#a boy in my year did in fact kill himself. rather than admit his bullies were right n he was gay.

[notquiteaghost]

in the early 2010s (sorry to describe them this way) i listened to a lot of slam poetry & due to the autism some of it lives in my head forever now which means i'll be going about my day n my brain'll go "strength starts the 'it gets moderately more tolerable' campaign" and then i'll be sat in the break room at work thinking about how actually disgustingly offensive it was of dan savage to tell lgbt kids "there is no improving your current circumstances! but maybe one day you'll escape"

[musetheapothecary]

you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader (sfw)

The forest is sun-bleached and hazy, awash in a haze of white-gold that makes it difficult to discern the gnarled roots whose knuckles poke through the dry earth. It's hot out, but bearable—spring hot, not summer hot. It feels dusty and stiff.

Her lips are cracked like the dirt beneath her worn sneakers, a red-laced relic from her middle school volleyball days. She thinks she can see green up ahead and she squints, eager for something plush beneath her blistered feet. Perhaps Iwa-chan would let them rest there for a moment. She can see the angry red blooming across Oikawa's nose and cheeks, creeping down the column of his proud throat. It looked remarkably bear without a collar wrapped around it. Seeing Oikawa out of uniform was akin to seeing a pig in the ocean—it happened, occasionally, most often in strange and foreign places, but it never quite looked natural.

By contrast, Iwaizumi looked more like himself than ever in his torn up wife-beater. It gaped around his shoulders and little holes had been moth bitten across his midriff, displaying more of his Miyagi tan than she was accustomed to seeing. She'd been trying her best not to stare at him, focusing rather on the Makki's strawberry-blond head. He'd begun to grow out his bangs, finally. He'd let Mattsun cut them off with scissors in their middle school bathroom and had kept them obnoxiously short for years since. Somewhere overhead a pair of crows has begun to circle, their cawing echoes through the seemingly empty forest.

They were off to visit a shrine, to secure the third-years their “certain victory” in the upcoming volleyball season, and they'd made the unanimous and utterly stupid decision to not take the actual (straight, clean, clear, and generously sprinkled with vending machines) path towards it, but rather to forge their own through the foliage.

Idiots. The lot of them.

(She'd kill for a Pocari Sweat.)

“How much further?”

Oikawa holds up a finger, and shuffles about the map in his other hand. “About 3 kilometres, if my readings are correct.”

She groans, stumbling over another root. She doesn't expect the hand on her upper arm, hot and calloused and wide enough to encase all of her cotton-draped limb and then some.

“Getting' tired there stripes?”

Iwa's grin is savage, wild as the knotted vines beneath their feet and sharper than the crows' claws. It suits him perfectly.

Against her will her eyes stray down to that golden skin, bared to the dappled sun.

The hand on her arm tightens, fingers twitching against her until she can feel her own pulse.

He really is beautiful.

Her face tinges red, gaze flitting back and forth between his (big, strong, perfect—ok, get it together girl) hand, and his gunshot gaze. So, it turns out spending the bulk of the summer coaching herself through the self-destruction of her crush did not, in fact, get rid of said crush.

Bummer.

He'd asked her a question, hadn't he?

Iwa's brow ticks up, his smile takes on a slightly condescending lilt, with just the right amount of fang. He doesn't bully her half as much as Oikawa, but they'd been friends since diapers so he's not shy about roughing her up a little every now and then. She refuses to admit she enjoys it.

There'd been a brief period in middle school where things had gotten…complicated. Her friends had suddenly realised she was a girl and she had suddenly realised they were icky-yucky boys, and then all of a sudden roughhousing and play wrestling and casual insults trickled to a stop.

They picked up pretty quickly after the legendary tantrum she through outside the gymnasium though, so she can't really hold it against them.

(She still can't look their middle school coach in the eye, she'd brought out the waterworks and everything back then. How humiliating.)

“Yes,” she says at last, with what she believes to be a perfectly fair amount of attitude. “And my feet hurt.”

“Poor princess,” he mocks, giving her arm one last nudge before moving back to his spot beside Oikawa.

She ignores the twisting in her gut and the phantom sensation of warm fingers against her skin. And Makki and Mattsun's obnoxious kiss-y noises.

Well, she mostly ignores it.

If she sends a sharp kick to each of their ankles, that's her business.

“What will you be wishing for, Chibi-chan?” Oikawa calls back, his attention mostly stolen by the spiderweb that seems to have glued itself to his sleeve.

“Our assured victory, obviously,” Makki answers for her, looping a sweat-slick arm around her sweat-slick neck. Both of them shudder at the feeling, but he doesn't let go.

Mattsun, clearly feeling left out, reaches over to mess up her hair.

“Actually, I was going to wish for my assured victory, you self-absorbed piece of shit.”

She attempts to shove both boys off of her, but they've shot up like weeds over the past few years and whatever diet their coach has them on is working overtime. Neither boy budges, not even an inch.

“Victory in what, I wonder, dear chibi-chan.”

