#i’m a poli sci major if that explains everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writethehousedown · 4 years

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i'm burning for you (shalaska) - freyja

A/N: hello!! I really didn’t mean for this to get up to 8k, but, here we are. I figure we all need a little beach fluff in our lives, right? Also, this is technically spring break, because it worked better for my purposes, but it works for a summer challenge. At least, I hope so.

Summary: Alaska’s crush on Sharon Needles has been manageable only because Sharon Needles does not wear anything remotely sexy. Too bad Raja decides Sharon’s going to be the model for her new swimsuit spread. Or, Sharon wears seven very, very distracting bathing suits, and Alaska’s spring break is completely and utterly fucked. 7.7k.

DAY ONE OF SPRING BREAK

“Spring break is a time to relax, right?”

“Mhm.”

“The idea is to get away from it all, right?”

“Sure.”

“‘It all’ includes hopeless crushes, right?”

“Why not?”

“Then explain to me how this is fair?”

“My eyes are telling me it’s very fair,” Willam says, sliding her sunglasses down her nose to leer over at the ice cream hut. “Maybe even a blessing.”

“I hate you,” Alaska says, but she lets her eyes follow Willam’s gaze. The sight that greets her confirms it: her spring break is completely, utterly, unfairly ruined.

Sharon Needles is standing at the stationary ice cream truck, talking animatedly with Jinkx Monsoon and completely oblivious to her enraptured audience.

“This is homophobic,” Alaska says, her eyes never leaving the other woman.

“I was just about to say gay rights,” Willam says, and Alaska takes a deep breath.

Alaska has had a crush on Sharon ever since she cracked a joke the first day of their shared government class last semester, so, naturally, Alaska has learned a few things about her: Sharon is a poli-sci major in her junior year. Sharon is at the top of her class. Sharon throws the best Halloween parties on campus. Sharon fights with the pastors that come to yell at passers-by on the quad. Sharon exclusively wears ratty t-shirts and ripped jeans. Sharon sneers at the word ‘sexy’ like it spit on her mother.

Sharon Needles is currently getting ice cream dressed in the sexiest bikini Alaska has ever laid eyes on.

It’s black, with a simple bra and a high waisted black bottom. Netting covers the top and ties around the neck, standing out against Sharon’s pale skin. Gold caps off the end of each string, catching the light attractively when Sharon shifts, laughing. It hugs Sharon’s figure tightly (of fucking course, it’s a bathing suit), showing off… everything.

“Staring is rude,” Willam says, and Alaska tears her eyes away from Sharon’s ass, cheeks burning.

“I wasn’t staring,” she says automatically. “Let’s go lay down with Courtney.”

“No ice cream?” Willam asks, voice verging on a whine, and Alaska ignores her, marching back down the beach towards Courtney, who is lazing in the sun and has been since three hours before, despite her skin already being perfectly bronzed.

“Oh, hello!” Courntey says, pleasantly surprised as Alaska flops down next to her. Willam daintily lies down on her other side. “How was the ice cream?”

“Apparently Sharon’s too sexy to be getting any ice cream,” Willam says simply.

“Willam!”

“Ah,” Courtney says sagely, looking at Alaska with sympathy. “She does look good today. I just saw her with Jinkx Monsoon.”

Alaska groans, giving into temptation and looking back at the ice cream truck just in time to see Sharon catch a drip of melted ice cream and lick it off of her finger. She does it exaggeratedly slowly, clearly in an effort to make Jinkx laugh, but all Alaska can focus on is the way her red lips split into a slow smile around her tongue.

“Fuck my life,” Alaska says, watching as Sharon cackles at the face Jinkx is making. A little bubble of jealousy springs up in her belly - she should be the one making Sharon laugh.

“Calm down,” Willam says flatly, and Alaska glares at her.

“I’ll calm down when she stops wearing that swimsuit and goes back to baggy t-shirts. Where the fuck did this even come from?”

“I think Raja Gemini got her hands on her,” Willam says.

“So Raja Gemini is to blame for ruining my life,” Alaska groans, laying down in defeat. Or maybe she owes Raja her life. Either one.

“She’s doing a swimsuit project for the school magazine,” Courtney says excitedly. “She’s done at least seven different designs, and they’re all supposed to be crazy unique. It was actually supposed to be last year’s spread, but they couldn’t find the right model.”

“She rejected Naomi Smalls, Violet Chachki, and fuckin’ Courtney,” Willam says, and then she pauses as if in thought. “I guess I would want someone with boobs, too.”

“Hey!” Courtney shrieks, laughing. Alaska shrugs.

“Makes sense,” she says. “Those girls are too skinny, anyway.”

Willam snorts. “You’re one to talk. Sharon could break you in half.”

“Yes, please,” Alaska says.

“Why don’t you go over and ask her, then?”

Alaska looks at her. “You have to know that’s not an option.”

Willam shrugs. “Your fingers, I guess.”

Alaska hits her with Courtney’s rolled up towel.

DAY TWO OF SPRING BREAK

“Tell me again why we chose to come to the most popular beach?”

“Because going with my parents to their new lakehouse would have sucked harder.”

“I don’t know,” Alaska says, her book forgotten on her stomach as she stares twenty feet to her left. “At least there would be a chance of me finishing Macbeth.”

“You don’t go to the beach to catch up in your English classes, whore,” Willam says. “You go to ogle at everyone.”

“Well,” Alaska says grimly. “I’m certainly ogling.”

Courtney had been right - Raja Gemini is doing a photoshoot, it is based on swimsuits, and Sharon is her model. They’ve decided to do the shoot on the beach itself, and currently, they are too close for Alaska’s sanity.

She watches as Raja jams the feet of her tripod into the sand, laughing at something Sharon has just said and tossing her long, straight black hair behind her back as she fiddles with her equipment. Her swimsuit is fun, made up of a strappy pink top and bottoms with a gigantic eye on the ass, but Alaska’s eyes gravitate towards Sharon no matter what she tries to focus on.

Sharon stands just off to the side, patiently waiting with her hands on her hips, completely oblivious to the way Alaska’s mouth goes dry just looking at her.

She’s in a one piece today, made up of a dangerously see through lace that shines when the sun hits it. It’s certainly unique - it covers her chest in a turtleneck and has sleeves that go down to her wrists. Her legs are bared normally, her pale skin offset brilliantly by the olive green of the fabric, and her lips are painted a dark eggplant.

If this carries on for the rest of the week, Alaska is completely screwed.

“We have to change spots,” she says, as Sharon walks over to help Raja with her camera. God, she’s so helpful. And considerate. And hot. “Like, immediately.”

“I fought a ten year old kid for this spot,” Willam says. “That’s not happening.”

“Willam,” Alaska whines, flipping over to glare at her friend. Willam is unmoved, expression blank behind her mirrored sunglasses. “If I have to suffer like this for much longer, I’ll die.”

“I’ll make sure to say nice things at your funeral,” Willam tells her. “Courtney yelled at me about the kid. I didn’t sit through that just to leave two days in.”

“Courtney’s getting you a margarita right now,” Alaska says drily. “I think she’s over it.”

“Yeah,” Willam says. “Having a girlfriend sure is nice.”

“Don’t act like she wasn’t the one to ask you,” Alaska snaps back, and Willam raises an eyebrow.

“So you’re never going to make a move?” she asks, and Alaska turns to look at Sharon again, forlorn and resigned to her fate of forever looking from afar.

“That’s exactly what I– what the fuck is she doing?”

Courtney is currently traipsing towards Raja and Sharon, two margaritas in her hands and a huge grin on her face. As she nears them, she turns her head to meet Alaska’s glare. She winks.

“I’m going to kill her,” Alaska says lowly, horror creeping under her skin, and Willam laughs.

“I guess Courtney’s going to make a move for you,” she says, and dread suddenly breaks over Alaska in a cold sweat.

“She’d better fucking not be,” she says, watching Courtney finish talking to the other two. “I swear–”

“Courtney!” Sharon hollers, and Courtney stops making her way back towards Alaska and Willam to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“We’re having a party tomorrow night! You and Willam should come! Alaska too!”

Alaska’s breath catches at the sound of her name.

“Yeah!” Courtney calls back, but not before she flashes Alaska a cheeky grin. Alaska hates her. “Totally!”

“I’ll text Willam the details!” Sharon shouts, and Alaska turns to stare at Willam.

“You have her number?” she asks incredulously.

“I have everyone’s number,” Willam says, shrugging. “Plus, we smoke sometimes.”

“You smoke sometimes?!” Alaska cries. “Why haven’t I heard about this?!”

“It’s not important!” Willam says, widening her eyes with annoyance “I smoke with everyone!”

“Smoke?” Courtney asks before Alaska can fire back an response, flopping onto the gigantic beach blanket Willam had procured at the beginning of the trip. “I would kill for a joint right now.”

“You made me leave the weed behind, remember?”

“Right.”

Alaska turns her attention back to Macbeth, over the conversation, her face burning and more absurd jealousy making it hard to focus on the words. If she can just get this act finished –

“Awww!” Courtney squeals, sounding excited. “They’ve started the shoot! Sharon looks amazing!”

Alaska is required by law to look, and when she does, her heartbeat goes straight to her underwear. She can’t tear her eyes away from Sharon, lounging on the sand with her blonde curls strewn beneath her, giving the camera the bedroomiest bedroom eyes Alaska has ever seen.

This isn’t fair.

“Damn,” Willam notes from behind her. “I thought she was going to be awkward.”

“I’m entranced,” Alaska says, watching Sharon shift positions. She’s only half joking. “I’m bewitched.”

“I’m bored,” Willam says. “Let’s go swimming.”

“I swear, you have the attention span of a goldfish,” Courtney says, looking reluctant to stop watching the shoot, but standing up anyway. Willam shrugs.

“Sorry,” she says, clearly not. She looks at Alaska. “You coming?”

Alaska grimaces. “I need to finish this,” she says, looking at Willam apologetically. She lifts up Macbeth. “Sorry.”

“I would have just taken ‘I’m too horny’,” Willam says drily, and Alaska’s jaw drops.

“Bitch!”

“Have fun!” Willam says, grabbing Courtney’s wrist and tugging her towards the water. Alaska waves them goodbye until they’re too wrapped up in each other to even think about her, and then she forces herself to look back at her book. She hadn’t been lying - she needs to read. She will finish Act One by the end of the day, god help her.

She gets two lines in before Sharon’s laughter floats by, and suddenly, Lady Macbeth’s speech is completely lacking in engagement. Before she can help it, Alaska’s eyes trail up towards the photoshoot, and a jolt runs through her at the sight of Sharon straddling a chair, her legs spread and on full display.

Alaska doesn’t look at Macbeth again until Sharon is off of the beach and out of her sight.

DAY THREE OF SPRING BREAK

Raja’s parties have always been loud, drunk, and glittery, and this one is no exception.

It’s a beach party, so Alaska, Willam, and Courtney all show up in their swimwear. Except - they have absolutely no intention of swimming.

They all have makeup on - Willam’s bright and sparkly, Courtney’s subtle, and Alaska’s the best that she could manage. Willam has body glitter spread down her arms and legs, which has spread to Alaska and Courtney by mere association, and Alaska can only hope that the chunky blue sparkles go well with her bubblegum pink bikini.

“Now this is a party!” Willam shouts over the music, and Courntey nods, grinning.

“You know what it’s missing?” she shouts back.

“Us!” Willam yells, and then they’re making their way through the crowd to the makeshift bar, which is a fold out table littered with red solo cups and booze. Alaska’s heart stops with every platinum blonde girl that they bump into on the way, and she’s relieved when they make it to their destination seeing neither hide nor hair of Sharon.

Willam fills one of the cups with beer out of the keg and thrusts it at Alaska. Alaska shakes her head at it, too nervous to drink and not the biggest fan of beer, anyway.

“Not tonight!” she says loudly, and a sudden voice from behind her makes her jump five feet into the air.

“Wow, didn’t have you pegged for a stick in the mud!”

She whirls around to find Sharon standing just beside her, a red solo cup in her hand and her cheeks flushed with excitement and alcohol. As if her sudden appearance wasn’t enough to kill Alaska on sight, she’s in another exquisitely fitting bathing suit, black and glittery and with a deep, deep V.

“Um,” Alaska says intelligently, her eyes glued to the pale expanse of Sharon’s chest, and Sharon grins.

“You like it?” she asks, glancing down at herself. “Raja made it by hand - I’m not allowed to go swimming with it, because the glitter will wash off. I’m not entirely sure she’s suited for swimwear.”

Alaska laughs, regaining her footing, a little. She will not make a fool out of herself right now. She’s sober, and Sharon knows it - she won’t have an excuse for being an idiot in the morning. “I’m not sure you should really be swimming in October, anyway,” Alaska drawls, referring to the spider web shape of the strapless bra cups, and Sharon cackles.

“It’s not her fault,” she says, grinning. “I requested something a little spookier.”

“Well, I like it,” Alaska says, openly admiring it now that she has permission. “It’s my favorite so far.”

“So far?” Sharon asks, raising an amused eyebrow. “Have you been sneaking peeks?”

Alaska feels like her face is on fire. “Uh–”

“Alaska,” Sharon admonishes, but there’s a smile threatening to break through her scandalized frown. “Raja doesn’t want anyone to see until the spread is finished.”

“Then don’t do it on a public beach!” Alaska cries. “You’re distracting!”

“Am I?”

Alaska hadn’t thought blushing harder was possible, but the heat creeping up her neck says otherwise. “I mean - with the cameras, and everything - it’s a whole production, you know.”

Sharon laughs at her stammering, and Alaska can’t help the affection that warms in her chest at how loud it is. “You can say it’s my bad modeling,” she says, and she touches Alaska’s arm like she’s sharing a secret. Alaska freezes, afraid of somehow scaring her away. “I have no idea why Raja chose me, but I’m milking it for as long as she thinks I’m worth it.”

“You are,” Alaska says without thinking, and then she sucks in a breath, watching Sharon’s face for confusion - or something worse.

Instead, Sharon leans forwards a little, frowning. “What?” she says, louder than before, and Alaska can’t help but sag with relief.

“I said ‘good idea’!” she shouts, and Sharon’s face splits into another smile.

“Let’s go outside!” she says. “I can’t hear a goddamned thing!”

And before Alaska can respond either way (yes - of course she’d say yes), Sharon’s grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowd, towards a pair of sliding glass doors near the back. Her ears ring as they exit the house, the sudden silence more of a relief than she’d expected, and Sharon slides the door shut behind them, muffling the music even further.

“Thank god,” Sharon moans. “I thought my head was going to burst in there.”

“Really?” Alaska teases. “That seems kind of lame for someone who throws the best parties on campus to say.”

“Halloween parties,” Sharon corrects, like Alaska doesn’t already know. “And I’m usually already drunk by the time those start. Whatever’s in those kegs doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, tonight.”

