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#i spent them all on that last travelling spirit i do not make good financial decisions. in my defense the butterfly cape was cute :(
slowmorevolution · 3 years
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Dodge and Burn
Nobody ever imagines they'll wind up in a job like this; it just happens. One day, you discover you have an aptitude for doing what needs doing, and places like Polis, Inc. will pay you well for your skills, and then suddenly you're wearing a set of labels that you'll never again be able to shrug off. Contractor. Agent. Assassin. Killer.
You get used to it after a while. Whether you like it or not is irrelevant; something you figure out much more quickly after you've been on the job for a while. You get a file, and that's your target. There's no room for your feelings on the matter. So when Lexa is chosen to bring in none other than Clarke Griffin - a former contractor who mysteriously cut ties with Polis and disappeared - she simply thinks of her as just another target. Just another order to carry out.
And that was her first mistake.
One of many she'll make before this night is through.
(full fic coming soon to ao3)
Many, many thanks to the incredible @dreamsaremywords for this gorgeous moodboard. You're the absolute BEST <3
She should have never let it go this far.
It’s the same thought that’s been scrolling through Lexa’s head all night. The same thought that’s hounded her since this whole thing began, actually — the moment she first stood in front of Clarke Griffin and looked into those magnetic blue eyes, then gave up her real name when Clarke asked for it. She knew she was in trouble right then.
Because Lexa was never supposed to be involved in any of this. No, she was supposed to be Lauren tonight. Lauren Willis: financial planner, Stanford grad, amateur guitarist and DC comics fan. Lauren, who liked dogs and music and going to museums; had hobbies, favorite songs, passions — fabricated though they may be — all tailored to snag Griffin’s interest. Lauren. Who’s normal and safe and above suspicion, and just the type of person you might meet at a bar on any average, random weekend. Which is precisely why Lexa had dreamed up the persona when she orchestrated all of this.
She was prepared. She had a plan. She was supposed to slip in, make her introductions, charm her way into a phone number, or if things went really well — a dinner invitation, perhaps. Something to just lay the groundwork, get a little closer to Griffin. Start figuring out how to do the job she’d been given.
Titus had been adamant on that point: Don’t rush it. She may be out of the game, but Griffin’s still one of the best. It’ll take patience to bring her down.
Play this right, though, and she’ll fall just like anybody else.
So she waited. Took her time. Studied hard. Discovered Griffin seemed to frequent that particular bar for one reason only, after trailing her for a while, watching her leave with a few hook ups. Formed a strategy once she realized those hook ups weren’t exclusively men, either, which — in hindsight — was probably why Titus had smirked at her in that oily way when he handed over Griffin’s file, his only explanation for choosing Lexa for the assignment being a brusque, simple:
“You’re perfect.”
He really can be a pig sometimes.
Still. It was a way in, at least. So Lexa took it. She already knew she’d have to be creative in order to get close enough to pull this off. And besides — it’s not as if it’s much of a hardship, for god’s sake, pretending to seduce Griffin. She’s beautiful, for one thing. Curvy and strong and just the type that normally catches Lexa’s eye, but... beyond all that? Lexa has always been slightly taken with her, if she’s honest about it.
Because Griffin is good. Or was, anyway.
Once upon a time, she was one of the finest talents in the business, and Lexa respected her for that. Respected the amount of stealth and sheer elegance in Griffin’s work, the quick-in/quick-out precision of it: surprise embolisms delivered like a whisper — one swift pinprick bite from an expertly concealed syringe as Griffin passed by a target in a crowded market, he barely felt a thing — and then minutes later? RIP, pal. Good. Fucking. Night.
Or a blade as thin as a shadow slipped right between a target’s fourth and fifth rib — right at that perfect angle to strike the heart square on, seize it up in an instant. One hit, fast and efficient. In. Out. Dropped.
No hesitation. No questions asked.
Except there must have been some questions, right? Or else Lexa wouldn’t be here right now.
There must have been something that sent Griffin careening out from under Polis, Inc.’s thumb like that; prompted her to run. Something she must have thought was bloody well worth the risk of attempting to vanish on Titus, because Griffin had to have known better. He was never going to just let her go. Titus doesn’t condone quitters.
Polis doesn’t condone quitters.
So that means Lexa can’t condone them, either.
Which is why Clarke Griffin is no longer just another player on the field, a career to admire.
Now she’s simply a target. A name in a file.
An order for Lexa to carry out.
So she was ready. Walked into the bar tonight with her fake identity and the best fuck me outfit she could put together: snug black jeans that hugged her ass in all the right places and a sleeveless button down to show off the ink on her arms. Smoky eyes to deepen the green in them. Hair down and just a shade messy — precisely the kind of weekend ‘do someone who works a stifling 9-to-5 gig would wear to signal she’s feeling sort of reckless.
It was a solid disguise. The perfect blend to snare Griffin’s attention and put her at ease, all at once: just an ordinary person out playing dress up, who seems like she might be looking to try on someone a little bit dangerous for the night.
She thought she’d covered all the angles. But once Lexa had actually made her move, and sidled up to Griffin to say hello, it all just...evaporated. And she still isn’t quite sure why.
Maybe it was the way Griffin looked her up and down before she ever spoke to her, the collage of lightning-quick calculations Lexa detected flickering behind those bright, pretty eyes.
She can’t remember the last time she’s seen a mind quite as deadly sharp as that at work. Lexa’s been assigned plenty of smart targets before, sure — scientists, generals, coders, even a straight up criminal genius or two — but this was something else. This was a flavor of intelligence she was familiar with, the kind that knew what it was like to perpetually straddle the line between hunting and hunted.
The kind that absolutely needed to remain sharp as razor wire in order for Griffin to survive.
Lexa understood that sort of thinking all too well.
And truthfully? It had her curiosity humming.
More than that, though...maybe it was just because when Griffin seemed to finally decide Lexa passed inspection, she looked her right in the eyes, extended a cool hand, and introduced herself as simply ‘Clarke’.
And that struck something.
Whether it was Lexa’s lingering regard for this woman or a weak spell of just plain stubborn, competitive pride, she can’t even say, but in that moment — some part of her wanted Clarke Griffin to know exactly who she was dealing with here.
It was such an idiotic thing to do.
What’s worse is that she knew it, too, knew she was making a terrible error in judgment, but...well, Lexa hasn’t really ever met a kindred spirit before. She doesn’t bother dwelling on it much, because honestly — what’s the point? Her life is different, end of story. She’s different. She’s not allowed to be like everyone else.
She’s not meant for the Lauren things in life, like passions, or free time, or friends… or even just something like this: a casual Saturday night spent hanging out in a bar. Hoping for a shot at connecting with someone, inviting them in. Maybe even letting them stay for a while, if the chemistry lines up.
No, Lexa can’t have any of that. She has a purpose, instead. A unique set of skills to do what needs doing, and still be able to live with herself afterwards. It’s a rare ability and it is not easy, not in any fashion.
Which is why it simply doesn’t leave room for anything else.
So she’s unusual. She has to be. And tonight, for the first time ever, Lexa found herself standing face-to-face with someone she actually considers a peer.
Once that realization slid home, all of her careful prep work just sailed right out of her head. And Jesus, how Lexa wishes she could go back to that moment now; undo the mess she’s made of all this. Because that’s where everything started flipping sideways. The instant she looked at Griffin and thought: okay, if she’s not going to bother hiding, then fine. Neither am I.
And then took the hand held out to her.
“Lexa.”
Stupid.
So. Fucking. Stupid.
And the mistakes didn’t end there.
Originally, Lexa intended for this to be a quick encounter — an intro, a little flirting — just enough to gather a few scraps of intel, if she could. Get a cursory read on what sort of level Griffin was playing at these days, how much trouble Lexa was going to have in bringing her down. (She also needed to gauge Griffin’s interest to see if this seduction strategy was going to work at all, or if she’d need to regroup and try something else.)
They wound up talking all night.
Trivial topics at first: Music. TV shows. Favorite places they’ve traveled; where they’d like to visit next. But then, strangely...Clarke moved on to some of the not-so-trivial subjects, the things that shadowed and shaded her heart. Art. Fear. History. Regret. And Lexa...well, it took her by surprise. Not only that Clarke would open those particular doors to her, but that it didn’t seem like an act.
Oh, Lexa knows Clarke hasn’t lost her touch for subterfuge, it wasn’t that. She may have left the field, but no one ever truly leaves the game. So Lexa spotted all the old tricks when she played them: the way she glossed over certain questions, like “so what do you do, anyway?” — Ah, you know. Nothing really worth going into. Mostly just temp work here and there.
Let’s talk about something else.
Or the way Clarke periodically scanned the room while they chatted — just a furtive sweep every now and then — one that anyone but Lexa would probably never catch, except she knew what Clarke was up to. Checking for any sign of trouble, any hazards lurking in the crowd. Anything that might send her running for an exit, should her alarms get tripped.
Lexa also knew why she was doing it. Even without the burden Clarke’s shouldering now, how deeply she’s entrenched herself on the hunted side of their peculiar parallel reality — anybody who’s been in their line of work can tell you — once that initial soul gets added to your log books? You’re never really able to drop your guard again after that. No matter how far you’ve run, or what you think you’ve put behind you, your days of resting easy don’t exist anymore.
Because the moment that happens, you officially cross over from obscurity to infamy, just like that.
You discover that even though what you do — yeah, it might set you apart from civilized society, but it by no means makes you singular. It’s a profession spanning back untold millenia; an infinity loop of lives bought and lives taken that’s been going on beneath the general public’s nose ever since some long-dead scoundrel wised up to the fact people would shell out a hefty fee to have someone else handle their dirtiest jobs for them. All it takes to tap into that lucrative low-down market is a willingness to cherry pick your moral code meticulously enough you can stomach the feeling of unclean hands.
Until you actually take the preliminary step over to the wrong side of right, though... you have no idea how many other someone else’s exist out there, too. Polis doesn’t tell you that bit. Part of their training protocol, Lexa knows now. They like to keep that specific detail under wraps until it’s too late to reconsider; lead you to believe you’re special, just one of a select few, maybe. But as you get deeper and better and your body count starts ticking up a little higher, you begin hearing more names, and more stories, and eventually — you make the connection. You’re just another pro in an entire fucking league of pros.
You don’t ever get to see the others in action, interact with them in any measurable way. Polis enjoys its secrets too much for that. So they’re careful where they keep you stationed; space you out far and wide to avoid any undue crossing of paths.
But once your bosses start talking in front of you a little more, and you start figuring out what to actually listen for, you pick up enough to piece most of it together. Numbers. Contenders. Who’s got a knack for what. Who’s better. Enough to get the vague sense that all that aptitude and self-discipline you thought made you so exceptional before turns out to be just standard operating procedure in this division.
And certainly enough to realize management doesn’t really allow anyone on the payroll much in the way of learning opportunities, either. Botch a job, make a bad call, have an off day or just say too much to the wrong person, and boom. You’re done for. Game over.
Which is also why you’ll hardly ever find a true blue retired player on the company rosters. Another detail Polis tends to omit from their recruitment spiel.
What you will always find, however...is an unending queue of someone else’s out there, ready and raring to step up and take your place. Just waiting for you to make one false move to give them a reason to.
So the second you take that first leap, that first life, and definitively sign up for this vocation — you’ll always feel someone else’s eyes on you, too.
Wherever you go from that point on, you’ll be constantly checking over your shoulder to see if you’re lined up in their crosshairs yet, or if your name has landed in a file somewhere, marked with a bold red X.
That’s the only sort of performance review Polis ever offers, really. You’re fine until you’re not. After that, you’re just next.
And Clarke…
Clarke made a really, really bad call.
She knows she’s next. She knows exactly who’s coming after her. She pissed off Titus. And he does not forget. Or forgive. Clarke has a lot more to worry about than most.
Lexa just wasn’t quite sure why Clarke didn’t seem to think Lexa might be something to worry about, too. She should have. She must have. Nobody of Clarke’s caliber could have slipped that much, even if she has been on the sidelines for a while.
So why didn’t she act that way?
More importantly...why didn’t it feel that way?
It wasn’t as if the gates were totally down or anything. Clarke was still putting off enough tells to see that. Smaller tells, like how she kept her bag within easy reaching distance for her, but completely out of Lexa’s. Or how — right after she invited Lexa to sit with her — Clarke switched from whiskey to just plain soda, then politely turned down Lexa’s every offer of anything stronger for the rest of the night. Nothing that could potentially drain her senses.
Lexa noticed all of this.
But when Clarke brought up those heavier, deeper subjects, that...? That didn’t seem strategic. It didn’t even seem intentional, judging from the mildly puzzled look on her face when she first started talking about them.
No, that felt…real.  Like an actual glimpse beneath the shell game.
And for as much as it seemed to confuse Clarke — god, it really threw Lexa.
So she wavered. Up to that point, her responses had mostly been Lauren’s, borrowed from her made up catalogue of facts and likes/dislikes; but when the conversation turned in that direction, the edges began to shift, and blur. Lexa heard far more of herself slipping into what she told Clarke, and kept having to stop. Pull back. Remember.
It was far too easy to talk to her.  Lexa didn’t expect that.  She thought there’d be more silences, perhaps, or at least more suspicion — a stronger sense of keep out when she tested Clarke’s defenses; looked for any weak points along her boundary lines that Lexa could possibly sneak through.
She did not, however, expect how many times Clarke would smile at her, and how often that smile would actually reach her eyes. Nor the way she would deflect Lexa’s getting-to-know-you questions in the gentlest manner possible, as if Clarke was sincerely concerned about sparing her feelings. Side-stepping any info she didn’t want to tell with clever, friendly redirects or well-aimed punchlines, instead. (A few of which actually made Lexa laugh.) She didn’t think she’d be funny. She wasn’t prepared for warmth.
She also wasn’t prepared for how...conflicted it’s made her feel about all of this.
Because she can’t quite seem to reconcile Griffin — the smooth, unquestionably lethal professional Lexa knows her to be — with Clarke, the woman who grins and jokes and occasionally throws off sparks of something that seems too just...well, just genuinely good to ever be capable of such things.
This is a problem.
A problem that only continued to get worse as the night wore on. Especially after Clarke coaxed her out onto the dance floor.
Until that happened, Lexa still might have had a chance of...
Doesn’t matter anymore. Because it did happen.
Clarke led her out there, and Lexa let her. Followed her right into the steamy crush of thumping bass and club-lit bodies and pressed in, didn’t look back. She was supposed to get close, Lexa told herself, the phrase echoing through her brain like a war cry as Clarke’s hips swayed and swiveled underneath her palms, as her arms twined behind Lexa’s neck. Grinding against one another in a fluorescent haze of pinks and purples and elevated pulse rates, the air between them growing dense and thick.
It was like that barometric pressure drop right before a giant storm rolls in, the kind that’s so profound it can settle into your bones, cause old wounds to ache. The kind that makes people twitchy and impulsive, desperate to get one last hit of whatever might ease the hurt coming for them before the skies crack open and utter hell slams down. People always want their hands on something that helps them feel good when they know their world’s about to go dark.
Clarke felt good.
She also felt an awful lot like breaking the damn rules.
And with the way they seemed to so intuitively fit together out there on that dance floor? Each time Clarke’s body rolled into hers — Lexa swore she could almost detect the first ominous warning sounds of approaching thunder.
But sometimes, such as when you allow yourself to get too caught up in the wild heartbeat of a situation...sometimes things like rules and warnings can warp out of shape on you in a matter of seconds.
She was supposed to get close. Lexa’s hands sliding over Clarke, feeling the play of muscle in her back and shoulders, the heat of her through her thin tank. The satin charge of her skin beneath Lexa’s fingers when they dipped under Clarke’s shirt, skimmed over her stomach. The shiver that rippled through Clarke when it happened.
She was supposed to get close. Clarke crowding in, the pressure of her thigh nudging between Lexa’s legs and the soft weight of her breasts against Lexa’s; the way her fingertips felt drifting across the nape of Lexa’s neck as Clarke leaned in to rest their foreheads together. How Lexa’s heart seemed to trip over itself when that happened.
And the hushed, half-held breath stealing past Clarke’s lips...right before darkened blue eyes fell to Lexa’s mouth.
She was supposed to get close.
It was all Lexa could hear at that moment. Just those watchwords ringing inside her head...and Clarke’s quiet, broken exhalation.
Clarke kissed her.
And Lexa let her.
The first brush of her lips felt like a match strike, and within mere seconds — Clarke was pressing into the kiss to taste the curve of Lexa’s mouth when she opened it to her, soft and willing. Lexa responded right away, welcomed her right away, and she shouldn’t have, she shouldn’t have, but it was slow and so good and had just the perfect amount of heat to it: a little demand, yes, but not an ounce of hurry; a trace of something aching for more, promising more without being overeager, or rushing them along too fast.
Clarke kissed with purpose. (No hesitation. No questions asked.) Her lips were full and warm and knowing; it felt like she’d read Lexa in an instant, knew exactly how she wanted to be kissed, exactly how to draw her out, and when Clarke’s tongue slipped into her mouth, Lexa could already tell: if she allowed it to happen — Clarke would fuck her in the exact same way.
She’d take her time. Take her apart. Figure out what Lexa likes, what she wants. What makes her come the hardest. What makes her beg to come.
She’d savor Lexa, as many times and in as many ways as she possibly could.
If Lexa gave her the chance, Clarke could potentially see right through her. She was almost sure of it.
But by the time that kiss ended — she was also sure she’s never wanted anything more than to know what Clarke might show her, too.
It was foolish, and beyond risky; a desire she shouldn’t have even thought about indulging, she was well aware, but...god, when it came right down to it? There was just something about Clarke that made her want to forget about all that, just for a little while, and she really wanted to find out why.
She intrigued Lexa. No one ever intrigued her anymore. She hasn’t met a soul in years she hasn’t been able to unravel within the space of a few minutes; it’s a skill she’s had to quite literally stake her next breath on more occasions than she’d like to count.
Clarke, though...Clarke kept her guessing. A woman who never seemed to understand the meaning of indecision in all the time Lexa’s known she existed. Yet somehow, from practically the moment she had first looked into Clarke’s eyes tonight, that’s almost the only thing Lexa has been able to feel.
Almost. There was also the matter of all the heat that had started simmering deep down inside of her by that stage, as well. Clarke was — without a doubt — entirely to blame for that.
So Clarke took her back to her place. And Lexa let her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They didn’t talk much on the way there.
It was a short walk, only about 2 1/2 blocks. 0.125 of a mile, Lexa had recited in her head — a side-effect stat lodged there from all her prior rounds of surveillance. She’d watched Clarke make that trip plenty of nights before; knew every row house, store, and alleyway on those blocks down to their very last brick and knew precisely where they were headed. But she still had the presence of mind to remember her script and asked: “Do you live far?”
Clarke had glanced at her then.
She’d been eyes up and ahead ever since they had left the bar, same as Lexa — another mark of their mutual training: you must watch your surroundings and your exits at all times…
Lexa wondered if Clarke still hears those directives wherever she goes, like she does. And if she still hears them in Titus’ gruff, muddled accent, too — the meter of elongated vowels and open r’s he always tries to swallow back in order to keep anyone from conclusively guessing what soil his roots were originally planted in.  She suspects so. Titus’ influence is a lot like his lessons; they both have a tendency to stick fast and stick around, that’s for damn sure. He won’t accept anything less.
So as Lexa had looked back at Clarke, she also found herself wondering (again, just like she’d been doing all bloody night), exactly how much of Clarke’s invitation belonged to her, alone.
And if any of it had come from Griffin, instead.
Essentially, there’s no divide; she has no illusions there. A non-practicing killer is still a killer, after all.
But something about the way Clarke had regarded her in that moment had Lexa’s instincts bristling: a quick once over appraisal that she couldn’t quite decipher, but seemed a little too...calculating, maybe, for her comfort. And whether it was Clarke simply taking advantage of the better light out on the street to make sure she still liked what she saw, or Griffin sizing Lexa up to determine how to best take advantage of this entire situation, she wasn’t sure; but for the span of a few erratic heartbeats — Lexa had almost been convinced Clarke was on to her.
In any event, Clarke made some kind of decision right then and there, that much was clear. “Not far,” she’d answered.
Then just turned her eyes back to the street ahead.
Lexa hadn’t asked anything else after that. Part of her thinks now she was maybe a little afraid she might not get as lucky the next time.
Because now?
Now she’s following Clarke up the weatherworn stairs to her apartment. The same bastard set of squeaky stairs Lexa had already made contingencies for; knew she wouldn’t be able to use if her plan A hadn’t actually panned out tonight, and when the time arrived to make her move she’d had to break into Clarke’s place rather than taking the sweeter way in — getting led right up to the front door by the target, herself.
And now Lexa can’t seem to stop staring at Clarke’s ass as they climb those tricky, ‘no-one’s-sneaking-up-on-me’ steps, either. Nor keep her stomach from somersaulting when she imagines peeling Clarke out of her clothes, running her hands over every soft curve she’d only had much-too-brief impressions of back at the bar.
And now — and this one worries her the most. Now she’s trying way too hard to remember that Clarke is, in fact, a target. And nothing more. That a little conversation and a kiss doesn’t change a thing about the constraints Lexa’s working under, regardless of how much that kiss has left her feeling alarmingly keen to set her primary objective aside for a while just to get another taste.
And none of this…
None of this was the plan. She wasn’t supposed to rush this. And she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to let conflict — of any sort — squeeze its way into any of this at all.
Sex with a target isn’t anything new; Lexa’s done it before, when the job called for it. She’s just never been in a situation where the equation between wanting someone and needing to complete the job balanced quite like this, with her far more preoccupied about how desperately she’d like to hear what Clarke sounds like when she has an orgasm than how Lexa’s going to handle what she’s actually been sent here to do once they get on the other side of that door.
And that...is certainly a problem.
One that Lexa truly couldn’t have ever planned for.
All the same, she’d better damn well get her priorities sorted fast, because if she fucks this up? Clarke won’t give her a second chance. That’s a guarantee. If she doesn’t just kill Lexa outright, she’ll drop so far underground Lexa won’t have a prayer of finding her again before word of her failure gets back to Titus.
And if that happens... she’ll definitely regret not just letting Clarke end her and be done with it. Titus likes to make an example out of anyone who disappoints him. Lexa’s seen it enough to know she never, ever wants to wind up on that list.
So yeah, she wants Clarke. Wants her badly enough she’s actually shaking just thinking about it. What’s worse, she’s pretty sure Clarke has picked up on that, too, which is —
“You doing alright?”
Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of Clarke’s voice. “Oh yeah, I’m fine,” she replies automatically, wincing at how unconvincing it sounds.
...mildly embarrassing.
Then again...maybe it actually works in Lexa’s favor here, who’s to say. After all, she’s just supposed to be some random financial planner with a few kinks up her sleeve, right? A woman like that might very well go a little weak-kneed if she thinks she’s about to get railed through the floor.
Lexa, however, should not. Something she also needs to remember.
Clarke doesn’t make it easy, though. Even just the way she looks over at her when they finally reach her apartment door causes Lexa’s stomach to plummet again — the flicker of quiet intent in her eyes, that confident, crooked grin stretching across her face…
Lexa takes a breath. A target. And nothing more.
“Listen, just don’t judge me too hard when you see the place, okay?” Clarke says, the nerve in her smile fading a shade as she unlocks the door. “It’s kind of a mess, at the minute.”
Deadbolt — hybrid cylinder. Average time to lock pick: 23 seconds. Lexa pulls her gaze away from the door, glancing up at Clarke. When their eyes connect, she tries to play off the effects of what that...god, just aggressively sexy smile keeps doing to her by giving Clarke a casual shrug. “I don’t mind.”
Understatement of the century. Considering all the other things troubling Lexa right now, she couldn’t care less about Clarke’s housekeeping abilities. Not in the slightest.
Some of that must show up in the look she gives her, too, because even if the self- consciousness is just another part of the act — a glimmer of relief passes over Clarke’s face right before she opens the door. And when Lexa spots it, something inside of her thinks good with such plain sincerity it almost throws her off-step. Good doesn’t belong here. She can’t afford good.
As Clarke ushers them inside, Lexa notices how she immediately checks all the blind spots and corners for any signs of possible danger, another habit Lexa finds herself mirroring before she can choke back the impulse: scanning the hallway, the windows, the closet door — any place that seems like a viable location where someone could either break in or try to hide; wait for their chance to phenomenally screw up this whole night. She’s been scoping out Clarke’s apartment so long, the layout of it seems strangely familiar. Helps direct her eye. She already knows where all the weaknesses are, really.
Or so she thinks. Because then Clarke’s eyes are on her again, and for a brief moment — Lexa gets an unsettling stab of what feels way too much like guilt for her to not worry if maybe that’s just not quite true.
“Told you it was kind of terrible.”
Get it together. “It’s honestly not,” Lexa replies, glad for an excuse to look away from her and cast a quick glance around the living room, instead.
It’s not a big space, by any means. This building is one of those droopy old sandblasted beachfront vacation properties that’s been converted into apartment units, a relic from an era when people used to flock to these shores in droves during the summer months to escape the sweltering temperatures further inland.  Back before the oil companies got ahold of this place, anyway. Now the water’s far too grimy and polluted to attract much of the tourist set anymore.
Even still, it looks as if someone’s at least made an effort with these apartments. There’s evidence of a recent remodel: fresh paint, new appliances. Little touches here and there to try to take some of the impermanence out of the place. Less ’weekend rental’, more ‘welcome home’ feel.
Unfortunately, though — Lexa can’t say they’ve quite hit the mark. There’s just not much that exactly screams home in here.
Of course, that could also be because there’s simply not much in here at all.
Given Clarke’s caveat, Lexa was expecting the place to be in complete shambles, but it’s actually extraordinarily bare, furnished with the sparsest of basics: a couch, a TV, a table. A couple of floor lamps and a half-empty set of aluminum shelves.
The only personal items she can really see are a few knick knacks scattered about and an assortment of paperbacks stacked on one of the shelves, the deep set creases along their spines seeming to imply these are all favorites; the types of books that get reread often. The kind important enough to a person living under the constant threat of a hasty exit that she would even bother to unpack them, place them up on a shelf. Or keep them around at all, for that matter.
Lexa will have to remember to take a look at those, if she can, after —
Well. Just...after.
She backs away from that thought, focusing on Clarke again.
Maybe what she meant by terrible was simply the...lack in here. Maybe she thinks that’s something normal people should be embarrassed about.
That’s what they’re both trying to pass for, isn’t it? Normal. Despite the fact Clarke’s performance is lost on Lexa, she appreciates her commitment, nonetheless.
And she knows she needs to play along. If she doesn’t, it might send up a red flag. Can’t have that. “Did you just move in recently, or...?”
Clarke just smiles and shakes her head as she drops her bag by the door, managing to somehow do it all in such a way Lexa can’t tell if the response is meant as a yes or a no.
She moves over to a built-in cabinet along the wall and rummages around for a moment, Lexa’s unremitting gaze tracking her every motion.
She can’t quite muzzle the tension wound up inside her body right now; it feels as if every one of Lexa’s muscles is just waiting on go to see if Clarke gives her any cause to react, which is...annoying, for starters. But also — seems so unnecessary. Clarke hasn’t shown any discernible sign she suspects Lexa, other than maybe a cryptic look, and that truly could have been anything.
And besides, if something about Lexa had already put her on alert? From a logistical standpoint, it makes so much more sense for Clarke to have bolted on her back at the bar, rather than risk bringing her here. She had ample opportunity to shut this down or ditch Lexa in any number of ways while they were there, and all of them would have been so much less complicated than this.
Right?
Even with all that clattering around inside her head, when Clarke turns back with an iPad in her hands rather than some form of weapon, Lexa’s still surprised at the sheer amount of ‘oh thank god’ that washes through her. And that’s annoying, too.
Clarke taps the screen a couple times, and the low strains of music begin to filter through the room. Lexa recognizes the song within a few notes; strangely enough, it’s an old favorite of hers, a sultry downtempo number that she’d most definitely classify as makeout music, and both of those things have her grinning before she can stop it. She quirks an amused eyebrow at Clarke.
When Clarke glances up, Lexa notices a sliver of confidence has gone missing from her expression again; a look she might even call shy on anyone else. But that word doesn’t quite fit right on Clarke. And Lexa needs to shut down the part of her that seems to want to believe it possibly could. She can’t think like that.
“I’m...” Clarke gestures to the iPad. “Is this okay? Music is kind of my thing. I always turn it on when I get home.”
To put her at ease, Lexa settles for: “Of course. It’s kind of my thing, too.” Then wants to kick herself when the grateful little smile Clarke gives her in reply just makes her grin even harder.
Thankfully, Clarke doesn’t let the moment hang very long, turning away to set down the tablet before she heads over to the kitchen and grabs a couple of glasses. “Yeah, I’ve never understood people who can function in just, you know...” She pauses as she opens the freezer to retrieve an ice tray. “...dead quiet all the time. I can’t do it.”
She pulls a bottle of vodka out of one of the cabinets and begins to fill the glasses with ice.
“Why’s that?” Lexa asks, mentally swatting away the word dead as she wanders over to watch her.
Clarke’s hand briefly stills over her glass. When she carries on mixing her drink without saying anything, Lexa assumes she’s just going to ignore the question, but then:
“I’m not really sure, honestly. Quiet can just get to be way too loud sometimes, I guess.”
Her voice has gone a bit softer, and darker, but to her credit — it really doesn’t give all that much away. However, the words still land a little too heavily for Lexa to not sense the weight behind them.
Clarke turns back to face her, and for just a second, she’s got that same perplexed, ‘why am I talking about this?’ look in her eyes from earlier in the night. It’s muted, barely more than a hairline fracture in the facade, but it’s so wretchedly open it causes this oddly intense, knee-jerk response in Lexa to confess something back, tell her she knows exactly what she means, tell her she can relate. Something.
She doesn’t, though. Wanting to is bad enough.
At Lexa’s silence, Clarke ducks her head and busies herself with returning the ice tray to the freezer, casting off both the moment and the mood within mere seconds, shrugging back into whatever version of her that was here before. She does it all so seamlessly that by the time she looks at Lexa again, it’s as if nothing ever happened.
“I should have asked first...” Clarke motions to the glasses, a small smile re-emerging. “Do you even want a drink, or...?”
Or. So many choices lie beyond that word.
For as delicately as Clarke just handled her misstep, the subject change isn’t quite as subtle.
No need for it to be, though. Lexa can tell what she’s really implying just by the slight downturn of her smile into something sharper, and surer. Something that wants.
Clarke’s ready to conclude the small talk portion of the evening.
And she’s asking Lexa to decide what’s going to happen next.
Lexa will be flying completely blind from here on out, but this has to end tonight, one way or another. She has some choices, yes. But that’s not one of them.
So with that in mind, she packs up all the doubts that have been gnawing at her and stores them away, locks them up behind that tried and trusted barricade she’s built inside herself to get through nights like this. She can’t waver, when the time comes. And that’s the only way to ensure she won’t. She just needs to distract Clarke long enough to figure out how to deal with the rest.
Cue distraction.
Lexa lets every sinful thought she’s been holding back flood into her gaze, then looks up, the corner of her mouth twisting into a faint smirk. She shakes her head — a definitive no. Nothing in it that could get lost in translation this time.
