phones buzzed. Clarke stopped and looked at Lexa who was already looking at the text. 

Attention. There has been an emergency on the UVA Charlottesville campus. Health services has identified 23 cases of the Novel Coronavirus today. This virus is extremely contagious. To limit the spread, you are instructed to shelter in place. Please do not move from your current location until directed by authorities. If you are indoors, close internal doors and open external doors and windows. If you are outdoors, remain outdoors.

A tinny female voice repeated the message from a public address system in the hallway.

Clarke let the map flutter to the floor. “Shit.” She closed the office door.

Lexa let something that was half a sigh, half a laugh escape from her mouth. She went to the window to push it open.

“This isn’t funny,” Clarke said quickly, her eyes wide. “This could be really bad. I read that this virus can be airborne for a long time. They don’t even know what the incubation period is.” She turned her wide eyes on Lexa, suddenly worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel fine,” Lexa said, throwing up her hands. “Except I didn’t eat lunch. So there’s that.”

“This is serious, Lexa.” Clarke’s words were quick and clipped. “People have died in China, and it’s getting worse in Europe.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No, but—”

“Then let’s just deal with what’s happening right now.” Lexa’s voice was calm, almost soothing.

Clarke sighed loudly and collapsed into the chair. “You mean the fact that I’m now stuck here with you?”

Lexa bit her lip. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”

Clarke looked out the window. “Let’s...just forget…”

“Clarke…” Lexa leaned back in her chair. “It’s not that—”

“What is your deal, Lexa?” Clarke stood up, suddenly angry. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me from the second we met.”

“I just don’t think changing the world requires breaking everything, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. “It’s nothing personal.”

It only made Clarke get louder. “No big change has ever happened because people were following the rules.” Her face went red. “You’re smart, Lexa. I know you are. And you care. You just don’t care enough.”

Lexa felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t move. She had been accused of not caring her whole life, people mistaking her calm for distance, her quiet for heartlessness. Even as she spent three years of undergrad building the network and support to change the university’s HVAC system from fossil-fuel based to an electric heat recovery model. It wasn’t glamorous, but it reduced the school’s emissions by almost 50%. Even as she slowly persuaded Dr. Gudmundsson to support the TA’s cause, one small conversation in passing at a time. Even though she’d never see the fruits of that labor.

She looked out the open window. “You don’t know me.” Her voice was soft and even yet somehow completely commanding.

“You’re right.” Clarke took a deep breath and sat back down. She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you even care anyways?” Lexa shook her head. “You’re almost out of here. Aren’t you going to Ireland or something.”

“I don’t care.” Clarke’s voice returned to its sophomore octave.

“Well, you certainly like to spend a lot of big feelings on something you don’t care about.” 

“Someone.” Clarke swallowed. Her head was tilted down but her eyes drifted up to Lexa’s, the blue endless like the middle of the ocean.

Lexa bit her lip. “Clarke…” The softness in her voice was no longer commanding.

Clarke felt a jump in her chest. 

A door in the hallway crashed open, and heavy feet marched down the hallway pausing until a muffled voice shouted, “Clear!” Then the steps continued, then paused. “Clear!” Again and again. 

Clarke looked out the window of Lexa’s office door and saw two people in hazmat suits scanning every office down the hallway. She watched until they finally made their way to her. 

“We got two!” a man yelled through his plastic mask.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked through the window.

“That virus,” the man said as he tapped on the phone he was holding. His face was sweating. “The one on the news. There’s been an outbreak on campus. We don’t know much about it, but it’s supposed to be super contagious. We’re just being cautious.” 

“I can go straight home,” Clarke said, her voice on the edge of frantic. “I only live two blocks from here. I’ll stay far away from people.”

“No,” the muffled voice replied. “You have to shelter in place until we can test you. The tests are on the way. Should only be an hour or two.”

“Do you see the size of this office?” She looked back and saw Lexa looking up at her with smug but amused eyes, which only irritated her more. “Half of it is taken up by a desk. There’s no food.”