Oh, she doesn't like that. She doesn't like that at all. That mean glint in his eyes is only attr

active on Iwaizumi, on Oikawa it raises her blood pressure in a whole different way.

“Assured victory in love, perhaps?” Mattsun teases, tugging once more on her hair before distancing himself.

He trips over a tree root on his way back.

Instant karma. Nice.

Iwa's looking at her. And not just a regular look. Not even one of his teasing looks. He's Looking, with a capital 'L'. She hopes the scarlet stain across her cheeks can be attributed to the weather, but if the predatory tilt of his head is anything to go by It Is Not.

“Shut up,” she says, very maturely, and stomps forward to walk at the front.

Someone whistles playfully as she passes, which doesn't help the blush.

(That is exactly what she's going to wish for, which makes it all the more embarrassing. She just needs a little courage. A little push. She promised herself she'd confess this year, but man is she terrified of what will come from it—or not come from it, as the case may be. Still, they've been dancing around each other for years and she knows there's something there. She just doesn't know if he wants it.

If he wants her.)

There's heat at her shoulder and breath on her cheek, knuckles dragging against her own where they swing at her side. “You don't need a shrine for that.”

She takes a peek at him, knocks their hands together a little harder. He laughs and slips his palm into hers. It's clammy and honestly a little gross, but in that moment it's the best thing she's ever felt.

“Promise?” She whispers, just for him.

“Promise.” Iwa squeezes her hand. Sun dapples over his forehead, and his smile is spring-soft. The tough shell around him gapes open, if only for a moment. “I'll be waiting, when you're ready.”

She's young, she's in love, and everything is perfect.

(If you ignore the influx of kissy noises from behind them, and Oikawa's shrill whines.)

[hello-there-world]

hoo boy. thought about Cassidy and William again in the Rewrite. so uh, rambles incoming:

so like. i've mentioned it before on my blog (to my buddy Maxx, specifically), but to give the tl;dr: William does genuinely care for his children, but still sucks as a person. he'd even argue that anything he did that hurt his kids (though he'd probably get offended if you said that he was in any way hurting his kids...despite the fact that he Was, in fact, doing that) was for their own good. he effectively had the thought of "they'll understand/thank me when they're older." like, William was INCREDIBLY paranoid that, if he wasn't careful enough, his kids would die (hence why he, for lack of a better term, snapped after Liz died). Cassidy, on the other hand, thinks his father hates him (because he did. y'know. kill Cassidy and his friends), and Cassidy hates him "right back." he thinks the feeling of hatred he feels for his father is mutual. it's why he got even More pissed off when, in his eyes, William "pretended" to care when Cassidy (understandably, might i add) was angry and vengeful as a ghost. William doesn't understand why Cassidy "changed" (went from a quiet and anxious kid to being angry and violent), when...in a way, Cassidy had always been that way. Cassidy can hold grudges for ages, he could be petty, and he had a LOT of underlying trauma and anger that was bubbling under the surface. i think that learning what had actually happened to his friends, as well as his father killing him, broke the dam. Cassidy doesn't know how else to handle all of those emotions, so that's why he effectively lashes out as a ghost. those emotions need somewhere to go, and uh. i'm pretty sure a mostly sheltered seven-year-old doesn't know a lot of good coping strategies for anger and trauma. just saying.

William, due to all of this, thinks that UCN is, effectively, a major temper tantrum from Cassidy (if a bit terrifying...and painful), and that, eventually, Cassidy would get it all out of his system, tire himself out, you get the idea. um. Problem: Cassidy, effectively, wants some form of regret from William. some sign that he actually cared about Cassidy, that he felt bad about his murder. and while William does, in fact, have some regrets about Cassidy's murder, he's been trying so hard to justify it to himself that it practically drowns out that regret. so it's...a horrible cycle. Cassidy just wants some sign that William regrets what he did, so that he can move on and rest (because Cassidy really, truly, is tired), while William would rather get tortured over and over than admit any regret.

but that's not the only thing i thought of.

so like...William's paranoid about anything bad happening to his kids. that INCLUDES Cassidy. and since Cassidy's the youngest, obviously he has a...heightened sense of concern for him. to make matters worse, Cassidy has horrible anxiety issues (that CERTAINLY aren't partially William's fault, no siree), and Cassidy is "sensitive," as some would say. a "crybaby," even. and William, who sees some of himself in his youngest, worried about his son potentially getting bullied for things out of his control (and God, Alex really isn't helping those worries), decides to homeschool him, keep him close, make sure that, if Cassidy is out of his sight for any extended period of time, that he knows where he is, and that he'll be safe (it's why he's more fine leaving Cassidy at home with his siblings or letting him go to Fredbear's or Freddy's unattended, than, say...letting him have a sleepover at Kelsey and Andrew's house).

meanwhile, Cassidy wants to go to school, despite his worries. wants to prove he can take care of himself. wants to live a normal life, despite everything.

it makes him wonder...why can his siblings go to school? why is he the only one who has to stay home?