Clarke’s smile widens, then fades. She circles around the countertop separating them and drifts closer, those blue eyes making a leisurely trek up the length of Lexa’s body as she approaches.
Lexa’s heart rate begins to pick up.
There’s a remote quality to the way she’s looking at Lexa that makes her feel as if she’s being regarded not just here and now, but minutes from here, hours from here, too. Like somewhere in Clarke’s mind, she’s sketching out every imaginable scenario that could transpire between them before any of it even unfolds, trying to keep herself ten paces in front of the odds. A place Lexa is all too acquainted with.
It’s the same high speed perception at work that snagged her attention so hard in the first place. And it’s a distinct reminder that — despite whatever clashes her conscience might be having about all of this — she can’t forget Clarke is way, way more than the image she’s been projecting. She’s dangerous. Intensely dangerous.
So as Clarke closes in, Lexa seizes on to that thought. Holds it between them with a single-minded conviction she couldn’t have ever predicted she’d need tonight.
She’s not what she seems, she’s not what she seems…
Clarke comes to a stop less than a hand’s breadth away. And just like before, her gaze flickers down to Lexa’s lips. Back up again. “Are you sure?”
The low rasp of her voice drives right into Lexa’s gut and sinks. She feels warm — too warm — and Clarke’s watching her much too carefully, and in the space of a breath, Lexa’s lost her grasp on the question she’s actually supposed to be answering. “I don’t...” She can’t seem to drag her eyes away from Clarke’s. “I don’t want a drink.”
Fuck. She shouldn’t be feeling like this, just from a look. She’s taken down warlords. Dignitaries. Mercenaries. People with literal armies at their backs and so much power clutched in their fists they make Titus seem almost laughable by comparison.
But somehow Clarke just standing there studying her — head angled to the side, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and that defiant tilt to her mouth that reads like a smirk even when she’s not trying — it has Lexa so lightheaded she’s practically swaying.
She needs to fix this now, tip the scale back in her direction, and for fuck’s sake, remember who you are...
There’s only a split second of surprise that snaps into Clarke’s eyes when Lexa reaches for her. But then that pull that’s been steering them right toward this moment all night takes over, shoves everything else out of the way. And before Lexa even registers what she’s doing, she’s got her hand curled around the back of Clarke’s neck, and Clarke is pushing into her space, and she swears one of them whispers ‘yes’ just before her lips touch Clarke’s, but it doesn’t matter, nothing else matters right now, because finally...finally — they’re kissing again.
It’s like a detonation. They both sigh harshly into the soft collision, mouths crashing together with all the frantic hunger they left out of their first kiss. As Clarke moves in, her hands fly up to cup Lexa’s jaw and Lexa cinches her arm around Clarke’s waist to tug her closer, and just the feeling of their bodies pressed flush together sends a hard chill shivering through Lexa and draws a whimper out of Clarke, propels them both into a blur of urgency and motion that soon has Lexa’s back slamming into the wall and Clarke’s chest crushed against her own, their breath turning ragged and heavy over the low bass pulse of music still pumping through the room.
When Clarke’s lips part under hers, something rises up inside of Lexa flashpoint hot, sifts her senses down to only the give of Clarke’s mouth and the way her fingertips nearly burn stroking Lexa’s neck; the lush feel of her hips beneath Lexa’s hands and the taste of her moan when Lexa slots her thigh between Clarke’s, kisses her harder.
It goes on for a moment more before Clarke pulls back with a quiet gasp, nose gently brushing against Lexa’s as her lips remain hovering a fraction of an inch away.
“Fuck, you’re good at that,” she breathes into Lexa’s open mouth, sneaking in a soft bite to her bottom lip that brings the staggering force of Lexa’s desire for this woman careening in at dizzying speeds; has her imagination running riot with thoughts of being inside Clarke, of the way her thighs would feel wrapped around Lexa while she holds her up against this wall and works her over the edge three fingers deep until Clarke is breathless and trembling and clutching at her with such bleeding savagery she’ll have scratch marks down her back for a week.
Jesus, it’s almost overwhelming, what rushes through Lexa in that moment; the utter strength of it. And the only thing she can seem to do in response is just fist her hands in Clarke’s shirt and drag her back in for another kiss.
Which Clarke doesn’t object to at all.
Somewhere in all the heat of it, Lexa hears that cautionary voice still howling for her attention: a target, she’s a target, but then Clarke’s tongue dips into her mouth and her hands slide under Lexa’s shirt, and it becomes impossible to focus on anything other than that anymore.
Their kisses turn rougher, dirtier — chasing each other’s lips in a push-and-pull frenzy that’s all hot, mingled breath and silken sweeps of tongue and leaves both of them absolutely panting. And god, Clarke knows what she’s doing, too. Kissing someone has never felt like this for Lexa before, like it’s spreading down through her whole body, just...consuming her.
When they’d kissed in the bar, Lexa’s head had been in it too much, but this? This is speaking right to the very center of her — the place that’s all blood rush and instinct and desperation — and the only thing Lexa can think right now is don’t stop. And that’s the real danger here. She needs to get a handle on herself soon, because she could get lost in this much too quickly. She already wants to.
Fuck, does she ever want to.
Clarke’s not helping her cause at all, either. As it stands, she’s managed to work Lexa’s shirt open and unclasp her bra in startlingly impressive time, and her hands are everywhere, roaming over every inch of skin she can reach, and each touch has the same devastating effect as her kisses: Lexa feels it all rolling through her with every last nerve fiber she possesses.
It’s as if she’s more…present, more aware of her body than she’s ever been before. Like Clarke’s hands are practically seeping life back into her, or waking her up, and the sensation of it all is so blindsiding and intense it’s got that let go, give in urge pawing at Lexa’s resolve something fierce.
She didn’t think it would be like this. She’s had so much of herself conditioned out of her; trained to forget the parts of her that want and ordered to exist above them, separate and inaccessible. But somehow, Clarke’s reaching right past all that. She’s already finding Lexa, coaxing her out, just like Lexa suspected she would.
She just had no idea it would feel this fucking good.
At some point, Lexa will have to take the reins back, she knows that, too. But she needs to let Clarke have this first, needs to let her feel like she’s in control for a while or else she’ll never lower her guard, and Lexa’s chances of actually walking away from all of this improve tenfold if she can make that happen. She just can’t allow herself to get completely taken under by it in the meantime.
Which wouldn’t be so difficult if not for the fact that it’s all happening so fast. Clarke’s already drawing Lexa’s shirt off her shoulders and...fuck, there goes the bra, too…
Clarke tosses both items behind her in one fluid, quick move, and before Lexa can even process the air hitting her flushed skin, Clarke’s hands slide over the swells of her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and suddenly Lexa’s unsteady grip on her willpower gets that much more precarious.
A shock of pure heat slams through her, tears a moan from Lexa’s throat that Clarke swallows instantly, greedily, and the combined force of it all has Lexa pressing into their kiss despite herself, her tongue sweeping into Clarke’s mouth with a feverish new level of insistence that eventually forces them to pull back again and just breathe for a second.
Clarke doesn’t let that slow her down for long, though. She drags her mouth along Lexa’s jawline, instead, finding the spot just under her ear that has always driven Lexa right out of her mind and nipping at it gently, lighting another chill through her that’s so powerful it feels as if it reaches all the way down and shakes her by the bones, makes her stomach clench.
Lexa’s lips part in a whimper and she has to grab onto Clarke’s hips to anchor herself, trying not to notice how instinctual it feels to wrap her arms around Clarke and pull her closer; how much Lexa wants to pull her closer. How just... oddly right it feels to have Clarke in her arms when it shouldn’t feel like that at all.
When Clarke’s mouth returns to that spot again, though — it yanks Lexa right out of her thoughts. Flings her back into the moment with a sharp hiss of breath, the telltale burning in her lungs clueing her into the fact she must have stopped doing that at some point.
She feels Clarke tuck a smile into her jaw.
A moment later, her lips brush against Lexa’s ear, voice low and lethally soft as she whispers: “God, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
Lexa closes her eyes to the words, to the aching note of near reverence in them. She doesn’t want to hear that.
Instead, she focuses on the feeling of Clarke’s kisses trailing down her neck, along her collarbone. Leans into her hands as they drift over Lexa restlessly, relentlessly — cupping her, teasing her, making her tremble. Shivers in anticipation at the way her mouth keeps inching lower and lower, and when her lips finally wrap around Lexa’s nipple, Lexa gasps and tips her head back, then reaches up blindly to plunge her hand into Clarke’s hair, fingers tightening around a fistful of blonde locks as Clarke’s tongue swirls over her again and again; sends a jolt sizzling down between Lexa’s legs that makes her positively throb.
She can’t get dragged under, but she can hide out in the feeling of all of this if she needs to. Shut herself off from that softness in Clarke’s voice, the gentle way her hands are moving over Lexa now, learning the shape of her. The regard she detects in it. None of that has a place here.
None of that deserves to get folded into any of this.
Clarke switches over to Lexa’s other breast, crowding in closer and bracing a hand against the wall when Lexa arches her back to offer more of herself up to the heat of her mouth. With each pull of her lips and flick of her tongue, Lexa feels herself getting wetter, feels the surge happening — the spiraling tempo of her heart, the strain gathering in her breath, harshening it, speeding it up — and latches onto that and that alone; tries to block out anything that’s not purely sensory; anything that doesn’t let her just crouch down and disappear inside the hot glide of Clarke’s mouth and her own reactions…
Anything that resembles Clarke showing Lexa care when she has no right to do that.
A hard shudder quakes through Lexa, and when Clarke feels it happen, she pulls away from her breast with a rough, muffled moan, Lexa’s eyes flying open just in time to catch the sight of Clarke dropping to her knees.
“I want to watch you come all. Night. Long.”
Clarke’s voice has some definite bite in it now, but her mouth is still skating over Lexa in that same terribly gentle manner, her kisses landing far too light along the slope of Lexa’s ribcage, the hollow of her hip — anywhere she can lay claim to as she works her zipper down.
As if that weren’t disconcerting enough, once Lexa’s jeans are unzipped, Clarke pauses and actually nuzzles into her, the tip of her nose grazing the silky skin just below Lexa’s navel as her lips brush against damp cotton. Unable to stop herself, Lexa moans softly and tilts her hips into the subtle pressure to seek more contact, fingers twitching with the effort to not just sink her hands into Clarke’s hair and pull her in.
“Goddamn, Lexa…” Clarke sighs, drawing out Lexa’s name in a way she knows she’ll always remember. She presses her lips to the hard line of Lexa’s hipbone and takes a slow, deep breath, and when Lexa looks down, she finds Clarke gazing up at her, their eyes meeting over the expanse of her body.
The visual itself is enough to send another pulse of arousal directly to Lexa’s core, but when she sees the way Clarke’s eyes are burning into her now, she has to brace herself against the wall again, her hands curling into white-knuckled fists on either side of her.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the minute I first saw you,” Clarke tells her, and there’s a solemnity to it that feels out of place; makes it sound like a genuine confession. If Lexa weren’t so preoccupied with remembering how to breathe at this moment, she’d maybe be more willing to question it.
“Want to know what you taste like.”
She slides her hands up the back of Lexa’s thighs and nestles in a little closer, dropping a kiss right over Lexa’s center that makes her grab onto Clarke’s shoulders for support, another moan escaping her before she can prevent it.
Clarke’s grip on Lexa’s thighs tightens, her eyes closing. She remains there for a beat more, unmoving, the maddeningly light press of her mouth through the thin material of Lexa’s underwear making her knees actually shake. “Fuck, you’re already so wet…”
She opens her mouth against Lexa and runs her tongue in a slow, gentle arc up the length of her, barely anything at all, and before Lexa even realizes she’s doing it, her fingers are splayed across the back of Clarke’s skull and her hips are rolling forward, lips parted in a halting groan.
“Clarke, god…” It’s all Lexa can manage before words completely fail her and she’s just down to the soft, helpless sounds that keep spilling out of her mouth as Clarke continues to take her time with this torturous exploration: tilting her head to kiss the juncture of her hip and thigh, to let her nose brush against the swell of Lexa’s clit as her tongue traces over her again and again and Lexa fights the urge to press forward, her hand flexing beneath the fall of Clarke’s hair.
But when Clarke wraps her lips around already-straining nerves and sucks lightly through the fabric — Lexa’s voice comes rushing back to her in a flash.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
From below, she hears Clarke give a quiet growl and actually feels the curve of her smile against her before her hands are at Lexa’s waist, tugging down her jeans.
And all at once — Lexa tenses up.
It’s not so much what’s happening, though her better senses are definitely screaming that if she lets this continue, her chances of maintaining any semblance of control are as good as fucking gone.
It’s not even that Clarke’s still mouthing over her as she slips Lexa’s jeans down her hips, and Lexa is already feeling worryingly desperate for more. Now. Please.
It’s the attentive, almost worshipful feel of it all, the let me slow things down and take this in for a minute she can sense Clarke trying to shift them into that’s knotting in Lexa’s gut so badly. And the longer it goes on, the harder she’s struggling to hold onto her ability to not let that show.
Predictably, though — Clarke notices.
She’s only succeeded in pulling Lexa’s jeans down a few inches when she stops what she’s doing altogether and looks up, finding Lexa’s eyes.
Whatever she sees there causes Clarke’s face to cloud over in an instant, something flickering across her features that almost borders on apologetic, if Lexa had to name it. She masks it just as quickly, though, leaving one more light kiss above Lexa’s hipbone before she rises and slips her arms around her waist to gather her closer, searching her expression.
Lexa doesn’t let her look for long. Because now Clarke’s lips are mere centimeters from hers again, and she’d rather have them both concentrate on that instead, so she kisses Clarke hard — fiercely — desperate to reclaim their momentum, to push them past the concern in Clarke’s eyes, the trace of understanding Lexa sees lurking there. That agonizing warmth Clarke keeps trying to offer her, no matter which way she turns to outrun it.
Lexa already knows just how destructive that kind of warmth can be; wants no part of it.
Warmth burns much too slowly, drags out the hurt of a thing too much. She doesn’t need that.
She captures Clarke’s bottom lip between her own, adding just the right amount of pressure to earn a surprised gasp before Clarke moans and presses in closer, the hot silk of her tongue brushing softly against Lexa’s as she drags blunt nails down her back.
Yeah.
She needs fire.
The rough scrape of Clarke’s hands on her is all the ignition Lexa needs, has a moan rumbling deep in her throat and her pulse thundering in her ears as she starts tugging up the hem of Clarke’s shirt.
She breaks their kiss only long enough to yank the shirt over Clarke’s head and throw it aside, Lexa’s breath catching at the warm, electric feeling of skin on skin when Clarke immediately closes the gap and wraps her arms around her again.
Already needing more, Lexa doesn’t waste a second divesting Clarke of her bra, too, working the clasp open with one hand while the other trails down and slides over the swell of Clarke’s ass to gather her closer, grinning into their kiss at the choked noise she makes when Clarke instinctively rocks her hips into the tensed muscle of Lexa’s thigh.
It’s easily one of Lexa’s new favorite sounds, has her tossing Clarke’s bra away in no time at all, craving a repeat. Getting it a moment later when she cups the soft, full weight of Clarke’s breast in her palm, and Clarke wrenches away from Lexa’s mouth with a heavy gasp, tilting her head back.
“Fuck...” She begins to grind against Lexa’s thigh a little harder.
Lexa has to hide a quick grin into the crook of Clarke’s neck, her eyes glued to the look on her face as she moves against her. How lost in it she seems.
It only takes a few moments before it all proves too much for Lexa to resist, before she needs to touch her, anywhere and everywhere she can — but when she moves in and kisses up the column of her throat, Clarke answers her by slipping an impatient hand between them, her fingers slipping beneath the band of Lexa’s underwear, closing in fast.
Shit… Lexa draws her hips back slightly to keep herself just out of Clarke’s reach.
She didn’t count on her body betraying her like this, but she knows if Clarke touches her right now, she’ll lose whatever scrap of self-restraint she’s still clinging to at this stage. So to head off the attempt, she finds Clarke’s nipple and slowly rolls it between her fingers as she bites softly at her collarbone, her stomach dropping at the beautifully throaty moan it earns, at the way Clarke arches into her, clutching at Lexa.
Clarke leans against her for a moment, her breath fanning out hot across Lexa’s skin as she shudders and pulls her closer, murmuring: “God, you’re good at that, too,” in a voice thick with want, and that’s all it takes for Lexa to find herself fending off another grin.
Doesn’t last long, though. Because unsurprisingly, given the kind of will she knows she’s up against here — within seconds, Lexa feels Clarke reaching down to touch her again.
If this were another time, or another person, it’s just the sort of persistence Lexa would usually find irresistible in this situation. Shy has never been her style when it comes to sex, and if this were happening on her own terms? It would all be going much, much differently.
But this is now. And this is Clarke. And Lexa just can’t. So she presses her thigh against Clarke more firmly again, burying a soft groan into her neck when it causes her to cry out and dig her fingertips deep into Lexa’s hips, instead.
“Ah...god...” Clarke rests her forehead on Lexa’s shoulder and bears down against her thigh a little helplessly, lips parted, her quiet gasps of breath syncing up with the rhythm of her hips.
Lexa wraps her arm around the small of Clarke’s back to help hold her up, eyes growing dark and heavy-lidded as she takes in the sight of Clarke riding her thigh: the way her muscles shift and flex as the movement ripples down through her body, the soft friction of her breasts rubbing against Lexa with each downward roll of her hips — and the effect of it all soon has her urging Clarke on with a low, unbidden refrain of whispered ‘yes’s’ and approving moans, too caught up in the moment to notice Clarke reaching for her again until her hand is halfway inside Lexa’s jeans.
This time, however, when Lexa tries to pull away, Clarke stops all at once and leans back to peer at her.
Lexa freezes.
There’s a stillness in Clarke’s eyes now that has Lexa’s intuition sitting up and taking notice; something deeper, darker, older than what she’s allowed her to see so far. Something that appears as if it might have come from wherever Clarke’s stashed the rest of herself, and that alone has Lexa’s heart skipping in her chest. It’s there and gone in a matter of a few blinks, just long enough for her to recognize it.
“Are you okay?” Lexa asks in a rush of breath, anxious to break the silence. She really doesn’t like the way Clarke’s looking at her right now.
Clarke’s eyebrow ticks up. “Are you?”
“I’m...yeah, um...” And inside, Lexa is fuming at herself for the stammer, for the unsteadiness of her breathing, for the fact her heart is still hammering out of control. You’re fine, calm the hell down. “Yeah, I’m fantastic.” When Clarke just continues to stare at her, Lexa stumbles on, adding: “Why would you think I’m not okay?“
Clarke remains quiet for another beat, her eyes narrowing. “You just don’t seem like you’re...” She glances down, a glimmer of what looks like actual hurt passing across her expression as she gestures between them. “...here. Like you aren’t...” She meets Lexa’s eyes again, studying her for a long, unnerving moment. “Where are you, Lexa?”
The question causes something to lodge in Lexa’s throat; she has to look away for a second, still working to shake off her abrupt flood of nerves.
Clearly, this particular line of conversation won’t lead them toward any less treacherous waters than the ones they’re already swimming in, she can already see that. She needs a change of approach, and fast.
So before she cuts her eyes back to Clarke, Lexa concentrates on loosening up her posture, willing a small, but what she hopes comes off as believable grin onto her face, then slings her arms around Clarke’s hips and gathers her closer, finally opting for: “Oh, I’m definitely here. I was just enjoying watching you, that’s all.” Gratefully, her voice ends up sounding somewhat casual.
But when that fails to do much to improve the way Clarke’s looking at her right now, Lexa steps up the diversion tactics, craning forward to playfully nip at Clarke’s bottom lip as she goes in for another kiss. A kiss which Clarke almost falls into. At the last second, however, she catches herself and draws back again, leaving Lexa chasing nothing but air.
And then Clarke seems to decide she wants to try a change of approach, too.
After one more brief, contemplative glance, and without any other warning, she nudges Lexa back with her hips and presses the full, hot length of herself against her, using her body weight to effectively pin Lexa in place.
It’s not an attack — Lexa’s senses know the difference well enough to recognize that immediately — but the move is so sudden it still catches her off-guard. Forces her to tamp down hard on her gut instinct to strike back, unleashing a riot of conflicting signals throughout her entire system that are trying like mad to hash out the battle between what Clarke’s soft, gorgeous curves sliding against her are making Lexa want to do, and what that dark and deadly, programmed part of her is shouting for her to do.
But somehow, by the grace of not much more than blind determination, really — the only outward sign Lexa reveals of any of this is just a quiet, half-groaned: “Clarke.”
And now Clarke’s the one who’s grinning.
She pauses to allow Lexa to adjust, then drags her fingertips out along Lexa’s arms, taking her by the hands and bringing them up between them, lacing their fingers together. And when her eyes finally settle on Lexa again — they’ve grown considerably darker. Something wicked glinting in all that stormy, inviting blue.
“So I have to confess something.”
Despite her best efforts, Lexa’s face must betray some hint of the apprehension that sentence sets off inside of her, because Clarke’s gaze softens and her grin fades out before she glances down to their clasped hands.
“I haven’t been able to stop staring at these hands all night,” she begins, leaning down and kissing Lexa’s knuckles one by one. “And because of that, and these...mmmph. These fingers, my god. These beautiful, beautiful fingers...”
And then Clarke manages to knock her off-balance again as she traces her tongue over the length of Lexa’s middle finger, giving a low, gratified laugh when it causes Lexa’s breath to hitch.
Clarke slowly looks up, mouth still poised over Lexa’s hand, her eyebrow lifted into a mischievous arch. “I feel as if you should know...”
Her tongue makes another delicate pass over Lexa’s index finger this time, prying a faint whine out of Lexa that has Clarke’s eyes practically gleaming when they flit back up to hers.
“...that I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about you fucking me.”
God. The words alone cause Lexa’s stomach to flip so badly, she flushes all over. But when Clarke then moves on to the rest of her fingers to give them the same treatment, and Lexa starts imagining everywhere else she’d like to feel Clarke’s warm, slick tongue on her right now, the impact hits her so hard she actually squirms. Shatters every fragment of composure she’s been able to recover in the past few minutes, and cranks up the restlessness twitching through Lexa to a pitch she honestly fears she might not be able to handle much longer if Clarke keeps this up.
As if sensing this, Clarke finally relents, leaving one more kiss on the back of Lexa’s hand before she raises up and takes her lightly by the wrists, Clarke’s eyes never straying from hers to ensure she has her consent as she then begins to lift Lexa’s arms above her head. Consent which — once she figures out what Clarke’s actually doing — Lexa grants with a slight nod. She’s curious to see where she’s going with this.
There’s nothing overtly threatening about it; Clarke’s grip around her wrists is loose and gentle, and though her gaze is definitely more...intense, burning hotter than before, Lexa still sees that softness there. Sees the woman who was joking with her tonight, telling Lexa what she hopes for, talking about future possibilities. Sees the Clarke who can still say things like someday as if she actually, truly believes she’s got a shot of making any of it happen.
Stop that.
Lexa exhales slowly, her eyes still locked on Clarke.
She’s not giving her any more reasons to worry at this moment, other than what having her body pressed so tightly to Lexa’s is doing to her, which...fucking hell. ‘Painfully aroused’ doesn’t even come close to describing it.
But she’s willing to keep entertaining this, at least for now. Especially since she knows she can still get out of this position rather easily, should any of that change.
Once Clarke’s got Lexa’s wrists essentially pinned to the wall, she takes a moment to just look her up and down before she continues, capping off the perusal with a quiet hum of appreciation before her eyes make the journey back to Lexa’s.
And when she at last picks up the thread and resumes speaking again — Lexa can’t help the wave of satisfaction that sweeps through her the instant she notices Clarke’s voice has dropped to an even lower, raspier register.
“But here’s the thing. If you want to fuck me...”
As she says this, Clarke begins to roll her hips into Lexa, taking it slow — agonizingly slow, her breasts dragging up and down Lexa’s chest with each lazy, controlled jog of her hips — and whatever thin slice of triumph she might have still been holding onto over her effect on Clarke vanishes in a snap.
She moans without intending to, her head lolling back as she grits her jaw against the almost overwhelming compulsion to break out of Clarke’s hold right this second, long game be damned — but she fights through it, anyway. She’ll get her chance.
There’s a heaviness stirring down low behind her hips and she knows one of the fastest ways to alleviate it is getting her hands back on Clarke again; she’s literally aching for that. But for now, she needs to wait. And she can. She’s faced tougher challenges before. Even if she might be having some trouble remembering that, at the minute.
Clarke doesn’t ease back until she’s succeeded in reducing Lexa to little more than a mess of pained, breathy whimpers and trembling legs, and when their eyes find each other again — she’s wearing a brand-new shade of smirk. One that Lexa would deem just this side of smug, if not for what happens next.
Clarke leans in as if to kiss her, lips hovering just over Lexa’s, then peers up from beneath her lashes and whispers: “Do you still want that?”
And for a minute, it’s there in her expression, laid out right on top for Lexa to see: doubt. True and naked doubt, free of any pretense; the first time it’s actually arrived on scene all night. Which has a shiver curling down Lexa’s back because...she thinks she might just be looking at the most honest version of Clarke she’s seen yet. And the idea of her suspecting Lexa isn’t into this is —
“Yes.”
Irrelevant.
So cut that out, too.
Still, the immediacy of her answer and the amount of patent heat Lexa manages to put into that one simple syllable doesn’t seem to escape either of their notice, though, judging by how quickly Clarke’s smirk reappears.
Not to mention the scorching kiss she gives Lexa a moment later.
And when the need for air eventually forces them apart again — Clarke smiles. A genuine smile, one that travels all the way up and makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Okay, then. Glad we’ve got that settled.”
But then she pauses and her face sobers, that gorgeous smile slipping away, and just from the way her jaw tightens and her shoulders square up, Lexa can tell that — whatever Clarke’s about to say? She means it.
“But I want to have a turn, too.”
To emphasize this, she presses her hips into Lexa with a little more force this time, and the resulting pulse of arousal between her legs leaves Lexa biting down on another moan.
Something sparks in Clarke’s eyes.
She’s looking at her as if she’s waiting for some kind of answer before she goes on, so Lexa tries to take over from there, tries to gently pull away so she can maybe get them back to the part where Clarke was in her arms making those sounds earlier, because...god. That was heading somewhere good, for sure.
But before Lexa can make a move or even get a word out, for that matter, Clarke tightens her hold on her wrists and leans in to kiss her neck, her lips just barely ghosting over her skin as she continues to grind against her, deliberate and dirty, and in just a handful of seconds, it becomes abundantly clear that Clarke’s not quite finished making her point yet.
Lexa slumps back against the wall with a frustrated growl.
Clarke keeps it up until she hears the soft curses Lexa’s muttering take on a decidedly desperate quality, then switches gears, her kisses turning heavier.
“And the only way I’m going to be able to do that,” she purrs between kisses. “Is if you...”
She closes one hand around both of Lexa’s wrists.
“Let me...”
And then she reaches down with the other to cup Lexa through her jeans, forcing a quiet, strangled groan past her lips.
Clarke raises up and grins, wide and hungry.
“...take care of you.”
Lexa can only stare back at her. She’s too busy trying to keep herself from flat-out rutting against Clarke’s hand at this moment to do much else.
Christ.
There’s a pause then, while Lexa attempts to wrestle her way back from giving in and Clarke watches as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen, taking in her every reaction.
It’s not the first time Lexa’s caught her doing this tonight, either. Looking at her like this. But it’s definitely the most. Her eyes are roving over Lexa so attentively it almost makes her feel like she’s being chased.
She really doesn’t need to bother, though. Lexa knows it must be glaringly obvious how much all of this is getting to her. Her legs are still downright shaking and her breathing’s gone all thready and fast...but at least it looks as if she’s not the only one feeling the struggle. There’s a conspicuous flush of color sitting high in Clarke’s cheeks and a burn building in her gaze that’s a little wilder around the edges than anything she’s let Lexa see so far, and though her grip on Lexa’s wrists feels a little firmer now — there’s a distinct tremor to it.
One that Clarke can’t quite seem to get under control, and Lexa can’t quite seem to stop herself from smirking about.
And the second Clarke catches her at it — something changes. That burn in her eyes flames up, and there’s a harsher edge in her tone when she says: “But I don’t think you’re going to let that happen unless you’re really here.”
Then makes Lexa forget why she was ever smirking in the first place.
Even through a layer of denim, the first press of Clarke’s palm against her is so abrupt and intense it makes Lexa’s knees actually buckle, has her sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out and suddenly doing everything in her power to not just slide right down the wall.
Fuck.
A low moan spills out of Clarke’s mouth at Lexa’s reaction, her grin coming back full force.
But then that chase returns to her eyes, and her expression smooths out, and she winds up just looking at Lexa for a beat, head tilted at a speculative angle. “And I just don’t think...”
She rubs her palm against Lexa once more, watching with hooded eyes as it causes Lexa to tip up her chin and clench her jaw to hold back another groan.
“I just don’t think you’ve actually shown up here yet.”
Given the way this feels and what it’s doing to her, it takes a second for Lexa to process what Clarke’s just said.
But as soon as it filters in...a knot of plain, cold fear settles into her gut.
And as soon as she looks at Clarke again — that fear just turns into all out dread.
Because Lexa thinks she may have just gone from being chased, to being caught.
Clarke stares back at her, face still as stone. Completely unreadable. “You look a little nervous.”
Shit. What does she mean by...does she know? Is she —
But before Lexa’s do something reaction even has the chance to fully kick in, Clarke’s lips are suddenly on hers again, and the next thought that hurtles through Lexa’s head is simply: wait.
Just...wait.
Because Clarke’s kiss is soft, and slow, and there’s a reassurance in it that’s communicating a single, undeniable message, loud and crystal clear:
It’s okay. You’re safe.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Clarke’s offering something with that kiss that shouldn’t be possible; she’s the last person who should ever make Lexa feel this way, but somehow? It’s getting through. It’s not much, but it’s getting through. Feels as if something’s eased over inside a bit, allowed Clarke to speak directly to the only parts of Lexa she’s ever trusted to keep her alive, and for just a brief moment, anyway — there’s some actual comfort in it. Some element that just...fits. Calms her down a little.
That shouldn’t be happening.
Clarke shouldn’t be able to get in like that. No one should.
After the kiss ends, Clarke does the same thing she’d done in the bar earlier, tipping her forehead down to rest against Lexa’s, eyes closed, just breathing.
It’s such a curious gesture; the kind of closeness typically reserved for those whose history reaches back further than a few hours, that’s for certain. Lexa knows she should shut it down. Turn her head, and turn away.
But for some reason — looking at Clarke in that quiet interlude between her unforeseen compassion and their forced-upon reality — she just can’t seem to find enough wrong in it to do it.
Gradually, Clarke’s eyes open. “You okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” Lexa lies, suddenly unable to hold her gaze.
She raises up and glances down, instead, but that just causes her to notice how well their bodies fit together, how — beneath all her desire for Clarke — it just feels…good. To be wrapped up with someone like this again.
This is something Lexa hasn’t had in a long, long while; she didn’t realize she’d missed it, really. But of all the things she’s had to be dishonest about tonight, this one probably bothers her the most. She tries to wipe that thought clean before she looks at Clarke again.
She’s smiling.