“You mean I’m talking to a sober Sharon Needles right now?” Alaska cries, pulling her face in exaggerated shock. “No.”

“Yes,” Sharon says, nodding gravely. “It’s horrible.”

“I don’t think you were even sober for Dujour’s class,” Alaska says, shaking her head. “Can I take a picture with you? This needs to be documented.”

“Well, I can’t believe you were sober for Dujour’s class,” Sharon says, her tooth gap on full display. “It was a nightmare even when I was drunk out of my mind.”

“That was a government class!” Alaska laughs, staring at Sharon in amused disbelief. “You needed that class more than I did!”

“I had your notes!” Sharon says. “I’m sure I got more out of those than I would have out of Dujour’s mouth.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Alaska drawls. “I’m pretty sure my notes are the reason you don’t have to retake that class.”

“I said thank you!” Sharon says, her defensive tone undercut by the huge smile on her face. Alaska finds herself mirroring it, Sharon’s grin infectious.

“You were drunk!” Alaska tells her. “That hardly counts!”

“Then allow me to say it again: thank you, my hero,” Sharon says, and then, before Alaska can tell her that sarcasm doesn’t count either, she grabs her hand and bows over it, kissing her knuckles.

Alaska is certain that her face goes at least five shades of red, Sharon’s lips soft and burning against her fingers. “You’re welcome,” she says weakly, as lightly as she can with her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Suddenly, she is very, very aware that she and Sharon might as well be alone together, the sliding glass door practically a chasm between the quiet beach and the roaring party.

Sharon lets go of her hand as soon as she’s done, giving Alaska another gap-toothed grin. Her lips are black to match her bathing suit, her blue eyes done up in shades of grey, and Alaska’s breath catches in her throat as she watches the party lights dance across her face.

“Now,” Sharon says, like nothing remotely romantic or intimate has just occurred. Alaska thinks she might have whiplash. “Do you like swimming?”

“What?” Alaska asks, her face still burning from earlier and her brain struggling to catch up.

“This suit may not be functional, but tomorrow’s is,” Sharon explains, “I want someone to swim with me tomorrow. Sun tanning isn’t exactly my thing.”

Alaska laughs at her. “No, I wouldn’t expect it to be,” she says dryly, and Sharon shrugs, grinning.

“Well? What do you say?”

Alaska’s heart starts to quicken, her palms sweaty. She bites back the ‘Of course!’ she wants to say, instead sticking to her teasing. The last thing she wants Sharon to think is that she’s overeager - she does not, under any circumstances, want to fuck this up.

“What happened to Raja?” she asks. “Or are you only using her to get fame and fortune?”

Sharon snorts. “I wish,” she says, rolling her eyes up in a playful expression. Alaska is entranced. “But I don’t expect Raja’s graduation project to make me anything but masturbation material.”

“Sharon!” Alaska cries, unable to help the laugh that escapes her. A pleased smile curves across Sharon’s face.

“I only speak the truth,” she says. “And Raja doesn’t like to swim - she’s afraid of the water.”

“She is?”

“More specifically the undertow,” Sharon says. “I don’t like thinking about it much either.”

Alaska twists her lips in acknowledgement. “I guess, but–”

The sliding glass door suddenly opens with a sharp bang, making both women jump and Alaska cut her sentence short with a small yelp. She whips her head around to look at the door, already upset at being interrupted. Dammit.

Willam stands in the doorway, looking somewhere between her fourth or fifth drink, grinning like a loon. “‘Laska!” she shouts, much too loudly. “Courtney’s chugging the keg! Courtney!”

“Courtney?” Alaska repeats, disbelieving. As a rule, Courtney only drinks things served with at least one toothpicked fruit - Alaska doesn’t think she even knows what cheap college beer tastes like.

“It’s crazy!” Willam yells, eyes wide, and she walks over to grab Alaska’s wrist, tugging her inside. “Come quick, or you’ll miss it!”

“Wait!” Sharon says, and Alaska stops, resisting Willam’s drunken attempts to keep pulling her with a strength that only comes with the will to please Sharon Needles. “Tomorrow?”

“I’m there,” Alaska manages to say without stuttering, and her heart flutters as she says it, the glitter on Sharon’s bathing suit sparkling attractively in the moonlight. “When?”

“7 pm, by the lighthouse?”

Alaska has plans to go to some bonfire with Willam and Courtney at seven, but it takes her all of two seconds to decide that it’s not at all important. “Perfect.”

Sharon smiles, and it’s sweeter than the grins she’s been shooting Alaska all night. Alaska could look at her forever. “It’s a date,” she says.

Alaska is pretty sure her heart actually stops.

All she can do is stare, her jaw slackened and her cheeks burning, for a too-long moment. Sharon gives her a strange look, laughing a little.

“Are you alright?”

“Um,” Alaska says, because she’s stupid and her brain stopped functioning the moment Sharon arrived on the beach in that fucking bikini. “I’m, uh–”

Willam, always helpful only on accident, suddenly gives a particularly hard tug against her arm, and Alaska is jerked back into the thumping music of the party, bodies pressing against her as Willam leads her straight into the middle of a crowd. Courtney is in the middle, upside down and downing beer from the keg, but Alaska can hardly bring herself to care. Instead, her mind keeps wandering towards Sharon, her blonde hair nearly white in the moonlight and her eyes glittering with amusement.

It’s a date.

She doesn’t know if the way her stomach flips is out of nerves or excitement.

DAY FOUR OF SPRING BREAK

The sunset is gorgeous.

It’s pink and yellow and orange, glittering across the water with blinding light, the clouds streaks of bright coral against the sun’s burning yellow. Alaska glances at its arresting beauty, sighing appreciatively, and then she goes back to staring at the woman next to her.

Sharon’s swimsuit is a bright red one piece, with cute white pinstripes that nod to the forties, the sharp angles of her waist adding to the post-war feeling. The plunging neckline, however, is very much reminiscent of the modern era, and is very much what Alaska’s eyes keep getting stuck on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sharon says, her eyes still on the horizon. “It’s like looking at sherbet ice cream.”

“Mhm,” Alaska says, raising her gaze a little to rest on Sharon’s face. Her makeup is lighter, today, with only a bold red lip and winged black eyeliner, and Alaska finds the painted on beauty mark charming. “Love it.”

Sharon turns to look at her, and she wrenches her gaze quickly to look out at the sunset, her face burning. “Something tells me you’re not looking at the sunset,” she says, her voice teasing, and Alaska blushes so hard she can feel her ears burning. She looks at Sharon apologetically, unable to meet her eyes.

“I - uh - I’m–”

“I’ll make sure to let Raja know,” Sharon continues, giving Alaska a fond smile. Alaska immediately stops attempting to say anything, her heart bouncing around her ribcage. “She wasn’t so sure about this one, so it’ll be good to hear.”

“What?” Alaska asks, completely lost, her ears still warm. “I don’t - what?”

Sharon frowns, glancing down at herself. “The swimsuit? You want it, don’t you?”

Realization clicks in Alaska’s end, and suddenly, relief along with a strange hint of disappointment has her nearly falling over. Sharon’s completely oblivious - thank god. “Yes. Yes, the swimsuit. That’s what I was looking at.”

Sharon doesn’t look convinced, her eyes lingering on Alaska’s face. Alaska feels like a butterfly pinned to styrofoam. “You do like it, right? I’m not just assuming?”

“No,” Alaska says hurriedly, surprised. Sharon sounds almost insecure, unsure of herself, and it’s something Alaska never wants to hear in her voice again. She keeps forgetting that Sharon isn’t used to dressing like this, no matter how much it seems like she’s doing it to torture Alaska specifically. “I love it. It’s very forties.” She stumbles over the ‘f’, meaning to say flattering and chickening out at the last second.

Sharon grins. “Thanks,” she says. “You can relax, I’ll stop fishing for compliments.”

Alaska doesn’t know whether to feel relieved at the unintentional save, or to try and defend Sharon from herself - she doesn’t know which way is up most of the time, around this woman, so this is completely hopeless. She finally speaks after a too-long pause. “You weren’t–”

“Let’s go! I’ve been dying to get in the water all day!”

Sharon grabs Alaska’s hand, and Alaska doesn’t breathe the entire time Sharon drags her towards the water, Sharon’s fingers curled around hers the only thing on her mind. She finally sucks in a breath as they hit the water, the cold making goosebumps blossom across her skin.

“Jesus!” Sharon says, stopping as soon as the water reaches her thighs. It takes actual effort for Alaska to keep her eyes from lingering there. “No one told me it was freezing!”

She squeezes Alaska’s hand harder as the waves come up to hit her stomach. Alaska feels too warm to notice the water brushing across her own thighs, her heart in her throat.

“Do you want to get out?” she asks, even as disappointment sinks in her gut. Relief wars with it - she wants to spend more time with Sharon, spend all of her time with Sharon, but her anxiety tells her that if she spends too much time with her, she’ll fuck it up. She doesn’t know if she can handle that.

Sharon shoots her a scandalized look, letting go of her hand to turn towards her. Alaska tries not to mourn the loss. “Of course not!” Sharon says. “We just have to go in all at once.”

Alaska pulls a face at the idea. She’s never liked the ‘bandaid’ approach to things. “Are you sure?”

“What?” Sharon teases. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” Alaska says plainly, and she smiles at the laugh Sharon lets out.

“Be brave for me?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach does several somersaults.

“Of course,” she says, and Sharon grins.

Alaska follows Sharon as she wades out further, both girls shrieking as the icy water comes up to hit some new section of skin. Sharon stops as the water comes just below her shoulders, her hair streaming behind her like a mermaid’s. She looks enchanting in the orange of the setting sun, the blue of her eyes almost electric as the sun shines across them.

“Count of three,” Sharon says. “We duck under.”

Alaska nods. Sharon takes a deep breath.

“One,” she says.

“Two,” Alaska counts. Sharon’s smile is blinding.

“Three.”

They duck under, Sharon heedless of her makeup and Alaska steeling herself for the shock of the cold. It’s freezing, but her body soon acclimates to the temperature of the water, and she surfaces feeling refreshed.

She comes up before Sharon, so she watches as the other woman comes up for hair, her hair slicked back from her face and her mascara bleeding a little, a huge grin splitting her face. She looks stunning, and Alaska’s breath gets caught in her throat as she takes her in, her eyes bright with excitement.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since Raja told me she wanted me to model for her,” Sharon laughs. “After I figured out she wasn’t joking, of course.”

“Of course she wasn’t joking,” Alaska says before she can stop herself. “You’re perfect for this.”

Sharon raises her eyebrows. “Believe me, I’m not. Her suits are doing most of the work. All I have to do is stand the way Raja tells me to stand.”

“Please,” Alaska blurts out. “The suits are hardly the reason I’ve been watching the photoshoots.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Alaska thinks very hard about ducking under the water again and not coming up again.

Sharon is looking at her with a curious expression, and Alaska suddenly needs to get away right now.

“What do you m–”

“I have to go,” Alaska interrupts, panic making everything too much, too fast. “I just remembered, I have - something.” She starts wading towards shore, but Sharon grabs her wrist.

“Alaska, wait,” she says, and Alaska turns to look at her, avoiding her eyes. Her eyes get caught on Sharon’s lips, set in an adorable pout, and she has just enough time to imagine what it’s like to kiss her before she rips her gaze away. “What plans?”

“Um–” Alaska says, completely panicking, Sharon’s fingers too warm around her wrist and her eyes too intense on Alaska’s. The sun is dimming, casting them in purplish grey. She casts about for a good excuse, and she lets out a breath when she finds one. “There’s a bonfire. I’m already late - I promised Willam I would go with her.”

“The bonfire?” Sharon asks, letting go of Alaska’s wrist. Alaska turns to go again, cursing when she hears Sharon start to follow her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know,” Alaska says, even though she knows exactly why. They make it onto the beach, and Alaska grabs her towel, drying off hurriedly. “I - I don’t know.”

“I doubt that,” Sharon says. “What did you mean, earlier?”

“What?” Alaska asks, playing dumb. She can’t find her phone. Where the fuck is her phone?

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and she sounds frustrated. Alaska winces. “Do you like me?”

Alaska freezes, terror ripping through her as she scrambles for a denial. “No,” she snaps out, panic making her voice hard and sharp. Sharon takes a step back, her eyes widening, and Alaska feels guilt drop into her stomach like a deadweight. She could cry at any moment. “I don’t,” she continues, her voice gentler. She can only pray that Sharon doesn’t hear the way her voice trembles. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t realize liking me was such a stupid idea,” Sharon says, hurt bleeding through her voice. Alaska wants to sink into the ground and die.

“No, I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” Sharon interrupts, her shoulders slumping. She looks put out - Alaska hadn’t realized how badly she wanted to go swimming. “I know what you meant.”

Alaska finally finds her phone underneath Sharon’s towel, and relief courses through her as she shoves her feet into her sandals. “I have to go,” she says, and Sharon snorts, but there’s no laughter in it.

“So you’ve said,” she says. “Have fun.”

“I will,” Alaska says, plastering fake-cheer all over herself, and she practically runs away, the image of Sharon and her closed-lipped smile, bathed in the moonlight and hair still dripping, burned into her mind.

She can’t help but feel like she’s just ruined something, but she has no idea what.

DAY FIVE OF SPRING BREAK

Alaska avoids Sharon to the best of her abilities, life threatening embarrassment making her stomach twist at even the thought of facing her after last night, but of course, she still ends up stumbling across her.

She’s getting margaritas with Willam and Courtney, which is fun only until they both reveal themselves to be wildly unsympathetic to her plight.

“So you spent two nights flirting with her,” Willam says, after giving Alaska a long, unimpressed stare when she’d finally answered Courtney’s incessant questions about her ‘date’, “only to freak out when things started to actually go somewhere.”

“Nothing was going anywhere,” Alaska snaps. “I fucked it up, and she noticed.”

“Didn’t you say you two were on a date?” Courtney asks, frowning. They move up in line. “Sounds to me like that’s what she wanted.”

“She obviously called it a date as a joke,” Alaska tells her. “I’m not stupid.”

“Debatable,” Willam says. Alaska could punch her.

“You should at least try to talk to her,” Courtney says. “You can’t just run away from her in the middle of a date and never talk to her again.”

“That shit ain’t right,” Willam agrees, and Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth.

“It wasn’t a date,” she reiterates. “And I can’t talk to her. I have no idea where she’s staying - she could be anywhere right now.”

Courtney frowns at her. “She’s right there,” she says, pointing down the beach. “I thought you’d noticed.”

Alaska follows her gaze to find Sharon and Raja in the middle of another photoshoot, this time close enough for Sharon’s feet to be in the water.

Alaska can’t look away from her.

She’s dressed in a two piece, the bottoms designed to look like high waisted blue shorts and the top a black and white pinstriped bra, cut into a sweetheart neckline that suits her perfectly. Her hair is done up in round, loose curls, spilling over her shoulders and back, and a white sailor hat sits cock-eyed at the top of her head. Her lips are painted a bright red, pulled into a pout as she salutes the camera, her other hand at her hip.