“I have a protein bar,” Lexa said, shrugging.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

“It’ll only be a few hours,” the man repeated. “You’re big girls.”

“What did you say?” Clarke squinted at him with sharp eyes. Her hand reached for the doorknob.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, quiet but unassailable.

Clarke’s hand dropped.

The man either didn’t see or acted like he didn’t see. “I need to get contact info from both of you. Names, numbers, and emails.”

“Why?” Clarke crossed her hands in front of her. 

She didn’t see Lexa rolling her eyes behind her. “I don’t know, Clarke,” Lexa said. “Maybe so they can get in touch with us while we’re trapped in this room and let us know what’s going on.”

Clarke sighed and sat down in the chair across from Lexa. “Fine.” 

They both gave their information, and the two hazmats suits continued on their search. “Someone will be here in a couple hours.” The man called back as he walked off.

“I don’t trust them.” Clarke sunk into the chair.

“Seems to be a theme.” Lexa gathered her hair with both hands and pulled it back into a bun. She sat back. “You could obviously handle a campus outbreak much more competently.”

Clarke opened her mouth then realized that Lexa was suddenly leaning forward, waiting for a response. Her eyes were shining. Clarke bit her lip and sat down. She looked down at her hands. A thick silence filled the tiny office. A cool breeze circled the office, rustling her hair. She pulled her jacket closed around her, and turned to look out the window. 

Lexa sat back and noticed that curve in Clarke’s neck again. Somehow soft and sharp at the same time. She felt one corner of her mouth curve up and shook her head. She shivered. Clarke noticed.

“Should we shut the window?”

Lexa had a quip ready about Clarke being the epidemic expert, but she sucked in her lips instead. “Do you think it’s safe?”

A tired smile crawled across Clarke’s lips. “I don’t know. But I’m cold.”

Lexa stood up to close the window.

Clarke took in a breath and held it for a moment. “I didn’t mean…” She said, letting the breath out. “I didn’t mean to step over a line. I just figured...I mean, you’re only two years older than me, and I know you’re a TA, but…”

The corner of Lexa’s lip creeped up again in a sad but kind way. “It’s not that, Clarke.” She looked up. “I mean it is. Professors discourage it, but it’s not forbidden. But…” The sadness melted off her smile as it widened. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

Clarke laughed. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you kind of drive me crazy.” Lexa bit her lip.

Clarke tilted head. “Crazy how?” A light shone in her eyes. She stood up.

Lexa watched her as she circled the desk, that curve of her neck running smooth. 

“Like crazy in a bad way?” Clarke stopped just in front of Lexa and leaned against the desk.

“Definitely,” Lexa responded, her eyes shining. She leaned back. An invitation.

Clarke bent down and put her hand on Lexa’s cheek. Then she leaned in.

Lexa jerked her head back quickly, though mischief danced in her eyes. “You sure you want to do that? I could get you sick.”

“I don’t care,” Clarke replied just before her lips reached Lexa’s.

---

When they went home that day, they didn’t know that, though they lived less than half a mile from one another, they wouldn’t see each other again for three months. They didn’t know they wouldn’t be allowed to leave their homes except to buy groceries. They didn’t know that classes would be moved online for the rest of the year. They didn’t know that the only fanfare there’d be for graduation was receiving a piece of fancy paper in the mail in July. 

They didn’t know that it would be a terrible time to fall in love. But they did it anyway. They sat on Google Hangouts while they studied together. They sent Spotify playlists that they carefully curated for each other. Clarke mailed Lexa sketches she made of Lexa’s face from classes on Zoom. Lexa sent Clarke seductive texts during those classes and smirked as her face went red. Late at night, they touched themselves together on speakerphone, hoping their roommates wouldn’t hear.

When the quarantine finally lifted in early July, their reunion was marked only by their roommates who occasionally caught them in the kitchen grabbing food or walking from the bathroom back to the bedroom. 