And it just makes Lexa feel worse.
She expects Clarke to make a joke, something clever to lift the mood, brush off the soft filter of the whole thing.
But instead, she simply readjusts her hold on Lexa’s wrists and places her other hand flat against Lexa’s stomach, then looks at her, steady and sure, and says: “Can I touch you?”
No malice. No threat. Just quiet, unmistakable certainty.
As if on cue, the music playing in the background fades down for a song change, leaving a silence behind that swells up and surrounds them, stretches tight like a bow string.
But it’s Clarke, not Lexa, who ultimately breaks first.
“Anytime you want me to stop, just say the word, and I will,” she tells her, the promise hanging weighty and warm in the inches of space between them, and in spite of everything — Lexa hears the truth in it.
This woman could end her in seconds; no amount of softness or light could ever erase that hard, dark fact about Clarke. But Lexa believes her about this.
Clarke opens her mouth to speak, then falters, and for just a moment — something sad and distant filters into her gaze. Something Lexa doesn’t just recognize, but knows.
Something only a person who’s felt how empty a life can get when you’re scraping by on nothing but have-to’s and purpose could ever truly understand.
“I just want to make you feel good, that’s all.”
God.
Lexa believes that, too.
She shouldn’t. She has no cause to. But she does.
So when Clarke looks her right in the eye, and asks if she can touch her again…
Lexa nods.
And lets her.
And when Clarke’s fingers slip down into the wet heat waiting for her — they both cry out.
“Fuck...” Clarke breathes, nearly losing her grip on Lexa’s wrists when she bucks against her.
Lexa’s head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, her eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck...”
It feels...incredible. The first glide of Clarke’s fingers through her steals whatever breath Lexa had left to hold onto, knocks it out of her in a broken moan of sheer relief at the sensation of all that aching, anxious energy built up between her thighs finally easing, spreading out.
But then Clarke’s thumb finds her clit, and it all comes rushing back so fast and so blisteringly hot it feels like sparks igniting just under Lexa’s skin, has a sharper kind of pressure immediately coiling up deep inside her belly and her hips pitching into Clarke’s hand in an involuntary demand for more friction.
“Lexa.”
The soft scratch of Clarke’s voice wrapped around her name sends another flood of heat streaming over Lexa, and in reflex, she tries to bring her arms down; she wants her hands free, wants to touch Clarke so badly — but instead of letting go, Clarke crowds in closer and finds her earlobe, and after that, all Lexa can do is just try to keep her legs from giving out.
Clarke’s thumb makes another pass and Lexa whines and bucks against her again, pushing Clarke back a step, but she still holds tight to Lexa’s wrists. And that...gets Lexa’s attention.
She raises up, her eyes flying open.
But all she finds is Clarke watching her more intently than ever, face mere inches from Lexa’s and her lips parted around a sly, slanted grin, looking as if she wants to practically devour her.
There’s still nothing there for her to panic about, Lexa thinks. But it does have her stomach dropping.
Because the only thing she sees in Clarke’s heavy-eyed stare right now is the promise of a very, very long night stretching out ahead of them.
“God, you feel so good,” Clarke says, and it sounds like a sigh, like this is every bit of the ‘at last’ she’s been waiting for, too, and something about that has warmth fanning out inside Lexa’s chest. She tries hard to ignore it.
This can’t be comfortable for her; Clarke’s hand is down the front of Lexa’s jeans, trapped at an awkward angle between cotton and skin and there’s not all that much room to maneuver, but she’s making it work, anyway.
Holy hell, is she ever. The thought has barely sprouted in Lexa’s head before she has to abandon it, sucking in a breath when Clarke circles back and threads through her again; powerless to prevent herself from rolling her hips into the slick drag of Clarke’s fingers as if they had their very own gravitational pull.
Clarke hums in appreciation deep in her throat, her eyelids nearly fluttering closed.
She watches for only a moment more before something desperate breaks over her expression and then she’s kissing Lexa’s neck, lips pressed warm over the frantic throb of Lexa’s pulse as she flattens her hand and rubs up and down the length of her slowly, so slowly, and suddenly Lexa is dizzy; colors flickering at the edge of her vision.
Her back arches up off the wall and she again pulls against Clarke’s grip, but this time there’s no question if it’s intentional or not — Lexa puts some actual force behind it. And still… Clarke doesn’t let go.
She feels the low drum of Clarke’s laugh against her throat.
“You just can’t stop fighting it, can you?”
Well now Lexa’s pretty sure she’s got something to worry about.
She draws back to look at Clarke.
This close, her pupils are almost wide enough to fall into, and being caught in her sights at this moment feels just as likely to swallow Lexa up if she doesn’t watch her step. But she simply can’t fucking tell what’s going on inside Clarke’s head at all. She just looks...expectant.
And Lexa has no idea what exactly it is she’s waiting for.
“What do...fuck. What do you mean?” Lexa manages to get out, desperately searching Clarke’s face for clues as best as she can with her fingers still continuing their slow exploration.
The only response she gets is Clarke’s palm grinding against her again.
Lexa gasps, her hands clenching into fists.
She can feel the first pins and needles of numbness trying to settle into her fingers, and that’s enough to shake that part of her awake that knows she’s gotten herself into a terrible spot here; knows how to help her get out of it.
Her head still feels sluggish and crowded, but she pushes her way through the haze and squints at Clarke, willing her eyes to focus, then attempts to repeat the question. “Clarke, what do you —“
“You’re still holding back.” There’s a remnant of a grin still tugging at Clarke’s mouth, but Lexa just can’t see anything amusing about this anymore. “You’re so...tense and you’re just fighting all of this so much...”
As she trails off, Clarke shifts her weight and presses into her harder, and Lexa doesn’t miss the way it snugs Clarke’s hipbone against hers in just the right position to give her some extra leverage, making it more difficult for Lexa to get out of this hold. As soon as that realization sinks in, Lexa’s throat goes dry.
Clarke’s gaze falls to Lexa’s lips, and when she looks up again, that deeper, cunning something is back in her eyes, their blue edging toward an almost feral shade that’s more midnight than sky anymore. She holds Lexa’s stare, her grin thinning out as her fingers slow, then still completely.
And before Lexa can claw it back — she emits a faint noise of protest, something hot twisting in her gut when she sees the way it makes Clarke’s expression darken.
“You like being in charge, that’s clear. I respect that. I can work with that,” she continues, and even her voice sounds different now; there’s a density to each hushed word that wasn’t there a minute ago.
She leans in closer and brushes her lips against Lexa’s as she touches her again, her fingertips just barely grazing through soft, slick folds, and when Lexa moans against her mouth — Clarke smirks as if she’s just won some sort of prize.
“I’m just trying to figure out what’s got you so bothered you can’t seem to really show up and enjoy this.”
At that, Lexa’s mind goes almost fractal, her awareness splitting up in two very different directions to take stock of how fast she can get out of this mess despite the fact Clarke’s ruthless, not enough touch is making it harder and harder for her to even breathe.
She hits on weapons first — a gun, a blade, she knows Clarke must have something stashed around this place; she wouldn’t dare leave herself unarmed — and lets the thread run all the way up to direct action: get a hand free, that’s all you need, five pounds of pressure on a windpipe can solve your problem...
But as the thoughts clatter in, Lexa can’t get any of them to steady. She doesn’t want to harm Clarke, point blank. Trouble is, that doesn’t matter. And it definitely won’t matter to Clarke, either.
Somewhere beneath the feedback screech of chaotic noise buzzing through her head, she hears the echo of a familiar voice, the one that’s been in there for years, calling every shot of Lexa’s half-life existence: You must watch your exits...you must watch your exits at all times…
And just like all the other instructions she’s dismissed tonight — Lexa blocks it out. She doesn’t need the reminder.
She already knows she’s in trouble. She lost sight of her exit plan somewhere around that first kiss, hasn’t looked up since. It was never just a question of conflict, falling into Clarke.
Lexa’s been out-and-out compromised.
Clarke waits her out, still smirking, still just...watching. And still not doing anything blatantly obvious enough to help Lexa figure out her next fucking move.
So Lexa starts simple. She attempts to lie again. “I really don’t know what you...oh, fuck...”
The rest of that sentence is lost to a harsh expulsion of breath when Clarke firms up the pressure of her hand, fingers sliding down to tease perilously close to the source of all that unbearable heat and wet between Lexa’s legs. Her head thuds back against the wall once more.
Clarke takes it as an invitation. Within moments, her mouth is branding over Lexa’s neck as her fingers are still leisurely working her over, and it’s all just too much, it’s completely binding her up in tremors and sensation and shaky gasps of air, and Lexa can’t possibly contain her moans anymore, can’t possibly keep herself from letting her hips grind into the touch, and this is bad, this is so bad, this was not how it was supposed to go…
“What’s stopping you?”
Clarke’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but it sounds like steel and smoke in Lexa’s ear, like something that could ruin her just as easily as either. She shudders and twists against Clarke’s grip in wordless answer to her question.
“Oh, it’s not me,” she admonishes, catching on immediately, the muscles in her forearm standing out in stark relief as Lexa struggles to break her hold. Her teeth scrape over Lexa’s pulse point, and it feels like a warning. “You can tell me to stop at any time, remember?”
The sensation of Clarke’s nipples rubbing against Lexa’s chest, the rough drag of her tongue as she sucks at an earlobe, fuck, what she’s doing with her fingers...it’s all got Lexa feeling like some half-mad thing is beating its fists against her ribcage, demanding to be let out.
She’s trying to center herself somehow, get her traitorous responses under control so she can focus, fucking focus, but when everything crashes in and tears a whimper of frustration out of her, she hears Clarke laugh again, low and arch, and that sends Lexa’s blood absolutely roaring.
She moves without thinking which means she moves too fast, suspiciously fast, pushing back at Clarke with her chest to drive some space between them as she lifts up and finally yanks her arms free —
Only to find herself pinned again in a matter of seconds.
Clarke’s still got the advantage, after all.
Lexa hardly has the time to register Clarke’s hand withdrawing from between her legs before she’s got her arms braced on either side of her, caging her in, their bodies pressed together in perfect alignment from breasts, to stomachs, to thighs.
They both freeze, staring at each other. Fuck.
It only takes one look into Clarke’s eyes for Lexa to see it. She moved too quick. And Clarke knows it.
...but Clarke did, too.
Fuck.
Everything fades out — the room, the music, the false faces and omissions they’ve both been hiding behind tonight. For a moment, it’s just Clarke and Lexa standing there, trying to make a decision. Both of them knowing exactly what could happen next, depending on how they play this.
Both of them caught between whatever Clarke chooses to do.
And Lexa chooses to say.
It’s quiet for another few excruciating seconds and then:
“Do you want to stop?” Clarke’s eyes are the darkest they’ve been all night, but there’s no stillness in them anymore. She’s already flying out ahead of the question, preparing.
Lexa shoots a quick glance over Clarke’s shoulder, marking the distance from here to the door.
She should end this right now. It’ll be a fight, but she might still limp away from it. Get out from underneath this horrible fucking assignment once and for all, and —
She doesn’t realize how hard she’s squeezing Clarke’s hips until she hears a sharp gasp, and when Lexa looks back at her, she swears she can’t tell if Clarke wants to punch her, or kiss her.
“Do you want to stop?” she asks again, and there’s a shred of exertion in it now, a breathless, excited quality to Clarke’s voice that — god help her — just makes Lexa get even wetter.
Yes. Yes, you’re wrecking me, you’re wrecking me, and this is wrong, this is all wrong, this is —
“No.”
And the instant it’s out of her mouth, Lexa is just fucking furious.
Because she thought she was ready for Clarke, she thought she’d prepared for anything, but she could never have been ready for this. For what Clarke’s doing to her. For how much she’s shaking at this moment and how much being pinned like this is burning her up in every way, and as they stare each other down and she sees that infuriating smirk start to slide back across Clarke’s face, it just breaks something wide open in Lexa.
She drops the veil and lets everything surface, all that dark she draws from to be what she is, that other self she has to constantly carry around, no matter how heavy it gets or how much it makes her hate herself sometimes. Because she wants Clarke to see it. Wants her to know what she’s been toying with. Wants her to realize what kind of stranglehold Lexa’s had on herself this entire shot-to-hell night, because Lexa can be awfully fucking dangerous, too.
All at once, that look of expectation slips right off Clarke’s face.
Her smirk cranks up to a full, unapologetic grin.
“There you are.”
And then she kisses Lexa hard enough to bruise.
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whywishesarehorses · 3 years
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Limitless - 2021 Pacific Crest Trail Ride Through
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3 days ago, on April 7th, Jess Goodlett started the ride of her dreams - a 2,650 mile ride of the entirety of the Pacific Crest Trail, border to border. She is attempting this ride alone, with two BLM mustangs she has trained herself. Jess is part of the Limitless team, a group of women going on various adventures to prove that the things women can accomplish in pursuit of their dreams are Limitless. This ride is fantastic, and Jess is still sourcing financial support. She has venmo, PayPal, and merch set up if you are interested in helping out!
This is similar in spirit to the idea of Unbranded, and Jess has been in contact with some of that team for advice.
Below I've shared a blog post she wrote discussing the trip and her plans! Under a readmore because it's LONG.
Time to Make this Official.
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Yes, the ride is on.
I am planning a thru-ride on the Pacific Crest Trail for 2021.
My name is Jess Goodlett. I am 25 years old, and I have been a part of Limitless since the beginning.
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📷Photo of the Limitless group from 2017
People seem to say that I am pretty outgoing and adventurous. When I set my mind on a goal, I definitely become very determined to make it happen. Most of my family and friends were not too surprised when I dropped the news that I was going to continue the plan to attempt a thru-ride on the Pacific Crest Trail. This trail has been on my mind for years, and it was actually how Limitless got its start.
My trail name is Raindance (this is how I got my trail name), and these are my BLM Mustangs, Makani (10-year-old bay roan mare) and Malana (7-year-old chestnut mare).
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Also, here is little Zendaya. She is too young to join in on the fun next year, but maybe she will get the chance to tag along in the near future.
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📷Zendaya (Daya for short) is my youngest mustang. I hope that she will be able to join in our an adventure in a few years. She is only 3 right now, so she still has some growing to do.
Here [is a photo] of me from a few years back, when I was able to set foot on a small section of the Pacific Crest Trail. This is the moment that sparked up the passion for the trail again after dealing with nostalgia from the group’s ride on the Colorado Trail in 2017.
I had convinced my dad and uncle to drive a rental car up some narrow mountain roads just to be able to set foot on part of the Pacific Crest Trail near Big Bear Lake. It felt magical getting the chance to hike a very small section of the trail. It was like getting a small taste of a big dream. My time on the trail may have only lasted 30 minutes, but it made me realize that I was still very passionate about this trail even after my experience on the Colorado Trail.
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📷Repping Limitless while dreaming of a thru-ride on the Pacific Crest Trail.
Making Plans
The plans have gone back and forth a few times, but the goal is to set out on trail in the Spring of 2021. For me, there are a lot of emotions tied in with this thu-ride. I am sure there will be a lot of time for reflection on the days leading up to the trail, including each and every day spent out there with my horses.
This is a big trek. Every time I look at the maps, I feel excited. Maybe a little nervous. But I am focused on what is ahead. The days are flying by fast, and I know the day that I head out to California will be here sooner than I can even imagine. A lot of my time right now is being spent with the horses, and any additional free time goes toward researching the trail.
Let’s talk about the trail.
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📷Hike at Kendall Katwalk (part of the PCT) near Seattle, Washington near Snowqualmie Pass
What is the Pacific Crest Trail?
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📷Map of the Pacific Crest Trail
The Pacific Crest Trail is a border to border trail that starts at the Mexican border and travels through California, Oregon, and Washington to the Canadian border. The trail is 2,650 miles long, and it is open to both hikers and equestrians.
There are only a handful of completed equestrian thru-rides that are documented. I am sure there are a few more that have gone unmentioned online, but to be honest, it is much more likely for people to plan a thru-hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. Us thru-riders are very few.
For those who may not know, a thru-hike or thru-ride is a long distance trail that is completed in one go (typically one season) – from one end of the trail to other end. This differs from section hiking where one may just complete small sections of the trail instead of the entire length. Though, what a thru-hike or thru-ride is for one person may differ slightly for another. Sometimes trail conditions during a certain year results in hikers or riders having to alter the original path on the trail to detour things like a fire or trail closure. But this does not take away from the fact that the trail was completed if they reach the end. As they say, hike your own hike, or in this situation – ride your own ride.
On the note of section hiking and riding, the Pacific Crest Trail is also a very popular option for those looking to just complete certain sections. According to the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA), there are a total of 29 sections: 18 sections in California, 6 sections in Oregon, and 5 in Washington.
Elevation ranges greatly throughout the entire trail, along with a vast variety of terrain. The Pacific Crest Trail travels over many mountain passes and through many wilderness areas, national forests and parks.
More information can be found on the PCTA official website.
The Difficulties of Planning a Thru-Ride
Taking on a thru ride comes with a lot of its own types of challenges that hikers will not have to face. Adding in one or two horses on trail adds its own difficulty especially when it comes to the logistics.
As I am researching the trail, I am trying to answer questions such as: How are the water sources in this section? Where can I camp? Are there any grazing restrictions? Any trail concerns?
How will I resupply? Where are some places I may be able to pull the horses off trail to rest them? Who will be my emergency contacts? And the list goes on.
I cannot really plan too far ahead with any set plans, but one of my biggest obstacles will be the snow. Trail conditions can change daily, and I have no idea how the winter is going to look at this moment. Because of the length of the trail, some decisions will not be made until I am on trail. I expect many unplanned things to happen. That is just the way it is, and that is why the focus right now is to study and learn the trail as much as I can.
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📷Photo of Makani from our 2017 ride on the Colorado Trail.
Why the Pacific Crest Trail?
It was 2013 when I first heard about the Pacific Crest Trail. I was actually scrolling through Facebook when I came across a post in an equestrian Facebook group where a few people were talking about long distance trails. The main topic was riding horses from coast to coast ,but then the Pacific Crest Trail was brought up in the discussion. It was the first time I had heard of an established border to border trail. I was very interested and after a few quick searches online, I quickly became obsessed with this trail and the idea of completing a border to border trail horseback.
Though, I knew I was not ready at that time to take on such a big adventure. I kept the idea stored away in my mind. It would sneak back into my thoughts every so often. When it did, I would spend hours researching this trail and looking for any information I could find for equestrians. I told myself that one day… one day, I would ride the Pacific Crest Trail.
It wasn’t until 2015, when I decided to reach out to some people about the trail. I talked with Gillian Larson, who had completed the trail horseback in 2014. She has been a big inspiration to me and to many others. Over the years, she has now completed the Pacific Crest Trail two times horseback. She has also completed the 800 mile Arizona Trail, the 500 mile Colorado Trail, and the 3,100 mile Continental Divide Trail, which is another border to border trail. (Seriously, check out her Instagram. Her photos and videos of the trails are absolutely breathtaking!)
I also spoke with Ben Masters of Unbranded who encouraged me to get out and “just do it.”
This is when I started to think about friends who may be interested in riding with me. Initially, I reached out to Devan Horn about riding a border to border trail. Devan was the first person I ever thought of to even contact about a thru-ride. She is adventurous and possibly the only person I knew at the time who would have been up for such a challenge. I mentioned to her that I was interested specifically in riding the Pacific Crest Trail. We talked briefly about a long distance trek, and we told each other that we would keep in touch.
A few months passed, when Ragan Kelly reached out to me about a long distance trail. She had spoken with Devan who had mentioned my name to her. Ragan knew a few more people interested in a thru-ride, and that is how Limitless began.
Now, the Pacific Crest Trail is a much longer trail than what my friends and I rode in 2017 with the Colorado Trail. But as I mentioned, the Limitless team originally started with the goal of riding a border to border trail together.
Our exact plans were to ride a shorter trail, the Colorado Trail, in 2017. Then, we wanted to ride a border to border trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, in 2020. But since the start of Limitless in 2015, a lot of things have changed.
When we completed the Colorado Trail, we could all agree it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Out of the group, I was honestly one who did not see myself fully committing to another thru-ride anytime soon. My end of the ride on the Colorado Trail was not what I wanted. Also, what they do not warn you much about long distance trails is that life continues on in the “real world.”
Life. Work. School. Other hobbies and interests. New goals and new opportunities.
There was nothing negative that happened within the team. We are all really good friends and forever will be. I love each and every one of them wholeheartedly. Though, we do not get the chance to see each other often, we will forever hold onto the memories that we created together on the Colorado Trail.
So wait… you are doing this trek solo?
Yes, that is correct. Solo. I am riding the trail alone with my two horses.
I will be honest. This was never my plan. Originally, I was unsure of a solo trek. I did not want to ride this trail alone.
When plans for a 2021 trek started, this thru-ride was going to be made for two riders. But plans changed yet again, and I had to make a decision to either hold off riding the trail or to just go after my dreams.
I know the pros and cons of going by myself, and I know the pros and cons with riding with others. I have heard the recommendations. I have heard the concerns. And with that said, I will continue on with planning this trek solo. This will allow me to put all of my focus on my horses’ needs to get them safely through the trail.
Though, I do hope to have a few friends join in here and there for sections.
How long will this trail take?
This trail will approximately take five to six months to complete. The horses and I will average 20-25 miles per day. I am also factoring in plenty of rest days for the horses. We are starting early enough to get through the hotter, dryer Southern California sections, but we will very likely have to skip around and circle back to some parts of the trail because of snow. In order to complete the full trail in one season, we need to be done sometime in September before the snow starts back up in Washington.
So What is Next?
I have a little over half a year left to get ready for this trek. I am looking forward to sharing our progress leading up to the trail and sharing the adventures that are to come.
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astralaffairs · 4 years
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voltaire to versace 01 | thomas jefferson
title: voltaire to versace 01
pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader
words: 7.3k
warnings: implied sex, heavily suggestive content but nothing explicit, hella teasing, dolley madison payne
desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.
WASHINGTON D.C. — HOME to the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, a metro that no longer catches on fire, and most importantly, one Y/N L/N's new university. Coming in as a transfer student in the second semester of her junior year wasn't exactly her ideal scenario, but walking across a stage in a cap and gown sixteen months later certainly was — a degree is a degree.
She'd spent the previous two semesters abroad, traveling throughout Europe and trying to figure out her next step. She hadn't yet paid her junior year tuition, and on one fateful night in northern Italy, she transferred to the University of Westphalia on a whim (that whim being a generous financial aid package and a pre-existing housing offer, but that was neither here nor there). It'd been a jarring few months, spending the Christmas season packing up her entire life to not only leave Europe — a process that came with many heartbroken nights of hotboxing a friend's apartment and mourning the loss of her societal nap times — but also finally abandoning her hometown in favor of moving to the east coast.
The change may have left a lump in her throat, but it lifted a weight from her shoulders; she felt light on her feet despite the heavy D.C. snow. Much of the credit for that had to fall to her dearest Dolley Payne, the light of her life, the wind beneath her wings, the old best friend who'd found herself a dirt-cheap apartment just outside of campus and offered that Y/N come be her roommate. How could she resist a proposal like that?
However, that was also how she found herself a drink and a half deep and putting back on her boots at nine o'clock the night before classes started.
"Are you sure going out right before the first day back is a good idea?" Though Y/N was eyeing Dolley skeptically, she just rolled her eyes, pulling on her coat and scarf.
"Relax, it's not like we're going clubbing," she assured her, but when Y/N raised a dubious eyebrow, she continued, "Come on! You literally moved in last night. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't take you out at least once before everything's back in college mode?"
Dolley nudged Y/N playfully as she pulled on her coat, and the latter sighed. "I'm a new student here, Doll. I don't think showing up hungover to my first class is a particularly good look."
"You don't even have class until 3 PM!" she argued, and though she pursed her lips, Y/N had to admit Dolley had a point. "Relax, I won't even get you drunk. I just need you to come see the cute little speakeasy on fourth street. It's my favorite spot."
"'Speakeasy'?" Y/N questioned, buttoning up the front of her coat, and Dolley nodded enthusiastically.
"Mhm. You've gotta know somebody to know about it," she said. "It's a pretty open secret in this neighborhood, but it's one of the only bars that isn't always crowded."
"It's a Sunday night; how many people are really going out drinking?"
Dolley gave her a tired glance. "You'd be surprised."
———————
AND WHEN THEY stumbled upon the bar not twenty minutes later, surprised she was.
"This is really the place?" Y/N was looking around skeptically, struggling to believe that the dirty, dank alley she'd been led into was was the entrance to Dolley's favorite spot in town. Had Dolley decided to murder her now that her name was on the lease, if only for the insurance payout? Had she been dealing with the mafia? Maybe she'd changed more in the past year or so than Y/N thought.
"Do I ever steer you wrong?" Dolley asked, eliciting a heavy sigh from the other woman.
"Too often to try and count."
"So then it's long overdue that I get it right." She finally stopped in front of a nondescript, weathered metal door in the back of a mildly battered building, and Y/N all but skidded to a halt, having been expecting to keep walking a while longer. She was hesitant to follow when the door Dolley opened revealed a set of stairs going up, but taking a step forward revealed the warm light filtering down toward them, carrying alongside it traces of jazz music and animated chatter. "See? I know what I'm talking about sometimes."
"Sometimes," Y/N repeated, unconvinced.
When they emerged just moments later, Y/N decided fairly quickly that she liked it. It was quaint, old-fashioned, but a warm, charming space.
"So?" Dolley asked, and though she gave a noncommital shrug, Y/N was smiling. "Let's get a drink or two in you and maybe you'll give it the credit it deserves." And maybe, just maybe, Dolley had hit the mark once again.
Two drinks and an hour later, the both of them were seated at the bar, giggling and slumped over one another but far from drunk. As it turned out, a year apart left them with a surprising amount to talk about, from Y/N's hostel horror stories to Dolley's nightmare of a former roommate -- both of which left them endlessly grateful that they were going to be living together from then on. Their coats were draped over the backs of their seats, and the energy spilling over from their spirited conversation was born more of a sugar high than of any real intoxication -- both their drinks were heavy with fruit juice and mixers, if only for the sake of sobriety.
"...but that was when the cops showed up."
Y/N's eyes widened. Dolley had only finished detailing about a semester and a half of her freshman year, and she was still at least fifteen minutes into sharing her first run-in with UW's notorious midterm rager. "You can't just stop the story there!"
"But there's no more to tell! No one stuck around to get arrested. We were on the steps of the library, for heaven's sake."
"So you just left? How'd you get away?"
"Oh," Dolley giggled, a hand resting on Y/N’s knee as she leaned toward her in her short fit of laughter. "Well, I just ran for it, and very nearly got myself hopelessly lost. A grad student ended up letting me hide out in the library until it all cleared up."
"A grad student, huh?" Y/N wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "And you spent the whole night locked in there with them?"
"Oh, you know it's not like that! I was nineteen, don't you start making drama where there isn't any."
"But Doll, you know that's my specialty," Y/N whined, and Dolley laughed. "Anyway, were they cute, though?"
"All I'll say is that if I were trapped in a library with them tomorrow, I'd feel lucky to be on birth control."
Dolley's sly grin made Y/N gasp teasingly, leaning back to eye the other woman as though she'd just instigated a scandal. "Dolley Payne! I am ashamed at your lack of self restraint."
"You wouldn't be if you were on the receiving end of it."
"You offering?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink.
"I mean, my roommate just moved out, so there's no one at my apartment right now," Dolley said mildly, giving a slight shrug. "Any chance you wanna spend the night?"
When she winked, Y/N couldn't help but laugh outright. "Mm, I'll definitely consider it," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice, and despite her dry tone, Dolley once again burst into a fit of giggles, her hysterics more contagious than Y/N would've liked to admit. Perhaps her roommate couldn't hold her alcohol quite as well as as she thought.
Dolley leaned back toward the bar for a refill, and Y/N's eyes began to wander in her absence. The room was packed with leather furniture, tufted couches and armchairs; it had a fireplace along one wall and a pool table in the corner at which two men seemed to be escalating quite a heated argument. The sight amused her, if only in the least, but she turned away with her small smile, taking another sip of her drink. That was when her gaze landed on the man directly to her left where she sat facing Dolley, his arm draped over the back of the couch and his stare fixed on her friend. Y/N raised an eyebrow.
"Hey, don't look now, but the hottie at your three o'clock is totally checking you out."
"'Three o'clock'?" Dolley repeated, brow furrowed, "Y/N, it's past ten, what are you--"
"Military directions, Doll; just--" Y/N cut herself off with a scowl, glancing back to her side. "Don't be too obvious about it. He's directly to your right." When Dolley's head whipped around toward the man, subtlety be damned, Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. However, the other woman's eyes widening gave her pause. "What, d'you know him, or something?"
With the way Dolley was biting her lip and fiddling with the rim of her glass, it was strikingly obvious that there was more to the story. "...Sort of," she replied vaguely.
"Which means what, exactly?" Despite Y/N's newly uncovered intrigue, Dolley's eyes didn't leave the man in question, and her best friend scowled. "Spill. Now."
"That's James," she finally answered, wearing a wide grin. "He's a friend."
"I need details here!" Y/N demanded. "Based on how he's looking at you, I'm not sure I buy that he's just 'a friend.'"
"He's a PhD candidate. We've crossed paths in the school of economics a couple of times, and he's a big sweetheart. But you didn't hear that last part from me." Y/N raised an eyebrow at her words, and Dolley continued, "And I might've slept with him, like, once or twice."
"How is that the last thing you think to mention? You've been holding out on me," Y/N said, swatting at Dolley's shoulder, but she just shrugged. "So are you gonna go over there and talk to him, or what?"
"Oh, no, I can't leave you alone here!" she protested. "This is our night to celebrate your finally moving here. I wouldn't abandon you like that."
"I can take care of myself; I promise." Y/N gave her a pointed look before nodding back toward James. "Besides, you're stuck with me all the time now. Don't pass up something like him just to spare your conscience. C'mon."
Dolley hesitated, stealing another glance to her right, and when James met her gaze, giving her a small smile, Y/N could see her face light up. "Are you sure?" Despite Dolley's hesitance, her eyes were shining, and Y/N nodded.
"Go. Have fun. Live a little."
"I'll be back for you in a bit, dear." Dolley squeezed Y/N's shoulder affectionately as she stood up, sending her a grateful look before starting off to her right.
Y/N turned back to the bar with a chuckle, finishing off her drink and asking the bartender for a glass of water, musing about what her first few days at the university would look like, her gaze absent as she looked up at the shelves of alcohol across from her. She was still sad to have left her semester of travel behind, but she'd long since decided to embrace the change this year had already begun to bring. She was living at the nation's capitol, paying next to no tuition at a prestigious university. New beginnings were bittersweet, but she was excited for her path forward.
Her thoughts had begun to gravitate toward the semester of actual classes she had before her (because apparently, to get a degree, she had to "get good grades") when she was pulled back to the room before her, the bartender setting a martini down in front of her. It looked tempting, but-- "I'm sorry; I think there's been a mistake?"
Her words seemed to catch the bartender by surprise as he stopped himself in his tracks, returned to where she was sitting. "What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"
"No problem at all, but I think this drink is someone else's," she said, pushing it back toward him with a polite smile. "I've just been having water."