“I can’t go down there,” Alaska says, shaking her head. “I can’t go up to her and try to talk about my predatory behavior when she looks like that.”

“Predatory is one way to say it,” Willam says, and Courtney hits her on the arm. She turns to look at Alaska eagerly.

“You’re not predatory, silly,” she says. “You have a crush, and so does Sharon. Go down there and fix what you’ve broken.”

“Ouch,” Alaska says, and her stomach twists nervously at the thought of doing what Courtney tells her to. “And I can’t - she doesn’t– She doesn’t think of me like that.”

“How are you supposed to know when all you do is stare at her like some stalker?” Willam asks, and Alaska shakes her head. They reach the counter, now at the front of the line.

“I just know,” Alaska says, resisting the urge to stamp her foot with the frustration that’s bubbling up inside her. They just don’t get it. “I have, despite popular belief, actually held a conversation with her. I’m not doing it.”

“But how–”

“Welcome, ladies - how can I help you?” the cashier asks, giving them all a friendly smile. Alaska relaxes as Willam and Courtney start ordering, relieved that their interrogation is temporarily put on hold.

She sneaks a glance back at Sharon, who’s now crowded with Raja around the camera, no doubt looking at the pictures they’ve just taken. She’s sure they’re all wonderful.

Sharon’s ass looks great in those shorts.

Alaska’s never going to be able to look her in the eye again.

DAY SIX OF SPRING BREAK

“This is stupid,” Willam says. “I can’t believe how stupid you’re being right now.”

“It’s called self-preservation,” Alaska says.

They’re sitting on their blanket, sneaking glances at Raja and Sharon, in the same place they’d been for most of the week. Sharon is stunning, in an eggplant bikini that suits her pale skin, made to look like it’s been wrapped and twisted around her body. Her makeup is dark to match the suit, and she’s so hot that Alaska thinks she might die.

“Right,” Willam says drily. “Why won’t you just go talk to her?”

“Because,” Alaska sighs forlornly, her heart fluttering as Sharon’s lips twist up into a smile. “I can’t.”

Sharon’s eyes flick over to her, and her heart skips a beat. She tries not to feel hurt when Sharon immediately looks back at Raja, seemingly without giving Alaska a second thought.

“I don’t think she wants me to, anyway.”

DAY SEVEN OF SPRING BREAK

It’s not the last day of break, but it is the last day they’re on the beach, and Alaska’s plan is simple: avoid Sharon, mope around while Courtney and Willam rub their happiness in her face, and maybe sneak a peek at Sharon’s next bathing suit.

Willam, unfortunately, has never had very much respect for Alaska’s plans.

“I invited some people over,” Willam says from her spot next to Alaska on the couch, her eyes never leaving her phone. Her voice is nonchalant, but Alaska still shoots her a wary look.

“Who?”

Camping out in the Belli family’s beach house had been Alaska’s idea, a stroke of genius she’d had the previous night. She can’t seem to avoid Sharon successfully on the beach, so she’ll leave it entirely. She won’t be able to catch sight of Sharon if she’s sitting on a couch watching The Golden Girls on Willam’s enormous television.

“Raja, Jinkx,” Willam lists. “Sharon.”

Alaska’s heart does a swan dive into her stomach.

“That had better be a joke.”

Willam looks up at her. “It’s not.”

Alaska turns off the tv, turning to face Willam full-on, murder in her heart. “Willam, why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because Raja asked if she could,” Willam says, and then, “and because I thought it might be a nice opportunity for you to make out with her.”

“Willam,” Alaska hisses, panicking. “How could you?”

“You’ll be fine,” Willam says, hopping off the couch. “Though I suggest you get ready - they’ll be here in half an hour, and Sharon and Raja are coming straight from their photoshoot.”

“No,” Alaska breathes, aghast.

“Yes,” Willam says. “At least go put some mascara on. You look like you’re a hospital patient.”

“I hate you,” Alaska says, and she really feels it.

“You’re wearing pajamas,” Willam tells her. “They have ‘cunt’ printed across the ass.”

“Fuck,” Alaska says, and she stands up. “Jesus fuck, Willam!”

“It’ll be good for you,” Willam says, as Alaska races past her towards the stairs. “Courtney agrees!”

Alaska makes sure to slam the door to the bathroom extra hard.

Sharon arrives in a red one piece that practically screams ‘lust’, and it is the most homophobic thing to have ever happened to Alaska.

It’s wine dark and strapless, and the front of it is laced like a corset, allowing Sharon’s pale skin to peek through. The sweetheart neckline perfectly hugs her, emphasizing her full chest and her collarbone. Her lips are painted to match, her eyeshadow dark, and Alaska might go into cardiac arrest just looking at her. It’s like looking at a 15th century bar wench. Alaska wants her to pin her up against the wall and–

“We brought wine?” Raja says, her deep voice startling Alaska back into her body, and she realizes that she’s been making them wait in the doorway for a full minute.

“Great,” Alaska says, her face on fire, and she lets the two of them in, trying not to wince at the cordial smile Sharon gives her. She makes a note to kill Willam later for making her answer the door.

“You can set it on the counter,” she directs, and Sharon follows Raja into the kitchen, where Willam, Jinkx, and Courtney are waiting. Alaska lets out a breath as she closes the door, trying to decide if she’s relieved or hurt that Sharon doesn’t want to be alone with her.

She doesn’t know why Willam’s decided that this is going to be helpful in any way, but she supposes she has to deal with it, now. Deal with being around her crush who’s disgusted that she has a crush on her for who knows how long.

Not the ideal way to spend her last night on vacation.

“‘Laska!” Willam calls. “Come in here! We’re trying to decide what to play!”

Alaska sighs, steeling herself for more of Sharon’s apathy.

Fuck my life.

Willam, Courtney, Raja, and Jinkx all conveniently vote to play Seven Minutes in Heaven, despite Sharon and Alaska’s vehement protests and the fact that none of them have been in high school for at least three years.

They’d found an old wine bottle that Willam’s mother had filled with sand and dried flowers on an end table somewhere, and they’d emptied it, Courtney suggesting that they select the first two participants by spinning it.

Conveniently, and without any sort of finagling of Willam’s, or strategic flicks from Courtney, or purposeful nudges from Raja, the bottle lands first on Alaska, and then on Sharon.

They’ve been standing in Willam’s locked closet together in awkward silence for two minutes.

“Well,” Alaska says, when she can’t stand it anymore. She can just barely see Sharon’s face in the sliver of light coming through the bottom of the door. “This is awkward.”

Sharon shifts, and Alaska blushes as her hand accidentally brushes the side of Sharon’s thigh, snapping her hand back quickly. Sharon sighs, sounding annoyed. Guilt twists into Alaska’s stomach at the sound. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

There’s a pause. “Clearly,” Sharon says, and though her voice is light, there’s an edge of bitterness to it that twists into Alaska like a knife.

“I’m being serious,” she says, desperate to make Sharon at least understand that she’s not trying to force herself on her. “I didn’t ask Courtney to kick the bottle like that.”

“I know, Alaska,” Sharon says, and she only sounds more irritated. Alaska winces.

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance these past few days! They just won’t let it go, even though I–”

“I know,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska slams her jaw shut, jumping a little. “You made that perfectly clear on Thursday. I don’t need to be reminded.”

Alaska scrambles to appease her, guilt making her feel ill. “But I–”

She suddenly stops herself, her brain finally processing Sharon’s words and coming up with only a series of question marks. “What?”

“You’re not interested in me,” Sharon says, and she sounds upset. “I get that. But believe it or not, it hurts when someone tells you they can’t stand to think of you like that repeatedly. Especially when–” she cuts herself off, inhaling quickly. Alaska feels hope flutter through her like a butterfly, though she tries to crush it as soon as it comes. What if-?

“Especially when what?” Alaska probes gently, and she lightly touches Sharon’s arm, trying not to let her heart pound too hard as she does.

“Jesus Christ,” Sharon says, but she sounds defeated. “This is embarrassing.”

Alaska’s hope spikes. “Sharon?”

“Only because I can make sure we never see each other again,” Sharon says, voice threatening. “And only because if I’m going to tell you, it’s going to be while we’re playing a game I didn’t think I’d even hear about ever again.” She pauses, and Alaska waits, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

“I have a crush on you,” Sharon says eventually, her voice quiet and a little shaky. “But, only like, a tiny one - it isn’t a problem, I swear. I won’t make it awkward.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, in which Alaska stares at Sharon, numb with shock.

Then, happiness comes bursting in.

Alaska lunges forwards to kiss Sharon, unable to wait for any longer, pure, disbelieving joy flooding her body with adrenaline. Sharon’s lips are soft and warm, and she makes a muffled noise of surprise against Alaska’s mouth, freezing up underneath her hands.

She lightly pushes Alaska away, and Alaska goes willingly, panic shooting through her like lightning. “Sharon, I’m so sorry, that was unc–”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Sharon says, her eyes wide. “You told me on the beach that the idea was ridiculous.”

Alaska stares at her for a moment, speechless. It’s like Sharon’s just shown her a sports replay where she’d fumbled the ball and then blamed it on the player who’d thrown it to her. “That’s because I was scared,” she says after a moment. “I thought you were disgusted.”

“Disgusted?” Sharon repeats, disbelieving laughter bubbling over her words. “Alaska, that’s possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Rude,” Alaska says, but she’s too elated to really feel it. She’d been so stupid - Sharon likes her. Sharon has a crush on her. It’s too good to be true.

“So the swimming suits really were working?” Sharon asks, and this time, it’s Alaska’s turn to laugh disbelievingly.

“Were you distracting me on purpose?” she asks, half shrieking, and Sharon grins that bright grin again.

“At first? No. But when I saw how you were looking at me at Raja’s party…”

“Evil!” Alaska cries. “I can’t believe I ever had a crush on someone so cruel! I’m–”

Sharon cuts her off with another kiss, and Alaska melts into it, sighing as Sharon’s fingers come up to thread through her hair, somehow managing to avoid its tangles. She slides her hands around Sharon’s waist, pulling her closer so that they’re pressed up against each other, relishing in the feeling of Sharon’s warmth all along her body.

She moans as Sharon deepens the kiss, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and the ocean. She hums, pleased, and Sharon pushes her forwards so that she’s flat against the narrow wall, sliding her hands down, down, down, over her breasts and her stomach and coming to rest on the waist of her jean shorts.

Alaska breaks off the kiss with a gasp, already squirming with pleasure. “Jesus Christ,” she breathes, and Sharon grins, giving her another quick peck on the lips.

“You want this?” she asks, her voice husky, and it goes straight to Alaska’s panties.

“Yes,” she says. “Plea–”

A loud knock on the closet door has them flying apart, and Alaska tries desperately to will the flush away from her cheeks as they hear the lock being undone.

The door swings open, and Alaska squints her eyes against the sudden brightness and Willam’s smirk.

“Seven minutes are up,” she says, looking them both up and down. “Would you two like to request more time?”

“No,” Alaska snaps, just as Sharon says, “Yes.” She flushes at the contradiction.

Willam eyes them smugly. Alaska wants to kill her. “I’ll let you two figure it out,” she says, taking a step back. “There’s chips downstairs for when you guys want to replenish your energy.”

“Fuck off, Willam,” Sharon says, and Willam smirks.

“Sure,” she says, and then she’s out of the room before Alaska can hit her like she wants to.

“I hate her,” Alaska says, and Sharon grabs her hand, giving her a sweet smile. Alaska’s heart melts.

“I love her,” Sharon says. “She’s the reason I can do this.”

Alaska rolls her eyes, although the smile she can’t help splitting across her face takes away its edge. “Fine,” she says. “But I still hate her. I’ve never been so stressed in my life.”

Sharon’s grin morphs into a sly smile, and she tugs Alaska back towards her, arranging her hand so that it rests on her waist. “I think I know a way to relieve some of that.”

Alaska raises an eyebrow, a thrill running through her as she steps closer. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I think I’d prefer to show you,” Sharon says, and then she pulls Alaska in for another searing kiss, and Alaska melts completely.

Thank god for bathing suits, and thank god for Willam.

#rpdr fanfiction #shalaska #background witney #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #willam belli #courtney act #raja gemini #freyja #lesbian au #fluff #humor #teeny tiny angst #summer lovin' 2020 #day 1: bathing suit #submission

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mldrgrl · 6 years

Text

Speak Low if You Speak Love

by: mldrgrl Rating: NC-17 Summary: Stella has been thinking about a change of scenery and Hank doesn’t take the news as well as she thought he might.

They’d been in New York for just over three weeks since Becca’s accident. After four days in the hospital, the injured girl had been released and was adamant about returning to her own apartment. Karen had strenuously argued to bring her to Connecticut to recuperate while Hank vigorously lobbied to bring her to the loft. Stella and Fish remained mostly neutral, pacifying the concerns of both exasperated parents by reminding them that Becca was an adult and therefore the decision was hers to make.

Secretly, Stella had hoped that Becca would capitulate and choose to accept the assistance both her parents so eagerly offered. It would certainly make things easier. However, she also understood the need for autonomy and self-reliance, something she shared with her stepdaughter in spades. Deep down, she knew that Becca would heal faster without the added stress of hovering, worried parents with a known tendency to smother their daughter with attention.

Officially, Stella was on an extended leave, though she did what she could to audit files remotely and had gotten up in the middle of the night a few times to attend meetings via videoconference. Once the anxiety surrounding Becca’s hospitalization had worn off, Hank returned to work on his latest novel with renewed vigor. A routine was established where Hank and Stella checked in on Becca during the week, taking her to and from physical therapy every other day, and Karen and Fish came down on Friday nights, leaving on Sunday afternoons after they’d all had brunch at a cafe a short walk from Becca’s apartment.

Spring slid easily into summer and the weather had been remarkably beautiful the entire time. Stella and Hank had gotten into the habit of walking home from brunch, taking a leisurely stroll across the park from the west side to the east side, sometimes stopping for appetizers or drinks depending on the time of day they made it back to the loft.

The pace of their days was gentle and unhurried, something Stella was not accustomed to, but that she almost felt like she could get used to. Despite the situation, it was, she thought, oddly pleasant. The tranquility actually spurred her into action about something she’d been lately giving a lot of thought to.

They walked hand in hand, another thing Stella had become increasingly comfortable with, to the point where it became almost an unconscious act to reach for him as they entered the gates in front of the Natural History Museum. Their walks were mostly silent, save for the ambient noise of the park - birds chirping, dogs barking, children screaming, people laughing. Today, the sun played a game of peek-a-boo behind large, white, and puffy clouds. Stella could feel the warmth of it on her back through the thin cotton of her sundress. It was hotter than it had been and more humid. Spotting an empty bench under the shade of a thick clump of trees, she tugged on Hank’s hand.