When Lexa landed a prestigious internship at the World Resources Institute, she convinced Clarke to move to Washington DC with her. Clarke’s Friends of the Earth training had been moved from Ireland to online, and DC wasn’t a bad place to find activist friends. 

They found a tiny studio in Southeast. Lexa took the green line to H Street every day. Her work took her to Capitol Hill where she sat silently in meetings and took in the careful dance between her supervisors and congressional leaders. It was a game of give and take, sometimes infuriatingly slow and steady—too much given, not enough won.

“By the time you make any change, the planet will already be burning.” Clarke was stirring a pot of jarred pasta sauce. Neither of them had ever been very interested in cooking. “It already is.”

Lexa sighed. This was a variation on a nightly conversation. She moved in behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around her and resting her head on her shoulder. Her blonde hair smelled like summer. “Not tonight, okay?”

The scent of mediocre tomato sauce filled the room. Lexa sat down. “Anyways, how was your day?”

Clarke looked back with a hint of trouble in her eyes. “We talked about how to, uh, accelerate government action.” She smiled that smile that both drew Lexa in and infuriated her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk.” Lexa rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stifle the grin.

Clarke set the wooden spoon down. She strode across their tiny kitchen and straddled Lexa, sliding her fingers up Lexa’s neck and through her hair. She smiled that smile and bit her lip. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

---

After three years, Clarke had turned their tiny apartment into the neighborhood headquarters for climate justice. Flyers about pollution in Congress Heights covered their kitchen table. Posters illustrating rising sea levels along the Anacostia River were stacked on a chair in the living room. Every Tuesday night, she gathered a small group of activists to brainstorm projects and actions.  

Lexa complained whenever she was home, which was rare. She had been promoted to project manager and was gone for days or weeks at a time at meetings in The Hague or conferences in South Korea.

“Do you know how much fossil fuel those trips put into the atmosphere?” Clarke had a hard time understanding how the good Lexa was doing at these meetings outweighed their carbon footprint.

“I’m sure you can tell me the exact amount,” Lexa snapped. She had just gotten home from the Netherlands and was not in the mood for Clarke’s preaching. She looked from the pile of flyers on the table to the bed which was a messy heap of blankets to the stack of dishes in the sink. 

“What do you even do when I’m gone?”

Clarke lowered her head, and her eyes narrowed. She took in a long breath as her jaw clenched. 

“You don’t get to do that,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t get to come back and act like you’re the only one doing ‘real’ work.” Her air quotes were comically exaggerated. “Just because I’m not on Capitol Hill or at the fucking Hague doesn’t mean I’m not doing real work. I’m not your housewife, Lexa.” 

In three years, Clarke had learned that Lexa heard her whispers better than her shouts. She had learned that her anger distilled and harnessed got her much further than her anger exploded and dispersed. She didn’t realize in the moment that she had learned those things from Lexa.

Lexa clenched her fists and took a breath. She let her fingers relax. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

Clarke looked down. “I don’t know if we should be doing this at all.”

---

Clarke moved into a giant, run-down house on the edge of the city with some activist friends. Lexa found a studio in Logan Circle. 

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Clarke turned the key to their apartment over and over in her hand.

Lexa looked up from the box she was taping up. Her green eyes were heavy. “It’s not what I wanted either, Clarke.”

Clarke looked slowly around the mostly empty apartment. It made her smile, and it made her tired. So many memories. Lexa stood up. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat, but her shoulders were pulled back. She stood up straight, unshakeable.

If things were different, Clarke would have hugged her until her body went soft. Instead, she set the key on the kitchen counter. She looked up. “I love you, Lex.”

Lexa nodded slowly and sucked in her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

Clarke turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

---

Their paths crossed only a few times in the following years—at coffee shops in Capitol Hill and once at a bar in Southeast. Lexa texted Clarke on her birthday. Clarke texted Lexa when she found out Lexa had been hired as the Executive Director of Organizing for Climate Action, or OCA. 