"Actually, it was sent by the gentleman at the end of the bar." Her eyebrows shot up, and when she glanced to her right, she caught the gaze of a well-dressed man whose eyes were already trained on her, wearing a barely-there smile, an expectant eyebrow raised. She hadn't realized she was staring, gaze wandering from the v-neck of his sweater to where it was pulled taut around his dark forearms, until the bartender cleared his throat, and she turned back to him with a start. The man several seats over was now grinning outright, in her opinion overly self-pleased, and she deigned not to acknowledge how the way he was looking at her had her heart pounding against her ribcage. "Take it or leave it, but it's no mistake."
She bit her lip, not daring to turn to her right once more; she could already feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, creeping up her neck. "Would you please send it back to him?" She asked in a small voice. "Tell him that if he wants to talk to me, he can come here and do it himself."
To her relief, he obliged her with a surprised laugh, continuing off with the glass she'd been offered, and she thanked him quietly as he went on his way. It couldn't have been a minute later when a low voice from behind Y/N made her jump.
"Y'know, when I buy women drinks, I don't usually get 'em returned to me with stipulations."
The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she didn't look at him until he came around to stand beside her. "Then maybe you've been buying drinks for the wrong women."
"It's like that, huh?" His soft huff made her smile. "Maybe I bought a drink for the wrong woman just now."
Y/N turned to him with her brow furrowed, already opening her mouth to rebuke him, but when she saw his teasing smile, she stopped herself. "You still decided to come over, didn't you?"
"So, what, you're just too irresistible?" He rose an eyebrow, and she shrugged.
"You said it, not me."
He laughed, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair beside her, and she pursed her lips as she eyed the man. He had a full head of dark, thick curls, and his tight sweater bulged at his biceps, drawing her distracted gaze away from his winning smile. "Mind if I join you, then?"
She was leaning onto the bar, resting on her forearms as she considered him, lips pursed. "I suppose some company couldn't hurt."
"Glad to hear it." Y/N was struggling to pull her eyes away from the wide grin he wore, but as he took a seat beside her, he didn't seem to mind. "So what's a woman like you doin' drinkin' alone on a Sunday?"
"Good question," she started, lips pursed as she considered him -- because really, what was she doing? Playing ghost wingwoman for Dolley? Reminiscing on her shitty flings in Europe? Trying to sober up from the sugar content of her sickeningly sweet cocktails so she didn't throw up from something other than alcohol? "Maybe I've just been waiting for someone to finally approach me."
Her mischievous smile made his eyebrows shoot up, surprised but more than pleasantly so. "'S that right?" The noncommittal tilt of her head gave him little to go on. "Sorry to say it, but if you're lookin' to meet people, this isn't the first place I'd recommend, sweetheart."
"It seems to be working for me so far," she pointed out, raising a smug eyebrow, and the man laughed, eyes shining. "Then again, I don't even know your name. Have we really even formally met?"
"You make an excellent point," he conceded, and when Y/N took another sip of her water, his eyes flickering down to her mouth was the furthest thing from subtle. "But what's the intrigue of a mysterious stranger approachin' you at a bar if I just tell you my name, hm?"
"What, are you going to make me beg for it?" The undertone of her own words certainly wasn't lost on Y/N, not as her voice dropped to a murmur, the corners of her lips curling up into a mischievous smile. He didn't seem thrown off, either; his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, a fire blazing behind them that Y/N could've sworn hadn't been there even a minute before.
"Don't you start givin' me ideas," he said quietly, and she could feel her breath catch, her stomach turn, but she paid it little mind, "unless that's what you're really lookin' for."
"I don't think I know what you're implying." The innocent smile Y/N had plastered on made him raise an amused brow, despite that her voice sounded as though she'd been winded. "But it does seem awfully mean to make such a fuss over something so simple. I have to say, I almost feel like I'm being exploited."
"Hey, I came all the way over here. 'S your turn to put in some leg work now." When he bumped his elbow into hers, she hadn't expected to laugh at the brief, teasing action, but whether it was hormones or her excessive consumption of glucose, something about that night had her feeling just a bit lighter than usual.
"Alright, alright," she finally caved, dropping the coy facade. "What can I ever do to make up for the wasted martini and two meters of walking you had to overcome?"
"You can tell me where you're from, for starters." Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow at the question, folding her arms, but he only shrugged. "What? Haven't seen you around here before; I know I'd remember if I had." She rolled her eyes when he winked but didn't cut him off. "So what's your deal, then? In town visitin' a friend? Here for some kinda election event?"
"I just moved here, actually. I'm new to the neighborhood."
"So you're livin' around here?"
"So you're already trying to stalk me?"
He laughed at her accusatory stare, her lips pursed. "Nah, 'm just from this part of town," he said, but hesitated a moment to continue as he eyed her curiously. "Can you blame me for takin' interest when I hear a pretty face like yours is gonna be out 'n' about here more often?"
"Excuse you, I'm much more than just a pretty face," Y/N said defensively, but the man just shrugged.
"Well, since you're refusin' to tell me anythin' about yourself, how am I supposed to know that?" The look in his eyes was challenging, and she let out an amused huff, trying to bury how endeared she was in a facade of exasperation.
"Alright, smart guy; you win this one," she said with a scowl, but her lips quirked as she continued, "I just settled into an apartment building a block or two over. Now have I earned your name?"
"I'm Thomas," he supplied.
"Y/N."
"Y/N," he repeated quietly, the look in his eyes softening. "So, where'd you move here from?"
"A little bit of everywhere," she responded vaguely, taking another sip of her drink, and Thomas cocked a brow.
"Care to explain?"
"I've been abroad," Y/N laughed, enjoying his look of bemusement. "I'm from Ohio, originally, but I went to Chicago for school, and I've spent the past year or so in Europe."
He nodded, pausing a moment at her words. "Really? Ohio?"
"I spent a year halfway across the world, and that's what you choose to focus on?" Her words were almost indignant, and the disbelief in her narrowed eyes made him laugh.
"'M sorry, I just..." He trailed off, his eyes wandering down her figure, and she gave him a skeptical glance, turned back to her drink. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a Midwesterner."
"There's a reason I ran for the hills the first chance I got." She snorted, taking a sip of her seltzer water as she shook her head. Her gaze was absent, drifting across the wall behind the bar, but before Thomas could question it, she'd turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "So what about you? What's your origin story? Texas? Alabama?"
"Virginia, born and raised," he answered easily, clear pride in it laced through his voice, but he glanced at her suspiciously a moment later. "I really strike you as bein' from Alabama?"
"Listen, the southern accent was all I had to go off of. I did my best," Y/N defended, trying and failing to keep a laugh out of her tone, and he scoffed.
"Sure you did, sweetheart." The sarcastic lilt to his voice came alongside a broad grin, and had his voice not been so playful, she may have written him off right there and then. As it was, though, she couldn't even bring herself to scowl at the words. Instead, she held his warm stare, trying not to concentrate on the fact that she could feel his body heat permeating his sweater just inches to her left, trying to reign in her spiking pulse. Being beyond hyper-aware of just how close Thomas was, though, it shouldn't have startled Y/N when he knocked his knee into hers. When her eyes refocused, having been lost in thought, she could see in his eyes the pleasure he was taking in how skittish he'd made her.
"Anyway, now that I'm not some cryptic intruder," he started -- he didn't seem to notice that Y/N's focus was still fixed on subduing the heat rising in her neck, "can I buy you that drink?"
—————————
THUS BEGAN THE rest of their night. It was nearly eleven when Dolley texted her from the other side of the room, a frantic plea for forgiveness if she went home with James. (She swore, she hadn't meant to leave Y/N alone on their first night out together -- besides, Y/N seemed to have found a nightcap of her own. Forget a tall drink of water; the stranger in burgundy was a daiquiri and a half -- Dolley's words, not mine.)
And really, Y/N didn't mind. She was more than willing to walk home alone if it meant a night of just a little adventure. She ended up staying at the bar with Thomas until the owner nearly had to throw them out -- and Y/N couldn't blame them. Neither of them had had anything to drink in over an hour, so she supposed that as the clock neared midnight, they really weren't making much of a dent in the profit margin.
But it wasn't her fault, really. No one told her when she'd left her apartment that evening that, for once in her life, the person sending her a drink wouldn't be an incel with a god complex. Quite frankly, not only was that bullet dodged, but Thomas quickly proved to be more than a few inches above the low, low bar she'd set.
The night grew colder outside the windows, but the pair of them were preoccupied, busy inching closer, her hand falling upon his arm when she laughed, his legs brushing against hers as he acted as though he hadn't even noticed. They could both tell her demure front was just for show; her skin burned under his touch, layers of fabric be damned, and his gaze was electric. She'd long since thrown caution to the wind, anyway. Where the night was headed was clear only minutes after he'd sat down beside her; the air between them was charged. Sure, she'd only met him a couple hours prior, but any sort of a spark could certainly make a fire to last at least one night -- and last it did.
However, she didn't expect to have to be the one to push it that far. Brazenness seemed to be Thomas's mode of operation, so she was almost surprised when their being herded out onto the street below didn't immediately end in his hands on her skin, her body pulled flush against him. When they reached the musty alleyway, she was struggling to believe the firebrand of a man who'd bought her a drink hours before had suddenly become so mild in the night air.
But he'd bought her a drink. The ball was in her court.
"You cold, sweetheart?" Y/N glanced back over her shoulder, shivering, to see Thomas watching her with concern in his eyes. To be candid, she was fine -- winter in D.C. had nothing on the frigid bite of the air in Finland -- but she couldn't pretend how worried he looked wasn't part of what was tempting her to deal with the devil, heavy shadows clinging to his brow.
"I'm alright," she replied quietly, offering him a reassuring smile, but his creased brow didn't part.
"You sure? That coat doesn't look all that heavy."
"Really. I'm okay," she said with a light laugh, though she didn't think how she'd begun sniffling as her nose started to run was helping her case all that much. "I have a short walk home; it's no biggie."
That, however, made his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "You're walkin' home? Y/N, I dunno how safe that is."
"It's hardly snowing."
"I mean for you to be alone in the city in the middle of the night," he said, pausing as he reached where she stood just before the opening of the alleyway. "Can I call you an Uber?"
She turned her head to find him right by her side, perhaps an inch between the pair, his warm breath tickling her neck as he looked down at her. Her smile was hesitant. "I'm not letting you burn up some fossil fuels for a two block car ride. I can take care of myself."
"How 'bout if I walk you home?" he offered, and she let out a light sigh. "C'mon, leavin' you here alone in the middle of the night doesn't sit right with me. If somethin' happened..."
Though he trailed off, the implication in his words was obvious, and Y/N raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying that, because a stranger might follow me home, I should let a different stranger follow me home to prevent it?"
When she put it like that, Thomas couldn't help his quiet laugh at the irony of the situation. "Hey, I thought we'd agreed I'm not a stranger anymore," he protested, but Y/N looked him up and down skeptically.
"What, you paid for my drinks and called me pretty, and suddenly we're besties?"
"Now, we both know 'besties' wasn't exactly what I was goin' for," he said matter-of-factly, his smile sharp but playful, and despite how tilted the whole situation felt, she couldn't hold back her chuckle. She rolled her eyes, stuffed her hands in her pockets as she turned back to the well-lit sidewalk before them, the January snow crunching under her boots, but when she met his eyes, Thomas's expression had softened. He rose an inquiring eyebrow, and finally, she sighed.
"Yeah, you walking me home would be nice."
A grin split his light demeanor. "Alright. Lead the way, sweetheart."
"Follow me."
They took a right out of the alleyway, and as traffic continued to roar by beside them, speeding through the night, as the low buzz of the antiquated streetlights permeated the air, they fell into a comfortable silence, never falling out of step with one another. Snow was flecked across both their coats, and shadows were cast across their features, cycling back with each passing lamp.
Y/N hadn't been exaggerating when she deemed it a short walk home; it couldn't have been more than five minutes before they found themselves nearing the front steps of her building, and she looked up at him.
"Hey, thanks for tonight," she said, voice timid, and he turned to her with a wide smile.
"'S been my pleasure," he replied. "Sorry for keepin' you out so long; your roommate must be startin' to wonder."
When Y/N laughed lightly, Thomas raised an eyebrow, apparently not following whatever she'd taken away from his words. "I have a feeling she's a little too preoccupied to be worrying about me right now," she said dryly. She'd been back in town for not 48 hours, and Dolley was already going out on her own -- as supportive as Y/N was, Dolley had a habit of getting too attached too quickly. She was praying James wouldn't end up another regrettable hookup.
However, Thomas couldn't exactly hear her thoughts, something Y/N hadn't considered before tightly grabbing ahold of the rope to her mental tangent -- it was his fault, really. She couldn't be blamed for his lack of talent in mind-reading. But as he continued to watch her expectantly, as she pulled herself back to the present, she finally said, "She's spending the night with someone else tonight. Make of that what you will."
He shook his head in amusement. "Good for her."
"I'm sure her host thinks so."
A moment passed in quiet under the frigid night sky, Y/N hesitant to act but Thomas hesitant to leave. He was the one to break it.
"It was good to meet you, Y/N," he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows. Her window of opportunity was dwindling. "Hope I'll see you--"
"D'you want to come upstairs?" She hadn't meant to cut him off, but the words were spilling from her tongue before she could lose her nerve. Her heart was pounding; she wasn't fond of having to make the risky move, and the tentativeness in his raised eyebrows wasn't helping.
"Seriously?" Oh, God. Was it really such a ridiculous idea that he was struggling to believe she was asking? "I..." Thomas let out a heavy sigh when he trailed off before pursing his lips, tongue in cheek and looking everywhere but at her. "'S temptin', but... I can't do that to you."
Y/N only stared at him in disbelief. "What?"
"You've been drinkin' all night." His tone left little room for negotiation, but she was on the edge of taking offense. "I know you don’t seem drunk, but if your judgment isn't all the way there, it's not happenin'. G'night, sweetheart."
She was still standing in stunned silence when he turned to walk back the way he came, but when he started retreating in her field of vision, she called after him, "Hang on." To her relief, he looked back at her quizzically, footsteps stalling on the snow-coated sidewalk, and she took a step toward him. "I've been drinking seltzer water and fruit juice all night, Thomas," she said, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "So if you're not interested, you don't need to make excuses, but I'm asking you while perfectly sober."
Her stomach seemed to be trying to turn itself inside-out as she waited anxiously for him to respond; the calculated way he looked her over only exacerbated the feeling. "Have you had anything to drink tonight?"
"Next to nothing." The pause between them was heavy, both their minds racing but far from in consensus. "Your move, Thomas."
Not three seconds passed before he was striding toward her decisively, and she inhaled sharply when his arm snaked around her waist, his other hand cupping her cheek, thumb sweeping over the expanse of skin. She was flush against his chest, too surprised to even react, her hands resting at his upper chest, and her eyes widened when she felt his cheekbone brush against the crown of her head. He tilted his head down to look at her, his lips hardly a hair away from the top of her ear. She could feel his breath down her neck, setting her nerves alight. "Can I kiss you?"
Her answer was immediate. "Please."
And before she had time to think, his lips were on hers; he was tangling a hand into her hair. He wasted no time in starting to walk her back toward her building, steadying her with a firm grip on her waist as she stumbled backward.
She yelped when her heel hit the bottom step up to her building's door, and she broke the kiss, then clinging to his shoulders in an effort not to fall, struggling to hold her weight on her legs as she lifted one foot onto the first step. Both their chests were heaving, and Thomas wore a wry grin.
"I've been wantin' to do that since I sent you that martini," he murmured, dipping down to kiss along her jawline, and Y/N let out a breathy chuckle.
"So you had to wait, what, three hours?" she retorted, tone dry. "Oh, how you've suffered."
"Had to wait three hours too long," he corrected her, and before she could jab back at him, his mouth again found hers. She moaned against him when he bit down lightly on her bottom lip, responding in kind by rolling her tongue teasingly against his. It was too much and yet still, not enough. His hands were all over her; she couldn't focus on how his body felt pressed into hers as the sensation quickly overwhelmed her, and when his grip on her hip tightened, she gasped into his mouth.
"Thomas, wait, I--" She was cut off before she could get the thought out. "Thom-- Mmh--!" He kissed her ardently, reveling in her response to his touch every bit as much as she was reveling in the feeling of it. Regardless, she pulled back, looking him in the eye, and held him off with a hand on his chest. "Let's go in. I'd rather be somewhere a lot warmer and a little more..." --she traced a finger down the lapel of his designer coat with a sly smile, finally using it to pull him closer-- "...private."
"Don't have to tell me twice." He split from her, tugging her alongside him and up the stairs by her hand, and her eyes widened at his frantic movements. She didn't even flinch at first, stunned by how abrupt the action had been, but when he glanced back over his shoulder at her, her fingers already linked between his, she drew in a shuddering breath.
"Let's go."
From there, their night was a blur of heavy jeans and chunky sweaters being scattered across Y/N's bedroom, their coats discarded and long forgotten not three feet past her apartment door. Whatever gods were above seemed to have smiled on her; she and Dolley both striking it lucky on the same night felt too perfect for it to be coincidental, especially as Y/N's bedroom door slammed loudly behind them, her body pinned against its interior moments later.
Every impatient touch was ablaze, brimming with fireworks and crave as her eager hands found their way up his shirt, his curls bouncing when he pulled it over his head.
It was all reckless, every second of it, but as Y/N saw it, what was the worst that could happen? The occasional uncomfortable run-in with Thomas if they passed on the street? That was beyond worth her evening of adrenaline. She gasped when he pushed her back onto her mattress, climbing on immediately after her.
"Thomas," she moaned, threading her fingers into his curls as his lips worked their way down her neck.
"What is it, sweetheart? Hm?"
She squealed when he nipped at her sensitive skin, nails digging into his upper back, but her tense muscles relaxed as he began sucking a hickey into the same spot a moment later. "I need you. Please."
She could feel his smile against her skin, the vibrations of his light chuckle. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He pulled back as the pads of his fingers dug into her hips, and she inhaled sharply. His eyes were shining, predatory and smug. "How could I say no?"
——————
COME THE NEXT morning -- or, really, the next afternoon -- Y/N was grateful to have escaped without a hangover, completely absent a headache, the light of day not even a bother as it glared past her curtains. However, the minute she tried to sit up, she realized that she certainly had a backache, and she wasn't entirely convinced her legs would be willing to work when she tried to stand.
Realization struck her a moment later; she winced as she sat bolt upright, ignoring the ache in her shoulders when she lunged for her phone. Oh, shit.
"Thomas," she hissed, shoving his snoring body through her comforter. "Thomas, wake up."
He sniffed as he shifted in her bed, trying to speak through his heavy yawn. "What's goin' on?"
"What's going on is that it's almost two o'clock." Her scowl was deep-set as she shoved the covers off of herself, paying him little mind as she began to root through her drawers for something to wear. "And you need to go. I have somewhere to be."
It hadn't occurred to her to be self-conscious as she paced through her room, but when she turned back to see Thomas's lazy stare following her still-naked body, she could feel her cheeks flare. "Get dressed."
"Alright, alright," he said, sleep still heavy in his voice as he reached for his phone where he'd discarded it on his long-abandoned jeans. She didn't see it, busy pulling on underwear and yanking on a hoodie over her the heavily-marked skin of her chest. "Fuck. I'm gonna be late."
She rolled her eyes when his own panic was finally what kicked him into gear, as he began shoving his legs back into his pants in a frenzy. "Jesus, do I need to get home," he muttered to himself, unsteadily typing something into his phone with one hand as he struggled to buckle his belt with the other. "Sorry for crashin', I--"
"It's fine; it was late as all hell," Y/N cut him off, too preoccupied to concern herself with what'd happened the night prior. She was clinging to the desperate hope that her laptop might not be dead as she dug through he drawers for its charger. "When you find all your stuff, you can just go."
"Alright. I..." He glanced to her hesitantly, pausing in his quest to put himself back together before he could flee with his dignity and whatever plans he had for that afternoon still intact. She glanced at him inquisitively in his silence. "I'll see you around, Y/N."
She offered him a small smile before he returned to trying to dig up his sweater, completely oblivious to where he could've possibly tossed it. "Let's hope so."
Those were all the words exchanged before she ducked into her bathroom, began running the shower, and wiped her smeared mascara from where it'd been running down her cheeks. Thomas left with no more pomp or circumstance.
She hardly had time to fix her appearance after she showered, doing the bare minimum before she rushed back to check on the charge her laptop had left. 74% would be enough to make it through her first lecture, right? She didn't waste a second on dwelling.
Her first class was, to her dismay, halfway across campus from her apartment. She hardly slipped into the lecture hall in time, the clock striking 2:59 PM as she took a seat toward the back, quietly greeting the person in the seat beside her as they glanced up from their phone. Maybe her rolling up less than sixty seconds before the lecture began wasn't exactly the best first impression for her, coming in as a 2nd semester junior at a new college, but she'd managed to beat Professor Jefferson, so it appeared she was safe.
It was 3:03 when he showed up; Y/N had just finished convincing the fan on her laptop to stop shrieking, had found a pen nestled into the deepest depths of her bag. She was scrolling absentmindedly through Twitter when the back doors of the lecture hall were thrown open one final time. She didn't look up at first, but his voice made her eyes widen.
"Afternoon, everybody. Hope you've all been doin' well through the long winter." His voice was upbeat as he padded down the carpeted steps toward the desk at the front of the room.
Y/N was fairly sure she was going to be sick, and unfortunately, she had no hangover to chalk it up to. Disbelief permeated her every shaky breath, the feeling trounced only by dread. Her throat had gone dry.
"For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Professor Jefferson. I started in the political science department this last fall," he said as he reached the floor, loud voice projected through every corner of the hall, tone joking when he added, "And for anyone who's eventually gonna ask, I promise 'm well aware of how young I am."
When he turned around, Y/N's worst fears were realized -- though, she was certainly surprised at how put-together he looked, having left her apartment just one short hour earlier.
"I've spent the past few years workin' in government, but I'm glad to be back in classrooms, even if I'm on the other side of 'em." He set his briefcase down on his desk, looking the room over as he withdrew his papers, opened his laptop. Y/N was sinking progressively further and further down in her chair. "I trust you've all done the assigned readin'?"
He was met with a scattered chorus of yeses and halfhearted noises of affirmation, and he chuckled. "Well, 'm glad to hear you enjoyed 'em so much."
She wasn't sure whether his words being met with soft laughs dispersed throughout the room was because of the sarcasm sitting heavy in his words, or instead because of how contagious his bright grin was.
"Alright, alright, the enthusiasm'll get there. Feel free to pull up the syllabus on whatever you've got with you, but it'll be projected up here as we go through it." The class sounded slightly more awake by then, and while it surely wasn't everyone, Y/N felt confident enough that a decent fraction of the noise was her classmates murmuring with disbelief about how this was their professor, no doubt interspersed with jokes about suddenly taking an intimate interest in political philosophy, capped off with a wink.
But she was no one to judge. Despite being unsure whether her heart was trying to beat its way through her ribcage or if it'd altogether stopped, when Thomas leaned against the front of the desk, arms folded and ankles crossed, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events of the past sixteen hours -- were she given a chance to turn back time, it was a mistake she'd readily make again.
"I'll take any questions as we go on through it," he continued, but that time, as he scanned the crowd, Y/N's luck seemed to have run out. However, though she'd been given the luxury of a gradual realisation, the inevitable punch in the gut of recognition hit him all at once. His eyes locked onto hers, immediately going wide, his expression dropping to one of alarm, and she held his gaze warily.
His silence was a fraction of a second too long, long enough to raise questions, before his self-awareness kicked in, and he picked his jaw up off the floor. The smile he plastered on was riddled with unease. "Hope everything in the course description was clear. I have no doubt this'll be an... excitin' semester."
He played off his shock easily, falling back into his upbeat persona, but as he went on, Y/N felt lucky she'd already read the syllabus — she didn't process a single word out of his mouth. The class was three hours long, and only five minutes into the first day, she’d apparently already slept with her professor.
If this was the semester she had ahead of her, then, well... 'exciting' was certainly a word for it.
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mandoalorian · 3 years
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What the Pedro boys are like at college
This is my first time doing one of these so please be nice! Yep, TUWOMT isn’t out yet but I have read the script and I have written for Javi Gutierrez here. If you don’t want spoilers, maybe don’t read his scenario. I’ve made it so Javi’s is the last one so you can skip over it easily. I write for all the main Pedro characters! These include:
·         Din Djarin – The Mandalorian
·         Javier Pena – Narcos
·         Frankie Morales – Triple Frontier
·         Maxwell Lord – Wonder Woman 1984
·         Jack Daniels: Kingsman: The Golden Circle
·         Oberyn Martell: Game of Thrones
·         Dave York: The Equalizer 2
·         Pero Tovar – The Great Wall
·         Ezra Prospect – Prospect
·         Marcus Pike – The Mentalist
·         Max Phillips – Bloodsucking Bastards
·         Dio – NYPD Blue
·         Javi Gutierrez – The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent
·         I DO NOT WRITE FOR PEDRO PASCAL.
Please please request a ‘Pedro boy’ scenario HERE. You can also request for me to write a one shot HERE.
Masterlist
Enjoy!
 ***
Din Djarin: Does college exist in Star Wars? I’m not sure… but if we take a moment to imagine Din being schooled by the Mandalorian Creed. He learns the history of Mandalore, about the great leaders such as Satine Kryze. He learns the importance of ‘the way’ and studies the art of weaponary, learning how to use guns, detonators, vambrace, and whistling birds. He learns about the legacy of the darksaber and, as we already know, he trains with the Rising Phoenix. I imagine Din likes to keep himself to himself and has been a loner his whole life. He places his trust in his fellow Mandalorian’s but they are not his friends. They are simply just his allies. Being schooled in the Mandalorian Creed would be physically exhausting but it’s something Din can manage. After all, he doesn’t have a choice. This is the way.
Javier Pena: We know Javi always wanted to leave Texas, and I think college was the perfect time for him to venture out. He didn’t choose a school with a pristine academic reputation, but instead, he picked a school that had the best renowned night life so he could go out and enjoy drinking and partying. Javi wasn’t a complete wild card. He was the kid who seemed to be good at almost everything. He was able to graduate top of his class with honours in Criminal Law.
Frankie Morales: When Frankie was younger, he loved helping his dad work on the family car and he even scored a part-time job at a garage when he finished high school. At high school, he never really found interest in the core subjects like English, math, science, history… and so when it was time for college, he wanted to develop on his hobby. Frankie chose to major in engineering, with a minor in transportation and logistics. This was perfect for him. In his second year, he went from looking at cars and motorcycles, to different forms of aircraft. He remembers one morning, he sat in the pilot seat of a helicopter after the fuel compressor had went bust and he had never felt more at home. On a whim, he dropped out of college and was lucky enough to get a place in piloting school. Frankie stuck by Santiago throughout college, but while Santi went out and partied, Frankie would slump down in his chair, drink a few beers, and be ready to head back to his dorm at 9pm. He had a few flings in college but had no interest in pursuing an actual relationship. It was important to him that he used his time in college to discover what he really wanted to do with his life.
Maxwell Lord: He probably went to Cornell, or Harvard. Maxwell could’ve gotten in from his family name alone, and if he wasn’t the most academically bright, no doubt his mother would’ve paid him into college, but Maxwell had always been smart. He was home schooled his whole life and so college was a big change for him. He worked hard. He showed up to every class early, and handed in homework and dissertations early, and used his charm to schmooze with the teachers, doing all he could to make sure he got the best grades. Maxwell majored in Business and Economics, and minored in Marketing. He didn’t have much choice in what he studied in college because he had his life set out for him the moment he was born. Maxwell didn’t have friends, but that’s not to say he was a loner. Everyone on campus knew who Maxwell was, and everyone knew the kind of family he came from.
Jack Daniels: Despite Jack and his high school sweetheart going their separate ways for college, they couldn’t stay away from each other for long. He was a Political Science major but never really cared much for it. He had a lot of friends, was a care free spirit and attended parties. He is someone who has natural academic ability but his failure to attend class and do homework meant that he, inevitably, began to drag behind. Realising political science isn’t for him, he dropped out of college and moved in with his high school sweetheart. He much preferred it that way, and he was able to be with her all the time. Having his company meant that she was now distracted from her studies and when she fell pregnant with their first child, they decided to run away from college all together and start a family far away.
Oberyn Martell: Is there college in Game of Thrones? I’m not sure, but a modern! Oberyn would major in classical studies and minor in philosophy. He is a prince, after all. He excels in both subjects and picks up languages such as Latin and Greek easily. It comes natural to him. He passes with flying colours and never has to try too hard because the words of Aristotle and Plato were engrained into his brain ever since he was old enough to read a book. As prince, he knows it is important to graduate with honours and that it’s his priority but that doesn’t mean he can’t make time for fun. He doesn’t commit to any relationship during college but does embrace his sexuality. He’s kind, gentle, and respectful. He’s a really great lover, but an even better friend.
Dave York: Dave studied criminology and forensic science at college. He was able to learn the ins and outs of criminal psychology and the process that cops and forensic teams go through when trying to trace a murder. His knowledge in this subject sure helped him in later life. He passed with flying colours, but never wanted a career in crime – or at least, not a career you’d need a degree in. But his newly received qualification, Dave decided to join the CIA as an operative where he met Robert McCall. He played good guy for a long time, but his bad intentions linked to criminal activity traced all the way back to college. He met his wife in college, and truthfully, she was the only thing who kept him from spiralling into criminal activity at an earlier stage.
Pero Tovar: Again, I am almost certain college didn’t exist during this time period but if we make it a modern AU, I think Pero would have majored in geography and minored in cultural studies. He had a goal to travel the world and see all the magnificent places. Pero was a grumpy adolescent, and seemingly he never really grew out of it. He had a group of people he hung out with who were similar to him but he never really considered them friends. He didn’t partake in extracurricular activities and he would just focus on studying. But he did have a flare in art which was lost on him during later life. He used painting as an emotional outlet and a means to express his feelings.
Ezra Prospect: I guess this is a modern! Ezra then. He studies geology, and he’s really smart. He does a lot of reading, but he actually prefers non-fiction over fiction. His interest in geology goes past his degree, and he actually collects a variety of rocks and gemstones, going into deep research about them and believing that certain ones possess healing powers. Ezra has a partner throughout his time in college, and they spend a lot of time with each other. Ezra’s partner encourages Ezra’s love for geology and finds his passion endearing, even encouraging him to earn an income from his knowledge! You help Ezra use the rocks that he collects to create bath salts and make jewellery to sell on and earn profit.
Marcus Pike: Marcus was an art and design major, and all his teacher’s loved him. He was never the best at the practical side, but he excelled in art history and his knowledge on the subject was outstanding. Marcus had one long term relationship during college but his partner ended up breaking his heart. It took a long time for Marcus to recover, but he’d always been one for second chances. He’d hope that he’d never get his heart broken again.
Max Phillips: Max was a bit of a player in community college; a jock, who studied his undergraduate in Physical Education. When Evan had Max kicked out for sleeping with his girlfriend, Max went and studied Sales Management at a university just for Vampires. Filled with a feeling of wrath and hatred for Evan, Max made it his mission to ruin him. No more time could be spent partying in his fraternity, playing soccer for the college team and sleeping with the cheer leader’s – Max made it his goal to graduate from Vampire University with a top major and steal the job of leading Sales Manager from Evan. And that’s on holding grudges.