“Sit?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered.

Hank laid his arm out along the back of the bench behind Stella when they sat down. He tipped his head back and she knew he eyes were closed even if she couldn’t see through his dark glasses. She put a hand on his thigh and he cupped her shoulder, pulling her close as he leaned towards her.

“You’re getting freckled,” Hank mumbled, brushing his lips back and forth over her shoulder.

Stella turned her head to the side, but it was hard to see. She put her arms out and rotated them back and forth a few times. There was a bit of color there.

“Was this what it was like in LA?” she asked. “Perpetual sun?”

“More often than not,” he answered, leaning back again on the bench and turning his head up again.

“I think that would be very strange.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t call it Hell-A for nothin’.”

“And New York?”

“Weatherwise? Colder than a witch’s tit in winter, melt your balls off hot in the summer. Everything in between is just about damn near perfect.”

“You love it here.”

Hank shrugged.

“There’s something I’ve been giving a lot of thought to,” she said. “Something I’ve been investigating the possibility of lately, and I want to know what your opinion is.”

“Which state has the best weather?”

“No.”

A pack of dogs came around the curve of the path towards them, a harried dog walker in tow. They watched the young man stumble along as he struggled to keep up with the group. Hank grinned in amusement, but waited until the kid had been dragged away to let out a laugh.

“Looks like his first day on the job,” he said. “Poor kid.”

“It’s a job I want to talk to you about.”

“Thinking of being a dog walker, Sherlock?”

“No, but I am thinking about a change in career.”

“Oh?” Hank turned towards her and raised his sunglasses up to rest on his head. “For real?”

“I’ve been made aware of an opportunity that I don’t believe would come my way again if I pass on it.”

“What is it?”

“The UN has a security council that oversees efforts of reformation of law to war-torn countries to help them rebuild. They’re looking to put together a committee that would establish a basic set of parameters to follow to assist in transition.”

“I don’t know if I understood a word of that, but go on.”

“Council members have attended panel discussions I’ve been involved with on international law and my name was floated as a suggested head of this committee.”

“That sounds fucking amazing, but could you explain it to me in layman’s terms?”

“Essentially, we’d be writing the manual on how to establish law and order in countries that have little to no experience in governing themselves, but who wish to do so.”

“And if you’re the head of it, you’d be like the Mayor McCheese of all the countries?”

“Ah, no.” Stella chuckled a little. “No, nothing like that.”

“Wouldn’t you need to be a lawyer or something to do this?”

“No, but I’ve a degrees in political science and criminal justice.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

“You say ‘of course’ like everyone has a degree in criminal justice and poli-sci. I thought you had a degree in anthropology.”

“I do.”

“Triple major?”

“It’s easy enough to continue courses and write a few more papers when you’ve accumulated credits. So many overlap.”

“You have more?”

Stella shrugged lightly.

“How many?” Hank asked.

“I haven’t counted.”

“What else?”

“Economics, world history, ancient civilizations, criminal psychology, sociology, theology, classics.”

“Classics?”

“Study of ancient Greek and Roman culture.”

“Well, I didn’t hear English lit in there, so...I win.”

“What would I do with a lit degree?”

“The same thing you do with a classics degree?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Am I am asshole for not knowing any of this?”

“It certainly doesn’t come up in conversation. Nor do I offer it without cause.”

“You’re like the extreme version of an undecided major. You couldn’t decide so you took them all.”

“Not all. I’m rubbish at the maths.”

“Guess settling down and becoming an accountant would be out of the question then?”

“Absolutely out of the question.”

The sun appeared in full for the next few minutes between a gap in the clouds. The line of demarcation between sunshine and shadow crossed the top of Stella’s feet, warming her toes until she pulled them back towards the bench and into the shade.

“Tell me more about the job,” Hank said. “Not about what it is, but what it would mean.”

“The salary is less than what I’m making now.”

“Well, fuck. There goes my dream of being a kept man.”

“There is a perk.”

“What’s the perk?”

“I can choose to make my home base from anywhere the UN has offices.”

“Can I rule out Switzerland?”

“I was thinking New York.”

“Here?”

“Would you want that?”

“Would you?”

“I wouldn’t even suggest it if I didn’t.”

“Okay.” Hank paused and his face seemed to be caught between a smile and a frown. “I’m guessing there’s a catch here.”

“There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” she answered, turning her head down with a sigh.

“Lay it on me, Sherlock.”

“It’s a minimum five year commitment.”

“And?”

“There is a significant amount of travel required.”

“How much are we talkin’? Days, weeks, months?”

“As yet unknown. I’d be sent where I’m needed and that could be...it could be months at a time.”

Hank turned his head away from Stella and started bouncing his knee, shaking the bench along with it until she put her hand on his leg. He stopped bouncing, but she could feel the tension in his quadricep and she gave him a light squeeze, but that just seemed to make him more tense.

“You’re upset,” she stated. “Why?”

“Have you already accepted this job?” he asked, his face still turned away from him. “Has this all been planned out and you’re just giving me the courtesy of letting me know now?”

“No, I haven’t even met with anyone yet. There’ve been a few emails traded regarding specifics, but technically it hasn’t even been offered and I don’t know who else they might be looking at.”

“I don’t want you to take it.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Fine,” he spat, throwing his arm up over her head as he stood. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Stella watched Hank walk away and though the urge to go after him was strong, she suppressed it in order to check her own anger. She hadn’t even made up her mind, was still weighing the pros and cons of it herself, and of course was interested in his opinion, but his explosive reaction to the prospect was surprising and disheartening. Normally, when faced with such strong opposition, it only served to make her more determined, but she was not free to make her own decisions any longer.

This is what had kept her reticent against marriage for most of her life and why she was experiencing a moment of regret now. Were she single, she wouldn’t have to give much thought to taking this job if she wanted it. In fact, moving to New York wouldn’t even be an idea in her mind if not for Hank. For the first time in her life, she was happily willing to uproot her entire life for someone else, the way in which he’d done for her by moving to London. It wasn’t lost on her that he’d made sacrifices to be with her, but his livelihood was not dependent on location. If she passed on this opportunity to relocate, another may not come along.

There were some deeper truths in wanting to take this job that she did not get the opportunity to express to Hank, because all she’d gotten to was the facts. She’d gone for the head and not the heart because she herself led by logic, but Hank was guided by emotion above all else. At times it made it feel like they spoke entirely different languages.

Stella walked home slowly, her emotional state in constant flux between anger and sadness. She had often heard from those that spoke of marriage, was that it was mainly about either compromise or sacrifice. The reality of it was hitting her hard. She wanted her opinions to be heard and respected, but she was going to have to offer Hank the same courtesy. And that could mean the issue could go unresolved. If they still could not be on the same page after she fully explained her reasoning to him, then she didn’t know where that would leave them. The only thing she knew for certain was that she could not take the job unless her husband was okay with it and the fact that she did, in a sense, require his permission, was what made her angry.

When she got home, she expected to find Hank wallowing in a bottle of whiskey somewhere. The loft was quiet and he wasn’t in the main room or the bedroom. She checked the guest room and he wasn’t there either, which made her wonder if he hadn’t just stopped at a bar instead of coming home. She almost forgot about the one other place she could check.

It wasn’t until after a few years of even being at the loft that she discovered they had rooftop access. Not just any rooftop access, private rooftop access from inside the loft. She’d always just assumed that the door that was largely unnoticeable beyond the kitchen was simply a utility closet of sorts and never had cause to open it until one afternoon when she was looking for a mop and instead found a set of stairs. There’d been nothing up on the roof then except for a rickety chair, a small table, and a gorgeous view of other rooftops and the downtown skyscrapers. Hank had said he hadn’t yet got around to fixing it up and rarely went up there. Since he was now in London, it still hadn’t been done, but there were two chairs up there instead of one.

She found him standing at the ledge facing the east side. It wasn’t quite sunset, but she’d noticed it getting darker on her walk home and now she could see what looked like a storm coming in. The pretty blue that had brightened the sky earlier in the afternoon had dulled to a slate grey. It was still warm though and the humidity level had started to creep up.

There was a whiskey bottle on the little table between the chairs, but it was new and the seal wasn’t even broken. Stella knew that Hank must’ve heard her approach, but he stayed where he was with his back to her and his arms spread wide, gripping the edge of the brick wall at his hips. She slipped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso, locking her hands over her wrists to hold tight. It only took a few moments for him to let go of the wall and rest his hands on her arms.

“I humbly do beseech of your pardon,” Hank said. “For too much loving you.”

Stella blew out a short breath through her nose. She didn’t have any degrees in literature, but she’d certainly been exposed to her share of Shakespeare. “I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me,” she retorted.

Hank chuckled. “I give you Othello and you throw Much Ado About Nothing back at me?”

“Seemed fitting.”

“I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster.”

Stella let go of her wrists to loosen her hold on Hank. “Look at me,” she said.

Hank turned and then leaned against the short wall. He shifted his feet apart and though she stepped up close, she kept her back arched and her head tipped back to look up at him.

“I’m not made to be alone,” he said. “And I’m sorry I’m so fucking insecure, but I-”

“Stop for a moment,” she interrupted, reaching up to place two fingers against his lips. “Let me tell you the whole of it, and then you may disagree.”

“I don’t want to disagree, Sherlock.”

“My job is not as fulfilling as it used to be for me. I do still find it worthwhile and I do still enjoy what I do, but my priorities have shifted. I attribute that to you.”

“You mean you blame me.”

“No, I credit you. You’ve made me realize that I could have more and that there are other things I would like to have more of.”

“Like what?”

“Family. What I’d had before was very fractured and cold. What I have now with you and with Becca and with Karen and with Fish, it’s warm and lovely and I can’t help but want more from it.”

Hank groaned a little and tipped his head back. “You want more of The Trout?”

“I think that you do as well and you’re not willing to admit it.”

“There are only so many barbeques I can take.”

“This thing with Becca was unsettling. It was unsettling for you and it was unsettling for me, being so far and utterly incapable of doing anything except get on the next flight out and then endure hours of the unknown.”

“I don’t need the reminder.”

“Logically I know that even if we were here, it couldn’t have changed things, but being ten minutes away and ten hours away does make a difference.”

“It does. You’re right, it does. But, Becca is my daughter and you’re my wife and that also makes a difference. I don’t necessarily want to be away from her, especially if bad shit happens, but I don’t want you to be away from me either because you’re my wife. Maybe a better man would be okay with it, or maybe I’m just a fucking codependent asshole, but I can’t do the weeks apart thing anymore. You’re asking me to accept the possibility of months or more away from you and I can’t do it.”

“I’m not asking you to accept anything, I’m only asking that you listen to why I was interested.”

“Are you not taking it?”

“I don’t know. Yes, being apart is a significant drawback, but what if I never find an opportunity like this again?”

“Is it the job that’s the opportunity or is it moving to New York?”

Stella paused, her lips parting just a little as she sucked in a breath. “The job is appealing. It sounds challenging and worthwhile. I don’t know that I’d want to take it if it did not come with the benefit of moving.”

“So, if I’m understanding this right, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, getting to New York is the goal, not necessarily a change in career.”

“That is something else I’ve been giving a lot of thought to.”

“You want to retire the deerstalker?”

Before Stella could answer, an enormous crack of thunder interrupted the conversation, making them both jump. The boom was so loud that it set off a string of car alarms below. It must have startled the clouds as well, for it began to rain. Stella loosened her arms and turned to move away, but Hank pulled her back.

“Don’t go yet,” he said. “It’s just a little rain.”

She blinked away a few raindrops that hit her lashes. “I’ve only been thinking that there’s an expiration date for me in what I do,” she answered. “I’ve already moved out of the field, and the further up I go, the further away from that which drew me in I get. I might like to try something different.”

“I think if the UN job was the right thing for you, it wouldn’t feel so wrong. I don’t think you’d have any doubts at all if you really wanted it.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“What about teaching?”

A drop of rain leaked from Stella’s hairline down her forehead and along the side of her nose. She reached up to brush it away. She’d toyed with the idea of teaching before, but hadn’t seriously researched the requirements.

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” she said.

“There’s got to be a fuck-ton of schools up and down the east coast that would give their left nut for someone with your experience on staff.”

“That is something to consider.”

Hank looked up and closed his eyes wistfully. The rain speckled his cheeks. “I would really miss the fuck out of that uniform though,” he said.

Stella pinched his love handles and when she pulled away, this time he let her go. They were both getting wet. She had to tiptoe across the rooftop, afraid of her shoes slipping out from under her. Hank grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and then took Stella’s hand to give her something to hold onto as she stepped down the first few stairs to go back inside.

When she reached the doorway, Stella stepped out of her shoes and left a trail of wet footprints across the hardwood floor to the bathroom. Hank was only seconds behind her and he came in shaking water out of his hair like a dog after a bath. She’d already peeled the straps of her dress off her shoulders and reached back to unzip it the rest of the way. It was cooler inside the loft than it was outside and exposing her damp skin made her shiver. She leaned closer over the counter and inspected her sunkissed shoulders. Hank was right, there was not only a bloom of freckles across her chest and shoulders, but over the bridge of her nose and along the apples of her cheeks as well.

“I hate wet jeans,” Hank said, unbuttoning his fly as Stella turned her eyes to watch him in the mirror. His t-shirt had already been pulled off and tossed to the floor. “Makes me feel like I pissed myself.”

Stella left her bra and panties on and hopped up onto the counter. Hank grimaced as he tried to shimmy out of his uncooperative pants. God, how she wanted him. Sometimes it hit her suddenly just how lucky she was that she had him. He was right. Being without him for months at a time would be unbearable. Not touching him, not being touched by him, just might make her go insane.

“Hank,” she said, holding her hand out just a little and stretching her fingers towards him.

He cursed under his breath as he finally managed to step out of his pants and then he moved over to stand in front of her, leaning down with his hands pressed to the counter so that they were eye to eye. She touched his jaw with her fingertips and then traced one brow and the shell of his ear.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you,’” she said.

Hank’s lips curled up into a smile. “Henry V? Are you sure you’re not hiding a lit degree somewhere?”

“Kiss me.”

“You have witchcraft in your lips,” he murmured as he tilted his head and slanted his mouth over hers.

She sighed into his mouth and let him push her head back with his until it bumped the mirror. Sometimes she was impatient with the slow way he made love to her mouth, but she welcomed it at that moment. She was glad for the gentle glide of his thick tongue over hers and how it filled her, how it seemed to caress her teeth and the roof of her mouth so that she could hardly breathe. The lack of oxygen and the increase of her heart rate made the pulse of her desire even stronger. It burned so bright she felt it could ignite and catch fire.

She decided that she couldn’t wait for him to lavish attention over every part of her body. One of his hands had meandered up slowly and began teasing her over her bra, but it just wasn’t enough. She wasn’t in the mood for a slow slide into bliss after all, she was in the mood to have her hair pulled and her hips slammed back so hard the mirror would crack. Of course, that wasn’t even possible. The counter was too long and she was too short and she wasn’t entirely sure his back had healed fully from the skiing injury to support a hard and fast fuck against a wall. The thought of it though...the very thought of it.