why is he the exception?

of course, Elizabeth, who was...mostly oblivious to how bad things really were in her house, thought Cassidy was lucky. he got to stay home all the time, he didn't have to sit through boring lessons, he had more than like, half an hour to actually have fun.

but Cassidy? he wanted to go to school, like his siblings did. because, well, that's what normal kids did. they went to school, right?

so, he tried to gently convince his father that he'd be fine; he had friends going to school who could keep an eye on him! Kelsey and Baker would be going to Kindergarten, and he knew them!! maybe he could try school out for a bit? just to see what it was like? i-if he didn't like it, then his dad could homeschool him! shouldn't he be allowed to at least try?

but, William never budged. the closest Cassidy ever got to convincing him was when William said he'd "think about it," but it was obvious that he really didn't.

all Cassidy ever wanted was to at least have the opportunity to live a normal life, to try to be like his siblings. to not feel like he was some fragile thing that needed to be coddled.

but he never got that chance.

Cassidy died before he could get that chance.

Augh, I love this. Poor Cassidy, he should get to be mad about it... and he is, but his dad just thinks he needs to chill out about it...

[daikonwatte]

//Spoiler warning: Toilet-bound hanako-kun chapter 81.//

Thoughts and theories.

First of all, I would like to start with the fact that I partly discussed it with @hania-chan therefore thoughts and facts are similar. Before I come up I stele something.

----------

Facts:

- We now know that Hanako died at 13. [Unless Kou says this wrongly, which I very much doubt]

- Nene admitted she likes Hanako [It was obviously the knowledge we all know]

- The mysterious guy is called Katakuri

Topic one: Tsukasa death, the black hole and the house.

We now officially know that Tsukasa had contact with this hole before his greatest wish. And above all, has expressed smaller wishes, but never for himself but only for his brother.

Tsukasa died for Amane sometime in the winter of 1960. By giving his life in exchange for Amane's life.

Before that one could clearly see how this black hole slowly learned how Tsukasa reacts and behaves. Tsukasa always has the hole by repeatedly copying the sentences.

Then Amane refer to this hole as a god. Or rather, he suggests that it could be something like that.

If this hole, this house were a god, it would certainly not be a real one.

Perhaps at most in the manner of fallen God. And the question is why, in the end, the hole copied Tsukasa. And why the copy does not appear until more than six months later.

And while this copy may seem good, it is arguably not good enough. Because the mother has recognized that it is not her child. At the time that this black hole learned from him, Tsukasa was very fixated on wishes. But only to make his brother happy.

In other scenes from the manga, however, you can see that he is not so focused on it. Perhaps that explains why the elder Tsukasa is so extremely obsessed with desires. Because little Tsukasa brought living beings to the black hole again and again, as a victim the black hole probably thought that this boy doesn't care about any other life except for his brother.

I doubt that, but this would explain his behavior from the older Tsukasa.

The elder Tsukasa must have been killed after November 25, 1969. But still in 1969.

Topic two: Amane his death:

Amane did not die when Tsuchigomori got moonstone from him. He must have died in winter too. We know that Tsuchigomori got moonstone in July. Then there is almost half a year in between until Tsukasa dies. Or even half a year.

Can you think of what? Tsukasa his copy came six months later as a small child. [even if it was a little more. It is similar]

It's just one thing I noticed, I don't see any further meaning in it. Do you have any thoughts on that?

With all this together, however, it is not clear how Amane died. Especially how it came about that he is bound to school. It was once said that there was a family suicide in the Red House. Does that include Amane?

If he died there, with everyone else. Has he then perhaps made up his mind to commit to the school?

If we start from the seenario that he wanted to punish himself, it could be that he wanted to bind himself to the place he hates most. The school. Terrible memories, probably bullying. This has not yet been confirmed.

Or whatever god Hanako had to do with, that was his punishment from God.

There is still far too much room for speculation on this subject.

Topic three: Katakuri:

Is Katakuri Evil? Does the house belong to him?

We know his past, that he was wrongly sacrificed. Maybe he couldn't just see this and his anger, his anger at all the people, have turned into power.

And you have seen that little Tsukasa always sacrificed a life for the house and, in the end, his own.

What if he tries to come back to life through other living beings, through another soul? The question then is why did he keep Nene down below? In the end he expressed the wish, or the request, that she should stay downstairs with him.

Or he's a normal boy who just didn't want to be alone while he will die soon.

Topic Four: Name Katakuri:

Katakuri is a flower that literally means: dog's tooth. She's of the kind of lily ... and that reminds me of something.

It could actually be related to Hanako. Especially on the cover you can see that Hanako is surrounded by such flowers and others.

Their meaning is also quite interesting:

First love, we know that Aida and Iro named Nene as Amane's first love during the festival. That's quite interesting ..

Topic five, why do I find every action by Tsukasa and Katakuri so .. suspicious ?:

[I got this reference on Twitter from ChicaAizawa]

Somehow that gives me the mega Hanako vibes. I don't know why, it could simply be because Aida and Iro like certain behavior patterns, but some things are just very similar.