Dio: Yeah, Dio didn’t go to college. He dropped out of high school when he was fourteen. In his youth, his hobbies included making fire and stealing from the rich.
Javi Gutierrez: He’s a film major of course! He was born into a rich family, we know that, and comes from a very financially privileged background. His parents knew that he did not have to pursue a degree in something that would ensure him a job, because Javi would be well off no matter what, and so they were fine with Javi doing something he was truly interested in. Javi has loved literature, art and movies his whole life. He minors in screenplay writing and excels top of his class, constantly impressing those around him with his ability to memorise anything from one liner quotes to whole scenes from movies. He shares his extensive knowledge of trivia, and all his lecturer’s firmly believe that the film industry is something that Javi could one day potentially succeed in. However, Javi is awkward. He shy’s away from all the partying and spends Friday night’s in his dorm, munching on popcorn and watching classic movies. A relationship is never in question for Javi because of his family circumstances, so he just lays low and focuses on his studies. As soon as he graduates, he heads back home to Mexico and his dreams of being a famous Hollywood screenplay writer seem so distant.
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peace-coast-island · 3 years
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Diary of a Junebug
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The trail of the Whispering Winds 
The Moonlit Woods transforms into a different place after midnight. It's still as eerie as ever, but in a different way though - as in different vibes. I hardly venture out here for good reason so when I do, it's usually with a group, preferably those versed in magic and supernatural stuff.
Last time I came to the Moonlit Woods was with Team Magic - Pippa, Mariposa, Angie, and Willow. While hunting for gyroids we came across an old travel log and found a cocostar tree, which is super rare, so we struck gold with that discovery. Being with the girls made me feel a bit more confident about venturing into the woods so since then, planning out my next adventure has been in the back of my mind.
Speaking of Team Magic, the girls are looking forward to coming back for another gyroid event. Mariposa's been working with Daisy Jane on gyroid designs since then and they're pretty much ready to go. We just haven't been able to set a date yet because the girls are busy with school and college apps but they're hoping to drop by sometime in the near future.
Instead of Team Magic, we have a new group accompanying us in the woods. They don't have an official name but they have been working as a team for years. There's Taiki, a freelance exorcist who comes from a family that has dealt with the supernatural for generations. He's a friend of Miki's, having gone to the same university together.
Nene's his best friend from his hometown - she actually spent a semester at Tome U so she also got to know Miki a bit. She's also the artist Rika has been following, the one who just set up a Patreon and is in the process of getting her webcomic, Seven Wonders, published.
Haru is what they call an untethered spirit. He used to haunt the halls of the school Taiki and Nene went to before it was demolished. Basically Taiki contacted Miki who contacted her brother and his friends at the consultation center so they can find a way to keep Haru around. I only know this because Mikayla asked for some sparkle stones and essences a while back.
Then I got curious and decided to do a bit of research. Turns out there's a lot of different kind of procedures that have varying results. So what Taiki and the others did was no easy feat and they succeeded either by luck or some other factors. In other words, Haru's still a ghost or a spirit, but now he also has a physical form. He looks young - 13 or 14 at the most - but he's obviously a lot older than that - though for the most part he's like any other guy as far as I can tell.
Nene is an artist and the author of Seven Wonders, a webcomic about a girl who befriends a spirit who resides in her school. The story's loosely based on her life - as well as Taiki and Haru's. She started writing it a few years ago, originally a side project to keep herself busy. Then she began updating it regularly and grew a following, prompting her to expand the story. The webcomic then reached international audiences when Taiki offered to translate her work into English so that's when it really started taking off.
The three of them go way back, having first met almost a decade ago. Nene managed to summon Haru in hopes of granting a wish, similar to what happens with the main characters in Seven Wonders. The two end up in a series of misadventures that result in them being bonded by a curse, resulting in Nene being connected with the spirits of the school. Then Taiki came along with the intent of exorcizing spirits such as Haru, only to end up befriending him.
They've been through a lot together, even defying fate (Haru's words) so they can have this future they're living in right now. From what I've heard, dealing with the supernatural - willingly or not - always has a price to pay. It's one of those things where no matter how lightly you tread, you'll step on a landmine either way.
In other words, there's always something to lose.
Taiki was never one to have a "normal" life considering that he comes from a family of exorcists. He has an older brother and younger sister, both who are powerful and pretty well known back home. Miki mentioned that he hasn't really spoken to his family much since moving out. According to Nene and Haru, Taiki was close to his brother, having looked up to him a lot back in the day. Nene and Miki have both speculated that the rift between Taiki and his brother was probably one of the reasons why he decided to stay in Mina Creek instead of going back to Inazuma.
Nene stuck around Inazuma before deciding to join Taiki. Even after graduating she stuck around the school to see Haru, working as a janitor so she'd have an excuse to be there. But when Taiki graduated the following year, the trio didn't see much of each other. Taiki went abroad to Tome University and while Nene still visited Haru and the other spirits, she had to focus on her studies.
Then Nene signed up for a study abroad program, which happened to take her to Miki and Taiki's school. I remember Miki talking about helping out this freshman who was an international student. She said he was struggling quite a bit so it was lucky that they ran into his old friend - his senpai, as he called her back in the day. During her time there while reminiscing with Taiki, Nene was inspired to write Seven Wonders so that's how it all began.
Nene ended up dropping out of university after that semester so she became an artist/content creator while working as a school janitor. Along with that she was also the bridge between the living and the spirits, a role she carried since becoming Haru's assistant when they first met.
In the years that followed, Nene and Haru got involved in supernatural affairs while Taiki offered his assistance once in a while. Things were going well until the school had to close due to financial problems. If that wasn't bad enough, the city was going to demolish the school and a bunch of other old buildings in that area. So Haru was in a tight spot as he would have nowhere to go since he couldn't be outside of the school. And as for Nene, she didn't really have anywhere to go either since being a janitor was what kept her afloat.
Thankfully Taiki and the others were able to come up with a solution or else Nene and Haru wouldn't be here with us. Taiki made the offer for Nene to join him in Mina Creek, something which she was understandably on the fence about. She says she's been adjusting to the move a lot better than she thought, probably because she has been here before so it's not too drastic of a change.
However, it's a big leap for Haru considering that he's been restricted inside a school for years and now he's in a foreign country surrounded by a lot of unfamiliar things. He does seem to be a fast learner - Nene and Taiki were surprised at how quickly his English's improving and if I didn't know, I'd think he'd been studying the language for at least a year or so. Taiki's obviously quite fluent while Nene's sorta in between - Taiki serves as an interpreter when they need a bit of help, which is pretty much what he does during his non-exorcist job.
So far Nene's enjoying life at Minai Creek, though she admits to missing home. She finds the change in scenery intimidating but also necessary. On one hand she's sad to leave the school and the other spirits but at the same time she feels it's probably for the best. Haru's holding his own, though Nene worries about him as the changes they're going through can't be easy on him. She's also worried about Taiki too, especially since it seems like he's completely cut off his ties from his home - by that she means his family.
Nene definitely comes across as a big sister/mom friend. Taiki sometimes calls her onee-chan, which is a way one addresses their older sister in Japanese. I've met Taiki a few times before and I see a different side to him when Nene's around. Or maybe it's because this is the first time I've really gotten to know him? He just seems more ...himself? open? ... when he's with Nene and Haru. It's sweet how much he looks up to Nene - whenever he talked about her in the past you can tell how much he respects and admires her - and now that I finally meet her, I can see it. I think Nene and I are gonna be good friends.
Taiki's had his eye on the Moonlit Woods for a while as there's a section that's kinda dangerous to tread if you're not well versed with spirits and such. Only the bravest exorcists venture there to help clean up the place a little and contain the bad karma by doing what's necessary. He did his research extensively before considering going to that place due to rumors of seasoned exorcists being ill prepared and becoming corrupt, which is the worst case scenario.
Since strength lies in numbers, Taiki needed a reliable team to keep things under control and make a speedy retreat if necessary. Haru and Nene's connections to the spiritual world are valuable, especially since Haru has a bit of a pull with certain higher status spirits that can come in handy in case things go south. As for me and the campers, we're kinda the brute force, serving as the muscle and sort of an anchor to keep the others grounded. Something about certain spirits having an effect on those who can see and interact with them and taking advantage of that by blurring the lines between reality and delusion so we have to keep them from straying.
I don't know how the trio does it, especially Taiki and Nene. To live between mortals and spirits is not easy, more of a curse than a blessing to many. For people like them, they have no choice but to fulfill their roles - Taiki in damage control and Nene in being the communicator. And for Haru, being a spirit who voluntarily chose to stay in the world of the living after being bound to one through a curse, I can't imagine that being easy on him either. There's a lot to unpack with these three and whether I'll get to know the full story or not, it's clear that there's a lot on their shoulders.
Like I said, there's always a price to pay when it involves things beyond our understanding. I just hope that it was worth it. Me being cautiously optimistic, I'd like to think it was or else they wouldn't be together.
The Whispering Winds trail, as expected, was full of perils. On one hand, it was kinda good that I was kept in the dark in an ignorance is bliss sorta way. But that also makes it a bit harder to know exactly what's going on. In a place where the spirit world and mortal world becomes blurred, it gets disorienting, to put it simply. We know we're there when us mortals can see some spirits so it's important to keep our guard up.
There's a reason why they call this trail the Whispering Winds. I heard voices from all around - it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. It was jarring at first but then I grew numb to it. Still, it was an unsettling feeling - 0/10 do not recommend. This is why it's best to go in a group because unexpected things will happen so it's better to be (over)prepared.
In between exorcism rituals we did a bit of sightseeing, which helped lighten the mood. Haru introduced us to some spirits he knew to be harmless and they served as guides through areas they were familiar with. Taiki and Nene did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the rituals while the rest of us stood guard. From what I've seen, it looks like a lot of work - the kind of thing you should leave to the professionals.
All around us were these blue light orb things - spiritual remnants that serve as trail markers according to Haru. Depending on the traces the remnants can leave behind, Nene can manipulate them to open up new pathways. The deeper we go into the trail, the harder it is to navigate as it's supposed to be like that for good reason. Nene's the only one who can directly interact with stuff like that so people like her are the ones who really are granted access to forbidden parts such as these. According to Haru, he and Taiki can't touch them because it can cause trouble due to their blood - meaning it's off limits for exorcists and spirits.
The light orbs also gave us some much needed visibility as well as an eerie glow. When things got quiet, it sorta felt like we were just walking down a long, dimly lit path. When things start to get a bit hazy, that's when it was time to investigate. The feeling is heavy, almost suffocating - a heavy burden to bear indeed. When the heaviness is gone, we move forward, going as far as we can before hitting a dead end. From there, our trek is over and instead of venturing a different path, we go back the way we came, careful not to disturb the newfound peace.
It was an interesting experience - again, it's probably for the best that I don't know too much about it. There's a whole 'nother world out there with exorcisms, spirits, psychics...as curious I am about these sorts of things, I respect that it's not my place when it comes to certain aspects. It's a fascinating world out there but we can't experience or begin to understand certain things that are beyond our scope. It sucks sometimes being just a bystander or outsider but it is what it is.
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handweavers · 3 years
Note
top 5 historical figures :3
there are sooo many i’ll just list the ones i find most interesting at the moment and most of them are roman bc i’ve been reading a lot about the ancient mediterranean lately :3 i tried to make it short but....well
1. the gracchi brothers (late roman republic) - tiberius gracchi was a tribune (basically a bureaucrat) who tried to institute land reform bills to combat the extreme wealth inequality and financial crisis plaguing the poor of rome that would redistribute land to poor people and limit the amount of land that could be owned by one person and the senators literally beat him to death in the street with their bare hands. his brother gaius then became a tribune and tried to do the same thing as well as pushed for the government to give subsidized grain to the urban poor so they wouldn’t starve to death all the time and the senators had him beheaded. they were later greatly admired by left radicals during the french revolution and later lenin in russia.
2. julie d’aubigny (late 17th century france) - sword-slinging bisexual opera singer who wore men’s clothes and seduced many men and women across europe. fell in love with another woman while working as an opera singer and the girl’s family found out and sent her to a convent, julie followed and set the convent on fire and ran away with her girlfriend. like a million things happened after her life was wild but this paragraph from an article on her makes me scream: “her career in paris was interrupted after she attended a court ball in men’s clothes and kissed a young woman on the dance floor, for which insult she was challenged to a duel by three different noblemen. she told each of them she would meet him outside, fought them all at once, and beat them all. but given that louis had outlawed duels, she had to flee to brussels, where she became the lover of the elector of bavaria. he found her a bit too much to handle after she stabbed herself on stage with a real dagger, and offered her 40,000 francs to leave him alone. she threw the coins at the feet of his emissary and stomped off to madrid in a huff.” queen
3. elagabalus (roman emperor c. 218 ce) - this short-lived syrian emperor ascended to the throne aged 14 and was very very very probably a trans girl. i’ll use she/her pronouns bc while i really don’t know how she would have identified within our current framework historical context blah blah blah literally....as a trans person... elagabalus was trans. elagabalus named herself after the latin version of the name of the syrian sun god, and became “notorious” for dressing as a woman, decked in wigs, makeup, and fashionable frocks. she married four women and a male athlete, and also fell in love with her charioteer, a slave named hierocles. elagabalus apparently “delighted to be called the mistress, the wife, the queen of hierocles,” preferred to be called a woman, and reputedly offered to reward any doctor who could give her bottom surgery to have a vulva. she didn’t really care about the roman religion and replaced several roman deities including jupiter with syrian gods. she was also reported to have engaged in sex work, and lavished favours on male courtiers. she was known for being “extremely eccentric and decadent” and she was assassinated in 222 ce aged approx. 18 years of age. modern historians and contemporary writers of her time have been incredibly cruel to her but i think she was really cool and i like that she just did whatever she wanted, and she really didn’t deserve to die like she was literally just a teenager. also think its incredibly funny that she didn’t give a fuck about the roman pantheon and just played around with it and added all of her syrian gods to it and got rid of the roman ones and when it pissed off all of the senators she was like “so????” we stan
4. al-khayzuran (abbasid queen-mother, wife, and slave c. 8th century ce) her story is really complex and fascinating but basically, she was of yemeni arab descent and was sold into slavery before becoming the favourite concubine of the abbasid caliph al-mahdi and mothering two children who would go on to become caliphs themselves. during the reign of her husband and her two children, she was their de-facto co-ruler and involved herself in politics outside of the harem (women’s quarters), which was unusual for the time. this article on her is really good and this bit summarizes her well: “harun al-rashid (r. 786-809), arguably one of the greatest of the abbasid caliphs, is well known to many historians and history enthusiasts for his deeds and for presiding over the “golden age” of the abbasid caliphate. however, his mother, khayzuran, does not lay as much claim to fame as her illustrious son, despite the fact that she was the power behind his throne (while she lived) and that of his father and brother before him. during her life and career khayzuran rose from the status of slave to becoming the caliph, al-mahdi’s (r. 775-785), favorite concubine, and then his legal wife and a queen in her own right who wielded an immense amount of political power and whose wealth was second only to that of her husband’s in the entire caliphate. this feat was impressive not only because khayzuran was able to elevate herself from slavery to royalty, but also because she did it during an era when social mobility, for both men and women, was very limited or in most cases impossible.” also, one of my favourite bits of info about her: when her son, caliph al-hadi, disrespected her and threatened to have her favourite son (harun al-rashid) killed and attempted to assassinate her, she secretly had HIM assassinated by getting some of her pretty female slaves to seduce and then smother him with pillows, which made harun al-rashid caliph of the abbasid empire.
5. as always......hadrian (roman emperor c. 117-138 ce) - he was born in roman spain and became emperor after trajan, and is considered one of the last “good five emperors” prior to the decline of western rome. he spent most of his reign travelling across the empire basically as a tourist, wanting to learn as much as possible about everything, and constructing new buildings as he went including hadrian’s wall in brittania. he had “an insatiable curiosity about everything and everybody. the christian writer tertullian called him omnium curiositatum explorator, an explorer of everything interesting. that curiosity was bred of a keen intellect and an anguished spirit.” he was interested in astrology, greek poetry, and considered himself an “aesthete” who would climb mount etna and jabal agra (in sicily and syrian antioch respectively) just to watch the sun rise. he wore a beard in the greek style even though he was mocked by his senators (but the beard would become a trend that future emperors would follow) and they considered him to be complicated and often paradoxical - he could be extremely kind and also very cruel, loud and rapacious and yet gentle and compassionate, rational and logical and yet completely irrational, etc. his marriage was childless, likely because he was gay and not at all interested in women. he developed an intense relationship with a turko-greek youth antinous, who later died under suspicious circumstances and hadrian’s grief was so immense he had thousands of statues erected for him and immortalized him in the roman pantheon of gods. to this day people across the former roman empire still find statues of antinous, accidentally digging them up in their backyards. in extreme contrast, he was also the emperor who suppressed the bar kokhba revolt in judea, basically wiped judea off the map and replaced it with the region of syria palestina, and this war resulted in the deaths of thousands of jewish people, and those who survived were sold into slavery or exiled. this event basically created the concept of jewish people as a diaspora, the major exile. this was the only major war or conflict during his reign - the rest was notably peaceful - but it was one of the bloodiest in roman history and the consequences of it are still extremely relevant. i find him a really fascinating historical figure as a result of all of these paradoxes and because he was ultimately responsible for one of the most consequential actions in world history. 
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lucidpantone · 4 years
Text
Visitations Preview Finale pt. 1
This finale chapter is getting so long so as a gift I thought I give you guys the first 5k. 
Disclaimer: Same rules apply.
Italics is the past. If not, it's August 15th.
His atop a precipice.
A vantage point where all things come into view.
Where the decision to plunge himself into the abyss invites him in like a gaping wound but he chooses the latter a dance around the hardwood.
A dance.
Is that all it is?
Love and life a mere tango between two forms battling for governance; for the lead. The notion of control dangling in the air like some token of chance, a lucky charm, a rabbit’s foot. He’s frozen. Paused. In mid-air transition.
A live wire at a stop light waiting for the green. A brethren of the craniate in the peril of deoxygenation, mere seconds away from contorting his skeletal structure into hyperextensions.
He inhales.
Shoulder and neck slanted on an incline. He pushes towards gravity and lets the slab of maple [swish] the surface. The wheels of his board drawing everlasting as he brushes figure eights. The male body truncating in the air like an oversized bolt drilling down a sealed vault. His thoughts [swirling] through him like a polar jet stream. Icy and ferocious. Early day discussions on fast forward and repeat.
“I need my meds recalibrated doc” Sander mumbles out.
“Hmmmm” The doc sounds apprehensive.
“It looks like you have had a recalibration every year for the past 3 years.” The doc thumbs through Sander’s medical chart.
“Are you sure this isn’t a symptom of all the stress you’ve been under? The grand opening tonight? The financial pressures?”
“NO!….I mean yes, but no, I’ve been edgier than usual but that's not why” Sander states adamantly.
“Plus, I'm having trouble sleeping.” Sander tacks that one for good measure knowing if anything they will re-up his sleeping aids.
They weren’t all lies he thought to himself as he swung like a pendulum from side to side on the crown jewel. Loud cheers and celebratory adorations coming from the gallery space; breaking him out of his reflections. He can’t avoid the crowd much longer. The party is in full swing and he needs to go make the rounds. Poetic discussions about his vision await him; descriptions about the counter duality of dark and light, functional or utilitarian, for profit versus non profit but he wasn’t in the mood. He was proud of himself, he knew that much and though he relished in his attendees jovial shoulder taps and glass raises it all felt empty. His exterior soaked up in white lies when questioned about the space's interior. His slapstick smile perfected to compliment his  pheasant plumage as he peacocked around the room; hosting duties increasingly onerous as the guest list questioned him about the young hot shot architect that he had collabed with to create such an impressive view.
“Can we meet him?” They’ll ask, but they won't be able to.
He bailed, or so that’s what he texted Sander that morning. His usual slew of excuses that he hid behind as to why he couldn’t make it back to Antwerp. Back to Sander. Same reasons as to why he’d always be the first to drop off on a conference call between him, Sander and the contractors. Why he’d walk the space with everyone but his counterpart. Purposefully avoiding displays of patronage or binary settings on life’s stage. An agenda via obstruction; creating an alternative universe in which the skater boy and his artist were destined to miss each other every time.
As Sander continued to surf the half pipe the laws of thermodynamics began to dilute his intentions. Velocity and gravity leaving him as the wheels underneath screeched to a halt cutting off the tracings of eternity he had swiveled onto the plywood.
It was time for the dog and pony show.
Time to hot trot around man made obstacles displaying prowess in form. Sander kicked up his board and walked off the ramp’s flat and jumped down onto the cement floor. Leaving the amber coated world that housed a statuesque half pipe in the backdrop with the autograph R+S marred onto its body when he heard the [click] of a lock. He’s body instinctively flinched as the knob to the door twisted open and the sounds from the other world serenaded their shangri-la.
Sander took a step back as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness of the tattoo shop’s working space. Hues of black splaying across the cement finish. Sander’s eyesight travelled from the floor to the figure holding onto the door and gave a mocked laugh in disbelief.
Robbe took another step forward, let go of the door, and let it slam shut. Instantly killing off the volume from the outside. Entering the space where the other half of a war torn love story survived.
The story of a pair of star crossed lovers enveloped in a love quagmire.
-
Robbe cranked the lever.
The car door flew open.
“Careful there. If you don’t treat it well you’re going to break it” Luc teased out to Robbe.
Robbe pushed himself off Luc’s ride, his body seesawing between two worlds when he stepped out onto the pavement.
The night was inviting. The spirits of the dead were amongst the living. Or so, that's how the legend goes..
Of course Sander would choose ole hallows eve to host his Grand Opening. It was fitting for him. A night wrapped up in the witching hour. Where the spirits of the past are able to walk side by side amongst those prepared to sin. Unknown entities, ghouls and those who feed off the darkness of others dancing around the room whispering bad intentions into well intentioned beings.
This night was a trap but neither of them knew it yet.
“Can you hold this?” Robbe asked Luc as he handed him two black frames wrapped up carefully with black tissue paper to protect the glass from any scratches. He took a moment to fix his black shirt and ruffled out his black mid length pea coat and then took back the frames off Luc’s hands.
Robbe noticed Luc’s slight displeasure at his primping and quickly readjusted the frames underneath his right arm and went to grab Luc’s hand with his left.
“Hey don’t get in your head. Ten minutes and we are in and out and then we can go to dinner with my mother. I know it's weird but Jann is a client who owns a ton of other businesses and it’d be stupid of me to mess up future possibilities. This is strictly business nothing else.”
“Promise?” Luc questioned.
Robbe narrowed his brow and tilted his head to one side in an inquisitive manner.
“Don’t you trust me?”
Luc tipped his head downwards and plastered on a fake smile in agreement. Luc squeezed his lover’s hand and they walked towards the shop's facade as the Halloween vibes speed skated around them and the veil between two worlds began to thin.
“ROBBEEEE!!!!!” Jann screams out amongst the crowd.
“You came” Robbe gives Jann a little wave as he walks over to Robbe clearly a little intoxicated enjoying the celebrations. Jann was the majority investor in Sander’s tattoo shop and someone he and Sander had known for years. Jann was practically a giant. He towered over the crowd at 6’5ft (195cm). He claimed his height was a genetic trait of being born in Eindhoven. He was in his mid fifties but you would never be able to tell. He was covered in full sleeve tattoos and wore his black t-shirt and leather pant uniform everyday since the first day Robbe met him on his 18th birthday.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It was such a pleasure working with you.” Robbe schmoozed him.
“Jann this is my boyfriend Luc. Luc this is Jann he is the investor in this project and the poor soul who trusted me not to mess it all up” Jann roared out a half drunken laugh and gave Robbe a slightly to forceful pat on the back.
Jann leaned into Robbe’s neck which caused Luc to raise a brow and began whispering secrets at a low volume.
“We got approved” Jann confirmed. Robbe looked up at him and pointed his index finger downward towards the white floor of the gallery space. Jann shook his head in confirmation and continued to add on.
“And the community park license so we can teach lessons out back in the skate park” Robbe’s face lit up like a light bulb. He never thought the crazy plan he concocted months ago would actually work. His idea to try to register the gallery and public park as charity spaces actually came through and most importantly saved Jann a ton of money meaning he wouldn’t try to refurbish them into business spaces anytime soon.
Robbe scanned his white surroundings in attempts to find a mop of lunar hair sticking out but nothing in sight.
Jann noticed Robbe scanning the room so he pointed him towards the back.
Robbe excused himself for a moment and as he walked towards the back of the tattoo shop Jann yelled out.
“Robbe don’t forget about our appointment to cover up that shoulder tattoo. It's on the house.”
Robbe didn’t even acknowledge Jann as he transitioned from the white gallery space to the tattoo shops black working space. His all black outfit practically blended him into the wall paint. He got to the back door and twisted the handle. It was locked.
He twisted the bolt and heard it click.
As he pushed his body into the third space the amber earth tones consumed him and as serendipity should have it Sander was waiting for him.
Robbe took one more step forward and let the back door slam shut. It felt like all of sudden him and Sander were stuck in zero gravity.
In some type of suction vacuum where oxygen was limited.
“Hi” Robbe tried to cheerfully break the ice but that was short lived.
“What are you doing here? I thought you bailed?” Sander’s tone was loaded with so much poison that it stung Robbe.
“Well I changed my mind. I thought it’d be nice to finally see the finished product. You know since Jann, you and I have spent so many months working on it.”
Robbe was nervous. He kept fiddling with the frames. It felt like Sander’s gaze was dismantling him.
“It looks great by the way. The contractors did a great job. I mean it looked great when I walked the space last month with them but it's really impressive now that it's all done.”
“You were totally right about keeping the layout white, black and into earth tones. Oh and I brought you a gift.”
Robbe tired to hand Sander the frames but Sander made a hands all full gesture as he held up his Element skateboard. Sander walked over to a table that looked like it had been set up for drinks placement and slid his board underneath it.
“Just put the frames on top. I’ll grab them later.” Sander directed Robbe.
“I didn’t know you still had the old Element I brought you.” Robbe stated.
“Old habits die hard.” Sander threw back at him.
Robbe just shook his head up and down in agreement.
Robbe looked out towards the ramp and just took it all in for a moment.
“Remember when we went to go get this thing from that crazy guy in Ghent…..” and before Robbe could even finish the story Sander cut him off.
“I thought you were here for business? Or are you ready to go down memory lane now?” Sander’s tone made it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood for Robbe’s fake banter.
Robbe turned his body to look directly at Sander. It always took both of them aback how each other's gaze always felt like they were baring their souls to one another.
Robbe and Sander could find so much tranquility in one another and yet so much turbulence at the same time.
Robbe finally broke the silence.
“I should have told you about my boyfriend”
Sander’s eyes widened and he bit his bottom lip. Robbe recognized this gesture; Sander was pissed.
“So, why didn’t you?” Sander shot back.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you cared. You never called me after the last time I saw you.”
Sander enunciated the next part.
“I DIDN’T CALL YOU?”
He then repeated himself again.
“I DIDN’T CALL YOU?”
“I am sorry that I’ve been busy trying to make one of the most important business deals of my life happen and didn’t have the time to fucking wait on you hand and foot.”
Sander ran his hands over his face to calm his temper. His cup runneth over with emotion.
“If you weren’t so damn selfish you would have realized I am stressed out of my damn mind. I literally have no money because I sunk it all into the shop and that I could easily lose everything if things don’t go well but of course you wouldn’t get that since you’ve never made those types of sacrifices for anything in your life.”
Robbe was really biting his tongue. He knew Sander was just stressed out and venting at him but Sander knew very well that Robbe had made those types of sacrifices time and time again for him above anyone/anything else.
“I think I should go” Robbe stated.
“I think you should go too. We should try to keep this little arrangement copacetic.”
Robbe turned his body to head for the door when Sander just couldn’t leave it alone.
“You were never one to stay anyways”
Robbe turned back to look at him knowing very well that Sander was harping on their esoteric love sonnet.
“I always knew you didn’t really have any fight in you” Sander was just slicing knife wounds in Robbe now and they both knew it.
“You know why I didn’t call…..”
Robbe looked straight at Sander. His beautiful brown eyes pleading with him to stop. Sander was starting to drag their love into purgatory but his impulsive need to punish Robbe apexed and Sander ran the spite laced knife right through Robbe’s heart.
“You were right. There is no us.”
He was reveling in the pain.
“There hasn’t been for a long time….and there’ll never be again.”
Sander drew out the knife from Robbe’s heart.
His hands coated in disgrace allowing his love to bleed out right in front of him.
It surprised Sander when he saw Robbe’s eyes darken and glaze over. It scared him. He got the reaction he wanted but seeing it materialize in front of him instantly made him want to take Robbe in his arms and tell him that he didn’t mean it but before he could even react Robbe ran out the door. Practically running over Jann in the process.
“Where is Robbe going?” Jann questioned.
“I told him it would probably be better if he left. He’s just so selfish”, Sander answered back.
“What?” Jann looked genuinely astonished.
“Jann stay out of it. It's none of your business.” Sander forgot who he was talking to.
“Look, I’ve known you two since you were a pair of teenagers getting sappy tattoos for one another so whatever it is, fix it, but more importantly this is my shop. So everything that concerns it is my business. Do you understand that? ”
Jann rarely took on the authoritarian stance he was exuding now. So Sander knew he meant it.
“I understand”
“Good because tomorrow I am calling Robbe and offering him the Brussels project for next year and if you happen to not fuck up before then I may get you in on it too”
Sander gave Jann a head tip in understanding.
Jann heads for the door to leave Sander to stew when he decides to teach him a lesson.
“Oh and next time, why don’t you check the books before calling someone selfish. That selfish kid ran around for months trying to get the right paperwork so we could get on the right registry to save thousands in taxes and his boss called me today letting me know he forfeited his personal architect fee. Something about he had a prior agreement with you that he wanted to honor.”
Point taken.
Sander practically felt like Jann had slugged him in the face. He quickly exited the amber coated world and ran past the black and into the white gallery space. Sander could hear he’s friends calling out his name and people tugging at him to get his attention but he just wanted to catch up with  Robbe before he left.
He finally made it outside but the street was empty, dead, comatose.
“Fuck” Sander yelled out in frustration.
“You just missed him” Sander turned around to find the voice speaking to him.
A brown-eyed beauty stood in front of him. You’d swear she could be a doppelganger for a young Zendaya.
She walked towards Sander.
“Good looking guy with great hair in all black right?”
“Yea” Sander confirmed.
“Yea he jumped in a taxi with some tall guy about 2 minutes before you ran out.”
“Thanks”
“No problem…. You look like you need a drink”
“I do, are you buying?” Sander flirted back lightly.
“Well if you mean am I inviting you to the free bar then yes am buying”
Sander threw the pretty girl a smile.
“Sander, by the way” he held his hand out to her.
“Genade” she slipped her hand into his.
“Come on let's go get you that drink” Genade joked out as she dragged Sander back into his own shindig.
-
White walls.
Bareless ceilings.
Sleep, it was simply a stranger to him. He grabbed his phone and checked the screen. Nothing. No calls, no text, he’d even take a voicemail cussing him out at this point but nothing made him feel more like a piece of shit then seeing the blue light of the witching hour (3am) looking back at him. He rested the phone on his chest and Sander could swear in that moment the weight of the world was on top of him.