Can’t wait to see all the “incremental change” you make, Clarke’s text read after the initial congratulations. She couldn’t resist. Lexa didn’t respond.

Clarke never told her that she kept a binder full of Lexa’s white papers. She didn’t tell her that she sometimes googled Lexa’s name and watched her interviews from local news shows on YouTube. OCA was steadily and methodically taking on the fossil fuel industry, coordinating deep investigation with targeted peaceful protest to force oil companies into altering their practices, and Lexa was quietly becoming a driver of the movement. Clarke, despite her irritation, couldn’t help but be proud.

What Lexa was gaining in influence Clarke was gaining in notoriety. Her first action was a die-in at Union Station 300 people covered in fake blood laid down across the public transit hub, stifling the morning commute. They demanded that Congress and the President declare a climate emergency. Clarke had coordinated logistics and wrote the demands. A few months later, she traveled south where she and 500 others covered in blue paint chained themselves to each other in a rough line across downtown Miami where the sea was predicted to rise in 50 years. This time, she was the one with the loudspeaker. She talked to the media, declaring their demands.

Lexa rolled her eyes when she saw a very blue Clarke on CNN calling for legislative and economic climate action. But she also couldn’t help but smile. This was always who Clarke was going to become.

But their worlds didn’t come together in a meaningful way for six years—when they locked eyes across a sea of people in Houston, Texas.

---

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” Lexa said under her breath as she watched her carefully orchestrated protest disintegrate. Her green-shirted supporters looked around in confusion as the Extinction Rebellion chained themselves to gates and trees and then to each other in lines across the roads that led in and out of Exxon Mobil’s facilities. 

“Lexa!” a muffled voice called through the walkie-talkie. “What do we do?”

“Just keep everyone calm.” Her voice was low, barely containing her anger. 

The news crews that had been gathered at OCA’s speaker podium started migrating towards the sudden action at the gates and intersections. Some of the green shirts were joining the human chain. 

“For decades, Exxon Mobil has been a leader.” She heard Clarke’s voice ringing out over the crowd. Clarke was standing in the bed of a truck where a makeshift PA system had been set up. “A leader in pumping carbon into our atmosphere. A leader in pushing for deregulation of laws that protect our earth. A leader in covering up fossil fuel’s impact on our environment. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. And now they’re not going anywhere until they listen to what we have to say!”

A massive cheer went up. The crowd, including Lexa’s green shirts, raised their fists and phones.

“We will be heard! We will be heard! We will be heard!” Clarke started chanting, and Lexa’s green sea followed her, their voices echoing down the long parkway.

“Lexa!” the voice called through the walkie talkie. “You’re losing them. You have to do something!”

Fuck you, Clarke, was the chant repeating through Lexa’s thoughts as she swam through the crowd towards her. She was at least 100 yards away, and the crowd was thick.

The people went silent as Clarke climbed onto the roof of the truck with her mic. “They will continue to profit on the destruction of our planet, of our home, as long as we let them.” Her voice swelled. “We must stop them.”

“We must stop them! We must stop them!” The crowd took up her words again.

Lexa finally made her way to the truck and looked up at Clarke. What the fuck are you doing? Her eyes said what she couldn’t say out loud. Clarke smiled and jumped into the bed of the truck again. 

“Does OCA stand with us?” Clarke asked into the mic. She looked across at the mass of green shirts around her before her eyes settled on Lexa. She held her hand out to Lexa, inviting her up into the truck bed.

Lexa felt hot anger pulsing through her veins. Anger that Clarke stole her moment. Anger that all the details she had so carefully plotted were now falling to the ground like broken glass. Anger that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t refuse Clarke, not now. She grabbed her hand and climbed into the truck, and Clarke immediately jumped onto the roof and waited for Lexa to follow. 

Lexa swallowed hard, letting go of her plans, her pride, her power. She grabbed the mic from Clarke’s hand.