That too! It irritates me. However, it is now quite unlikely that this person Hanako embody his feelings. And the two are brothers. That's probably why it looks like that here. But usually Tsukasa rarely makes such faces ..

And above all suddenly to Nene ..

Topic six: splinters or splinters of glass behind little Tsukasa:

These splinters also remind of Hanako but also of the separation. What if Kou, with his strong words, did something messed up what will happen now?

What exactly I don't know yet, so what do you think about that?

Thanks for reading my thoughts and theories from Chapter 81!

And I would also be interested in your opinion .. @milkandbubbletea What do you think?

[robbyswayzekeenes]

i hope you get your happy ending━ demetri (cobra kai) imagine

demetri x female! reader

some fluff/angst for my baby demetri who still doesn't have a last name, takes place in s3e7 so will contain spoilers, also contains mentioned robby keene x reader

Y/N watched from across the hallway as the two spoke. Yasmine and Demetri. It was an unlikely pair; the only time you’d ever hear those two names in a sentence before the summer was in Demetri’s fantasies, or if Yasmine had decided that the dark haired boy would be the butt of the day's cruel joke. But there they were, the blonde handing the marker back to her with a slight smile as Demetri fumbled for something to say. Watching the scene unfold tugged at the girl’s heart just a little, and a wave of sadness washed over her, but Y/N knew the time had to come. Her and Demetri weren’t forever; that was fact from day one. But seeing the way he grinned to himself as Yasmine walked away, Y/N knew that the expiration on whatever they had going had arrived.

Awkwardly turning the opposite direction to the way he was going after throwing Yasmine a wave, Demetri’s brown eyes locked onto Y/N’s. The boy’s grin only grew as he beckoned the girl over, and she joined him in the middle of the hallway, an eyebrow quirked at his excitement. “Did that just happen?” Demetri asked, his words spilling out of his mouth at a hundred miles per hour. “Calm down, buckaroo,” The h/c laughed, praying the boy wouldn’t start hyperventilating like he typically did when anyone of the female species spoke to him. “Calm down? How can you tell me to calm down? That was Yasmine speaking to me! She’s like the hottest girl in school!” “Wow, so now I’m being downgraded,” Y/N joked, though she couldn’t tell whether she was relieved or slightly wounded, in a playful sort of way. Apparently Demetri picked up on this, and his face quickly fell into one of panic. “Oh-- I didn’t mean. I’m sorry, I said ‘like’--” “I’m fucking with you, Demetri,” The girl commented back, throwing him a smile. “Besides, we all know Yasmine’s hot as shit, it’s a shame she’s such a bitch.”

“She’s not that bad,” The dark haired boy insisted, and Y/N nodded sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as she read what the girl had scrawled across Demetri’s cast. “Hm, I can see that.” Demetri scoffed at the girl’s usual sarcasm as the pair began to walk back in Demetri’s initial direction and out of the school. “So, you’re still in love with her, I see,” Y/N stated rather than questioned, causing the brown eyed boy to revert back into a state of fluster. “No, I-I’m not in love with her. I swear, I’m not--” “Okay, you’re not in love with her,” Y/N gave in slightly, “but you like her.” At this comment, Demetri became somewhat stuck, being unable to find an answer and looking incredibly guilty about it. “Don’t worry about it, Demetri. I get it, okay? You’re always gonna have that one person who you’re always gonna have feelings for. I understand. I-I have one, too.” The h/c haired girl admitted, smiling softly at Demetri and taking one of his hands in her own. “Is it okay to always like them, even when you like someone else?” He questioned, his brown eyes flitting down to where the two teens’ hands met.

“It's just how it is, D,” Y/N sighed. “No matter how much you like the other person, you always like them more. And it isn’t fair for the other person you like to keep you from having your chance with them.” Though the conversation was vague, both knew what the other was referring to as they continued to walk hand in hand. Y/N and Demetri wandered down the street in the direction of the town, until the girl sighted a bench and pulled the tall boy down to sit beside her, not letting go of his hand. “But what if you really really like the other person?” Demetri stuttered out, his brown eyes not moving from where their hands were locked. “I really like you too, Demetri,” The h/c said, her voice soft and a smile playing on her lips. This comment startled the boy, who’s eyes shot up to meet Y/N’s. “Y-you do?” Y/N chuckled at this, resting her head against the tall boy’s shoulder and sighing gently. “Of course I do, D,” She confirmed, pressing a light kiss to his cheek which caused his skin to stain red with blush. “But I know that you really like her…” “And you really like Robby,” Demetri pieced together, causing Y/N to avert her eyes as she nodded.