He turned his cheek to the other side of the bed to check if Genade was fast asleep. She was, Sander wasn’t sure how this night had unraveled so suddenly and how he found himself in bed with such a beautiful creature and yet still left so unsatisfied. He slid out of bed carefully and managed to somehow find his boxers in the dark of the night.
He twisted the door knob to his bedroom open as carefully as possible not to wake her. Once he heard the click of the lock as he closed it shut his entire body relaxed. He walked into his kitchen to get a glass of water and as he walked passed his kitchen table the black frames caught his attention. They just sat there waiting to be opened.
Sander had been so wrapped up in his own unconscious revenge that he had missed Robbe’s white flag of surrender. He picked up the first black frame and began to tear at the tissue. It was Robbe’s first initial blueprint of the tattoo shop which included the skate park. Sander could still recall how excited and nervous he was to pitch the added addition but that he was adamant that it would compliment the whole vision of the space while additionally giving young kids a place of refuge. He even whipped up one of his guilt trips when he asked Sander why he didn't think it was important to provide a place where young boys like them could find one another.
Sander gulped down the memory.
He put the frame down and picked up the second frame. He tore off the paper and when he saw it looking back at him he literally felt the spit laced knife dig into his chest. He practically stopped breathing for a moment. He pulled off the white post-it off the frame that read We made it happen in Robbe’s hand writing and behind it encased in time was the white napkin that Sander had used to map out his dream tattoo shop all those years ago sitting across the booth from Robbe. In that moment Sander felt like he hit rock bottom and he didn’t care that it was 3 a.m. or that what he was about to do was far from appropriate because all he could think of is that he needed to hear Robbe’s voice. Luckily he had brought his phone with him from the bedroom; call it instinct or intuition but something made him take it with him. He texted Robbe immediately.
Are you awake? - Sander
Sander was sure Robbe wouldn’t text back after all the horrible things he had said to him just hours earlier but something deep inside him told him not all hope was lost and before he started to whirlpool into panic his phone vibrated.
Yes - Robbe
Can I call you? Please… - Sander
Two minutes went by..
K - Robbe
Sander never thought the ring of a phone could make him feel so nauseous but he felt like his heart was in his stomach when he heard Robbe’s voice on the other end. It was practically a whisper…
“Hey”
“Am a fucking asshole. All the shit I said to you tonight, I didn’t mean it. I mean I did but am frustrated. I never thought this is how we would end up. I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me about your boyfriend after everything…… I don’t know I just thought……. We had agreed…..”
Sander could hear Robbe sigh out on the other end of the line.
“I just want you to be happy, baby. I don’t care if it's with me or not….”
Robbe didn’t react to Sander’s statement so he continued.
“I opened up your frame. I can’t believe you kept that dirty old napkin for the last 5 years.”
“6 years” Robbe corrected him.
“Yeah…. 6 years.” Sander forced out a sweet toned chuckle.
The line went quiet for a moment.
“You still there?” Sander asked.
“Yea”
“Thank you for registering the space. Thank you for figuring out the tax credit thing. Jann won’t shut up about how I introduced him to the best architect he has ever worked with. Thank you for…..”
Sander started to get choked up, so he composed himself before he continued.
“Thank you for chipping in. You didn’t owe me that”
“I did actually. I promised you I’d find a way, remember?” Robbe questioned.
Sander just ran the palm of his hand on his forehead and through his hair recalling the promise Robbe made to him so long ago. 
“And you always keep your promises” Sander tacked on.
“Always” Robbe confirmed.
“Can I ask for one last one?”
“Sander….” Robbe sounded slightly dejected.
“Whatever happens..I love you. That’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Okay?”
“Sand--”
“Please” Sander pleaded.
“Promise” Robbe agreed not knowing then that to fulfill this promise he would need to forsake another.  
The silence crept back in. Sander knowing the call was nearing its end. So he said his final words.
“I am so happy that I found you. That we got the time we got together and that we are one of the few people in the world that can actually say they found their soulmate.”
5 seconds of silence filled up the call.
“I love you baby. I always will. Am so sorry I hurt you tonight.” Sander added on.
“I….. I….” Robbe false started but he was so close to getting off the blocks in that moment and running towards the finish line but he faltered.
Then doubt took a hold of him.
“I have go now” Robbe stated, and before Sander could even respond he hung up the phone.
Once Sander heard the dial tone go dead he walked over to his couch and plopped down. He grabbed his sketch pad off the coffee table and began to draw the design that would go above his heart.
Robbe just looked down at his finger laying over the end call button and stood there in silence.
He wasn’t sure what he had just done but it all happened so fast.
His body and mind had completely shut down hearing Sander say those words to him. He stood there in his living room in between two minds. A big part of him wanted nothing but to call Sander back and tell him how much he loved him too. Another part of him was so angry that they were in this position. Robbe had done everything he could in his life to protect them from the world but he never planned that the thing that would ultimately tear them apart would be each other. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat down on his couch. He leaned forward slightly and rested his elbows on the top of his thighs. His thoughts made him anxious. Made him press his palms together and scratch his nails on the surface of his left hand.
Robbe took a big inhale and as he exhaled out all his doubts got caught up in his throat and he began to cough up sobs. Hot tears began to stream out of him and like the collapse of a dam the water pressure broke the walls of his interior. He crumbled. He just fell on his side and curled up like a young child. He buried his cries on the couch pillow and cried himself to sleep and in this moment of his despair Robbe felt Bowie come over and lie down next to him.
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There’s a void at the heart of the universe.
A place where space and time collide. Where the boundary lines of the event horizon can be found. Where a choice lies to leave the remnants of the mother, or to enter the ergosphere; the grey place where time ceases to exist and everlasting is a perpetual promise.
Man has sensed the presence of the black mass for quite some time but only until recently did we find ourselves asking: if no light can emanate from within then should we defy the gods? and cross into a plane that could potentially spaghettify the human body: two faces, four arms and four legs pulled into threaded form. A fruitless purgatory? or maybe, all together something else, an unknown, an entry door to another universe.  
The lovers essence is mirrored here; splashed across the buildings exterior as they stumbled out of their metallic cocoon placed into park. They dance atop the asphalt in embrace; need, and desire. A rendezvous of their lips tangled up in an act of amnesty. The automatic lightening levers flicker into automation. The sulfur vapor caresses their skin as they stand outside the apartment entry door. Robbe fumbles through a set of nickel, copper and brass finally identifying his right to pass. His hands are shaking suddenly, his body aware of his nervous system, reacting to what’s sure to come, their unspoken contract. Sander notices the delay and comes up behind him. He places his palm on top of Robbe’s hand and begins to guide it towards the keyhole. Robbe takes note of the fact that his Casio watch is looking right back at him. The dials in full functional spin.
Robbe unknowingly holds his breath as Sander assists him in unlocking the entry door. The [click] of the lock makes Robbe flinch. He isn’t sure why but suddenly he feels the axis shift. Robbe has no time to wallow in his concerns as he and Sander stumble into the lobby’s backdrop. The vapor wash has vanished and they find themselves amongst the whitest of all fluorescent lighting. It gives off a celestial feeling. The change of ambiance is almost cleansing. Sander focuses his attention on a chunk of real estate on the lobby floor it once served as temporary housing on the night Robbe jumped in between worlds. He smiles at the thought that he sat there that night, pen to paper calling on the properties of general relativity. Yearning for a distortion in time, a tear, an entryway. He disregards that flashback quickly as he senses Robbe’s shadow dance on screen. He grabs Robbe’s hand without much thought and the duo rush into the steel vault like a pair of runway bandits. The interior of their metal forge covered in a reflective surface. Sander navigates the route and makes his floor selection. As they travel from south to north they inch closer to their glass ceiling they run through their usual rolodex of the familiar. Violent pants interrupted by wet kisses, eager petting complimented by hair pulling, a bareless ceiling being balayage(d) by photo negatives that echo past dealings but the denominator of time begins to unravel and they are interrupted. The vault doors swing open.
Times up now.
They’ve arrived.
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Here is a love story for you.
Content warnings include assholes, references to people doing shitty things (but not to people they love), pregnancy and menses, alcohol consumption.
Today I woke up and my brain aligned creative. So here, have a love story, internet.
Once upon a time, there were two people who were very, very good at making poor decisions.
They were clever, and sharp. Foolish, and unwise. Full of prickles and edges. Warm and cold. Loyal and fair. Cruel and unkind.
They had already loved unwisely. More than once. They were difficult to like when one spent more than a few hours in their company. Their words were quick and honest, and their honesty was full of disappointment and lowered expectation and viciousness. They made foolish friends of those who could tolerate them, and those friends were not always good people. Neither were they.
These two were an unexpected mirror. An impossible twinning. They were more alike than not and there wasn't another either had ever found like themselves. They lived continents apart. They should never have met.
It isn't necessary for a man and a woman to be in a love story, but this one happens to have the one and the other. It’s a story that a woman tells about when she met a man, and however much of it is true is anyone’s guess.
Her friends had plans for her. There was a pregnant woman in another country, and time was ticking. They wanted to keep someone who would look after their children and do as they asked. Someone who would care for them, as care for people was just something she did. Just a few, mind. She would make an excellent nanny.
They planned to leave to be with the pregnant woman, but they had no desire to leave her behind. The child was going to come one way or another. Best have help with it.
They were seeing her when they met him.
And so when they met him, they were excited.
He spoke the way their friend spoke. His quick tongue lashed those he did not care for, and he cared for very few. He said the same sort of words she did. Moved the same way she did. Drank like she did. He was mean-spirited. He was delightful. He was what they needed.
And so, when they returned from traveling, they made plans.
They got her very drunk - an expensive task that did require planning and one which she did not object to - and set up a video call with their new friend.
They told her nothing and sat her in front of a computer, where she saw this man she did not know and immediately ducked behind one of the bottles she had been drinking.
It was empty. It hid nothing. She didn't notice.
But there are quirks in these two. They believed in fairness, you see. Equity of position. Perhaps what they considered fair may not always be what others agreed with - 'you started it so I may do as I please' is not, for example, something most would consider fair - but it was there.
And so he felt that he should not be speaking with a drunk woman sober. Partly because he felt he should also be allowed to drink, it is true. But the other part was that you do not meet new people drunk while you are sober. The advantage is wrong. And his heart had panged when she had ducked behind this bottle, being foolish and somehow sweet.
And so they drank, and they talked. They laughed. They quipped. They discussed how best to insult people and the uses of frozen mice from a pet shop in punishing those who offended. They talked of things past and foolish things to come. The night vanished, as did several more bottles.
And then his workday began, and she went to bed. He sobered up while he typed, and she vomited where she shouldn't and forgot about it.
They did not speak for two weeks.
He liked her. A lot. She never did know exactly what it was that he liked so much even when she would ask years later - though he said he knew when she laid out detailed plans involving letterboxes and things one should not put in them but could that he was romantically invested. It was love at first meeting. He would not push her, however. The story has not gone that far and he did not know it’s outcome. She might disappear if he did.
She did not know how to approach people and though she had enjoyed the conversation she was not at all sure of continuing it. She did not like people. New people especially. A good conversation does not guarantee anything about a person. And so she did not. It was simpler to continue as things were - she did not like change. Her friends asked them both about it and they each confessed they had done nothing to the friend’s great disappointment.
And so this pregnant woman took it upon herself to bring them together again. She invited her to a video call with him already present, and then dropped the call.
This was not appreciated. At all. She did not like people. But, she was there. He was there. This was not a situation she was entirely sure how to deal with and they had spoken well enough that she had no desire to be rude. They may as well speak.
So they did.
He was permitted to use chat and video (though not speak) during his work hours as his job only demanded that he met his goals and that he did regardless of all else.
Somehow there was always a new topic to address, a segway to a new thought that must be explored. So they spoke all day.
And then he called her when he got home. And she answered. There were unfinished topics to discuss.
She answered the next morning and afternoon too.
And then she called him the morning after.
So their days went. The call was left open. They spoke to each other as and when the mood struck, and it struck often. Between the actions of living, there were always words for each other. A thought, a concept. A memory.
They spoke about many things. Their pasts. Their futures. The things they knew and the things they did not. Games and academics, religion and philosophy, psychology and biology.
There was nothing beyond the scope of their words.
He had been speaking to her a week when he was told she hated smoking and would never date a smoker. He threw away a full pack. There wasn't even a last smoke.
The pregnant woman asked her to sing for her over the camera, and because she was pregnant, the young woman did sing. Only to find another person in the call who had not been invited and had not known what was going to happen. He had muted the call so he would not hear anything she had not consented to. Her voice wasn’t unpleasant but it was not special either and she would not sing just because she was asked.
She sang for him another time, though.
She knew the nature of his interest was romantic after that first week. Her friends did love to talk. She did not know the nature of her own interest, however. She knew only that she enjoyed his company.
When he proposed to her a month after they met, it was both a shock and not a shock. She knew. And yet, it was quite the leap to go from "I like you" to "marry me", and he had never told her he liked her. Indeed, he still had not.
She said she wouldn't be leaving her country so there was no point in asking. She did not say "no".
Understand that many people will not say no when they mean no. They will redirect the conversations to avoid confrontation. This woman was not one of them. This woman had already related the various ways she knew to let men down fast and hard with a laugh - because she had learned that letting a man down gently just made him more persistent and creepy, and so had taken it upon herself to see how quickly she could put an end to it. She had it down to one look, a laugh, and two words. She wasn't even especially pretty, but that didn't stop people. Maybe they thought not being pretty she would enjoy the attention. She did not.
Anyway, this was a woman to whom "no" was an easy word, rejection a simple thing. Had she meant it, she would have used it. She did not. She did not notice this. He did.
And so they continued their daily conversations and games. They laughed together, and he met the family she had warned him against. They met the man she talked to constantly. He was amused. They were not. This was as it should be.
A month later, he asked again. "Marry me?" And her response was the same. She had no desire to leave her home. She would not.
"I…" he began.
"Don't." She interrupted. So he didn't.
They talked about everything. The crimes they had been caught committing. The ones they hadn't. Their family's worst secrets, their own worst personality quirks and behaviors. The things about themselves that would not be changing and could be difficult to live with. The truth, bald and bare and open for inspection.
It was accepted. Why judge poorly when one had done no better at oneself? Past was prologue, future uninteresting. Now was acceptable.
She didn't know how she felt about him then. She knew she liked him. She knew she didn't mind that he asked her for things she wasn't willing to give. He made no demands. That was more than she had for most. Maybe that she did not mind should have told her something but it did not. Maybe that she had chased away everyone else who had tried to say the same words but two others who came before or asked the same question bar none should have told her something. But it did not, either.
Things continued as before.
So it came to a time she dreaded. Her relationship with her family was poor, but not nonexistent, and they required her aid. They would pay in alcohol and that was good. It had been nearly three months since their introduction, and for the first time, she would be out of contact for two days.
She helped her parents set up and run a social/activity camp on a farm. She had done so every year since they began. Her tolerance for alcohol was excessive and getting her favorite in a strength she liked far outside of her usual financial reach. And so she oversaw the packing of the truck, assemble tents, arranged artfully the lounging areas, corralled attendees, and later, she watched the children in the playground. The latter suited her well as she did not care for adults, but children were simple and manageable - one need only address them as adults and be fair and consistent. It worked for her.
It was a long weekend. She missed him incessantly. She lost patience with the drinking companion who insisted on trying to keep up quite quickly which was just as well as he needed to be taken to his tend and tucked in early too. He made poor life choices. Someone dislocated a finger fighting with swords. He made poor life choices too and had an abysmal grip. She considered exactly how she would relate these stories to him. Each thing that happened had her framing what she would say to him, words ready to be spoken. But he was not there. And she could not tell him.
She wondered if this was love, then. Was it? Wanting to speak with someone all the time. Be with them. Share all that was on her mind and hear all that was on his. Hear his opinion on the events and people that moved around her now. Would she also like to kiss him? Maybe. Maybe she would. It was not the first time she had considered it. But was that a passing impulse born of wondering if this was a romantic relationship? She didn't actually know. She wondered. And she missed him. She grew terrified of what would happen if she did not love him the way he loved her. She did not want to lose him. And yet she wouldn't offer him anything she couldn't give. That would be unnecessarily cruel. What would happen if he did say something more than the question she had avoided? What would she say in return? Wanting someone - even needing someone - is not the same as loving someone.
She didn't know.
But she hurried home at the end. She disassembled and cleaned and helped load the truck but then instead of traveling with it to unpack it at the other end she begged a ride from someone leaving much sooner who also had someone back home they wanted to see, too.
They laughed about their own silliness on their way back, but drove quickly. They spoke about the people they wanted to see. The driver married that someone eventually. But that wasn’t now.
He was waiting when she got home. He knew she would come as soon as she might. They talked of the weekend until he got home and they were both alone.
And then his voice changed, and she knew that what she feared was here. Because he was going to say something that changed things.
And he did. "I.." he began.
"Don't," She panicked.
This time though, they had been apart for two days and he knew this was what he wanted. He respected her and he did not want to push but he needed to tell her. He needed to know.
She knew. Of course she knew. He knew she knew. She knew he knew she knew. But when he said it she would need to say something. And what she would say she did not know. It would change things, whatever it was, and she did not like change.
He said it because for him, change had already come. "... Love you."
Oh.
That was… different. Knowing was different from hearing. It was pain in the center of her chest, and tears in her eyes. Her body reacted before her mind understood. It flowed through her confusion and out of her mouth.
"I love you, too." She said. It hurt. When it came out it hurt. It forced it's way out of her and she didn't even know if it was the truth then. But she couldn't have said anything else. It was impossible. There was no other thing she could do. Holding it in would have hurt more.
"Marry me?" He asked her.
She said yes.
It's been 14 years since then. They live together in a house they only have because of a person who did them a kindness, far from her country, with their school-aged child who is kind and loves people. They have few friends. The ones they had then ended up being unable to travel as they wished and lost their 'nanny' once the two of them were together and saw how the other was treated by their ‘friends' and would not stand for it. It was for the best for them.
It wasn't all set, back then. 14 years ago. He came to stay with her for a few weeks over a Christmas, wherein they discovered if her cat liked him, and if all was harmonious in the areas two cannot explore while they are far apart from each other. They found they were, indeed, very much to each other's liking - in fact much self-control was required not to find that out too soon, and in places wholly inappropriate.
Then she went to stay with him, and they found out if they could live together. They cooked back to back in a tiny kitchen, and played games each morning together before he went to work. They fit together in to the bed that was far too small for two people.
She spent 89 days there.
They filed the paperwork. And a Christmas later, they married. He declared his love in flowery terms. She said "you are mine," and meant it more than she knew and in ways he took a long time to understand.
Things have not always gone their way since. One cannot expect it will with the world as it is. Her health failed. She won't be living in to old age. He works a job he hates so he has health insurance that can keep her alive longer. It hurts his body and his heart.
But their arguments are few, and quiet. They are never cruel to each-other, even when they do argue. Words one cannot take back and may regret go unspoken. They do not remember mistakes in anger and do not keep score of favors done each other in unkindly felt moments. They are affectionate in their own ways - they are terribly embarrassing in public, in each other's arms and willing to kiss passionately, because he thrives on her affection and he is hers. So she will look after him.
They give each other alone time when needed, and trust that being alone is never a reflection of their relationship. Because she does not do well if she is around people all the time. Even him.
They do not get jealous and have their own separate friends and social lives. They possess each other's passwords and use them when the other forgets what on earth it is. This happens often.
They show each other the things they love, and coo over it with bright excited eyes. She lays on his lap on the sofa and they hold hands while they watch or read their own things. Near any request will be honored, and so they do not make them unless they must - or make very small ones as a small sign of affection. He has lied to her sometimes when he fears she might leave him if she realizes he is imperfect, and she lets him until she gets tired of it she tells him to stop and he remembers she knows everything anyway. She does not lie to him, except about expecting to retire together.
They conceived their child deliberately and accidentally. She was sick, so sick she vomited several times a day. She insisted she was not pregnant, but he still thought she was. He was so disappointed when she was right. And so he asked if a pregnancy would be such a terrible thing when she got better. She saw the sadness in him and said no, it wouldn't. They had always wanted children eventually. And so their child was conceived that week, much to the shock for this woman who had long known she should struggle with fertility. It had been three months since she had even bled. Life is like that sometimes. The pregnancy was awful. It was far worse than the illness had been and she lost a lot of weight. The child was healthy, though. And they love them.
They are kinder to others with each other. They will still say cruel true things, do cruel things, and enjoy it, but with more care to how well it is deserved. Fairness is a higher bar than it was 14 years ago. They are less angry, though still angry. Meet one alone and one might still wonder how on earth this person ever managed to be married - and happily in love, too - but meet the other and all is so very, very clear.
They shouldn't have met. But they did. And that is enough.
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Anonymous asked: You sound like a remarkable woman out of her time. Your posts suggest you are modern and feminine yet your cultured intelligence and cleverness seems from an earlier lost time. Would you prefer to be living in 18th Century Georgian England? One imagines you would fit right in as a heroine in Jane Austen’s Regency world of aristocratic manners and clever barbs over tea in the drawing room.
I had to smile to myself a little because the last thing I ever saw myself was a Jane Austen character. I certainly don’t see myself as heroine of Austen’s world. After all don’t most if not all of Austen’s literary heroines spend their time pathetically pining away for the socially aloof and yet heroically vulnerable gentlemen they profess to love, men who are usually too dense to know that these whining women have childish schoolgirl crushes on them? I know I’m going to angry mails now from pouting Austen fans but I have to speak my mind.
Like most people I do profess to liking a nice, cosy Jane Austen adaptation on television. The fabulous frocks, fans, feathers and finery soothe us with images of a gentler, well-mannered time when gentlemen in cravats and breeches wooed perfumed ladies across ballrooms and well-manicured lawns.
However the reality was not quite so lovely. It’s not that women - like Austen’s literary women - were caught up in the social constraints of their time but also I would get restless just sitting down all day to tea and gossip. I would sooner catch the first ship bound for India and have adventures in the Orient along the way. Tea with Mr Darcy in well stuffed breeches might not be enough for me but then again a well stocked library as most landed gentry homes had would make me reconsider.
I’m fortunate that within my family we have a wealth of diaries, correspondence, private papers, and other family heirlooms that go back a few centuries which we have scrupulously stored to hopefully pass onto future generations.
So when I can decipher some letters of my ancestors it gives me some insight into what life was like for them as men and women of their time. It’s not always easy to read as they loved to scribble in ink (now faded) in the margins on nearly every page of the books they read. And so the penmanship is stylish but minuscule and therefore sometimes hard to make out. The letters are somewhat more legible but it requires patience and perseverance to make sense of what they were writing about. It’s a wonderful way to flesh out the genealogical tree with titbits of personal anecdotes that could be perfunctory, mundane, scandalous, salacious, romantic, and even political.
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I’ve read Jane Austen like every other girl at boarding school I imagine. I like her writings but I wouldn’t say my heart is in it to actually live through that time.
Life for Georgian women, even of high birth, was harsh enough in a time when men still held all the power and husbands could beat and even rape their wives. Noblewomen caught diseases passed on from their husband's prostitutes and were still subjected to confinement and the barbaric medical practice of bleeding when pregnant. Even their fashions and frippery provided cold comfort when their make-up poisoned them, unwashed dresses and undergarments stank and their fancy foods made their teeth rot and fall out.
The fact that women did survive and even thrive is a testament to their strength and fortitude which I find admirable. 
I’m used to mud and sweat and even living rough because as ex-army officer I was trained to suck it up but it’s also in my nature because I love going rough when I hike or climb mountains or trek to other places off the beaten track. So I’m not squeamish so long as at the end of the day I can bathe or shower my aches away and I can put on a fresh change of clothing. However even I recoil in some horror when I consider that despite their elegant appearance, Georgian women carried a world of stench. While hands and faces would be washed daily, immersive bathing was considered bad for the health and was only indulged in occasionally.
The heavy gowns of the period would have caused the wearer to sweat profusely, with only perfumes such as rose water and orange blossom to mask the smell. The clothes themselves would also be pungent. Due to the huge amount of work involved in laundering, most households would have a maximum of one wash-day a month. Linen undergarments were changed as often as possible, but their "clean" smell would still be unappealing to us. Linen was often bleached in chamber lye, a kind of soap made from ashes and urine.
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As if bodily odour was not bad enough, there was also the whiff of rotting teeth. A sugar-rich diet led to frequent tooth-decay in the upper classes. Cleansing tooth-powders had started to emerge but most of these featured "spirit of vitriol", known to us as sulphuric acid, and stripped teeth of their enamel. Often the best remedy for smelling teeth and bad breath was to chew herbs such as parsley. Where a tooth was past hope of redemption, it would be pulled with pliers or a tooth key, a claw that would fix to the teeth so it could be loosened in the jaw. To avoid a gummy smile, ladies of fashion sought false teeth made from ivory or porcelain but, where possible, they preferred to have "live" teeth in their dentures. Poor people were encouraged to sell healthy teeth for this purpose. While such a practice was unethical, it was better than the other method of sourcing human teeth: pillaging them battlefields and graveyards.
Georgian women were renowned for their snowy faces and dark eyebrows but achieving the fashionable skin tone could be extremely dangerous. White face powders were lead-based and some also featured vinegar and horse manure. Years of coating the entire face, shoulders and neck with such a mixture could lead to catastrophic consequences. Society beauty Maria Gunning died at the age of just 27, having spent her life addicted to cosmetics. Lead-poisoning could cause hair loss and tooth decay but ingeniously, these problems were elegantly adapted into the fashion and it became desirable to have a high forehead and pencil-thin eyebrows. If your own eyebrows failed you completely, you could always trap a mouse in the kitchen and use its fur to make a new artificial pair.
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I usually wear my hair straight or tied up in a bun so I don’t fuss too much over my hair. This would certainly be out of place if I lived in Georgian times. Georgian ladies were the mistresses of big hair. They piled their frizzed and curled locks over pads or wires to create show pieces for the drawing room. Often their own hair was not sufficient and had to be supplemented by horse hair and false pieces. Styles from the 1760s were domed or egg-shaped, elongating into the pouf in the 1780s. But Georgiana, the infamous Duchess of Devonshire, had to take things a step further. She introduced the three-foot hair tower, ornamented with stuffed birds, waxed fruit and model ships. Following her example, women competed with one another to make the tallest headdress. Since these styles were costly and took hours to arrange, they were worn for several weeks. Ladies had to sleep sitting up and travel on the carriage floor to avoid spoiling their creations. With no combing possible, lice were inevitable so a special scratching rod was invented for irritated ladies to poke into their piled up hair.
It wasn’t any real fun being a woman and I often think Jane Austen is selling a false bill of goods in her books. You never see women in her novels deal with their menstrual problems. No one has proved for certain what they did, if anything, for sanitary hygiene. With no knickers to hold in strips of linen or rag, they were left to Mother Nature’s mercy. I can imagine that being a conversation stopper in the drawing room over tea with the vicar and his prissy wife. Their toilet habits were a little more civilised. When ladies at the royal court were caught short, they resorted to porcelain jugs much like a modern-day gravy boat. This contraption, called a bourdaloue, was stuffed up beneath the skirts and clenched beneath the thighs. Apparently it was quite normal for a lady to continue her conversation while urinating into the device! I think Jane Austen missed a trick by not having at least one scene with Elizabeth Bennet urinating under her skirts whilst trading clever barbs with Mr Darcy.
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Speaking of which marriage was not a box of chocolates in the early 18th Century or indeed later in Austen’s day. Upon marriage, a lady and all her worldly goods would become property of her husband. It was therefore essential to guard a well-to-do bride’s interests with a legal marriage settlement before the ceremony took place. I read somewhere that Henrietta Hobart, later mistress to George II, had reason to be thankful for the settlement drawn up before her marriage to Charles Howard in 1706. It stipulated that two thirds of her dowry should be invested, with the interest at her sole disposal. Should Henrietta die, the funds were to pass to her children. This arrangement was to prove life-saving when her husband became an abusive gambling-addict and alcoholic.
Lower class women were known to take extreme measures to protect their future husbands from their own debts. "Smock weddings" were intended to show that the bride brought no clothes or property to the union, thus exempting each spouse from the other’s financial liabilities. The woman would be married wearing only her undergarment or smock – or sometimes nothing at all. Of course no marriage settlement, however generous, could save a woman from a violent husband and it remained legal for a man to rape or kidnap his wife. While excessive beating was frowned upon, whipping was considered a reasonable measure to discipline a wife.  Even so, it would appear many men pushed their rights beyond the limit, for laws were later amended to say a man could only beat his wife with a stick "no thicker than his thumb".
Escaping an abusive marriage then was well-nigh impossible. Divorces were so expensive that they remained the privilege of the very rich. Even if a lady did have the money to appeal for divorce, she was by no means certain of success. She would have to prove both adultery and "life-threatening cruelty". And if she won her freedom, it would come with more than just a social cost - any children from the marriage would remain property of the husband. Certainly in my family - on my father’s English side of the family - they had their fair share of scandalous behaviour that didn’t reflect well to our 21st Century minds.
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Certainly the Georgians were not sexless and they enjoyed their carnal pleasures but of course being aristocratic they never did things that would publicly expose them to scandal. I was reading one such letter of an ancestor who was writing to her older sister about how hard it was for her to conceive her first child - a son naturally - that her rakish husband first took to prostitutes in an era when such things were common and the risk of infection from sexually transmitted diseases was rife. And then later settled on one mistress whom he seriously gave thought to impregnate her. However the mistress was an actress and thus such a union was frowned upon in landed gentry circles and so he was shamed back to his high born wife and to ‘try harder by God’s Providence’. The duty of any aristocratic wife was to produce a healthy son and heir but if nature did not take its course, they could seek help and so these ancestors of mine did.
Like many other aristocratic couples with trouble conceiving children they sought out quacks who made promises to cure infertility. One such person was a Dr James Graham who had invented what he called ‘The Celestial Bed’ that guaranteed conception and unearthly sexual pleasure. The bed itself was electrified and stood on insulating glass legs. The mattress was stuffed with stallion hair to increase potency. Mirrored floors and music from a glass harmonica heightened the experience, while the air swirled with exotic perfumes. Having made love on this bizarre contraption, the couple were encouraged to take ice baths and have a firm massage. The lady would also be advised to douse her genitals with champagne.
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It must have worked because the family line did not die out but flourished. It proves to me that champagne is the answer to almost every question in life. A woman’s travails were not over just because she was successfully pregnant. More hazards lay in her path. Despite advances in medicine, a shocking number of medieval practices remained in the Georgian birthing chamber. The long period of rest or "confinement" leading up to the birth was still enforced for wealthy women. The rooms would be kept dark and sweltering with the expectant mother wrapped up in fustian waistcoats and petticoats. As soon as she had given birth, the room was made even hotter, with the curtains round the bed pinned and even the keyhole in the door stopped to prevent a draft. When I lived in China I discovered this is what Chinese mothers did and still do to this day. So I wasn’t so surprised when I read such a practice happened in other cultures like my own.