“We stand together to call Exxon Mobil to accountability!”

The crowd roared, and she felt it wash across her like a wave. This was power, but not the power she was used to. This was raw and untamed. Clarke took her hand and they turned to face each other. The blue in her eyes flashed, and the power danced between them.

The energy suddenly changed. Shouts went up together with bursts of smoke. Tear gas. The crowd jolted, looking for an escape all at once. The people chained together cried out, unable to bring their hands locked in tubes to their faces. The edges of the sea spilled out across the parkway.

“Don’t run, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was calm, but something wild lingered at the edge of her words. “They can’t see you run.” She gripped her hand hard. “Stay with me.”

Lexa saw black spots pushing through the crowd towards them. 

“Those aren’t cops, Lexa.” Clarke’s chest rose and fell quickly. “They’re private security. We’re on a public road. They shouldn’t be touching us. Stand your ground.”

“How can you tell?” Lexa hated how her voice was shaking.

Clarke’s jaw clenched. “You always thought my training was ridiculous…”

Six black spots surrounded the truck, men covered in riot gear. “Security! You need to come down.”

“No, we don’t,” Clarke said with her wild calm. 

“Come down or we will bring you down.” The man sounded like he was enjoying himself.

“Go ahead.” Clarke shrugged. “We’ll bring a lawsuit.”

The speed of their violence startled Lexa. They leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed Clarke’s legs, pulling them out from under her. Clarke grunted as her back caught the edge of the roof. She went silent when the back of her head slammed into the bed of the truck. 

“Clarke!” Lexa shouted as she dropped to her knees and held up her hands. The riot men grasped at her. “If you fucking touch me…” She drew her shoulders back and glared as she started to climb down. The men let her climb down.

As she dropped into the bed of the truck, she saw the men pulling Clarke’s limp arms behind her to cable-tie her wrists. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Lexa rushed to her body. She glanced at the dozens of green shirts that had gathered around the truck holding up cell phones. “You sure you want to do that? She’s not even conscious.” 

The men backed off.

Lexa folded herself over Clarke. “Clarke,” she whispered frantically. “Are you okay? Wake up.” She swallowed. “Please.”

Clarke stirred. 

“Oh my God.” Lexa gathered her into her arms. “Are you okay?”

Clarke slowly turned and looked up at Lexa with drowsy eyes. “I can’t believe you’re with me right now.”

Lexa felt tears prick at her eyes. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” She smiled.

Sirens rang out in the distance.

Clarke closed her eyes and smiled. “It was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. You organized it so well.”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Lexa leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

When the police arrived, Clarke was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. 

“These are the leaders?” they asked the private security men.

“Yeah,” said the man who had pulled Clarke down. “They incited this whole thing.”

“This was a legal gathering,” Lexa said. “I have permits.”

“It stopped being legal when the chains came out,” one of the cops said. “You’re both under arrest.”

Clarke remained conspicuously silent as they were read their rights. Fury wrestled with concern inside Lexa. She was worried about Clarke, but she was also being arrested because of her. When Clarke stood up and swayed, losing her footing for a moment, the concern made a comeback.

“Shouldn’t she see a doctor or something?” 

“She seems fine to me,” a policewoman said as she led Clarke away towards a separate car. Clarke looked back at Lexa with sleepy eyes.

“Do you want to make a call?” Lexa heard a man’s voice ask distantly.

“What?” She turned. The man arresting her had soft eyes.

“I’m about to take your cell phone,” he said. “Do you want to make a call before I do?”

“Is that allowed?”

“It’s at our discretion.” 

“Did she get a call?” Lexa nodded in the direction of Clarke.

“I don’t know. I didn’t arrest her.” His soft eyes became impatient. “I’m not going to offer again.” 

Lexa sighed and pulled out her phone. She found Eleanor, the chairwoman of OCA’s board of directors, in her contacts.