“I’m sorry, Demetri,” The girl said slowly, causing Demetri to shake his head as he wrapped his arm around the small girl’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be sorry, Y/N,” He said with a lopsided smile, “And hey, if me and Yasmine don’t work out, and Robby gets sent back to juvie, maybe we can try again.” “Hey!” Y/N insisted, punching Demetri’s uninjured arm lightly, but still hard enough for him to let out a yelp. “That was insensitive.”  “Sorry, sorry,” Demetri shook his head with a slight chuckle. “I’m still not sure what you see in him, though.” “Coming from you,’ Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes as Demetri tried to protest. “Robby’s my best friend. Yasmine bullied you for the first three years of high school, and don’t get me started on middle school.” “Okay, okay!” Demetri called out, putting his one good hand up in mock surrender. Y/N huffed again jokingly, before pulling Demetri close by the collar of his shirt and pressing her lips to his. At first, as he always was, Demetri appeared flustered, but he soon sank into the kiss. When the two finally pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against the boys. “Promise you’ll still be my best friend?” The girl whispered against the boy’s lips, and he nodded. “Of course. And promise you’ll attend my funeral next time Eli decides to kick my ass?” “I’ll even sign your casket,” Y/N grinned, before taking the marker from the brunette’s top pocket and pulling his wounded arm gently towards her. “I better sign your cast first, though.”

On the back of the cast, avoiding the dick occupying the front of it, Y/N wrote her name, and drew a small heart beside it. “I hope you get your happy ending, Demetri,” She said softly, resting her head on his shoulder once again. “Even if it is with Yasmine.” Of course, the ever argumentative Demetri countered; “At least she isn’t a criminal!” 

“Can it, fucker! Or you’re not invited to the wedding!” 

“Oh, so you’re marrying the criminal now?” 

“Demetri, I will kill you.” 

“Sorry!”

[sonnetthebard]

Owen doesn't really like horror movies and he gets paranoid pretty easily because of them. He hates that it happens and never tells anyone about it, he thinks its embarrassing for someone like him to be set off by something as simple as a movie. Curt also didn't know, until he proposed watching a horror movie one night. Owen went along with it because he knew Curt wanted to watch it with him and tried his best to sit through it, but Curt picked up on how uncomfortable he was -S

I know this was supposed to be headcanons, but... I had to write this as a oneshot. I absolutely love it.

Genre: Fluff/ Romance/ Angst

Words: 3171

TL;DR: Owen is not a fan of horror movies.

TW: Anxiety/ Triggering, brief mention of violence, panic attack, minor implied ptsd.

"Darling, I'm home!" Owen called into his shared hotel room teasingly.

"What, you're done scoping out the venue already?" Curt smirked, making his way out of his room, already dressed down to just a dress shirt (with a few buttons undone) and dress pants.

Owen smirked at that. Evidently Curt had decided his work for the day was over. They were in the primary stages of a small mission- one that should be simple. Intercept the passing of information from the French to the Russians- no matter the cost. If they had to kill someone, so be it. It may be an easy mission, but it was a crucial one. It was set to happen at the ballroom in one of the biggest estates in London during a gala hosted by its owners- set to happen in two days. The owners weren’t royalty, but they were rich- which probably made them more powerful than royalty either way. The event was going to be massive. Royalty and dignitaries from all around the world would be there- and, of course, the informants they were there to stop. If they didn't intercept this information... well, let's just say the Soviets would have a rather large military advantage. And that wasn't something anyone wanted.

Earlier in the day, Curt and Owen had gone out and met the family hosting the gala- who were in full support of their work. They’d even offered to be so good as to give them a discreet signal when their marks arrived. Of course Owen had turned that down because, even with good intentions, the utilization of untrained assets was always a risk. Once they were done with that meeting, Curt and Owen had done some genuine espionage. They were lucky. Their informant had told them when and where their marks would be in preparation for the gala. So they'd alternated locations to watch their opponents. That way no one got suspicious seeing the same two people watching them everywhere they went. Then Owen, being the keener that he was, had gone to the ballroom and scoped it out. He always loved that part of planning. Plus, the house was practically a castle, and it was old. Owen just wanted to see it. It was a marvel of architecture. But it was at least a productive visit. He had a good sense of the place. 

Now, though... Now Owen was exhausted. He'd had a big day preparing for not only his physical game but his mental one. So he was more than happy to be back with the man he loved. And he really did love Curt, in spite of his flaws. Owen was well aware of those. He would have to have been dull not to take them into account when preparing for their romantic relationship. Owen knew he was the more fit spy. He knew Curt could be a bit... careless at best, reckless at worst. And boy, did Curt’s ego ever get the better of him sometimes. But Curt was one of the most affectionate people Owen had ever met. His heart was massive, and he was as loyal as a dog. That was more than enough for Owen. They would follow each other to the ends of the earth. Owen may not have the smartest lover in the world, but... he had never felt more loved by one person. Not even his own parents.

"Already? Love, I was there for nearly three hours." Owen chuckled softly.

"You must be exhausted." Curt rolled his eyes playfully.

"As a matter of fact I am!" Owen scoffed, smirking and setting his jacket on the rack. Curt walked over to him, wrapping his arms over his shoulders and kissing him gently. Owen hummed into it, snaking his arms around Curt's waist. "What are you up to, Mega? Trying to breathe some life back into me?"