Those more fortunate might find themselves in a birthing chair. This had a sloped back and a semi-circle cut from the seat, designed to let gravity aid nature. It was certainly a better option than staining expensive bedding and linen. With only female relatives and an unofficially trained midwife to help, many women and their babies died in childbed, as it was known. Even when male surgeons became involved in obstetrics toward the end of the century, treatments were woefully inadequate. I read in the correspondence of one of my female ancestors that she was frequently ‘bled’ during her pregnancy. Somehow she survived any risk of post-partum haemorrhage.
Even when a birth was successful without complication the wife/mother was not out of the woods just yet. In keeping with custom in landed gentry circles of the times, the new mother would not suckle their own babies. In keeping its custom this taks was given over to a wet nurse. In the case of one of my ancestors whose correspondence I read she got a village girl from the family estates to breast feed the baby. The reason for doing so was brutally simple. Firstly, it was to ensure that the lady could conceive again as soon as possible. And secondly, Wealthier women often had difficulty breastfeeding due to their tight corsets or stays. It was also believed that a child would grow up stronger and hardier with a country-woman’s milk.
But even when the baby sprog was weaned, it was common practice for it to be handed to foster-parents until it was old enough to run about and talk. Interestingly enough Jane Austen and her siblings were fostered by a cottager in Deane village, two miles from their family home.
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So overall I’m no so sure I would be thrilled to be living in the Georgian and Regency era even if it meant challenging that scoundrel Mr Wickham to a sword duel (and kicking his arse), match making with Emma, or even missing out on the pleasure of taking tea with Mr Darcy.
Sorry Mr Darcy.
Of course I’m fascinated with history and one sometimes wonder what it might be like to live in a particular time. However it’s just a flight of the imagination because to paraphrase Sir Roger Scruton I prefer to live in “the pastness of the present” rather than the past itself. This is the difference between being an historically illiterate reactionary and being a true conservative.
Thanks for your question
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i-am-zee · 3 years
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Having a lot of spare time because I'm jobless right now, made me looked back on how my career -if it is called that has been.
I am a nurse. I had my license after my first try in the Licensure exam. I was so optimistic about the career path I'll be taking. I love the profession and so even if I work as a volunteer in a hospital on our province, I'm cool with that. I felt happy. But as I go along, as our bills keep coming, and my siblings school expenses kept growing, I started to question my love of nursing.I needed a job that pay those expenses.
Me and my mom went to a relative to ask some help but I was rejected. It was my first and it cut deep. Maybe because I did not expect it to come from a relative, she's one of my mom's neice. I cried, I did not know how to hide my hurt feelings then and pretend it okay. I cried from their house until when we were traveling back to our place.when I already had it all out, I told my self not to ask anything from my relative anymore. I had been a beneficiary of my mom's sister kindness that she finance my studies which my relatives knew. But what happens is that the money I received from my aunt is also shared to my 2 other siblings so the family can meet the financial demand of our education. I had to conserve resources as possible. I got lucky coz I just borrowed my cousin's old Nursing books because not only that my allowance is not enough to buy a new one, and I also share it with my sister and brother. That even if I got a scholarship on my school, I'd say the money we had is just enough for going to school daily,for the tuition fees and for the supplies we need if we are to pass a certain projects.
Going back to that rejection scenario, After that incident, I had never been the same person I was.
I pushed my self to look for a job that could pay our bills.I had to take a different path that could generate an income and somehow help my parents make ends meet. I became a telephone operator/ nurse in a hotel nearby. It lasted for few months until I had again an opportunity to work as a nurse under a government health agency.but after a year, it ended and I was told I cannot renew until after few years to give chance to others, because during this time there is an oversupply of nurses in the Philippines.And so I looked for another job, aiming to go out of the country but end up in a BPO industryI remember sending 9 application fo 9 different nurse job opening and 1 BPO job and ends up receiving calls from the BPO vacancy. So there. I went for an interview with my mom waiting on the first floor of the building.she went with me because she said I might get lost. Nut maybe it's a ways of her saying she supports me. I remember telling the one who interview me that I need to survive so I need the job so i can finance my quest for an overseas opportunity as a nurse.
I got the job. I thought at first that it was just talking. But it was more than that. They had to made me speak a neutral accent,made me knowledgable about how the insurance work, how to review details on their concern as quickly as possible. I learned but it was not that easy as I thought it would. when I kinda get the hang of it ( but often days I just wanna hang my self coz the callers are frustrating hahahahahah) I started to look again for an agency that offers a nursing job.My nights were spent taking in calls and my mornings consist of submitting applications on agency that offers a nurse job overseas, taking initial interviews and only to be told,they'll just call. It has been like that for quite sometime then my spirit grow tired. I stopped and just focused on being an agent taking calls that somehow gave financial assistance to my family. After 2 years , I realized that I had to get back to my profession. So I started to check on job openings even as a nurse assistant but ends up getting rejected again.
After a good amount of bond paper, inks, sleepless days, thousands of walks I was able to sign a contract going to middle east. I worked as a nurse there for 3 years and 9 months. But I had to go back to the country because my family needs me. My dad get sick and my mom has been the only one looking after themselves. So there. I got back and looked for a job where I can work near them. I worked again under the government's health agency program and that lasted for about 8 months. And apparently renewal was not very visible for me and for rest of the employee of that certain office/post I'm in.
It's a series of getting a work not getting paid, landing a job but it's not what you study and love,securing a job you love but had a circumstance that made you choose between the job of the family you care for so much, getting a job but ends up after a few months and now your back to square 1.
It's just funny and kinda annoying to think that I feel that I had been struggling for it, others seem to have it easily. Pass the board, get a job, get paid, continue working. It like a calm river that flows abundantly.and mine was like a raging river and I am rafting through it. The raft has been turned upside down and took great effort from my wounded spirit to get it up to go on. I make progress but then got stucked again. Why does it come easy for other and not for me, am I missing something? Do I not deserve to experience a little comfort in life that runs long? Or maybe I am a vessel of jinx? Is it still worth it to continue to work as a nurse? I am using this to take a break to think this through and to somehow mend my weary mind, broken self confidence and sorrowed soul.
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adolanables · 5 years
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The City (Chapter 1)
23. Do people really not like you when you’re 23 or is that just a song lyric? So far, you weren’t sure. You’d never celebrated a birthday this way, but you’d also never turned 23 before.
Three steps up the stoop, ten more steps down the hallway, a turned knob, and there it was. Your brand new (to you) studio apartment. You hadn’t expected to be moving in all on your own, but trying to get help from your friends was basically the same as pulling a tooth. If there wasn’t anything in it for them – they WEREN’T coming. You’d gotten used to it at this point, but damn, it would’ve been nice.
This will be your first time living alone, and you couldn’t be more ready. After 4 years of living in the suburbs with your friends, you were so ready to be on your own. Sharing a space with so many people was not only hard, but it also meant you really didn’t have that much furniture. The only thing you had brought with you was a coffee table, bed, and a night stand. Your new apartment was pretty bare, but you couldn’t have been happier.
It had been your dream since you were a little girl to live in downtown Chicago. Growing up in no-where town Central Illinois was brutal on your free spirit, so the second you could leave – you DID. You knew you had to take a commonly traveled career path if you wanted to make this life for yourself, so you worked hard and got into University of Chicago. Talk about a dream school. It was hard living in the city in old apartments, trying to make rent; so you and a few friends had gathered up the money to make the move to the suburbs. You’d finally be able to make use of your car that was gathering dust in a parking garage.
You lived in that small townhome with Mary, Laura, and Tanya for four of the most important years of your lives. There were fights  - some big ones – but you wouldn’t have traded those years for anything. But things were changing. Laura was moving in with her long-time boyfriend, Mary was still stuck in the party-phase, and Taylor was continuing her education. After graduating college, you took a job that was offered to you because it felt safe; and it was. You made a solid salary and were comfortable; but you didn’t move to Chicago five years ago to be comfortable. So, a month ago you quit that job and started applying to dream jobs of yours in the city. To most people, being a financial analyst is no dream job, but for you it was. You loved numbers, you loved business, and even more – you loved money. No, it wasn’t your whole life; but growing up without any made you appreciate it THAT much more.
To your surprise, you got a call back from one of the companies you never even imagined working for. You were starting in two weeks and knew now was the perfect time to make the move into the city. You found a small studio apartment on the north side of town and moved in immediately. It was fair that your friends weren’t able to help you, you only gave them about a week’s notice.
 To be honest, you had kind of forgotten it was your birthday. With all of the stress of moving and starting a new job, it just hadn’t been on your mind. So when your mom sent a “Happy Birthday Ella” text, you had to physically go check the date to see if she was right. 22 had been one hell of a year, but you couldn’t help but feel like it was kind of wasted – settling. For jobs, men, happiness – everything. A year long relationship ended in a brutal cheating scandal that rocked your world and since then you had sworn off men for good. You weren’t willing to experience that kind of hurt again. You were determined 23 was going to be a good year, there really wasn’t any other option – it was going to be your bitch. Period.
--
10 hours and boxes later, you were finally moved in. You had managed to unpack pretty much everything – mainly because you didn’t have all that much. To celebrate your birthday, you had made a quick pickup order from Portillos and were now contemplating what to get for dessert. Doing a quick google search of the nearest ice cream shop, you headed out the door – light jacket in hand.
“Hey neighbor.”
A deep voice sounded as you stepped out from your apartment. You turned your head down the hall to see a tall, handsome guy with handfuls of groceries standing in the doorway next to yours.
“Oh, hi. I just moved in!” You grinned at the guy, hopeful to make friends with your new neighbor.
“I figured as much. Give me one second – “ He stepped inside his door to set his groceries down and came back into the hallway. “I’m Ethan.” He extended his hand to me and you shook it quickly.
“I’m Ella.” You smiled back at him. He was cute – so cute – but definitely not your type. He wore a slightly stained white t-shirt and black basketball shorts. “Have you lived here for long?”
“About two years now, I can’t complain. Sometimes the hot water runs out pretty fast, but that may just be because of my brother.” He chuckled.
“Oh, that’s a two bedroom?” You wrinkled my nose, confused.
“Ah, no. I’ve got a one bedroom, not a studio – but pretty sure all the units on this floor on singles.” He explained. “My brother just stays with me a lot.”
“Oh, gotcha, gotcha.” You nodded, making sure to lock the door to your apartment. “Well, I’m going to head out and get some dessert. Have a good night, Ethan!”
He smiled and nodded at you as you slipped past him down the hallway. He seemed nice enough, but you did think it was odd that his brother stayed with him so often in such a small apartment. Perhaps that was normal for siblings – you wouldn’t know since you didn’t have any.
-
You had taken your time eating your ice cream in solitude and didn’t realize how late it had gotten. It was pitch black outside and if there’s one thing you tried to avoid, it was walking home at night. No matter how much you loved this city, you weren’t that stupid. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. So, you stuffed your hands into your pockets and walked quickly back to your building.
Thankfully, you got home without incident, but as you approached your stoop you noticed someone crouched down in the corner of the porch. Hesitant, but pretty sure it was a homeless person you walked up the stairs. Fully ready to ignore this person, you began typing the code into the keypad to enter the building. Before you could finish the crouched person spoke up.
“Dammit, I always forget the 5.”
“Oh, um, you live here?” You still couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice sounded eerily familiar and you couldn’t understand how someone who lived here could forget a code you use every time you enter.
Standing up quickly, the shadowed figure came into sight under the porch light – “No, my brother does.” You quickly understood why the voice sounded familiar, but could not understand how two boys – twins at that – could have two completely different effects on you.
“Oh, I th-think I met him today.” You quickly typed the rest of the code in and hurried into the building – eager to get out of the chilly air. Even more eager to get into your warm bed.
“Ethan?” The boy raised an eyebrow at you, waiting on your nod. He looked strikingly identical to Ethan, but it was so confusing how different they were as well. Ethan’s face was friendly – softer almost. As was his demeanor, meeting him in the hallway you felt like he was already a friend. “I’m Grayson.” He spoke softly and sharply – almost as if he did not want to be speaking to you at all.
“Ella.” You breathed out quickly, approaching the door to your apartment. Grayson had made you so nervous, your hands were shaking. Was it the way he looked? Or how he was acting? Maybe just the fact that you had been convinced this gorgeous man was a homeless person on your stoop. Before you could get the key into the lock, the door to Ethan’s apartment opened.
“Jesus, Grayson.” Ethan huffed from behind the doorframe. “I told you the curfew is NINE. It is almost midnight.”
“Sorry.” Grayson shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark black jeans. He also wore a white t-shirt like Ethan had, but it hugged his muscles tighter – he looked huge. “I met the new girl.” Ethan glanced over at me, surprised to see you still hadn’t managed to get the key into the door knob.
“Oh, Ella –“ Ethan peered around the corner, still in the same dirty t-shirt as before. He looked concerned for a moment, but his face lifted quickly. “Do you want to come in for a few? I have some wine, we can celebrate your first night here!”
As much as you wanted to say no and hit the hay, you couldn’t turn down the invitation to make two new friends on your first day in the building. So, instead of fumbling with your keys some more, you took the four steps to Ethan’s door and stepped in behind Grayson.
-
To say this was a boy’s apartment was an understatement. It was relatively clean, but there was no decoration and the center piece of the room was the TV. That being said, it was making for a nice evening of drinking wine and casually watching trash TV with your two new friends.
Grayson had slipped away into the bedroom early into the evening, so most of your night had been spent with Ethan on the couch. The two of you were on opposite ends, but he had made you feel right at home. He was very sweet, you could tell he was trying very hard to make you feel comfortable.
“Sorry for keeping you here so long.” Ethan glanced down at the time on his phone. “You’re welcome to head home whenever – I just know how lonely the first night in a new place can be.”
“No, thank you for inviting me.” You smiled back at him. “I was nervous about meeting new people, so this has really helped ease my nerves.”
“That’s good to hear!” He smiled goofily. “So, what brings you to the city miss Ella …?”
“Fisher – Ella Fisher.” You finished his sentence, realizing you didn’t know his last name either. “I went to school here, but moved back into downtown for a new job, mister Ethan…?”
“Dolan.” He took a big sip of his wine, finishing off his glass. “I know I’m not supposed to ask a lady this, but how old are you? That’s pretty big shot if you got a job good enough for that apartment – that’s not pocket change.”
“Just turned 23 – today actually.” You laughed, you had briefly forgotten again that it was – well had been – your birthday. “Well, yesterday, since it’s approximately 3 am of the next day.”
“What!!” Ethan jumped up from the couch. “You never mentioned a birthday!” He was yelling so loudly, you had to wince.
Not even ten seconds later, heavy footsteps came out of the bedroom and a shirtless – sleepy – Grayson was standing at the entrance of the living room. “For fucks sake Ethan. Could you shut the fuck up? I was asleep.” You couldn’t help but stare at this boy’s chiseled chest – his torso went on for miles. His hair was disheveled and eyes slightly swollen, but god damn he was hot. So was Ethan, but you couldn’t help but feel that ache in your stomach for Grayson. It was almost like Ethan was so playful and polite, you could never see him as attractive.
“Yeah, in MY bed.” Ethan rolled his eyes, but picked up the wine bottle and shoved it into Grayson’s chest. “It was Ella’s birthday and she didn’t tell me!” Ethan was drunk – very drunk – either that or you just completely misread him earlier. He was stumbling over himself and slurring his words, but still wearing a friendly grin. “Come on Gray, drink drink drink.”
“I think I’m going to have to to deal with your annoying ass all night.” Grayson took a giant swig of the red wine. “How old are yo-“
“She’s tweeenty three” Ethan sang, wagging his finger in the air. “We are twenty fiiive, Ella. Older and wiser gentlemen.”
“Ah, wise beyond your years I presume.” You spoke softly, laughing under your breath at the boys in front of me. You felt this was a perfect description of the two of them. Ethan light- heartedly dancing around the room singing the popular Blink 182 song. Grayson, knelt down beside the couch, taking full on chugs of this wine – an annoyed grimace on his face. “So are we getting blacked, is that what’s happening?”
“Hell yeah!” Ethan threw his fist in the air, running over the fridge and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. “Fuck that wine, let’s get serious bitches.”
“Jesus Christ.” Grayson threw his head between his hands and groaned. “Two shots and you’re gonna be knocked out in bed, Ethan.”
“You’re a hater.” Ethan rolled his eyes and began to take shots – handing some out to Grayson and you every now and then. Approximately three shots in for all of you, Ethan was not looking so good. His face had gone pale and his eyes were drooping. “Guuuys…”
Before you could do anything, Grayson had stood up – a little wobbly himself – and wrapped an arm around his brother to guide him into the bedroom. While they were gone, you took a few more swigs of the whiskey. It didn’t taste good, but the burn going down your throat was a nice feeling. You hadn’t fully healed from all of the wounds created over the past year and you’d be lying if you said alcohol didn’t help numb that pain way too often.
“Sorry about him, he’s just a big kid.” Grayson – still shirtless – sauntered back into the room. He had perked up with the introduction of the alcohol, but he still didn’t exude friendliness. “Wanna finish that bottle?” He raised an eyebrow at you and the half empty whiskey bottle in your hand.
“I really shouldn’t…” You muttered, definitely feeling the effects of the wine and whiskey.
“I shouldn’t either, but we already started.” He shrugged, plopping himself down on the couch next to you. You felt his eyes beating into the side of your head as you watched a stupid commercial. “I know an alcoholic when I see one.”
“I’m not an alcoholic” You shot back at him defensively. If you hadn’t been drunk you would’ve gotten up and left, but the spark of curiosity in his eyes and the way his sweatpants hung off his waist made your brain foggy. “I just… sometimes indulge more than I should.” You shrugged, taking another swig.
“No judgement.” He shook his head, taking the bottle from me and throwing a bit back. “I do the same- definitely not an alcoholic either.” He smirked as he took another sip.
You were confused and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or if he was actually being confusing. Was he an alcoholic? If he was why would Ethan have given him alcohol? Why is he -?
“Thinking hard over there?” He had placed his hand on your shoulder to shake you out of your trance and you swore you felt your stomach flip. He chuckled at you softly as you turned your eyes back towards him and shrugged. “Okay, Ella – let’s play a game.”
“A game?”
“Our own version of never have I ever – the best drinking game to get to know someone.” He smiled innocently, but you knew better.
“That is NOT what that game was invented for.” You rolled your eyes at him, tugging on the hem of your leggings. You hated what alcohol did to you, but loved it for making you spend more time with this man. He smelled like a fancy cologne and this cheap whiskey, but you couldn’t get enough. Moving closer to him, your knees were touching and you adjusted to face him. “But… I’m down.”
-
Thirty minutes, the rest of the whiskey bottle, and probably one hundred questions later you were now onto the second game of truth or dare. You had learned entirely too much about Grayson’s sex life and he about yours in never have I ever and you were both starting to get uncomfortable. You were absolutely hammered and so was he – both of you were lying on opposite ends of the couch, legs entangled in the middle.
“Ella Fisherrrr” Grayson huffed. “I dare you toooo – “
“I dare you to suck my dickkk” You giggled, throwing your head back at the joke you thought was absolutely hilarious.
“How about you suck miiine.” Grayson laughed alongside you, joining in on the joke. You weren’t sure if he was serious, but the alcohol in your bloodstream told you he was and all of a sudden it wasn’t a joke anymore.
Before he could react, you had jumped onto your knees to straddle him on the couch. His deep brown eyes widened at the sudden movement before he threw his head back in laughter again – he still thought you were kidding. It had been months since you did this, but what’s the harm? Ugh, okay you knew there was harm but the drinks in your system made you ignore those.
“Can I?” You looked up at him seriously as you wrapped your hands around the waistband of his sweatpants. To your surprise, he looked annoyed with you but nodded his head anyways. You tilted your head in confusion, furrowing your brow at him.
“Go ahead, suck it.” His voice had deepened and all playfulness had left the chat. The harsh lines of his face had returned and the scary demeanor you thought he had on the stoop had returned. You knew you should question it – maybe even be a little scared why he shifted so quickly. But your drunk ass just wanted to see if this man’s penis was as impressive as the rest of him. “Don’t just sit the-“
Before he could finish his sentence, you had pulled his pants down to his knees. A bit upset to see he wasn’t fully hard, but you wrapped your small hand around it anyways. He had a small patch of dark hair right above shaft, leading up to the happy trail on his lower stomach. He was so hot. He started to slowly harden up as you pumped him, but reached down to tug at your sweatshirt collar. “Take your fucking clothes off.”
His voice made you uneasy, but you obeyed. Now kneeling on the floor in front of him in just your underwear and bra, his eyes had glossed over and his cock was now standing fully at attention. He leaned his had back against the couch and shut his eyes, waiting on you. His change in demeanor had lessened your desire somewhat, but you still wanted to do this – wanted to taste him. You knew you would regret this in the morning, but right now you didn’t care.
You wrapped your hand around his shaft and slowly slid his bright pink tip into your mouth – circling your tongue around the head a few times before fully engulfing his member. He let out a low groan as your hand went up to his balls, lightly squeezing. After a few minutes of sucking, Grayson grabbed the sides of your head and started the thrust in and out. Slowly at first, but slowly picking up speed. This was nice at first and the pleasured grunts he was making was making you so wet. But he wasn’t stopping, he was going so hard, for so long, you couldn’t stop gagging and it seemed like he was never going to cum. You hung in there for about ten minutes of this until he took a second to breathe.
Upset, you looked up at him – sure the mascara was completely covering your face at this point. He was looking past you, at the TV – ESPN. You felt anger bubbling up in your stomach, but before you could say anything he tapped you gently with his foot. “You can leave now, you’re not gonna make me cum.”
His words felt like daggers in your chest – not because you had any attachment to this guy, but because the one thing you thought you were good at was just denied. He not only just used you for a sexual favor – that yes you wanted to do – but he also acted like his nut was the only thing that mattered.
You knew you should’ve spoken up, maybe yelled at him, but you couldn’t. You felt hot tears rising in the back of your eyes and you knew you had to get out of there fast. You pushed away from him quickly and started fumbling with your clothes, pulling your leggings back up over your perky butt. You slipped your sweatshirt over your dark brown hair and started patting around for your keys and phone.
“You know, if you’re going to be a slut, it might be helpful to at least be good at it.” Grayson spat at you, disgusted.
With your keys and phone now in hand, you could not help the tears from spilling over your eyes as those evil words came out of his mouth. Drunk you was not only horny, but she was damn emotional. She usually would’ve stayed to argue, but you really didn’t want him to see you ugly sobbing.
“Jesus fuck, now you’re crying?” He shook his head at you, standing up, full frontal on display. “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.” He ushered you out of the apartment, slamming the door before you were even fully out.
Somberly, you walked back to your apartment, slid the key in the door, and fell into your soft bed – crying yourself to sleep.
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klopsiia · 4 years
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       is that [KANG HYUNGGU]? no, that’s just [JASON YOON]. [HE/HIM] is [TWENTY-TWO] years old and is an [EMPLOYEE AT THE SCOOP!]. rumor has it they’ve been in town for [THREE YEARS]. on a good day, they’re [GREGARIOUS & CHARISMATIC]. but watch out! they can also be [NARCISSISTIC & IRRESPONSIBLE]. [SWIM BY CHASE ATLANTIC] plays in my head whenever i think of them. can’t wait to see them around springhill!
hello, i’m kayla and i’m v excited to be here and bring my baby boi jason back to life it’s been so long since i’ve been able to play him ! if you want to plot with him, you can give this a like and i’ll head to you, or you can add me on d*scord and we can do the plotting over there. i’ll hand out that information through ims if that’s what yall would prefer !                           tw: sickness & death
BACKGROUND
jason was born and raised in seattle, washington with his parents, who could barely afford to make ends meet, and his older brother, cameron. 
growing up, jason always had issues with his health. he was always weak, unable to do things for a long period of time ( especially anything too active ) before having shortness of breath. for a long time, they doctors came up short with a diagnosis and assuming he was asthmatic. the inhaler helped him for a little while there, but again, anything too strenuous and he couldn’t breathe. 
after a few years, he only got worse        soon that shortness of breath had chest pains and fainting accompanying it. this made it hard for him to do much, he was bedridden during most of his teenage years and spent a lot of time in hospitals, traveling to see different doctors and specialists that could help him and his family understand what was going on in his body. 
he was absolutely miserable for such a long period of time. always being left out of things, and unable to do any type of fun activities without risking losing his breath and having an “asthma attack”. he just felt really alone. of course, he had his friends, but he felt that he was always holding them back from doing what they wanted to do because he was physically incapable of handling most situations that kids and teenagers face. 
by the time he was 16, he was finally properly diagnosed with HCM ( hypertrophic cardiomyopathy )  this is a condition where it the heart muscle becomes thick, which makes it hard for the heart to pump blood normally.
he ended up moving at 18 to springhill because his cardiologist is close by and it was easier on them financially to just move closer. frequent flights back and forth wasn’t good financially, nor on him. 
once he finally got some news about his health he kinda started looking up and feeling better emotionally. more positivity and light came from him and his close family and friends were able to notice that. and with certain treatment he was able to do little things he couldn’t before. 
as for his family, their financial situation only got worse with the move and the hospital payments. so, his elder brother ended up taking up two jobs to help their parents out with some rent issues. and shortly after, so did jason. nothing too strenuous or big, but he was getting by on his own and he enjoyed it. he no longer felt like he had to be babied ( of course, he still is )  and was finally becoming his own person by himself. 
problems at home were minimal, and for the most part, he has a really supportive and loving family, their only issues stem from money. but with all four of them working jobs, they’re managing it. 
him and his brother butt heads constantly. they’re pretty much always arguing about something, because both of them have really strong opinions and will not go without having the last word. loving brothers, but always, always fighting about stupid shit. 
PERSONALITY
jason is really talkative and he loves engaging in conversations with just about anybody       he’s really friendly.
he’s always trying to get up to dumb shit that probably isn’t good for his well being ( or his parents approval ). so, like, he’s always down to do anything he hasn’t tried before. 
v v open minded about a lot of things and is definitely a person to go to when you just need someone to listen. he gives shit advice, so don’t expect much other than a pat on the back and a solid “it’ll be okay” because other than that, in most dramatic situations, he has no idea what to do. 
had too high of a head on his shoulders. his confidence is a little too much, and he hardly gets embarrassed by his narcissistic attitude and view of himself. definitely pretty vain. 
irresponsible as hell. that’s all i can really say on that matter. he always doing the opposite of what he’s told to do. 
loves to argue?? half the time he can be wrong about what he’s arguing about, but he’ll still keeping going on about it. doesn’t really matter to him. 
too, too playful. 
says really dumb shit, not sure if half the time he realizes what he’s saying is dumb. 
most of the time he’s more of a go with the flow type of person. he doesn’t stick to plans. 
so sensitive. it’s really easily to piss him off or upset him with just about anything and turns him into a blubbering mess because he doesn’t really know how to form words or express himself in the right way when he’s super super angry. 
MISCELLANEOUS
because of his condition, he still has a hard time doing most activities. but, he doesn’t tell anybody except his employers about his health because he doesn’t want sympathy, nor any special help. so most of the time, he does come off as lazy and he’s honestly pretty fine with that. only people close to him really know about what’s going on with him. 
complications always arise suddenly so there will be times where he’s not acting like his normal self, or just keeping to himself. 
uhhh, he doesn’t have a high, or long, life expectancy ?? so he’s really just living life to the fullest with the time he’s got. 
he works at the scoop! as just a salesperson. rings people up and gives people their order. a really simple job, but he likes it there a lot. probably wouldn’t trade that job for anything right now. 
still lives with his parents?? he’s 22 and still very much a mommas boy. probably wont leave her side, or his fathers, until they kick him out. 
uhh pansexual if that matters ?? he doesn’t really care much about that, he just looks for if he vibes well with a person or not.
if you say ‘bet’ to him about anything, he will always, always do it. 
i dont wanna make this too long so i’ll probably leave this here !
POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS
definitely, definitely want his older brother ???? 
give him some best friends, some buddies he loves company and people 
someone to annoy him and set him off constantly?? whether it’s a serious dislike or just playful bantering. 
someone that he really looks up to?? kind of like an older figure i guess 
someone that’s always up to do crazy shit with him, 100% supports his dumb antics. 
uhhh unrequited ?? he’s definitely the type to chase somebody carelessly. a big simp. just crush his spirits thank u
im always down to brainstorm ?? these are kinda just basic plots i apologize i’ve run out of ideas but i know i needed to get this posted. 
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18th September >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 8:1-3 for Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘With him went the Twelve, as well as certain women’.
Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)
Luke 8:1-3
The women who accompanied Jesus
Jesus made his way through towns and villages preaching, and proclaiming the Good News of the kingdom of God. With him went the Twelve, as well as certain women who had been cured of evil spirits and ailments: Mary surnamed the Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, Joanna the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, Susanna, and several others who provided for them out of their own resources.
Gospel (USA)
Luke 8:1-3
Accompanying them were some women, who provided for them out of their resources.
Jesus journeyed from one town and village to another, preaching and proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom of God. Accompanying him were the Twelve and some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, Susanna, and many others who provided for them out of their resources.
Reflections (7)
(i) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
Today’s gospel reading shows us that women played a very important role in Jesus’ ministry. It mentions a large group of women, three of whom are named, who travelled with Jesus and who provided for him and his close associates out of their own resources. They were clearly women of some financial means, as demonstrated by Joanna who was the wife of Herod’s steward, which was a very important position to hold in the royal court. They point ahead to the vital role women were to play in the church and continue to play today. The gospel reading reminds us that Jesus was not only a giver but a receiver. He once spoke of himself as the Son of Man who came not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many. Jesus gave everything, his very life, so that we might all come to share in his risen life, as Paul reminds us in today’s first reading. Yet, Jesus also knew how to receive from others. He may have come to serve rather than to be served, but he also needed the service of others, such as the service of the women in today’s gospel reading, and he allowed himself to be served by others. The risen Lord continues to serve us today, in all sorts of ways, but he also continues to need our service. He needs our willingness to serve him and others, if his own service is to be effective in our world today. We too are called both to serve and to be served. We each have much to give to others and also much to receive from others. We can each bring the Lord into the world in a way that is unique to each of us, and we each need others to bring the Lord to us. Today, in the light of the gospel reading, we might thank God for all, in particular, for all those women who in various ways have brought the Lord to us in the course of our lives.
And/Or
(ii) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
Women don’t have quite as strong a profile as men in the gospels. Yet, the women who do feature tend to leave a lasting impression. We think of Mary, the mother of Jesus, the Samaritan woman who met Jesus at the well, Martha and her sister Mary who were friends of Jesus and offered him hospitality, the Syro-Phoenician woman who displayed a steadfast faith in the face of Jesus’ reluctance to respond to her request, the widow who put all she had into the temple treasury, Anna who spent all her time in the Temple of Jerusalem and spoke to others about the child Jesus, the faithful women who stood by the cross when the male disciples had fled, Mary Magdalene who, according to John’s gospel, was the first to whom the risen Lord appeared and the first to proclaim the Easter good news. All these women, and many others, model for us some aspect of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. This morning’s gospel reading speaks of a group of women who travelled with Jesus and the Twelve, and who provided for them out of their own resources. They were clearly women of some means who provided very practical, including financial, support for Jesus and his ministry. Jesus was served by these women. We think of Jesus as the great servant of others and, indeed, he said of himself that he came not to be served but to serve. Yet, he also allowed himself to be served; there were times when he needed to be served. This morning’s gospel suggests that Jesus benefited in a special way from the service of women. As the Lord’s followers we are called to serve others in his Spirit but we are also called to allow him to serve us in and through the service of others, and in particular the service of women. This morning we thank the Lord for the many ways that women serve us in the church. Without their faithful service, all of us who form the church would be so much the poorer.