“Lexa!” Eleanor’s voice was frantic. “Are you okay? I saw the video.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, it’s all over Twitter. Who was the other woman? The blonde. Is she alright?”

“That’s the woman from Extinction Rebellion.” Lexa felt the fury crest as she refused to say Clarke’s name. “Listen, I’m being arrested.”

“What? Why?”

“They think I was part of—”

“Thirty seconds,” the cop interrupted.

“Listen, Eleanor,” Lexa took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back. “I need you to figure this out. Bail me out or whatever...I’ve never done this before.” 

“We’re already in touch with the lawyers,” Eleanor said. “Just hold tight.”

“End it now,” the cop reached for her phone.

Lexa clenched her jaw as she ended the call and handed him her phone.

---

Clarke’s pacing had grown frantic.

“Calling into the water,” Her words came out louder and more senseless with every passing minute. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” Her frenzy filled the small holding cell. 

Their tangled-haired cellmate’s eyes followed her back and forth. Her face had grown pale, and her finger-fidgeting sped to a wild pace. She looked like she was going to be sick—or start a fight.

Lexa glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension push at the edges of the small space, the bars of the cells trapping everything. Her rage had carried her through the first hour. She had ignored Clarke, hoping she’d calm down so she could be properly angry with her. But Clarke hadn’t calmed down. Her eyes grew more vacant with every passing hour, her pacing quicker and more rickety. 

“Facing the springs,” she mumbled, stumbling a moment before her hand caught a bar to steady herself. 

“You need to do something.” The fidgety woman’s shaky eyes landed on Lexa. Her shifty fingers were now balled into tight fist. “Or I will.”

Lexa’s muscled stiffened. She felt her heart beating evenly, solidly throughout her body, and time seemed to slow. Her anger at Clarke had been boiling at the surface, but it seemed to melt, rolling off her skin, as something spread through her from her very core, taking control. She turned her whole body towards the woman and tilted her head down while shifting her eyes up.

“Just try,” she said, her voice low and quiet.

The woman wrapped her arms around herself and pushed herself against the wall. “Just…” Her eyes shot upwards, glancing everywhere except in Lexa’s direction.  “I didn’t mean anything…” She let out a sigh, and her body seemed to go limp like an opossum playing dead.

Lexa exhaled. “Right.” She turned her head towards Clarke’s quick, hollow voice.

“Can’t climb the clock,” Clarke was saying. She was panting and sweat trickled down the side of her face. “Can’t climb it.”

Fear started to creep through Lexa. Clarke had always been intense, always danced at the edge of wild, but she was also calculated. She never lost control. She managed madness like an ER doctor, knowing which screams mattered and which could wait. At least that was the Clarke Lexa had known. But now the madness was taking over. She swayed with the nonsense of her words, even as her feet kept carrying her back and forth, back and forth. They wouldn’t keep her up much longer.

Lexa swallowed, longing for the anger that had now fallen away. It had anchored her. It had made being in jail tolerable. It had given this terrible day meaning. It had made looking at Clarke tolerable. She was familiar with anger—knew how to stoke it like a well-tended fire that would burn hot but not too big.

A fire she could manage. She didn’t know what to do with fear. And Clarke was scaring her. 

Clarke’s legs finally gave out. She fell hard, her knees crunching onto the cement floor. 

Instinctively, Lexa darted to the floor beside her. She gathered Clarke in her arms. She was burning up. At first, she was dead weight against her, but she slowly lifted herself up as if waking up.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispered.

“Lexa?” It took a few moments for some life to come back into her blue eyes. They steadied, tired but focused. “What are you doing here?”

“Inmate 67348!” A man’s voice echoed through the cell. 

Lexa looked down at the stick-on badge they had given her. 67360. Not her. She looked down at Clarke’s. Not her either.

The fidgety woman seemed to be asleep in the corner. 

The guard shouted this time. “Inmate 67348!”

The fidgety woman shuddered and blinked her eyes open.