"No... I just missed you." Curt blushed lightly, still smirking and trying to play this off as cool as he could. "Am I not allowed to kiss my favourite partner after a long day of work?"

"Oh, you're more than welcome to..." Owen winked, giving him another gentle peck. He rested his forehead on Curt's, sighing. "I would say you could kiss me any time you’d like, but... well... we both know the world isn't quite ready for that."

"I know." Curt sighed. "One day..."

"We can only hope." Owen agreed. He gave Curt one more small peck of reassurance before, pulling away, walking into their room. "So what have we got for plans tonight? I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite at the fish and chips stand down the street. It's quite good. Then... maybe we could go to the cinema?"

"Actually... I was thinking maybe we could stay here." Curt bit his lip. "We've got a television here, and... they're showing Creature From The Black Lagoon on one of the channels we pick up. I missed it in the theatres while we were in Germany, and I've been hoping to see it for a few years now. It's a horror movie, and I've heard the special effects in it are great! We could watch it together!"

"Oh..." Owen bit his lip, breath hitching a bit at that.

Now... there was a bit of a dilemma. Owen came off as very suave, very tough, and impenetrable but... he had a bit of a problem with horror films. That, and films surrounding espionage. He didn't know what it was about the visual medium of storytelling that was becoming so popular, but... it affected him deeply. It was as though it set off something deep inside him, and brought up all his own fears. Even if they weren’t the fears discussed in the movie. As tacky as the movies were with their corny monsters and questionable acting they sparked his anxietes. Even worse to Owen was the irrational paranoia that came with it. The fear of something that didn't even exist. Even the things that very clearly could *never* exist. Like Dracula. Still, if Curt wanted to watch one with him, he would do his best to sit through it. Maybe he could focus his attentions on Curt and not the movie. Or maybe this movie wouldn’t get to him so badly. 

"Oh what?" Curt checked, the smallest trace of concern riddling his features.

"It's nothing." Owen chuckled, trying to mask his lie. He didn't want Curt worrying about him for something so trivial. "I would love to. What are we doing for supper though?"

“I didn’t think that through.” Curt admitted. “We, um... well, we’ve got half an hour before the movie starts. Maybe we could grab fish and chips and eat it here while we watch?”

“Sure thing, love.” Owen sighed. “You want me to go and get it, then?”

“That works for me.” Curt nodded. 

“And do you want me to get some crisps for later in case you get a bit peckish?” Owen checked. 

“Can a get a translation of that?” Curt teased. He knew most of what Owen meant, he just loved bothering him and he knew how much his boyfriend hated Americanisms.

“Do I really have to?” Owen groaned. Curt just raised his brows in expectation. “Fine. You’re lucky I love you... Do you want me to get you some ‘potato chips’ for later in case you get the ‘munchies’?”

“I would love some potato chips.” Curt smirked triumphantly. 

“‘Potato chips’...” Owen grumbled, grabbing his jacket again. “Bloody Americans butchering our language...”

“Love you too!” Curt called out the door teasingly as Owen left. 

The fish and chips place wasn’t far down the street. It was one Owen knew well- his parents had even taken him there as a child. He remembered those days... Things were simpler. Not nearly as complicated as his life had become. But that wasn’t why Owen was so eager to get out of the hotel room. No, Owen wanted the space alone to brace himself and prepare himself for this movie. Because he’d always been strong for Curt. He didn’t want Curt seeing him weak. So he just needed a bit of fresh air. That’s also why he’d volunteered to get the crisps (no matter what Curt wanted to call them). Extra time to steel himself. He took his time, but even then he only spent twenty minutes out of the house. Still... it was better than having had no time at all to prepare. He took deep breaths, making his way back to the hotel room. 

“Alright, darling. I have the food.” Owen called him, taking his shoes off and walking into the hotel. He set the food down on the coffee table. Curt walked out, dress shirt completely gone now. In it’s place, a white tank top. He was in denim jeans now, likely so that he didn’t ruin his dress pants. Owen smirked. “I thought we were supposed to be watching a movie, love...”

“We are.” Curt furrowed his brows, confused. He sat down on the couch, taking one of the meals for himself. Owen shrugged his jacket off, hanging it back up. He then joined Curt on the couch, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Well... you’re very distracting...” Owen hummed. Curt blushed. 

“I can put my shirt back on...” Curt mumbled. 

“No, darling. Don’t do that.” Owen sighed contentedly, taking the meal Curt hadn’t taken and setting it in front of himself. Curt had taken out his multi-purpose hunting tool and a pocket knife to eat with, but Owen stopped him. He pulled out the provided cutlery. “Here, darling. We can eat like civilized people”

“Right.” Curt flushed again. 

“You’re adorable when you’re all worked up.” Owen chuckled. 

“You’re a bully, you know that?” Curt grumbled, getting up and walking over to their in-room television. They were lucky. Not many hotels had them, but... this one did. Their superiors didn’t mind splurging a little on their accomodations, because it usually meant they were better rested for their job. 