“Bed,” Stella ordered. “Now.”

Hank pulled her from the counter in a flash and she locked her ankles behind his back. He stumbled along, nuzzling his face across the top of her breasts so that she had to turn and be the one to guide them to the bedroom, pushing them away from walls and furniture until his knees hit the mattress and she fell back. She twisted away and crawled up to toss the pillows to the floor, but he turned her hips and dragged her back down to him.

“I’ll make my heaven in a lady’s lap,” he said, yanking her panties down over her left hip.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she answered, trailing off into a moan as his tongue swirled through her folds. He had the nerve to laugh and the vibration lifted her knees and made her stomach clench. She arched her neck and looked up, thinking that the headboard was sturdy and solid. He lifted his head and pushed one of her legs back to pull her panties off and then he dove back down to keep loving her with his tongue. It was good, because he was always good at what he did, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

Her eyes rolled back and a grunt of frustration escaped her before she managed to break free and scramble back up the bed. Hank’s eyes shone like he was drunk off the taste of her and he rose unsteadily up on all fours. Stella was reclined on her elbows, her shoulders pressed to the headboard. She opened her knees for him, aware of how overripe with desire she was that it dripped steadily from her, and aware that he could see it and smell it on her. He groaned, reaching down to stroke himself over his boxer briefs.

Stella inched her way higher up the headboard, which moved her away from Hank. He stalked forward on hands and knees. When he was close enough and when she was high enough, they were both suddenly on their knees and getting in each other’s way as they both tried to pull his underwear off. She finally just let him do it and took him in hand instead, eagerly stroking root to tip in anticipation. All she wanted was to get him inside of her as quickly as possible.

Outside, there was a low growl of thunder and the rain swelled. Stella leaned back against the headboard and reached for Hank, lifting her leg over his hip as she pushed up just enough to slide down onto him. He had one arm around her back and reached down to help guide himself into her. She wrapped her other leg around his waist as he hoisted her up.

“You always feel so fucking good,” Hank groaned.

“You too,” she breathed, pulling her hips back so that her low back hit the headboard.

The top of the headboard was like a natural shelf for Hank to rest his arms. They buffered her back from the wall, but it didn’t stop her hips from rattling the frame with every upward stroke he gave her. Soon, the knocking of wood against brick became a steady rhythm, coupled with the wet slap of damp skin against damp skin. She wanted the whole building to thrum with the force of their fucking, wanted it to be bigger than the storm outside.

And then she was there, stretched taut and breathless as her body hung suspended between the climb and the fall. She felt like sobbing with relief when she went over, heels digging roughly into Hank’s tailbone. Her body shook and muscles quivered and two tears leaked from the corners of both eyes and down the sides of her cheeks. Hank buried his face against her shoulder and furiously pumped his hips into her as she held on. The effort was almost painful, but he had her gasping and shaking again just before he found his own release.

Stella slid her hand through Hank’s hair, damp with sweat and rainwater. His chest heaved against hers and he blew hot and humid breath against her shoulder. The musk of sex perfumed the room, so thick she could taste it in the air. She smiled.

“God damn, Sherlock,” Hank said. He dropped his hips and slipped out of her and she unfolded her legs from around him. She felt weak and rubbery. He took her with him as he flopped back on the bed and she rolled to her side against him.

“I’m going to pass on the job,” she said.

Hank rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. He looked down at her and smoothed a few strands of hair off her sweaty cheek. “If it’s what you wanted, we could make it work.”

“Being with you is what I want. It occurs to me that I am unwilling to compromise on that point.”

“That’s good, because so am I.”

“It’s lovely to agree on something.”

“Mmhm,” Hank hummed. He traced the downward slope of her upper lip with his thumb and then brought a finger down her nose. “My most brilliant achievement was my ability to persuade my wife to marry me.”

Stella pulled her brows together in thought. “That’s not Shakespeare.”

“No,” he laughed. “Winston Churchill.”

“Oh, darling, please stick to The Bard.”

“I might be fresh out of Billy Shakes for the moment, but I might be able to bust out some Keats if I really thought about it. Just give me a few more minutes for my brain cells to regenerate.”

“I don’t need poetry, Watson.”

“Wait, wait, I got one.” Hank rolled over so he was above her, propping himself up on his elbows. She parted her thighs so he could lay between her legs and he brushed his nose back and forth against hers. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is that not strange?”

“Then we are strange together.”

“Sorry for being an asshole earlier.”

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

“Oh my god, Sherlock, you’re giving me shit for Churchill and then you go and quote Love Story?”

“That was terrible, I apologize.”

“Eh, not gonna lie, it’s still a turn on.”

It was difficult to kiss through the laughter that followed, but they managed.

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #stella gibson #hank moody #californication #the fall #angst #fun with shakespeare #married people fights

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Cobra Kai: Inside That Surprising Season 3 Cameo

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The following contains spoilers for Cobra Kai season 3.

When Tory Nichols (Peyton List) first appeared in Cobra Kai, she was the best red herring ever. She introduced herself in season 2 episode 4 “The Moment of Truth” as “Tory… with a ‘Y’” and every fan of the original film went ballistic. In The Karate Kid, Ali Mills (Elisabeth Shue) introduced herself to Daniel LaRusso (Ralph Macchio) as “Ali… with an ‘I’” so we all wondered if Tory might be Ali’s daughter.

Then season 3 leads us on even more. In the second episode of this season, “Nature vs Nurture,” there’s a scene set in Tory’s apartment. She is caring for her invalid mother, but her mom is off screen. We don’t see her. Why would they hide her if she wasn’t Ali?

Well, it wasn’t Ali. But Ali makes a glorious return all the same in episodes 9 and 10, “Feel the Night” and “December 19” and she’s far from being an invalid. As Johnny says, she looks “amazing.” She opens her reappearance in the penultimate episode by saying “It’s good to be back.”

Dr. Ali Mills Schwarber

Just like Johnny and Daniel, every fan of the Karate Kid franchise still burns a candle for Ali. She was “beyond cute” as Daniel said back in the day, plus she had a fierce independence, defiant against social class snobbery as the privileged Encino cheerleader who fell for the poor Reseda new kid. Ali was way out of Daniel’s league, perhaps out of Johnny’s too. The Karate Kid was Shue’s first major film role and she shined. Previously she had been featured in a Burger King commercial alongside Sarah Michelle Gellar and Lea Thompson. Eleven years after The Karate Kid, Shue’s talent was recognized with a Best Actress Oscar nomination for Leaving Las Vegas.

In a conversation with Den of Geek prior to the premiere, Cobra Kai stars Macchio and Zabka revealed that they were just as excited as the fanbase was to get Shue back in the fold.

“Oh, it was great working with her again,” said Zabka. “We got along really well on The Karate Kid and I bumped into her over the years. I never thought we’d be back together, working as Johnny and Ali, certainly. But working with her was just like picking up, playing tennis with an old partner. It was natural and fun and great and easy. We laughed a lot. We couldn’t believe it. There’s a special bond we all share from that time, like high school best friends or your college friends. Those kinds of relationships snap back effortlessly, and pick up where they left off and that’s what it was.”

“Yeah, there is a sweet kind of connection,” agrees Macchio, “something that’s kind of unspoken because we all came out of this film that has become way bigger than any of us, as far as the consciousness in the world, consciousness in the love for that story. So, we share that and it’s kind of unspoken. And so it was really kind of wonderful to tap into all that.

“When we were shooting, she said, ‘I forget how natural a partner you are to work with.’ Because it was 30-something years ago, and I felt the same way. There was an ease of which we connected just like Billy is talking about.”

Returning to Golf ‘N’ Stuff and the Encino Oaks Country Club

When Johnny reunites with Ali, they have “35 years of stuff to say.” They meet for lunch and in a moment of honesty, Johnny confesses how he screwed everything up to her, apologizing for taking her for granted back in the day, including running over her radio. Ali reciprocates by telling him that she’s separated from her ex, Greg, opening the door to rekindling their relationship. In another scene, after Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) tells Daniel that Johnny told him Ali was his first love. Daniel says she was his first too. “There was just something about her,” says Daniel. “I thought she was the one.”

After lunch, Ali and Johnny go to Golf ‘N’ Stuff, the same arcade Daniel and Ali went to for their first date.

“During some of our date at Golf ‘N’ Stuff, we just laughed most of the time and got to know each other even better and what’s happened over the years for us personally, which fed into these performances together,” Zabka says.

The characters discuss their kids, Johnny’s son Robbie (Tanner Buchanan) and Ali’s, Lucas, who excels at soccer (soccer plays a major component in The Karate Kid, as well as in season 3 episode 4 of Cobra Kai “The Right Path”) and Ava, who is in a punk band. Ali invites Johnny to a party at Encino Oaks Country Club, another great throwback to The Karate Kid. The Encino Oaks Country Club was where Daniel tried to meet Ali but Johnny blocks him and Daniel ends up covered in spaghetti in his all white outfit. In the Cobra Kai finale, Johnny narrowly misses getting spaghetti spilled on him when he arrives at the club in a white Scarface-style sports jacket.

Ali Did NOT Wreck Daniel’s ’47 Ford

For Shue, Cobra Kai gave closure to something that has bothered her for three and a half decades. Ali only appeared in The Karate Kid and at the end, Daniel and Ali made a cute couple. However, when the sequel began, Shue had moved on. She had already put her college education on hold to pursue acting, leaving Harvard one semester shy of her degree (she eventually returned to earn her B.A in Poli-Sci in 2000).

After The Karate Kid, she starred in the ABC TV series Call to Glory and landed the lead role in Adventures in Babysitting soon after. Shue never returned as Ali and the character was unceremoniously written out. At the start of The Karate Kid Part II, Daniel tells Miyagi that Ali crashed his precious waxed on, waxed off ’47 Ford that Miyagi gave him and dumped him for a football player. That cleared the way for Daniel to fall for Kumiko (Tamlyn Tomita) in the sequel, but it left Ali in the lurch.

In the Cobra Kai season 3 finale, Ali spies Daniel at the Encino Oaks Country Club and greets him with how he introduced himself to her in the original, “Daniel…with an ‘L.’” When Johnny joins them, they are immediately at odds. Ali feels the tension and starts diffusing it, asking if she’s going to have to put them both on a time out. Then Daniel’s wife Amanda (Courtney Henggeler) shows up and Ali shares tales of their senior year. She explains that she didn’t leave Daniel for a football player (he was just a friend) and that she had warned him about the brakes failing. Daniel denies telling Miyagi otherwise, even though he did.

“For her, for Ali and Daniel, it ended in such an odd way at the beginning of The Karate Kid Part II,” says Macchio. “It was sort of like a one-line write-off of her character, and I know that bothered her over the years. It may have bothered everyone.”

Nevertheless, working with Shue again was a special treat. As Ali, she got to help resolve a feud that was mostly sparked by her character. Macchio explains, “We laughed together and it was sweet to be the three of us, kind of for the first time, playing scenes that weren’t about, “I’m going to kill you LaRusso,” and, “You’re such a jerk, Johnny Lawrence.” And it was kind of a nice for her to sort of facilitate them seeing clearer through the fog of who they actually were, meaning Johnny and Daniel.”

Ali works her magic on the boys and manages to get them to reconcile. It’s something that seemed inevitable, but only Ali could achieve it. “The truth is you guys are more alike than you want to admit,” says Ali sagaciously. And she would know.

If Ali Isn’t Tory’s Mom, Who Is?

This all leaves one outstanding mystery. Who is Tory’s mom? If Cobra Kai is looking to place more Easter eggs, there aren’t a lot of female characters left in the franchise. Could it be Jessica Kennedy (Robyn Lively) from Karate Kid Part III? She was originally scripted to be Daniel’s third love interest but at the time of filming, Lively was only 17. Macchio’s Karate skill lies in his baby face. He was already 22 when he first played the teenage Daniel. And by the time of the threequel, he was 27. Since Lively was a minor, Jessica’s relationship with Daniel was rewritten to be a close friend.

Another possibility for Tory’s mom might be Miyagi’s other pupil, Julie Pierce, from The Next Karate Kid, the fourth and final film in the Miyagi tetralogy. That was the breakthrough role for Oscar winner, Hilary Swank. The Next Karate Kid lacked any of the characters from the previous films except for Morita and it was transplanted from Los Angeles to Boston. This killed that magical chemistry between Daniel and Miyagi. The fourth film flopped. Nevertheless, Swank’s burgeoning talent was evident. Despite a mediocre story, Swank’s performance as Julie shines as the only redeeming aspect of the film. So far, Cobra Kai hasn’t ventured into Julie territory yet, but it would be so cool if it did.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Perhaps Tory’s mom won’t be significant in season 4. It could never hold a candle to Ali. Ali’s return made the conclusion of season 3 into one of the best episodes of the entire series. And the door is wide open for Ali to return again next season. The fanbase is hopeful. As Ali says, “Sometimes it’s good to visit the past, to know where you are now. But you can’t live in the past.” Score a point for Mills.

Cobra Kai season 3 is available on Netflix.

The post Cobra Kai: Inside That Surprising Season 3 Cameo appeared first on Den of Geek.

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billyagogo · 4 years

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Even from childhood bedrooms, socially distanced students work to get out the vote

New Post has been published on https://newsprofixpro.com/moxie/2020/10/31/even-from-childhood-bedrooms-socially-distanced-students-work-to-get-out-the-vote/

Even from childhood bedrooms, socially distanced students work to get out the vote

When Lauren Guzowski makes calls to potential voters in this election season, sometimes she also provides a bit of live music in the background — perhaps the guitar chords of “Stairway to Heaven.”

“I’ve got a little brother who loves his electric guitar,” she said. “So sometimes I’ll be phone-banking and you’ll hear a little Led Zeppelin.”

Guzowski, 19, is a sophomore at George Washington University. Like many students her age, the COVID-19 pandemic means she’s spending this semester not in a dorm room but back home, living with her parents in Pittsburgh.

Yet on top of online coursework for her political science degree — including a “very topical” class called “The American Presidency” — Guzowski works as deputy director of campaign operations for her school’s College Democrats chapter. Amid parents walking into her room unannounced and, yes, the occasional guitar solo, she’s spending her quarantine digitally organizing “get out the vote” efforts for campaigns across the country.

“My field office is my bedroom,” she said.

Guzowski is not alone. Young people nationwide — cooped up indoors, their social lives, work, school and housing disrupted — have spent the weeks before Nov. 3 making calls, sending texts and even hand-writing letters to influence voters in what some see as a potentially generation-defining election.

Most of the young activists The Times spoke with were Democrats. This tracks with polling from the nonpartisan Pew Research Center, which in mid-June found that 68% of registered voters between 18 to 29 support former Vice President Joe Biden, the Democratic nominee, versus 28% who support President Trump.