“Do you want out of here or what?” The guard didn’t lower the volume. “You made bail. Let’s go.”

The woman looked so pale that Lexa was almost worried about her. But she wasn’t her problem anymore. She shuffled out of the cell, and the cell door slid closed with a crash. 

It was just the two of them now.

“Lexa,” Clarke’s eyes drooped. “Where are we?”

Lexa squinted at her. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?”

Lexa let out a long breath as she finally realized what was happening. Memory loss. Fever. She swallowed.

“We’re in jail, Clarke.”

“What? Why?” Clarke’s eyes closed and her head tilted against Lexa.

“No, no, no, Clarke.” Lexa shook her. “Wake up. You need to stay awake.”

Clarke lifted her head, blinking her eyes like she’d had a little too much tequila. 

“Let’s go sit on the cot.” Lexa stood and helped Clarke to her feet. They shuffled to the cot. Lexa rested her back against the wall and propped Clarke into a sitting position. 

“Why are we in jail, Lexa?” Clarke’s voice was quiet like a child’s.

“We were at a protest.”

“You got arrested with me?” Clarke's smile was drunken, gleeful, and exhausted. For a moment, Lexa saw what she must have looked like as a child when she was begging to stay up with her parents even as she was asleep on her feet.

“Sort of.” Lexa sighed. It wasn’t worth getting into.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Clarke rested her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” Her eyelids fell again.

“Stay with me, Clarke.” 

“I’m here.” Clarke’s voice was sweet and quiet. “I still like you, you know. I mean, love you. Always have. There’ve been others since, obviously, but...not like you.” Clarke fell quiet for a long time. 

Lexa swallowed and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She felt like she was hearing a secret she shouldn’t be hearing, but she wanted to hear more. She took a few deep breaths, bit her lip, then finally shook her head.

“Clarke, wake up.” She put her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulled her towards her. “Tell me the last thing you remember.”

Lexa spent the next two hours nudging Clarke awake when she faded and asking her things. Recent things. Factual things. When Clarke hazily asked her if she remembered that day in her office when the coronavirus hit, Lexa steered her back towards the details of her activist training. 

Eventually, after several deflections, Clarke lifted her head like it weighed a hundred pounds so she could look at Lexa. “Why won’t you talk about us?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“Do you still love me?” She cut to the center of it, never one to give up. Her voice was quiet but clearer than it had been.

Lexa took a few breaths before turning her head and looking into Clarke’s eyes. “It’s impossible not to love you.”

“Inmate 67360!” The guard's voice rang. He looked into the cell. “You made bail. Unless you want to keep cuddling with your girlfriend.”

“She’s hurt,” Lexa said as she stood. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“She hasn’t made bail.”

“She might have a head injury.” She narrowed her eyes at the guard.

“She hasn’t made bail,” he repeated without an ounce of feeling. “Do you want to leave?” He looked up. There was a bit of feeling in his eyes. “You can probably help her more out there.”

Lexa nodded slowly and looked back at Clarke. “Are you okay?”

Clarke’s eyes were glassy, but a tired, wistful smile crossed her face. “I think so.” Her eyes drooped again. “Lex, how’d we get here?”

Lexa sucked in her lips. She hated to leave but the guard was right. She walked to the bed and bent down so that her face was even with Clarke’s. She brushed her fingers down her cheek. 

“I have to go, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded as her eyes slowly closed.

“Clarke! You need to stay awake.” Lexa shook her shoulders. “Hey.” She put her cheek against Clarke’s and whispered into her ear. “Just for a little longer.”

“I’ll try.” Clarke raised her hand to Lexa’s face.

---

It was late into the night when Lexa was released. Eleanor was waiting in the lobby for her. She was an older woman who had made the most of a marriage into money, smart enough to wield it to her will but smooth enough that people still liked her when she did. A natural-born chairwoman of a national organization’s board. Lexa was less charming and more aggressively direct, which made them a good team.