“I’m not a bully...” Owen chuckled, his heartrate picking up again at even the thought of what he was about to watch. “I’m just a tease, doll.”

“So you admit it?” Curt smirked triumphantly, fiddling with the knobs to adjust the channel. 

“Only this once.” Owen rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I think I... there we go!” Curt beamed as the television crackled onto the right station. The scoring to a typical horror movie started. Owen gulped, already not liking this. Curt seemed to pick up on that. “You okay?”

“Absolutely fine.” Owen lied. Curt sighed, coming back and sitting down. 

Both men sat in silence, eating and watching the movie. Owen tried to focus on his food, blocking out the movie and his surroundings. But... that was unfortunately very hard to do. Especially when Curt was so invested. The man was leaning as far forward onto his knees as he possibly could. He thought Curt might have said something about Owen being right about the fish and chips, but Owen didn’t really hear it. He was caught in his head, in a way. And in many other ways, he was totally and uterly absorbed in the movie, trapped without consent the the saga being recounted on the screen. He didn’t even notice when he finished his food, caught up in everything. 

And then... then came the moment Owen was dreading. The one that had his palms sweating and his body tense the entire night. Even with all that awful anticipation it caught him completely by surprise. Just as it was meant to. For some people, that was the thrill of the game. To him, it wasn’t. To him, it was not just truly terrifying, but also... humiliating. Totally and utterly humiliating. Especially in front of his Curt. Curt, who thought he was this suave, impenetrable rock. Curt, whom he was the foundation. Curt got to watch him cower like a child. The moment of dread was, of course, the first jumpscare. And just as Owen had predicted, he had jumped right out of his seat, yelping. Curt saw him and... he started to laugh. 

The world caved in for Owen. It was a mix of the genuine fear he’d experienced watching the movie, the fears that fear alone had resurface, and the humiliation. He felt in a way that he was disappointing Curt already. And the laughing... it rang in his ears even once Curt had finished. Because this time Curt wasn’t laughing with him- he was laughing at him. He tried to mask it, but he was far too caught up in his head to have any control over what his face did. He shook a little bit. He couldn’t even fear anything around him. He had tunnel vision, and everything sounded like it was underwater. Owen hated it. He knew then and there that trying to be tough had not been the right move. That he should have said no to Curt. But it was far too late for that realization to be any good. 

At first, Curt had admittedly thought it was funny that Mr. Tough Guy Owen Carvour himself had fallen victim to the classic jumpscare. And he would be the first to admit he had laughed a long time- especially when he thought that for once he had been the one to fluster Owen and not the other way around. But then, when Owen neglected to come back with any snide remarks... When he didn’t tell Curt to shut up, or even chuckle along with him... That was when Curt knew that now was not the time to be laughing. That something was genuinely wrong. That was when he finally took the time to notice that his lover was shaking, and the fear that had been in his eyes when he jumped had not vanished- even though the protegonists were safe. Curt took Owen’s hand’s carefully. Owen twitched in what could be a flinch, but put up no fight. That was the final tip-off for Curt that sommething was very wrong. He got in front of Owen carefully. 

“Hey... Hey, Owen. You’re okay.” Curt soothed. Owen seemed to snap a bit out of it- enough to see Curt in front of him and look him in the eyes. Curt suppressed his concern and put on a comforting smile for Owen. “That’s right, babe. Look at me. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

There was a moment of Owen just staring into Curt’s eyes and reminding himself that Curt had his back. That he was safe. Once he had calmed enough to speak, he took a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Owen mumbled. 

“No... no, don’t be sorry!” Curt shook his head, giving Owen’s hands a squeeze. Immediately as thought that had awakened something in him, Owen was squeezing back as if it were the only thing keeping him on the ground. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do.” Owen spat, almost as though the words were poison. Self hatred oozed from his tone. “I’ve been lying to you. I’m a coward.”

“You are not a coward...” Curt stated firmly. 

“I bloody well near shit my pants at something I saw on the telly!” Owen pointed out, incredulous. “Something imaginary, on the other side of the screen where it could never harm me.”

“That’s what these movies are made to do, O.” Curt assured him. 

“They’re meant to give people a quick fright.” Owen shook his head. “But... that terrified me. Genuinely scared me.”

“Well... we’ve got pasts.” Curt bit his lip. “We’ve seen stuff. We’ve been the victims of real jumpscares where we could have died. Maybe it reminds you of those. Maybe the lines blurred.”

“Curt, it wasn’t anything we’ve been through that scared me.” Owen softened, nearly whimpering, both scared and embarassed but also pleasing for Curt to listen. “It was that that creature was going to show up behind us and do the same, or... take you away. That poorly dressed, hokey monster that could not be any further from being real. I’m not just a coward. I’m a bloody idiot.”

“You’re not a coward, Owen. And you’re not an idiot. Everyone’s brain is built a bit differently.” Curt soothed him. “You want to protect me... just like I want to protect you.”