 And/Or
(iii) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
We generally think of Jesus as the servant of all, and, indeed, that is how he presented himself. According to the gospels, he declared that he came not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many. Yet, even Jesus needed to be served at times. He was dependent at times on the service that others gave him. This morning’s gospel reading draws attention to the ways that some women served him. Luke states that, as Jesus made his way through towns and villages preaching, several women provided for him out of their own resources. Their service of him enabled him to serve others. If Jesus was in need of the service of others at times, we his followers certainly are. We are called to serve, but we are also called to receive the service of others, because we need their service. Serving others calls for generosity; allowing ourselves to be served by others calls for humility, the recognition that we are limited and that others can bring to us what we do not have within ourselves. As Paul saw so clearly, within the church, the body of Christ, we are all interdependent. The Spirit is at work in all our lives in different ways. We need the service of others and others need our service. We all have something to give and something to receive. This morning’s gospel encourages us to be open to receive the service of the Lord as it comes to us in and through those who journey with us and cross our path in life.
 And/Or
(iv) Friday, Twenty Fourth week in Ordinary Time
The gospel reading this morning presents us with a picture of Jesus and the twelve disciples travelling in the company of certain women who provided for Jesus and the twelve out of their own means. They were clearly women of means, who had resources that they could place at the disposal of Jesus and his closest associates. He, in turn, must have been grateful to have been supported and provided for in this way. In his life of service of others he had no opportunity to provide for himself in a material way and he was dependent on the generosity and hospitality of others. This group of women played a key role in giving Jesus the freedom to do God’s work by supporting him materially and financially. The gospel reading calls on us to imitate the women by using our material resources to further the work of God and the coming of God’s kingdom. These women can inspire us to use what we have been given to serve the Lord and his people.
 And/Or
(v) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
In this morning’s short gospel reading Luke tells us that among those who accompanied Jesus on his journeys were a group of woman. They appear to have been women of some means, because they provided for Jesus and the twelve out of their own resources. In that culture, it would have been unusual to see women following a male religious leader in such a public way. The normal setting of women would have been the domestic space. It would not be normal for a woman to be meeting in pubic with a man who was not a relative. Jesus was in the process of forming a new kind of community in which the gender and social differences of the time were no longer important. Saint Paul expressed that vision of Jesus very clearly when he said in his letter to the Galatians, ‘there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ’. If Jesus’ vision and practice inspired Paul, it needs to keep on inspiring us in the church today. We have to do all we can to ensure that our parish community is as inclusive and embracing as the community Jesus gathered about himself. Jesus created a space for people, men and women, to serve each other and to serve him. We need to keep on working to create that same kind of space in which everyone’s gifts are recognized and everyone has an opportunity to use them. In different ways we are all called to serve the Lord out of our own resources.
 And/Or
(vi) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
From the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus has been gathering a community of disciples about himself. Today’s short gospel makes clear that this community embraced not only men, but women, with three being mentioned by name, including one from the best society. Joannawas the wife of an administrator at the court of Herod Antipas. In the context of that culture, this was a highly unusual community to be forming, one which would invariably encounter strong resistance. This group of Galilean women will be mentioned again by Luke as standing at a distance from Golgotha, watching all that took place around the death of Jesus, as seeing Jesus’ tomb and how his body was laid and then as coming to the tomb on the first day of the week after Jesus’ death, with Mary Magdalene and Johanna mentioned by name. It is said of the women in today’s gospel reading that they had experienced Jesus’ healing power. Mary Magdalene (not to be confused with the sinful woman of the previous episode) had been in particular need of healing. In gratitude for what they had received from Jesus, they now devote themselves to his service and the service of the disciples, providing hospitality out of their means. They model for us both the openness to receive from Jesus and the willingness to give generously from what has been received. We too have been greatly graced and we are called to give from what we have received. In giving from what we have received, Jesus assures us that we will receive even more, ‘give, and it will be given to you’.
 And/Or
(vii) Friday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time
There is a lot of human wisdom in today’s first reading, from the first letter of Saint Paul to Timothy. He quotes an obvious truth, ‘we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it’. On that basis, he warns Timothy and his community against longing to be rich. He recognizes that the excessive love of money can be the root of a lot of evils and declares, in particular, that those who set their hearts on wealth tend to wander away from the faith. It is a message that is very much in keeping with Pope Francis’s call on us to live simply. In the gospel reading, we hear of a group women who lived in that way. These women weren’t poor; they had material resources. One of them was the wife of the chief steward of Herod, the tetrarch of Galilee. Even though they seem to be better off than many of their contemporaries, they were not attached to their resources, their wealth. The gospel reading says that they provided for Jesus and his disciples out of their resources. Jesus and his disciples were poor and they depended on the generosity of people like these women to continue with their work. All of these woman had experienced the healing power of Jesus in their lives, and this was their way of expressing their gratitude to him. Today’s reading remind us that it is not what we possess that matters so much, but what we do with what we possess. Like the women, we have all been blessed and graced by the Lord in various ways. Like them, we are called to use our resources, including our material resources, in grateful service of the Lord and his people.
Fr. Martin Hogan.
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newstfionline · 4 years
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Trump Threatens to Send Federal Law Enforcement Forces to More Cities (NYT) President Trump plans to deploy federal law enforcement to Chicago and threatened on Monday to send agents to other major cities—all controlled by Democrats. Governors and other officials reacted angrily to the president’s move, calling it an election-year ploy as they squared off over crime, civil liberties and local control that has spread from Portland, Ore., across the country. With camouflage-clad agents already sweeping through the streets of Portland, more units were poised to head to Chicago, and Mr. Trump suggested that he would follow suit in New York, Philadelphia, Detroit and other urban centers. Governors and other officials compared his actions to authoritarianism and vowed to pursue legislation or lawsuits to stop him. “I’m going to do something—that, I can tell you,” Mr. Trump told reporters in the Oval Office. “Because we’re not going to let New York and Chicago and Philadelphia and Detroit and Baltimore and all of these—Oakland is a mess. We’re not going to let this happen in our country. All run by liberal Democrats.”
Chicago restaurateur joins mission to feed America’s hungry (AP) Before coronavirus arrived, Manish Mallick’s trips to this city’s South Side had been limited to attending graduate classes at the University of Chicago. Now Mallick is a South Side regular—and a popular one. He regularly arrives bearing food for the hungry from his Indian restaurant several miles to the north, in the city’s downtown. “Thank you, sugar, for the meals. They’re so delicious!” one woman recently shouted to Mallick outside a South Side YWCA. “God bless you!” she added, raising her arms for emphasis. Mallick has personally delivered thousands of meals cooked and packed by his staff—among them, chickpea curry and tandoori chicken with roasted cottage cheese, sweet corn, peas and rice. Volunteers from neighborhood organizations then take them to children, retirees and the multitudes who’ve been laid off or sick during the pandemic. “We all need to help each other,” Mallick says. “That’s the best way to get through a crisis.”
American tourists are banned from the Bahamas as coronavirus cases spike (Washington Post) One of the few countries to welcome U.S. tourists has changed its mind, citing soaring infection numbers. The Bahamas will close its borders to most visitors from the United States starting Wednesday, Prime Minister Hubert Minnis said Sunday. While commercial flights from Canada, Britain and the European Union will still be allowed to land, all visitors must show proof that they tested negative for the coronavirus at an accredited lab in the past 10 days. Other international flights will be banned.
More and more countries are making masks mandatory (Washington Post) As countries around the world reopen their economies amid ongoing novel coronavirus outbreaks, governments are increasingly embracing what remains in some places a divisive public health measure: mandatory masks. In France, face coverings will be required in all public enclosed spaces as of Monday. England is set to begin enforcing new rules that make masks mandatory inside supermarkets and other shops, effective Friday. In the U.S., there is no national mask requirement. But at the state level, a growing number of mask requirements have come into force.
EU agrees on $2.1 trillion deal after marathon summit (AP) After four days and nights of wrangling, exhausted European Union leaders finally clinched a deal on an unprecedented 1.8 trillion-euro ($2.1 trillion) budget and coronavirus recovery fund early Tuesday, after one of their longest summits ever. The 27 leaders grudgingly committed to a costly, massive aid package for those hit hardest by COVID-19, which has already killed 135,000 people within the bloc alone. “Extraordinary events, and this is the pandemic that has reached us all, also require extraordinary new methods,” German Chancellor Angela Merkel said. To confront the biggest recession in its history, the EU will establish a 750 billion-euro coronavirus fund, partly based on common borrowing, to be sent as loans and grants to the hardest-hit countries. That is in addition to the agreement on the seven-year, 1 trillion-euro EU budget that leaders had been haggling over for months even before the pandemic. “The consequences will be historic,” French President Emmanuel Macron said. “We have created a possibility of taking up loans together, of setting up a recovery fund in the spirit of solidarity,” a sense of sharing debt that would have been unthinkable not so long ago.
Breached levees trap thousands as flooding in China worsens (AP) Breached levees have trapped more than 10,000 people in an eastern Chinese town as flooding worsens across much of the country, local authorities said Tuesday. High waters overcame flood defenses protecting Guzhen, a town in Anhui province, on Sunday, the provincial government said on its official microblog. Flood waters rose as high as 3 meters (10 feet), the official Xinhua News Agency quoted Wang Qingjun, Guzhen’s Communist Party secretary, as saying. About 1,500 firefighters were rushed to carry out rescues in the province, where weeks of heavy rains have disrupted the lives of more than 3 million people, Xinhua said.
Britain suspends extradition treaty with Hong Kong (NYT) Britain on Monday suspended its extradition treaty with Hong Kong amid worries about a new national security law that Beijing imposed on the former British colony. The suspension comes as London and Beijing find themselves at increasing odds over a variety of issues, including Britain’s move to bar Chinese tech giant Huawei from its 5G wireless networks and growing public anger in Britain over the treatment of the Uighur minority in Xinjiang, an autonomous territory in China.
Japan helps 87 companies to ‘exit China’ after pandemic exposed overreliance (Washington Post) Japan is paying 87 companies to shift production back home or into Southeast Asia after the novel coronavirus pandemic disrupted supply chains and exposed an overreliance on Chinese manufacturing. Alarm bells started ringing in Japanese boardrooms as soon as the virus emerged in the Chinese city of Wuhan, a major hub of the auto parts industry. Japanese automaker Nissan was forced to temporarily halt production at a plant in Japan in February over shortages of parts from China, while a Japanese consumer goods company, Iris Ohyama, found itself unable to meet surging local demand for masks after supplies to its factory in China were disrupted and export controls out of China were tightened. In March, Prime Minister Shinzo Abe said the government wanted to bring production back home and diversify into Southeast Asia. The following month, the government set aside $2.2 billion in its coronavirus economic recovery package to subsidize that process. China is Japan’s largest trading partner, but Japan’s Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry (METI) has been trying for several years to reduce the country’s dependence on its giant neighbor. The 2008 global financial crisis, the 2011 northeastern Japan earthquake and the coronavirus pandemic all disrupted supply chains, while U.S.-China trade tensions are also a factor.
Jordan to reopen airports to tourists in August (AP) The Jordanian government says it will begin reopening airports to international travelers in August after sealing its borders in March to help halt the spread of the coronavirus. Travelers from a list of approved, low-risk countries must pass a coronavirus test at least 72 hours before departure and will get a second test upon arrival in Jordan, Transportation Minister Khaled Saif says. Jordan will require incoming tourists to download Aman, the government’s contact-tracing mobile application, for the duration of their stay in the country.
Swapping the stage for a deli: Israel underemployment rises (AP) A year ago, Cijay Brightman was doing sound and lighting for a Madonna performance in Israel. Now, after the coronavirus wiped out live events, he’s making sandwiches, slicing cheese and serving customers at a Tel Aviv deli. Brightman spent the last 15 years perfecting his craft and doing what he loves as a stage technician. But in the wake of the pandemic, he has been forced to abandon his passion and profession—like thousands of others in Israel—and find any job that will pay the bills. Underemployment is plaguing workers around the world. Although there are no global statistics yet, the phenomenon is expected to grow as the economic crisis around the world deepens, said economist Roger Gomis of the International Labor Organization.
King Salman hospitalized (Foreign Policy) Saudi Arabia’s King Salman bin Abdulaziz has been admitted to hospital with gallbladder problems, state media reported on Monday. The 84-year-old monarch is the second aging Gulf leader to seek medical attention recently, after 91-year-old Kuwaiti ruler Emir Sheikh Sabah Al Ahmad Al Sabah underwent surgery on Sunday for an as yet unnamed ailment.
Uganda’s Museveni seeks re-election to extend rule to four decades (Reuters) Uganda’s long-serving President Yoweri Museveni has collected papers to seek nomination as the ruling party’s candidate in next year’s presidential election, the party said on Tuesday. Securing a new term would potentially extend the 75-year-old former rebel fighter’s rule to four decades. Though no date has yet been fixed for the 2021 vote, it is typically held in February. The strongest opposition presidential aspirant is pop star and lawmaker Bobi Wine, 38, whose music endears him to the young. In power since 1986, Museveni’s tenure is only surpassed in Africa by Equatorial Guinea’s Teodoro Obiang, who has ruled since 1979 and Cameroon’s Paul Biya, who has ruled since 1982.
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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years
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Thousands of us have picked up a surprise savings habit in lockdown, a Money Mail survey reveals today. The coronavirus crisis has inflicted job losses and pay cuts – and still threatens to kill off many struggling businesses. But despite the doom and gloom, many Mail readers have found they are saving hundreds of pounds thanks to lockdown, and becoming more financially secure as a result. Spending cuts: Despite the doom and gloom, many readers have found themselves saving hundreds of pounds thanks to lockdown and becoming more financially secure as a result  Large expenses such as holidays, commuting costs and entertainment have vanished following unprecedented social-distancing restrictions – giving households the chance to set aside money during an economically uncertain time. Exclusive research for Money Mail by Consumer Intelligence today suggests 16 per cent of people now feel financially better off. Almost half are spending less since social-distancing restrictions were introduced, with 38 per cent saving more. Nearly four in five families say they have more money to spend since lockdown, with a quarter having between £200 and £500 more in disposable income each month. The findings come as figures from the Bank of England yesterday showed the nation saved £16.2 billion in April. In the six months to February households saved an average of £5 billion every month. What is more, households cleared an astonishing £5 billion of credit-card debt, which was more than double the previous record of £2.4 billion paid off in March. In a standard month the nation would usually clear £300 million of credit-card debt. Becky O’Connor, personal finance specialist at insurer Royal London, says: ‘A financial divide has opened up during lockdown. ‘While some are really struggling on reduced incomes, there’s another group whose experience has been almost the exact opposite. ‘If you are in a position to do so, there might never be a better time to ‘build back better’ and save.’ Here, Money Mail meets some of the nation’s new ‘accidental savers’. At last, I’ve managed to build a little nest egg  By HENRY DEEDES  All my life I’ve been a spender rather than a saver. Whatever I’ve earned during my career, my bank account has always puffed and wheezed its way through to pay day. I’ve tried to be sensible. I’ve opened saving accounts, dabbled in Isas. I even bought Premium Bonds once. Much good it’s done me. You see, any disposable cash I’ve ever had has this annoying habit of winking at me through the computer glass, urging me to go out and enjoy it. Terrible, I know, but there’s something innately therapeutic about rewarding yourself after a busy week with a little something.  A case of wine, something new to hang in the flat. Perhaps another ill-advised addition to the summer wardrobe from a tempting online emporium. Invariably, no sooner have I clicked the purchase button and the boiler will suddenly crank to halt and there’ll be nothing in the cookie jar to pay for a repair. I never learn. Lockdown has changed all that. Like a lot of people, I imagine, being trapped inside an apartment for the best part of three months has brought about a vast reduction in expenses. No need now for expensive Travelcards, pricey gym memberships or all those overpriced cups of coffee every day. And that’s before you’ve taken into account what I used to spend going out to see friends.  Remember socialising? Drinks rounds, restaurant bills. I dread to think how much I used to splurge on late-night Uber journeys during normal times. But it was a lot. And so with all these weighty charges lifted from my balance sheet, I’ve started to experience a novelty. When I check my balance at the end of the month, there’s now actually something left in the kitty. In the past I’d have been tempted to do something extravagant. ‘Why not?’ would have been my attitude. But in these times of enforced isolation, that thinking has been replaced with what’s the point? Instead, I’ve been putting it in an online investment Isa with savings app Moneybox. I pay a set amount in each month, as well as any additional funds I might have left over.  It also has a nifty feature which rounds up all my debit card transactions to the nearest pound and automatically squirrels away the extra cash. H ow satisfying it has been, how oddly empowering. Each time I check to see how my savings are accruing I now get that same whoosh of excitement I used to get when an Amazon parcel would plonk through my letterbox. It would be nice to think that when this is all over, when the High Street tills begin to ring again and when the beer pumps start flowing, I will be able to maintain this spirit of restraint.  If nothing else, this pandemic has taught us how quickly life can go south. In bleak times it pays to be prudent. Doubtless this is the last thing Chancellor Rishi Sunak wants to hear. As we re-emerge from lockdown, he needs as many idiots like me as possible flashing their plastic around with reckless abandon to get our ravaged economy moving. But if this crisis does make some a little more financially responsible, surely that’s no bad thing in the long term.   I have cleared my credit card    Olivia McCulla, who works in PR, has saved by moving back in with her parents By moving back in with her parents, Olivia McCulla, who works in PR, has saved enough to pay off her £1,000 credit card debt. She still pays £775 a month in rent for her flat in North-West London but gets £100 back that would usually go on bills because she isn’t there. Her £120-a-month travel costs and £150-a-week work lunch habit have also disappeared while she works from her parents’ home near Leeds. She has also saved thousands after the two hen-dos and four weddings she was supposed to attend this summer were postponed. However, she now has eight weddings in the diary next year to budget for. Olivia, 29, who wants to buy a property in the next few years, has opened a new savings account. She says: ‘It feels more important than ever to have a rainy-day fund with things being so uncertain. ‘In London I was paying £9.50 for a gin and tonic and through the nose for a very small flat I dread going back to. ‘Lockdown has made me question if I even want to buy in London.’ Before the coronavirus crisis, Olivia was saving about £100 a month. Her father Bernard, 65, and his wife Susan, 66, have seen their household costs rise slightly since their daughter moved home but are also saving money each month.  They previously spent £100 eating out each week, so their bank balance is boosted by £400 a month. And instead of paying a tradesman £2,000 to replace his patio with a flower garden, Bernard did it himself and slashed the cost in half. Before social-distancing regulations were relaxed, Bernard was also saving £180 a month on his golf and walking-football memberships. He says: ‘We are very fortunate. Lockdown has made me think we should live more for today and enjoy our pensions more.’ I feel guilty I’m better off  Quids in: Ashleigh Meale is saving between £500 and £700 a month Ashleigh Meale says her ‘stripped-back life’ means she is now saving between £500 and £700 a month. This is despite her grocery bill doubling to £400 a month and signing up to a TV and film- streaming service costing £60 a year. Before lockdown, the 27-year-old recruitment consultant, who is currently working from home, was putting away between £250 and £500 but would spend hundreds of pounds a month socialising with friends at expensive bars and restaurants.  Now, she and her boyfriend Rob, 38, cook their meals from scratch at home. Ashleigh, who lives in Sheffield, is also saving £70 a month by working from home and not having to pay to commute by bus. She has also been unable to spend money on holidays since the Government warned against non-essential travel. Ashleigh admits that, while she is not a natural saver, she has now realised how much she spends unnecessarily and hopes to remain mindful about what expenses she reintroduces when restrictions are finally lifted. She says: ‘Feeling better off financially during this time is a strange position to be in and it does make me feel guilty when so many people are struggling. But it has given me time to re-evaluate things, and I have no intention of blowing what I’ve saved. ‘I don’t need to be out all the time spending money on eating out and drinks when I could be just as happy with a barbecue in someone’s garden. What I have missed the most is my friends — not the expensive socialising.’ Pay cut but £400-a-month saving  Sally Walsh is saving an extra £400 a month on top of £200 she was already setting aside in a help-to-buy Isa Sally Walsh was worried when she was told she would have to take a 10 per cent pay cut in March. But despite the shock announcement, the 24-year-old engineer has found her finances have improved during lockdown. She is now saving an extra £400 a month on top of £200 she was already setting aside in a help-to-buy Isa. Since working from home, Sally has saved around £200 a month by not having to commute to central London, and a further £200 by not eating or drinking out after work. The only bill to go up is her food cost now she cooks almost every meal at home. Sally, who has lived with her parents in Bromley, South-East London since graduating, is determined to continue saving even after lockdown lifts. She says: ‘My goal is to move out as soon as possible. I feel like I am closer to it now. ‘I don’t have to spend so much on going out. I hope I will soon be able to have people over and cook for them.’ Childcare cut by thousands  Claire Jarrett and her partner Jon Howell are saving £50 a day in train fares alone Claire Jarrett and her partner Jon Howell have saved enough since lockdown to pay for renovations on their home. The couple need to fix the roof on their house in West Malling, Kent, and want to make the garden more child-friendly for their one-year-old daughter, Eleanor, to play. Claire, 31, had only been back at work for two days after returning from maternity leave before staff were told they had to work from home. With Jon, also 31, working from home too, they are saving £50 a day in train fares alone by not having to commute to the insurance firm where they both work in Bromley, South-East London. They are also saving around £5 a day on lunches at work, £80 a month on petrol and £200 a month by not eating out. But their biggest saving has been on childcare. It usually costs £800 a month to send Eleanor to nursery — but the couple have not had to pay since March. It has helped the couple to replenish their savings after Claire’s maternity leave and move their renovation plans a bit further forward. However Claire says their financial gain is likely to be short-lived. She says: ‘Lockdown has made us realise we do not need to go out as much but lots of the costs will be re-introduced when life goes back to normal, unfortunately.’ Not relying on investments  Retired Gerry Short is making savings by not playing golf, employing a cleaner or taking weekend theatre trips Retired Gerry Short has seen such a drop in his spending that he has decided to stop withdrawing income from his investments for the next couple of years. Gerry, 61, a former college principal, has two pensions that pay £20,000 a year. He gets a further £16,000 a year from investments.  After the pandemic hit the stock market, his investments plummeted. While they have recovered slightly, he wants to give them time to recover. His reduced outgoings mean he can do this as he is making savings on weekend theatre trips which can cost up to £100 a time.  He was refunded £60 of his golf-club membership. He also stopped spending £20 on drinks three or four times a week after games.  The father-of-one, who lives in Leicestershire, also no longer employs a cleaner, which cost £100 a month. He says: ‘I was aware I was spending a lot as a distraction after my wife died and knew it couldn’t continue. Lockdown has given me time to plan further in the future.’ Windfall from lost holiday  Dannielle Phillips has had to put expensive holiday plans on halt Dannielle Phillips, 32, spends most of her spare cash on trips away. But since lockdown kicked in, expensive holiday plans have ground to a halt. She has already got an £870 refund for a trip to Mexico that was supposed to take place in April. And she has received a £500 voucher she can use to re-book her holiday to Portugal in June for next year. Dannielle, a senior marketing consultant, had always put £250 a month into Premium Bonds, but has since increased this to £750 a month. Since lockdown began, she has saved around £2,500 in total, which she says would have been impossible for her before. She has always checked her banking apps frequently, but is definitely more aware of incoming and outgoing transactions now. Dannielle, who lives in Croydon, South London, says she also feels very lucky it worked out like this because she had originally handed in her notice in February and was planning to leave after finishing a project six weeks later. But the new job she had been offered fell through so her company agreed to rehire her. Dannielle says: ‘I am looking forward to lockdown ending but also dreading it because I will need to rebalance old habits. ‘I’m going to try to budget more at the weekends because I want to keep saving to buy a house. ‘Building up my savings has become more important to me because the future feels so uncertain.’ [email protected] Some links in this article may be affiliate links. If you click on them we may earn a small commission. That helps us fund This Is Money, and keep it free to use. We do not write articles to promote products. We do not allow any commercial relationship to affect our editorial independence. The post UK’s accidental savers: Poll shows many are better off in lockdown  appeared first on Sansaar Times.
http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/06/uks-accidental-savers-poll-shows-many.html
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eldritchsurveys · 4 years
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Have you ever done a craft that you found on Pinterest? >> No, I don’t use Pinterest. Do you get scrapbooking layout ideas from anywhere? >> No, because I don’t scrapbook. What do you do to wipe off the dust from ordinary life? >> What? Are you content with mystery, or do you wish you knew everything? >> Mystery is one of the things that makes life interesting, for me. My curiosity and imagination needs mystery to chew on, to turn over and over in my mind. If it was just fed all the answers, it’d be bored and so would I. What do you do when someone irritates you on Facebook? >> No one irritates me on facebook. But if they did, I’d either unfollow or unfriend them.
Are you judgmental? >> I don’t encourage judgemental behaviour in myself.
Do you think your hair looks better natural or dyed? >> I think it looks healthier when natural, and that’s the most important thing. I can always wear wigs for funky colours.
Do your parents disrespect you? >> --- Have you found that love covers over a multitude of sins? >> No. It enables one to treat another’s shortcomings with grace and compassion, which is important. But if something is truly rotten, love’s not going to do shit for it. What was the last Grand Opening you went to? >> --- Do you have anything coming up tomorrow? >> All I want to do tomorrow is play video games and be comfortable in my bed. What’s one thing that makes your stomach hurt? >> Anxiety. Ever had a living nightmare? >> Er, maybe? Do you have a lot of haters? >> Not to my knowledge. I don’t think I register on most people’s radars to begin with.
Do you think successful people always come with a pack of haters? >> I mean, probably. Envy is a hell of a drug. Do you have supernatural abilities? >> Who knows what kind of abilities I have. Even I don’t know. Do you kick yourself when you make mistakes? Do you say, “I wish I would have” a lot? >> Yeah, although I’ve been trying to cut down on the self-flagellation. Are you doing the most you can with your life? >> Sure, by my standards. Do you let people walk on you? >> No. Are you ok? >> Sure. Do you have a friend you miss right now? >> No. Do you ever write snail mail to your friends? >> No. Do you make your life look better than it is on Facebook? >> I don’t post on facebook. Do you feel God’s presence regularly? >> No. For the record, I’m not attuned to that sort of presence, so I have no idea how I’d even look for it. Do you experience chronic pain? >> No. Do you believe God loves you and is rooting for you? Wtf is with all these Christian surveys lately. Are people not aware that the vast majority of the world is not Christian? <-- They’re probably from joybucket. Christian questions aside, she makes decent surveys and there’s always a shortage of those, so. Anyway, my comprehension of a capital-g God is a more panentheistic kind, so any anthropomorphic features it’d possess are because its nature is being expressed through humanity just as much as through everything else. Have you ever dreamt that you were falling? >> Probably, but more often I just have that weird falling sensation just as I’m dropping off to sleep. It hasn’t happened much lately, but it used to happen constantly. What would your dream career be? >> --- Are you a daydreamer? >> Not so much. Do you daydream so much that you wonder if there’s anyone who doesn’t? >> --- Do you ever just sit and daydream for awhile? >> No. I’m not really sure how daydreaming works. If I’m staring into space it’s because I’ve zoned out or because I’m ruminating on some conversation I had and dissecting my every misstep or something stupid like that. Is the snow falling where you are right now? >> Not where I currently am, no. But where I live, it probably is snowing. I’ll find out when I get off the plane tonight. What is your favorite part of nature? >> What isn’t my favourite part of nature. Do you wish you could be a world traveler? >> You know... not particularly. Not to say that I don’t love seeing new places, and not to say that I don’t want to go to other countries, because I do. But it’s just not so much a priority to me anymore. I’m just as happy watching Anthony Bourdain do it. (Also, sensory defensiveness and related problems has really begun to impede on my enjoyment of travel.) Do you wish you could live in another city for a year? >> I mean, sure. I just can’t imagine what situation would lead to that. What city would you like to visit? >> Oh, you know. Any one will do. What has been your favorite city that you’ve visited? >> New Orleans. If you had kids, would you take them to Disney World? >> I wouldn’t take kids to Disney World, I’d take myself. I’ve never gone and I’m curious about it. Have you ever stood in line to get a Disney character’s autograph? >> No. Do you own a birthday crown? >> No. How long does it usually take your hair to dry? Do you dry it naturally or blow-dry it? >> My hair is very short so it takes like 10 minutes. Do you straighten your hair? >> No. Do you sleep with a teddy bear? >> I sleep with two teddy bears and an assortment of other animals. Would you consider yourself a free spirit? >> I don’t really know what that means. Do you need to clean out your closet? >> --- Do you watch YouTube videos regularly? >> Sure. What’s your favorite coffee shop? >> --- Is your Pinterest page cluttered? >> --- Do you want to start a collection? >> No. Are you a role model? Would you consider yourself a good example? >> No. Are you a leader or a follower? >> I’m just... a person, man. My roles change depending on the situation. Who’s your favorite person? >> --- Who have been your favorite American Idol contestants? >> --- Did you used to name your Barbies? >> I don’t remember if they had names. What unnatural hair color looks best on you? >> I prefer silver on me. Is your life boring? >> It can be, but I like it the way it is. Do you usually feel better around people or alone? >> Alone is usually my default comfort zone. Is there a broken relationship in your life that you want to fix? >> No. Do you ever think about Heaven? >> Occasionally, because it seems like such an... unlikely kind of afterlife. Are you ready for Heaven yet? >> lmao did you just ask me if I’m ready to die Are you afraid of where you’re going to go? >> I really hope I can get that mushroom suit for my corpse. Do you have a tree outside your window? >> No. Do you feel better now than you did last night? >> Well, which part of last night? When I was at the after-party, I felt great. When I got back to the motel, I was super tired from all the drinking and socialising, so I felt a little crappy. I feel fine now. Is your sleep schedule messed up? >> Kind of, because I just spent two nights in a different time zone and away from my own bed. But it’s nothing a few nights back home won’t fix. Does your body have any problems with it? >> *shrug* Are you doing ok spiritually? >> Relatively. Have you taken any huge risks lately? >> Well, I guess coming down here was a bit of a risk financially, but it worked out. Silence or songs? >> Depends on what I’m in the mood for. Tea or coffee? >> Tea. Books or movies? >> Both. Do you ever watch your favorite movies from when you were a kid? >> Sure. ^If you were going to do that, what would you watch? >> The Prince of Egypt, definitely. The Pagemaster is a lot of fun to rewatch, too. Also, Labyrinth, of course. Do you ignore rude people or do you call them out? >> I usually ignore them. It’s less effort. Do you have trouble staying organized? >> No. What has been your most favorite adventure? >> I don’t really know. What has been your greatest mistake? >> *shrug* Are you happy with your life right now? >> Sure. Do you take anything to make your feel better? >> CBD oil kind of functions that way for me, in a not-very-dramatic way. Are your parents still together? >> They never were. What color socks do you have on? >> Grey with a Halloween design on them. Are you under a blanket right now? >> No. Are you hopeful? >> About what....?
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