With his unexpected surplus of free time, 22-year-old Dylan Cohen, a recent graduate of USC, read up on politics and, working through a volunteer group called Postcards to Voters, wrote dozens of letters to Georgia voters in support of Democrat Jon Ossoff’s campaign to unseat Republican Sen. David Perdue. He also applied to be a poll worker, but hadn’t yet heard back.

“If I were still a senior in college and everything was normal, and I could have chosen between spending 45 minutes to go get drinks with a friend at a bar or hand-write letters, I would have just gone to the bar and gotten beer,” Cohen said.

Cohen’s cross-continent outreach — from his parents’ house in Malibu to voters in Georgia — is standard for pandemic-era campaign work, especially among Democrats. Unlike many Republicans, Democrats generally consider in-person door-knocking a potentially deadly tactic amid the coronavirus contagion, and many campaigns have moved their efforts online — meaning that anyone, anywhere, can hop on to canvass voters virtually.

“Before, if the campaign was doing a phone bank, they would have just done it in person [and] I would not have been able to join,” said Tyler Kusma, a George Washington University senior who’s moved home to Pennsylvania. “Now it’s a Zoom call, so it doesn’t really matter if I’m from Scranton or down the road.”

That flexibility means Kusma, 22, who’s president of GW for Biden, can pick and choose online which other campaigns to help. In addition to supporting his local member of Congress, he’s texted or called voters in Iowa, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana and Texas on behalf of various candidates on those states’ ballots.

With location no barrier to entry, choosing where to volunteer becomes a more strategic decision.

Agnes Mok, a senior at Pomona College who moved to Washington, D.C., after her classes went online, chose to work with the liberal super PAC Flip the West after deciding that “flipping the Senate was going to be more important … than [volunteering for] other individual candidates,” she said. David Pernick of Silver Lake said he chose “empirically” to phone-bank for Iowa Senate candidate Theresa Greenfield, the Democrat challenging Republican Sen. Joni Ernst.

“I’m like, ‘OK, what are really close races in really small states?’ Because the smaller the state, the more impact each call has, right?” said Pernick, 29, who had time to spare after his test preparation and tutoring business slowed down. “I was thinking Iowa versus Montana, and I just, flip of a coin, decided to go with Iowa.”

For other young volunteers, campaign work is a way to stay socially active. Rhea Trainson, who leads Pennsylvania college outreach for the progressive organizing group Swing Left, said digital campaign events offer a chance to connect with friends and chat with peers.

“We’ve really started advertising these as parties in their own way, and having fun themes for events,” said Trainson, 21. “I know one of my favorite events that I hosted was a Timothée Chalamet costume contest and letter-writing event.”

For some students, moving back home means sharing a roof with family members of different political persuasions. Guzowski said her father is a Republican, and family discussions can sometimes get “a little heated.”

“I think they’re really worthy discussions,” she said. “[It’s] very different than being on a college campus with a bunch of other poli-sci majors.”

While pandemic-related adjustments have in some ways made volunteering easier, voting itself can be more complicated for college and post-college young people who’ve relocated. For an extreme case, consider Iris Chen.

Chen, a sophomore at Atlanta’s Emory University, took the semester off and moved to a cousin’s house in South Lake Tahoe to work, hike and explore. In late July, she filed to receive her Georgia absentee ballot at the Tahoe house, but later discovered that the area is too rural and isolated to receive mail, as a worker at a local post office explained.

Chen’s ballot was delivered to Tahoe, then bounced back to Georgia. She requested a second ballot, and drove to Sacramento for an affidavit swearing she wouldn’t use the first one, signed it and faxed it back to Georgia. A state website showed that a second ballot was shipped to Sacramento on Oct. 7.

Chen hadn’t received it by Friday, more than three weeks later. Meanwhile, she’d bought plane tickets to fly to Atlanta for in-person early voting; Friday was the last day to do so. “It’s much more difficult [to vote] than I thought for my first election,” she said. But once she got to her polling place in Atlanta, “it went really smoothly.”

Even for students who still live in the state where they’re registered, relocations can upend voting arrangements.

Chris Wig, chair of the Democratic Party of Lane County, Ore. — home to the University of Oregon, which is primarily online through the winter — said the party is seeing “a diffusion of Democratic voters” away from the county as some students move home and re-register there. Because Lane County is safely blue, Wig said, the shift of pro-Democratic students to other areas of the state can only help the party.

Not all college towns are experiencing such changes. William Ellis, the Republican Party chairman in Monroe County, Ind., said that enough Indiana University Bloomington students have remained on campus that he hasn’t “seen any changes to the student dynamic with voting.” And Scott Grabins, Republican Party chair in Dane County, Wis., said that the College Republicans of the University of Wisconsin-Madison “continue to be engaged with campaign activities.”

But for many of America’s youngest voters, the pandemic has redefined if, how and why they engage with politics.

“I would offer a broad apology for how many phone calls people are getting, … but I think it’s really worthwhile work,” Guzowski said. “I hope that people know that, a lot of the time, it’s young people and kids who are on the other end of those phone calls, doing the best that they can.”

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alltheworldsrpg-blog · 7 years

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WELCOME TO ROSWELL, ELARA REGIIS!!

ADMIN CAMERON: I didn’t expect to see such a fragile portrayal of The Astrea, but damn did I fall in love with Elara regardless. She’s such a perfect combination of hard and soft and the extra connection expansions really gave me a feel of where she’d fit in.

You’ve been accepted as THE ASTREA with the faceclaim of AISHA DEE. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Chris, she/they

AGE:

Sixteen

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

EST. I’m out of school so I should be on a lot, unless my mental health is trying is fist fight me. I also work 7 pm to like 11:30 pm ish at least four days a week at my local drive in so I might not be the most active at night.

TRIGGERS:

Not that I can think of.

ANYTHING ELSE?:

N/A

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The Astrea

FULL NAME:

Elara Titiana Regiis

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Demigirl, she/they

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Bisexual, Biromantic

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

August 23rd, 2040. Age nineteen.

OCCUPATION:

Heir to Luytan. Poli Sci major.

FACECLAIM:

Aisha Dee

BIOGRAPHY:

Unlike most, you entered the world quietly. Doctors, Luytans, of course, rushed to make sure your heart still beat when barely a cry left your mouth. Further examinations showed that you were perfectly healthy, despite the initial concerns over your quiet nature. In your early childhood, you remained quiet, more concerned with playing and reading than offering your voice to others. During formal events, you smiled and waved at the people you would one day rule over but unless you had to speak, you rarely chimed in on the many conversations all around you. Even as you listened to your parents argue, you remained silent, barely there, as they threw insult after insult at each other and as you and your parents ventured into the outside world, only to be met with protests that quickly devolved into riots. You are eight when you finally learn to make a sound. Early in the morning, before the sun rose, you wandered into your parents room after a nightmare. Yet, you walked into a worse nightmare and a scream, perhaps the loudest sound that ever left your mouth, escaped your lips at the sight of your parents’ corpses.

Years after your parents assassinations, you forgot the specifics of finding their corpses, everything, other than the fear that burrowed itself in your stomach and the crimson staining their clothes and bed sheets, lost to you. Yet, you remember the investigation in near perfect detail. Your voice raw from screaming, guards and Luytan investigators questioned you endlessly. “Did you see anyone leave the area?” No. “Was anything out of place?” You didn’t know. “Do you know anyone that would want to kill your parents?” Almost everyone. Despite the vacant look in your eyes and the vague answers that left your lips, they asked and asked until Cassiopeia stepped in and pulled you away from them and the many prying eyes, citing that there was any more information an eight year old could give them than you already had. She smoothed your hair and hid you away in her child’s playroom.

Perhaps worse than even the investigation itself was the media. Journalists and reporters tried to schedule countless interviews with you and the tabloids published covers with fake scandals about your parents. Then, news leaked of the troubles facing your parents marriage. Now, every time you glanced at a news source, you heard accusations that it had been a murder-suicide rather than an assassination. Even worse, conservative news sources and blogs twisted this tragedy and made it into a victory. It seemed impossible for you to go on with the constant slander you saw on the news and the constant coverage of the worst thing you would ever experience. Yet, once the royal advisers forced you to finally speak with reporters and journalists, only a year after your parents death, you found your voice as you answered questions. In that time, you mastered the emotionless face that Luytans were known for and you spoke of your parents’ assassination without any emotion that humans and non-luytan extra terrestrials could pick up on. However, you pressed the ends of your fingernails into your thighs, only noticeable if anyone paid more attention to your behavior than your words. The problem with expressing emotion in a way humans don’t understand is that you are often por as heartless, as not caring about the tragedy that was your parents’ deaths. After a while, you tried not to care about the snap judgement of human kind and eventually, it no longer had you doubt yourself but, instead, summoned an anger within in you.

After your parents’ assassinations, there was the question of who would raised you. Some petitioned for Cassiopeia to raise you, best for a royal to raise another royal, yet, she vetoed the idea before it truly was considered. Others thought it would be best for a group of people to raise while others argued it was the job of the nanny your parents had chosen to raise. Despite the quick speed the situation called for, the royal advisers spent weeks debating the issue. You spent those weeks hidden away in the royal estate with the servants looking after you. Eventually, they came to the decision to invite a distant cousin to raise you, yet, that didn’t change your life much. The cousin, Alycone, did little to raise you, rather, they left you to run around the estate, much like the previous weeks. As you grew up, you began to view the servants as family more than Alycone, especially the maid that was assigned to you, Nashira. While you would deny it if asked, you’ve seen her as a motherly-figure for most of your life.

Tutors taught you every you could need to know when you were a child. They taught you science, the history of Luytan, math, art, English and the native language of Luytan. You rarely had need to leave your estate and that’s what Cassiopeia preferred, best to keep you isolated and safe rather than to allow her to run around risk meeting the same fate as her parents. Until you were fourteen, you barely knew life outside the royal estate and only left when you were invited to galas and other political events. Every fiber of you craved to see the outside world in more than the brief glimpses you received.

At age fourteen, your wish was granted and you were sent to a boarding school, established for the wealthy of the Centaurians, Luytans, Tau Cetians and humans alike. Even though guards accompanied you everywhere you went and it was against the school’s policy to leave school grounds, you adored the opportunity to see a world outside of the estate you were raised in and to meet people other than the servants that worked for and the officials that frequented the estate. However, you quickly wanted to run back to the safe walls you’d known your entire life. Despite the high status of all of the students at the school and the inclusion of all three alien races that settled on earth at it, humans still made up the majority of the student population and they were never one to hide the hatred they felt for aliens. You often found the security that surrounded you increased as humans, fellow students, tried to throw fists at you, spit at you and shove you into walls. After a only a few months into the four years you would spend at the school, you learned to expect the anger and the violence, it was all the humans seemed to know.

You expected to find something other than anger and violence in the Luytans that you called classmates. Yet, they seemed to hate you nearly as much as the humans did. Ignorant, snobbish, isolated, disconnected from reality, stupid girl, they spat at you. Eventually, you steeled yourself to their insults with the knowledge that one day, they would bow down to you and beg for their transgressions against you. However, that didn’t make your heart ache any less for companionship.

All around you, you watched people make friends and enter relationships. But you had none of that. Potential friends shunned you when they found out who you were, if hadn’t known from the moment they saw you, they knew when your name left your mouth. To let them know that they hurt you would be to let them know hurt you, so you learned only to cry when no one watched and in the safety of the private dorm you were awarded. Even the Centaurians and the Tau Cetians looked upon you with disdain and turned the other way when you approached them. You remember when you decided that making friends was impossible for you and an emptiness that has filled you since.

While you might not have the easiest time in the social life of the school, you excelled in the academics. Without much effort, you glided through the language classes you they placed you in and you learned the science and math taught to you within days of the material being taught to you. History fascinated you the most out of all the subjects. You found few things more enjoyable than learning about the history of not only the planet of your species but the planets of the other species. Countless hours were spent pouring yourself over the history books of the classes.

Eventually, even that was ruined for you. In a class focused on the recent history of Luytans, the teacher, unfortunately human and too lazy to bother to remember the names of any of his students, spoke of the assassination of the king and the queen of Luytan. Without any tact in his voice, he explained in vivid detail how the king and the queen were killed and he taught the many conspiracies that surrounded their deaths. “Doesn’t anyone else find it suspicious that they were killed around the time the current queen turned thirty? Yet, the Luytans simply brushed off the possibility because who would rule if she was imprisoned?” As he spoke, you felt all eyes on you, the non-Luytans waiting for a more human expression of pain and sneered when they didn’t find one. Yet, for the first time, the Luytans showed an almost sympathy to you and stopped insulting you at every turn. They understood what you actions meant, nails digging into your palms with you drew blood, eyes empty and locked on the space in front of your desk, and for the first and last time, they saw you as more than the Rapunzel-esque heir to the Luytan throne. After that day, you spent a week hiding in you room, faking an illness to avoid hearing more about an event you experiences first hand. That summer, when you returned home, you thought of the theory you heard of Cassiopeia being involved in your parents’ deaths as fiction yet, that didn’t stop you from seeing the woman as the false leader of your people.

At seventeen, you graduated a year early and enrolled in the University of New Mexico. If it had been up to you, you have gone to college somewhere far away from the council or not at all. However, the royal advisors insisted you stay in New Mexico. So, you did. Over the next two years, you insisted to know more about the politics that would affect your future reign over the Luytan people and stopped caring much about the opinions of the royal advisors and Cassiopeia.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

After her parents death, Elara stopped celebrating her birthday in any meaningful way. Rather than have the lavish dinner and cake her parents insisted she had each year, even when they fought and screamed at each other almost constantly. Instead, she had a party, more of a ball than a party, that the royal advisors insisted she have. She spent the ball mingling and making small talk, even if she never felt more lonely than she did when she was at such events. When she decided to go to college, she wanted nothing more than to stay in the royal estate and commute. However, her advisors insisted that she live among the people she would later be ruling over. They suggested she live in the dorms, however, they compromised and allowed her to live in an apartment in Albuquerque. When in school, Elara was encouraged to focus on science and history more than other subjects, given that science was generally an important Luytan interest and history as a good ruler knew the mistakes committed in history and knew how to avoid repeating those mistakes in their own tenure as leader. While she excelled in the sciences, she developed an adoration of history.

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

Plots:

I’d like for her to find out that Cassiopeia killed her parents. She’s already suspicious of her parents deaths and she doesn’t really think of Cassiopeia as the rightful ruler of Luytan, even if the law states that she is for just over another decade. Let’s severely injure her. Say there is an anti-alien protest that turns into a riot or an attack from anti-alien extremists and bam the heir to Luytan is injured a bunch and no one really knows if she’ll be okay or not and imagine the tension. I imagine she’s kinda been pretty absent from the political scene because she’s has so long until she actually takes over as the leader of Luytan but I’d like to see them find out more about politics because she certainly has an interest in finding more out and she’s been trying since she enrolled in college to get more involved.

