#aluraze

       ❝ really, there’s um... NO OFFENSE intended, but people around here, my family especially, we haven’t exactly had the best luck with aliens. i’m sure you have good intentions, it’ll just take a while. ❞

        Mary feels herself perk. It really must be what a dog feels, when its tail starts wagging and its ears twitch forward. She’s never regretted it--her spinster state, one might say, her own childlessness--but she does so love and miss that particular kind of sunshine that comes about with the presence of a small child; she hasn’t had it in her life in, oh, ages. At work she only deals with the very large sort of child, the kind that smokes cigarettes behind the movie theater and thinks of themselves as very grown-up indeed--the sunshine there is quite different... And in much shorter supply.

In which I would imagine this probably still happens a good couple of months from this, if not a full on year and I stg poor Alura is such a patient soul

“You know, it’s a little…cliché…”

The sound of Cat’s hum is lost underneath the soft sunlight settling on the couch, its aura painting Alura in a familiar, soft hue of warmth. Her skin seems to soak it in like a flower and fingertips chase that heat all the way down to her heartbeat, thumb thoughtlessly tracing the line of it. Its skip—its dance--its familiarity. A constant rhythm in the back of the mind—a tickle in the back of the throat—maybe Cat had spent weeks and months and years tapping out the beat of it with a fountain pen against the edge of a desk.

Maybe her breath had turned into a staccato rhythm to match, the noise of it catching in a beat on the edge of her tongue with every word she spoke.

She thinks it so much now—

Maybe she’d taken it for granted, how something so loud couldn’t possibly be so silent.

“Oh, yes, this is definitely cliché. I’m a woman who favors action, you know that. I don’t tend to…stew. Oh, I think through everything, obviously—” That tracing hand waves before nails skim along Alura’s collarbone. Not nearly as lazy as it is intentional. Tracing her. “I go through every possible avenue for every single scenario, whether I claim to, or not. But, hmm…that’s different than being…” Her tongue darts out over her lips, easing up on the couch on this easy weekday morning where she’s slept in for the first time since…the last time Alura was here. A little more frequent. A little more difficult to fall asleep, at all, without her there. “…Inert. I always make a decision and, hmm…sometimes it’s impulsive. Usually it’s calculated. But I always stick to it. So I find it a little…out of character for myself,”

The tracing stops and Cat leans up the rest of the way on the couch, but doesn’t pull away despite the fact that she’s well aware that Alura can hear her heartbeat

It’s only fair, since that’s all Cat’s heard for years.

it HAPPENS so fast. one second argo is there and in another argo is GONE. just as quickly as she lost it the first time around. she knows she should feel relief that kal, lois, and jon have made it off safely. but there’s a dead weight that sits in the pit of her stomach that won’t go away. her mother is GONE.  her surroundings blur as tears emerge. her knees start to feel weak. this almost feels as bad as kryptonite poisoning. except this time the poison is inside of her. when the room comes into focus she sees her mother standing in the doorway of the command center. she doesn’t believe it. not with lex running around with the book of destiny. she rises to her fullest height.

they’d  put  chains  around  her  wrists  and  her  ankles.  just  to  be  sure,  they  said.  like  she’s  dangerous.  what  next?  would  they  put  a  muzzle  on  her  in  case  she  bit  her  visitors?  not  that  she  gets  very  many  these  days.  the  warden  didn’t  like  all  of  the  reporters  sniffing  around,  asking  her  questions.  besides,  they  could  only  ask  so  many  things  before  the  same  questions  started  cropping  up,  and  it  all  became  redundant  after  a while  because  all  they  ever  got  from  her  was  an  “i’m  innocent,  i  didn’t  do  it”.  reporters  didn’t  want  that.  didn’t  want  her.  they  wanted  a  fuckin’  psychopath,  they  wanted  someone  they  could  really  sell  a  story  on.  a  jeffrey  dahmer,  a  charles  manson.  her  story  only  blew  up  in  the  first  place  because  she  was  a  woman  who  liked  other  women,  and  what  was  more  atrocious  than  that?

nervousness is a state steve knows well.  which is not particularly a bad thing to know.  having some good instincts is what has keep him alive for so long.  and while being a pilot might not be the safest job in the world  ,    at least there is the safety of a cockpit and a failsafe in place should anything fail.     ❛  thanks for the offer  ,    but i think i would like to keep my feet on the ground.  ❜

his hand rubbing against the back of his neck  ,    and despite the rejection of the offer  ,    steve is offering up a smile to the kryptonian.  diana has taken steve up enough to know how it is like with the wind blowing in his hair and only an arm around his midsection.

an experience steve is happy to have experienced once and not again.     ❛  but i appreciate it.  ❜