Lexa was surprised first by how sharp the older woman looked for the end of a disastrous day and then by the positively giddy smile on her face. Eleanor seemed to notice and evened out her features.

“Are you okay?” she asked like she was supposed to.

“What is going on?” Lexa was more interested in why Eleanor was so being so weird.

The smile splashed across Eleanor’s face again. “Everyone has seen the video, Lexa. It caught fire on twitter and then CNN picked it up and then all the rest. I’ve been fielding interviews all night.”

“What video?”

“Videos, actually. Dozens of them. From the protest. Everyone saw those goons take down that blonde woman.” Eleanor led her outside towards a waiting car. “It looked bad. Do you think that woman is alright? I mean, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but….Don’t you know her?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Yeah.”

Eleanor gushed past her. “Lexa, they want to talk to us.”

“Who?”

“Exxon Mobil’s people.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you understand how bad the videos look.”

“Of Clarke getting hurt?”

“Is that her name?”

“Why do they want to talk to us? It was Clarke who...” Lexa trailed off.

Eleanor shook her head as she opened the car door. “It was their people who threw the teargas into the crowd, too. They were off their property. They shouldn’t have been there. They need to clean this up. And there’s no way they’re going to work with that group of radicals.” Eleanor spit the word out like it tasted bad. “We’re the real players here, Lexa. They want to set up a meeting tomorrow. And the senators said they would reschedule for tomorrow or the next day, so that’s still on the table—”

“But what about Clarke?” Lexa rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted.

“I’m sure her people are taking care of her.”

“But you don’t know?” Lexa looked back towards the station. “You haven’t talked to them?”

“Why would I call them?” Eleanor’s eyes were angry. “They ruined everything today with their ridiculous chains and human barriers.”

“That’s not what you just told me.” Lexa tilted her head.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, Eleanor.” Lexa’s voice was sharper than it should have been with her chairwoman. “Because if I recall, Exxon Mobil’s people had no interest in talking to us before all this. It seems to me that if Clarke hadn’t been attacked—”

“—To be fair, Extinction Rebellion was asking for it—”

“—If she hadn’t been attacked,” Lexa interrupted the interruption, “there would be no seat for us at their table. Is that true?”

Eleanor sighed.

“Listen, Eleanor.” Lexa took a deep breath. “We’ll take the meetings, okay? I promise. But we need to take care of Clarke. She was in that cell with me, and she’s not okay. It’s the right thing to do. Even if you disagree, it would still be good optics. OCA taking care of the environmentalist who was attacked.” She looked up at her with tired, soft eyes. “We need to be on the same side.”

Eleanor studied Lexa for a long moment. Finally, she nodded, a small, curious smile tugging gently at the corner of her lips. “I’ll call the lawyer.”

---

When Clarke was released, she came out hanging onto a guard’s arm. She could barely stay on her feet. Her face was pale and shimmering. Lexa rushed over and propped her up, guiding her slowly out of the building to the car where Eleanor was waiting in the front seat.

“Oh my God.” She brought her hand to her mouth when she saw Clarke’s dazed face. 

“We need to get her to the hospital.” Lexa strapped Clarke in and slid into the backseat next to her. “You still with us, Clarke?”

Clarke nodded distantly.

“Just a little longer,” Lexa whispered, her voice no longer able to hide her deep worry.

Eleanor’s head swivelled at Lexa’s tone. She saw Lexa wrap her arm around Clarke, pulling her towards her. She saw Clarke rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder and Lexa close her eyes as she reached for Clarke’s hand. She had never seen her this soft.

Eleanor smiled quietly to herself and turned her eyes back to the front.

“Hey,” Lexa whispered again. “Stay awake. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“I know.” Clarke’s voice was so faint. She fell silent for a few long moments. “Hey, Lex?” she finally asked.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we can try again.”

Clarke didn’t see the tiny smile creep across Lexa’s face, but she heard it in her voice. 

“We’ll see.”