Wanted Connections:

I’d love for her just to finally make friends and maybe even a best friend. The last thing she needs is more enemies but she lacks any real friends other than the cache, who I’d be wary to actually label a friend. She’s wants friends and for people to like her and wouldn’t it been interesting if someone tried to exploit her because of it? She befriends them and trusts them and they suddenly they betray her and she’s alone again. Growing up, Elara didn’t have parents because they died, obviously, and I think it could be really cute if she had a relationship that mimicked the relationship she never got to have with her parents, just someone who looks out for her and give her advice and is generally just like a parent to her.

ETC:

here is her mock blog and here is her pinterest.

Connection Expansions:

(The Cache) In truth, you are not sure what drew you to befriend them. They abandoned the morals and the techniques of those many great Luytan scientists before them and they should be enough for you to look upon them with disdain. But, they don’t hate you and that’s enough for you to look past that and try to forge a tentative friendship with them.

(The Nebula) You often wonder how they could so easily abandon the traditions that your people have upheld for nearly your entire history. It makes your blood boil at the thought and they always seem to be around you, even if it’s clear that you both hate each other. If they want to abandon your culture, you hope they are prepared to never ask the crown for a favor.

(The Tesseract) At times, you think he hates you and other times, you think you hate him. Nothing close to love will ever blossom between you two. However, Luytan tradition dictates that you must marry a noble and he is better than most in the sense that he will never expect to be anything more than a necessity to claim your throne and fulfill tradition.

#accepted.#the astrea.

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runwildwithme · 7 years

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Came Back Wrong (didnt come back at all) - An Elsewhere U Tale

Hey all! As always, many thanks to @charminglyantiquated for the wonderful sandbox that is @elsewhereuniversity.

I'm still working on Feathers, by the by, just... not in chronological order. I now know exactly how it ends, and a pretty solid idea of how to get there though!

In the mean time, have this. ...Directly related to working on Feathers and this at the same time: it is fricken hard to keep switching back and forth between past and present tense. I think I caught all my slip ups in this, but let me know if you guys catch anything!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

“My name’s Flowerpower. Well. Ok, yeah, no, it's not. You know I mean my name, not my Name. My mom was a hippie, yeah, but not that much of one.” The girl sat leaning against a cave wall, knees bent nearly to her chest, elbows resting upon them. She didn't care that the moss was leaching water into her clothes where she leaned against it, and though her flesh goose-pimpled she didn't feel cold.

“Back when I first got to Elsewhere, I’d just been getting over the last gasp of a truly nasty case of mono, so I ended up missing orientation. I had to make an appointment in the administrative building to fill out the paperwork I missed, and introduced myself to the counselor who was guiding me through it all.” She paused, as if waiting for a reaction. After a second longer, she went on.

“I introduced myself by Name. Which. Yeah. I know now, but like I said: I missed orientation. Looking back, I was so friggin lucky that my counselor is the one who's married to the monster-hunter librarian. She didn't even think of taking advantage. Still hasn’t, may whatever she believes in bless her.” The girl- Flowerpower- sighed, let her head loll back against the stone, idly twisted her ring.

“Back then, though, she'd looked at me with the eyes of someone who was only feeling pity because they felt like should, not necessarily because they did, you know, and told me I was a ‘sweet summer child’.

“Once I got over being offended- I absolutely recognized the reference, and even if I hadn't, I’m plenty capable of realizing when someone is talking down to me- she explained why Names were a bad idea.

“From there, it was pretty easy to pick my name- hippie parent, sweet summer child, boom: Flowerpower.” She laughed, just a little.

‘I'm part of- was part of the population of the student at Elsewhere who are In the Know, but not actually Involved. Sure, I own a pair of glasses from Cat Eyes, but that's about on par with owning facewash here- not totally needed, except for how yes actually it is.” She went silent again, for a span of several breaths, and dropped her head forward to hide against her knees. She took a handful of slow, measured breaths until it wasn't hard to maintain the rhythm, and only then spoke back up.

“I don't wear them much. Some people do- can't stand the not knowing, I guess. But like. Shit, man, I'm not in statistics, and I'm certainly no science major. I'm in philosophy: ‘not knowing’ is part of the territory. The universe is a big fucken place, I don't need to know everything. I just need to do my homework, pass my classes, graduate on time and get the hell out.” She was breathing a bit fast again, and she again took the time to slow down.

“...that came out a little harsh, didn't it? Don't get me wrong- I love it here at Elsewhere. This place is great, and the people who graduate from here almost always end up successful. But like I said, I'm In the Know; I'm getting my degree and getting out before this place gets its hooks into me and I can't leave without leaving a chunk- at the very least- of myself behind. Or. Well. That was the plan. Little too late for that now, yeah?” Flowerpower laughed, loud, jarring, unhappy.

“I just. Fuck. I was gonna do it, you know? I've only got one year left, and I took all the hard classes for my major already! I just. Just. Fuck. Fuck.” Her voice broke.

“I didn't even screw up. My stupid treacherous backstabbing dumbfuck of an ex boyfriend was the one who traded my Name away. Like. Who the fuck does that?” She asked, not quite shouting but close to it, not caring that she received no answer.

“And it's not like I dated some rando for two weeks and spilled my innermost secrets- this dude has met my family. I took him home for Christmas. And like. Listen. My family isn't very religious, sure, but like a lot of Americans Christmas is still a capital-b Big Deal family holiday. When you bring someone to the Christmas party, it means things are serious; start-looking-for-a-ring-on-the-finger-pretty-soon levels of serious.

And he fucking sold my Name.”

Flowerpower bit her lip hard, tried to fight the way her face was screwing up.

Around her, the shadows shifted, surged, writhed along crevices.

“Ring on the finger?” A voice parroted.

Flowerpower took a shuddering deep breath, held it until her lungs burned, and poured it out.

“I thought I was gonna marry him.” She whispered. The fae knew what marriage was- it was a ritual for changing and exchanging names until they were Names. Of course they knew about marriage.

There was a long pause.

“I think.” The shadows sibilated, “that I ended up with the better end of that deal.”

“What, you thinking I dodged a bullet?” Flowerpower snorted, bitter and angry and ugly with it. “Better you than him, that what you figure?”

There was no answer. The brittleness seemed to seep away from her.

“Yeah. Yeah, you're prolly right.”

The shadows stayed silent. After what felt like an eternity but was more likely only twenty minutes or so, Flowerpower slowly down the wall and curled up on her side.

When the shadows next spoke, some length of time later, she startled hard, lurching back up into a sitting position.

“I have a task for you,” they said.

Heart pounding rabbit-fast, she forced out a quip, achieved a sarcastic drawl by sheer force of will, only trembled a little bit: “Your wish is my command.”

She wished she was joking. The shadows roiled.

“Make your traitor-love regret his treachery.”

Flowerpower stared into the shadows for a long time before she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

She stood up, ignored the moss hanging from her body. The shadows parted to release her from the cave, slid off of her like the moss didn't.

When she stepped into the light, a hand held up to keep the glare from her eyes, she carried the shadows with her.

She would never feel cold again. Never feel the bite of the air in winter, never fear the dark of the forest or the night- the things that lurked there had already caught her, after all.

Flowerpower took one step, and then another. By the time she found her way back to a part of the campus she recognized, her eyes had adapted, though there was still a tightness behind them that spoke to a newly developed sensitivity, and moss hung heavy about her like a tattered cloak.

Around her, her classmates’ eyes caught sight of her and then slid off. Flowerpower didn't blame them- she'd come back, sure, but she hadn't returned. Not in any way that mattered.

One set of eyes lingered just a tad too long- Cindy, who she’d partnered with in biology lab freshman year. Never the closest friend, but a friend all the same, once upon a time.

“Cindy, wait up!” Flowerpower called, and if it came more out more like a command than a request, well.

Cindy waited, eyes turned down and knuckles clenched white on the strap of her purse. She looked.. different. Older.

“How long?” Flowerpower asked, and fell into step with Cindy as they walked towards- yup, the art building. Dangerous, Cindy, Flowerpower couldn't help but think.

Cindy took a deep breath, the blew it out.

“A year and a day.”

That was ...much longer than Flowerpower had thought it had been. It should have given her pause. It should have struck her with a bolt of grief, knowing her family had been notified of her disappearance after the RAs failed to retrieve her. It should have cleaved her in two, to hear how time had passed her by while she changed in the shadow’s cave.

It only made her frown, thinking of the trouble she might have finding her dumbfuck ex if his schedule wasn't the same.

“Tell me where I can find Arthur.” That time it definitely wasn't a request, and from the slow way Cindy’s eyes widened she knew why Flowerpower wanted to know.

“Oh my god, Flowerpower, there were rumors but I never really thought- oh god, how'd you get away?”

Flowerpower just looked at her- dropped her eyes to the moss clinging to her limbs, looked back up, watched as Cindy’s eyes took the same path.

“I didn't.” Cindy made a low, mournful noise, visibly stopped herself from telling Flowerpower how sorry she was.

“Why.. why do you want to find Arthur?” She asked, and Flowerpower felt herself smile, full of teeth and gore.

“My master is a kind one- the first task he sets for me is one I do not mind completing.”

Cindy shuddered again, then changed directions towards the poli-sci building.

Flowerpower quirked a brow at her guide.

“He changed majors after you- well. After.” She said, and then her eyes hardened with sudden realization, and she was angry. “Flowerpower, he won the lottery when he went home for summer break. Oh my god, he’s had such good luck over the past year- he's scum.”

“I'm beginning to realize that, yes.”

Cindy lead Flowerpower into the poli-sci building, up the stairs, to the doors of a lecture hall.

Flowerpower stopped there, peered through the window in the door. Arthur was sitting at the from of the lecture hall, off to the side, grading papers. A TA position- lucky indeed, Flowerpower thought. TA positions at Elsewhere always paid well, and they almost always led to internships and connections.

But luck runs out, she thought.

She slammed the door open, and something in her relished the way the professor turned to her, outraged at the interruption, the way he stopped when he saw her. She nodded to him when he backed down, turned her attention to Arthur.

He jerked back, up and out of his seat. The chair clattered to a rest behind him. His held out his hands, half supplication, half ward.

“Cather-” Flowerpower cut him off, voice gone low and dangerous.

“You don't get to call me by my Name. Not anymore, not after you sold it.” She cracked out the accusation like a whip, smiled when he paled and darted glances at his peers for their reactions.

She saw his mouth open, and spoke again before he could try to argue himself out of his guilt.

“Do you know what my master calls you?” She asked, walking down the stairs of the lecture hall, each word accompanied by a foot step. He stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish pulled from the water, off balance.

“He calls you my traitor-love.” Behind her, Cindy choked back a noise half grief, half rage. The students around them murmured, shocked, offended. Arthur turned even paler.

“What did you think would happen? That I'd be whisked away, never to return? That I wouldn't make allies, that I’d never speak of your- your betrayal?” From the way his mouth snapped shut, that was exactly what he had thought.

Flowerpower supposed she was being a tad misleading, here. It had been scarce hours for her, and a whole year for the rest of the world. She knew her words implied she'd been aware of the passing time, implied the presence of allies, the good will and backing of her master, permission for the hunt. Hunt, even. That last, she had, but the rest... well. She had told no lies, and all was fair in love and war. If he made assumptions...

It was all the better to make him fear.

He slid away from the chair he'd knocked askew, moved towards the door on the side wall.

On a hunch, Flowerpower let him, and when he scrabbled at the doorknob it refused to budge, locked tight.

“Looks like all that luck you bought has about run out.” Flowerpower told him, enjoyed the shaking of hi hands.

He was pale, so pale, and he trembled in the face of her, brow dampened with a cold sweat.

Flowerpower turned her head towards the professor, but didn't actually take her eyes off of Arthur.

“Professor, now would be a good time to take your class away.” She told him, and in her peripheral vision she watched as he drew himself up.

“Indeed, I would be glad to, but I would like to take my TA with me.” His voice was even, if a little fast.

“I'm sure,”She bit out, “But I can't quite allow that. He and I have business, and my master has tasked me with the finishing of it.”

“Perhaps it could be put off for a time?” The professor asked. “He has a prior engagement in the form of his duties to me.”

“It's been put off for a year already, Professor. And for what he's done to me, even if I could put this off, I can't think of a single reason why I'd want to.”

Flowerpower paused, and then looked at the professor directly.

“And anyways, it's our Good Neighbors who respect things like that- breaking contracts, promises, trust... that's all very human.”

The professor held her gaze for a long time, long enough that she thought she might have two bodies to drag back to the shadows instead of just the one. He must have seen the thought cross her mind, though, because -finally- he bowed his head, and herded his students out.

Cindy was the last one to leave.

Arthur called out to Cindy, beseeching- “Cindy, Cindy please, don’t leave me here!”

She stopped in the doorway for only a moment. The door fell shut behind her with a very final sort of thud.

#elsewhere university #the fair folk #The Gentry #taken #stolen away #names and Names #revenge #in the service of the fae #fae #fey

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wellesleyunderground · 7 years

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Wellesley Writes It: Interview with Romance Author, Kate Broad ‘06 (@BeccaBooks)

Image credit Jenny Moloney photography, provided with permission by Kate Broad

Interviewed by Wellesley Writes It editor, Dr. Rebecca Danos

We are delighted to interview romance author Kate Broad ‘06 for Wellesley Underground. After graduating from Wellesley, Kate Broad took a year off before starting her PhD in English at the CUNY Graduate Center, graduating in 2012. She then happily departed from academia to do freelance writing in K-12 educational publishing. She has drawers full of novels, including a literary novel. Her published novels are in the romance genre. Her first novel, Above All, came out in 2014 with Ellora's Cave. Her second novel, How to Fall, came out in 2015 with Entangled Publishing and was a finalist for a 2016 HOLT Medallion in the category of Novels with Strong Romantic Elements. Her new Men of Gold Mountain series launched in October and the second standalone novel, MAKE ME BEG, was released in March from Entangled, where it hit Entangled’s Top 10 Bestsellers list. #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely says MAKE ME BEG is “intensely sexy and packs an emotional punch!” The four books lined up for that series include Make Me Stay, Make Me Beg, Make Me Want, and Make Me Yours. She writes sexy contemporaries and is interested in strong female leads and heroes who are more than washboard abs and hefty bank accounts.

For the introductory paragraph of MAKE ME BEG see here and of MAKE ME STAY see here.

WU: Thank you so much for chatting with Wellesley Underground! What was your major at Wellesley? What experiences from Wellesley influenced your writing the most?

Thank you so much for having me! I majored in English and Political Science. While I always knew I wanted to be a writer, I was also interested in poli sci and the social sciences. My work in both departments definitely influenced each other; in graduate school I studied feminist political literature, bringing together two subjects that may seem distant but to me have always been interconnected. I write a lot about travel — my senior thesis at Wellesley was a collection of poems called Hard to Swallow, with half the poems set in India and half in Brazil. I took a year off before starting Wellesley and lived in India, and then I studied abroad in Brazil. My writing while at Wellesley focused heavily on detail and description, developing a sense of place and a feeling of being transported. While I never would have guessed back then that I’d wind up writing romance novels, that sense of place and of sensory experiences remains central to everything I write. In fact, my second romance novel, How to Fall, is set in Brazil. The characters are entirely made up, but the setting and the idea came from the time I spent there in college and after.

WU: Did you have any memorable courses or extracurricular activities at Wellesley?

So many amazing courses come to mind, especially Modern Poetry with Kate Brogan, a class on Milton with Jodi Mikalachki, and People, Agriculture, and the Environment with Rob Paarlberg. This is maybe twisted, but I loved studying for Professor Brogan’s final. It was this beast of an exam: In part of it, she gave us poems we’d never read before, and we had to identify the author and explain how we knew. It forced me to read deeply and thoughtfully and pay attention in a way that goes well beyond memorizing and regurgitating information.

I was involved in extracurriculars, but to be honest the best parts of Wellesley were the unplanned times hanging out with friends. That’s what I remember — and miss — the most!

WU: At what point in your life did you make the decision to become a full-time writer?

I always wanted to be a writer; the hard part was figuring out how to make that happen and how to support myself while doing so. I was writing poetry at Wellesley, and my professors encouraged me to get a PhD in English. It seemed a logical next step, and I’m happy I did it, but about halfway through my doctoral program I realized first off that while I love poetry, my heart was really yearning to write a novel. Moreover, being a professor wasn’t proving to be a very effective way of getting my own creative work done. I was doing a lot of writing, but it was all scholarship, and I had little time or energy for anything else.

Writers don’t talk a lot about filthy lucre, but my decision to become a full-time writer was very much about economics. During college and after, I worked as a freelance writer and had a number of clients and contacts already built up. I knew that I could write more if I freelanced instead of taught, which I had been doing during my doctorate. So I made the scary decision to finish my PhD but not go on the job market and to freelance instead while I committed myself to finishing a novel. I don’t live off my fiction (yet!), but I do live off my writing. Whenever I get that Wellesley feeling that I’m not doing “enough,” I remind myself of that.

WU: Were you daunted by the uncertainty that accompanies being a writer? How did you take the plunge, and what prompted it?

Oh, God, yes. I still am. Everyday I’m uncertain, and everyday I fight to tell that voice that says “I can’t” that I’m not going to listen. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was six years old, and we wrote stories every week in first grade, but to be honest, I didn’t actually do a whole lot of writing. I thought I’d write a novel someday in the future, when I’d somehow magically know how to do it. Halfway through grad school, it started to dawn on me that there was no future time when I’d know how to write a novel. I’d only figure it out by doing it and by failing, and then trying again, and hopefully failing a little bit less. I decided I would start by writing an hour a day, no more and no less. At the time, I was studying for my oral exams, teaching two classes, commuting over an hour and a half on the subway, starting a new relationship with the person I eventually married — in short, I had a million excuses for why I didn’t have any time. But I could manage an hour (and for people who can’t, there’s always 10 minute bursts. Even 2 minutes of writing a day is 2 minutes more than no minutes at all).

I didn’t reread anything I had written, and I didn’t plot anything in advance. I just sat down and wrote. That novel is a mess! But it’s a 400 page mess, and I felt really good that I did it. Writing that gave me more confidence to tackle long projects and helped me get over the fear of writing badly. That got me over the initial “I don’t even know where to begin” hurdle, so when I started another novel (also unpublished—notice a trend here?), I at least knew I could get something down.

It also helped to read the first Fifty Shades of Grey book, because I no longer had to worry that whatever I came up with would be the worst thing ever written. It made me feel like, come on, I got this.

WU: Do you currently utilize tools you gleaned from your PhD work in your writing?

The biggest thing I learned from my PhD is how to put my butt in the chair and keep it there. I learned how to complete a huge, daunting project — whether a dissertation or a novel — and how to hold the many interlocking pieces of a project in my brain at once. I also learned how to write quickly and just get it done, which is often the hardest part.

In order to meet a deadline for dissertation fellowships, my advisor told me to crank out my first chapter and send it to her by the deadline, so she could say in her recommendation letter that I was working on my second chapter and well underway. That seemed CRAZY to me, and I was worried about sending her crap. But since she straight up told me to send her something bad and not worry about it, I said okay. I basically vomited out an 80 page chapter to her in a month. And you know what? It needed work, obviously, but it wasn’t that bad! I wound up writing my whole dissertation that way, cranking out a messy first draft, getting feedback, and then revising. Not only did I get two dissertation fellowships that year, but I learned how to get over the fear of the blank page and trust that I can always revise and improve my writing — but only if there’s something actually written for me to work with.

WU: Can you describe what it’s like to be a freelance writer and how you went about beginning this career? How do you find markets for your writing?

I work as a freelance writer in K-12 educational publishing, writing math, social studies, and language arts textbooks. People always ask me how to get into this field and to be honest, it’s hard to break into. I knew people who were able to throw small projects my way and then worked my way up. The summer before my senior year, I lived with Wellesley friends and worked on a research project for a social studies company while I started my thesis, a collection of poems. I realized I loved working from home and that the setup worked well for me.

After Wellesley I took a year off before starting graduate school. I started off working at a café in Brooklyn (thanks, Café Hoop, for giving me semi-marketable skills) but was able to get a freelancing gig working on a math textbook much faster than I’d realized. I quit the café job, since the textbook paid better and didn’t involve human interaction and started writing my first novel (a book I’m actually still working on, which is sort of awesome and sort of makes me want to cry).

At the time, I felt like the freelancing was great for a limited amount of time but not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. There’s little room for growth, and I knew I wasn’t going to make any more money per project as I gained experience. I thought I wanted to go into academia, so I wouldn’t be stuck in a dead-end position. But then when I started climbing that academic ladder, I realized there are definite perks to a job that doesn’t take a ton of mental energy and is never going to take over my life. So I went back to freelancing, this time seeking out the same aspects that had turned me off to it the first time around.

WU: What advice would you give to our readers who might like to delve into freelance writing? Are there online resources you can recommend?

There are so many different types of freelance writing gigs out there. I think it’s really important to figure out what you want to do, what skills you have, and what skills you want to learn. I don’t do freelance journalism or write articles — that’s just not my thing. That kind of work is going to be different than, say, writing copy for a company. People come to me saying, “I want to freelance,” and it’s clear they haven’t really thought about what kind of work they want to do or what field they’re looking to break into. My advice would be to do a little research to see what sort of freelance writing exists. Even if the answer is, “I can do anything!”, it still helps to narrow it down and present yourself as interested in the particular subfield.

WU: How do you balance your freelance writing work with your fiction projects?

It varies. If I have a freelance deadline, I focus on that. If I have a book deadline, then that comes first. Sometimes I do both at once, splitting my day between two projects. Sometimes I concentrate on one and then the other, either day by day (a day on fiction, a day on freelance) or month by month (a few months finishing a book, then a few months focusing on a freelance project). It can be a lot to keep in my mind at once, but the work is very different, so I don’t find it that hard to change gears when I need to. I also try to discuss with my editor what my schedule is going to be. Since getting a four-book contract with new manuscripts due every four months, that’s been my top priority!

WU: What does a typical week look like for you? A typical day?

I write every day and try to keep a pretty normal 9-5 schedule. I’m not really a morning person, so as much as I’d love to be some go-getter who’s up at 5 am drafting perfect prose, that’s just not going to happen.

I usually take care of emails and logistical stuff first. I basically have my own company where I am selling the author brand Rebecca Brooks and her books, so there’s a lot of non-writing tasks to complete. Then I work out, usually mid-morning, have lunch… By that time I’m awake, alert, not thinking about the 8,000 emails I have to send, and am able to spend four or five hours writing each afternoon.

WU: What prompted you to write your first novel in the romance genre? Did you find the current genre lacked strong female leads and nuanced male leads and wished to satisfy a different audience?

Actually, I found the opposite! The current genre, while by no means perfect, has very strong heroines and interesting heroes and and is much more complex, nuanced, interesting, and feminist than I ever would have imagined. Not every book is like that, obviously, but not every book in any genre is going to be exemplary. I got into romance because it’s where I believe feminist literature is happening right now, and where I can reach a diverse audience of women and feminist men who are looking for more than the limited roles for both male and female characters afforded in so much of the literature found elsewhere on the bookshelves.

I got into romance through my dissertation, which was on the romance plot in contemporary feminist utopian/dystopian fiction. I figured I should actually read a few romance novels, since I was talking about it all the time. I was really impressed with what I found. I’m always coming up with book ideas and had an idea for a romance novel, so I decided I’d give it a shot!

WU: Is a Wellesley alum your intended reader audience? If not, who is your audience?

I definitely imagine a Wellesley alum as my ideal reader. Someone smart, opinionated, well-read, and decidedly feminist, who’s looking to relax and unwind but also wants some substance and won’t settle for two dimensional characters or really crappy writing. I’m trying to appeal to a variety of readers, but I think of myself as writing romance for romance fans, as well as for people who don’t yet realize they like romance novels. There are a lot of misconceptions about this genre, and I enjoy challenging readers’ expectations and hopefully providing even smart skeptics with a satisfying read.

WU: Can you give us a taste of what your novels are like?

Think dirty-talking, rugged outdoorsmen and women who are human and fallible but also show there are many different ways to be independent and strong. There’s travel, adventure, beautiful settings, and hot and heavy outdoor sex. The books are definitely steamy! But my parents have read them and survived, so it’s only kinda awkward to have everyone I know reading the word cock eleventy billion times in my books.

WU: Tell us about the Men of Gold Mountain series.

The four books in the series — Make Me Stay, Make Me Beg, Make Me Want, and Make Me Yours — follow a group of friends in the small town of Gold Mountain, Washington, a fictional ski town in the North Cascades. Each book is set in a different season and has a different outdoorsy thing going on (skiing, rock climbing, hiking, etc.) that comes into play. They’re smoking hot but are as much about friendship and figuring out life as they are about falling in love.

I came up with the idea after my husband and I went to visit my Wellesley BFF in Seattle and then spent a week hiking in the Cascades, near Mt. Baker. I’d been toying with the idea of writing a ski book set in Colorado, and then starting a series — although I didn’t know yet what it would be about. As we poked around the North Cascades, I started thinking it would be a great place to set the series. Then I had the idea to set the ski book there and make it Book 1. I literally woke up one morning with the name “Gold Mountain” in my head. Once I had a place in mind, I started populating it with people and giving them all sorts of problems to overcome.

WU: What was the process like to find an agent and/or publisher? How long did it take to find a home for your first novel?

Finding an agent and a publisher is hard, and everyone’s path to publication is different. I submitted the manuscript for my first novel to a handful of agents to test the waters, and to a few romance publishers that took unagented submissions. I actually got an offer from a publisher first, and then used that to get an agent. I wrote about it for a Writer’s Digest post, since there were quite a few bumps along the way. It took about six months to get the publisher...and then four days to get the agent. The process is weird and there’s really no telling what will happen. I think the most important thing is to be persistent!

WU: What is it like to read critiques/reviews of your novels? How does the response to your writing impact your future work?

Many authors don’t read their reviews, but I do. I’m genuinely interested in what makes readers tick, both in terms of my own work and when it comes to books in general. Also, reviews are enormously helpful for sales, so I’m really grateful to anyone who takes the time to leave a review — no matter how short. Lots of promo opportunities are linked to the number of Amazon and Goodreads reviews a book has (even more so than what the review actually says) so I get excited just having reviews, period. Insert plea for Wellesley sibs to leave reviews for my books on Amazon and Goodreads if you want to support!

You can’t please everybody. But getting a general sense of what’s working and what might be off is certainly something I keep in mind for each new book. The best feedback I’ve ever gotten was when a reader got a quote from my first novel tattooed across her back. I figured that was a pretty good sign!

WU: Have you ever had to deal with negative unwarranted online feedback? If not, how would you recommend authors develop ways of coping with the potential of attacks in a day and age when women are targeted regardless of what they do?

Not yet, but as a woman out and about on the internet, I am definitely aware that I’m going to deal with this. I’m not sure what I’ll do, except keep writing.

WU: Who are your writing role models?

Octavia Butler, for her brilliance and drive. Margaret Atwood for her versatility. I feel like once you’ve read a few Jonathan Franzen novels, for example, you have his formula down. That isn’t a dig at Franzen. It’s the way most fiction works. But I have a lot of admiration for anyone who’s clearly pushing themselves to try new things with each book. Romance is formulaic to a degree, but I try to give myself a new challenge or problem to solve with each book. I always have something to learn.

WU: What is your reading routine like? What books/films/television shows etc. influenced you the most?

I’m always reading something, definitely a literary novel, either contemporary or historical, and sometimes a romance on top of that — although I’ve been finding that the deeper I get into the Men of Gold Mountain series, the less I’ve been reading romance because it starts to feel like romance takes over my brain all the time. Whatever influences me the most is probably whatever I’m watching or reading at the moment. It’s hard to turn my writer brain off and consume stories for pure entertainment. I’m always picking them apart to see how they were put together, what works and what doesn’t, and what I can learn as a result.

WU: What is the best writing advice you’ve ever received?

When I was in eighth grade, somebody told me that you have to write a lot of shit before you get anything good. At the time — and now — I’m still not totally sure how I tell what’s shit and what’s not. But the idea that it’s okay to write shit, and that it’s in fact inevitable that I’m going to write shit, has been extremely liberating and stayed with me all these years. (Also, the use of the word shit itself — that writers can say whatever they damn well please. That was awesome to hear when I was thirteen, too.)

I think most of the writing advice I’ve received has been some variation on this: permission to write badly. Which is, in itself, simply permission to write, and to be kind to myself as I do so. Writing something that isn’t as good as I want it to be is still better than not having written it at all, and beating myself up about how my writing isn’t good enough doesn’t make my writing better. Each time I do get something down — and revise, and rework, and rethink — I get a little closer to where I want to be, and I think that counts for something. Even if I never get there, I will have tried.

WU: What is the best advice you can offer to emerging writers?

Write.

Don’t wait until you have time. Definitely don’t wait until you’re smarter or a better writer or know what to say. I don’t think it works that way. I think you become a writer by writing — at least, that’s how it’s worked so far for me.

It’s important to read widely and seek out feedback and be open to ruthlessly editing and reworking your own writing, but before you even have work to edit, there has to be something on the page. So that’s my advice. Get something down and go from there.

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#wellesley writes it #Rebecca Brooks #Kate Broad #Wellesley Underground #Wellesley Alum #Romance Novel #Woman Writer #Writer #Novelist #Men of Gold Mountain #Make Me Beg

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