“From something that could never hurt us either way.” Owen pointed out. 

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter to the mind.” Curt sighed. “I don’t know if this happens to you when you read all your books, but sometimes someone will tell me a story and I get so invested in it that I’ll feel like I’ve lived through it myself.”

“I know what you mean...” Owen nodded. 

“Well... maybe this movie did the same thing for you.” Curt reasoned. 

“I... suppose.” Owen blinked, realizing Curt made a lot of sense.

“Just like you feel things when you read... you’re feeling things watching this.” Curt sighed.

“Right...” Owen nodded, letting that sink in. 

“You think you can take a few breaths with me, O?” Curt soothed. Owen nodded, following Curt through a few deep breaths until he had stopped shaking and his grip on Curt’s hands had lightened. Once Curt was satisfied, he got up and changed the channel. I Love Lucy was on. He smirked, sitting back down on the couch. For once, he was the one pulling Owen close to cuddle. “We’re going to watch this channel for the rest of the night, okay? I think it’s got some of the good family shows on it.”

“Are you sure?” Owen checked. “I can go lay down. I know you really wanted to watch this film.”

“Yeah, but... not as much as I want to spend time with my handsome British boyfriend.” Curt teased. 

“I love you.” Owen sighed, resting his head on Curt’s chest. 

“I know.” Curt winked playfully, running a hand through Curt’s hair. “Hey, if you’re ever uncomfortable with what I want to do... just tell me, okay? No judgement.”

“Alright.” Owen nodded. 

And so they spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Eventually they did switch and Owen was back to holding Curt. He found immense comfort in that- and that Curt didn’t judge him. It was lovely to be totally and utterly enamoured with someone. And that was what he was with Curt- what he was certain they both were. He didn’t focus on the telly (though it did give him a few laughs- that Lucy was always getting into trouble). Instead, he focused on Curt’s hands running though his hair, or the little kisses he was being adornerd with. In other words, he chose to focus on how much he was loved. And that put him in an entirely better place. There was, at least, one thing they could take away from the whole fiasco: no more horror movie nights. They had enough horrors in their own life without needing to worry about anything on the tv. 

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [References Bullying and Homophobia]

Prompt: AU Rivalry Teamup

Summary: Sent away to a delinquents academy, Freed knew life wouldn't be easy. That was proven to be the case when he met Laxus, a cocky, aggressive arse who used his fists over his words. At least, that's what he thought when they first met, but things can change over the span of a year.

Notes: This is the sixth submission for Fraxus Week, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This one has a brief descrition of bullying and period typical homophobia.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The London School for Delinquent Boys

Year 1890

Location: London, England

"We've a new boy in class today," The teacher – Mister Porland, that's what he'd called himself – said as Freed stood before the blackboard. "Freed Justine. I expect you all to behave and not cause any trouble with him."

Freed would have picked another way to be introduced if he'd been granted the choice. He would have much rather not had an introduction at all, and instead he'd slip into the back of the classroom, wave off all the questions that would be aimed at him, and try and get through the first day without any complaints. Instead, he'd been forcibly marched to the front of a class of about thirty sixteen-to-seventeen-year-old boys – all of whom had been taken from regular education and placed in a disciplinary academy – and been served up almost on a silver platter.

He had to wonder if this was a punishment in and of itself. A hazing from the teachers.

It wasn't that he was intimidated by them, of course. He'd earned his place in the school just like them, and he could more than handle himself, but he didn't care for the fuss. This was as close to jail someone of his age and social stature could undergo and, due to an enthusiast habit of reading and a slight flare for the dramatic, he'd decided prison rules might best serve him. Rule number one was to keep your head down.

A few jeers, exclamations and a patronising whistle filled the room, quickly quietened by the teacher. Freed made an effort not to pay attention to it. Animals, all of them. At least he could be safe in the knowledge that he held moral superiority over them, not that he'd state it out loud. Idiots tended not to like being told that.

Keeping his head down would be harder than he thought.

After he was allowed to take his seat, he was forced to walk through the lot of them to the back of the classroom. The jeering continued, albeit quietly, and someone tried to trip him as he walked. He ignored them, and nearly got to his seat when a particular classmate caught his eye. He wore an arrogant sneer, had a scar running down his face, and had shoulders larger and broader than a student their age ought to have.

Freed would have thought the boy attractive were it not for the look of challenge in his eyes, one Freed knew all too well. This boy was testing him, wanting to see if he would be a victim in the school or someone to be respected. To show him, Freed halted his step, made eye contact with the boy for a few moments, and then continued walking to take his seat.

A little 'hm' was the blonde's only response, but Freed paid it no mind.

Two weeks passed before the blonde actual did anything. The two weeks consisted of Freed getting used to his new surroundings, idiots trying and failing to one-up him in the hopes of looking tough in front of their idiot friends, and the blonde's presence being constant but in the distance. That changed when the blonde approached him in the dinner hall.

"Hey," The blonde grunted in greeting, storming towards Freed. His body was tense, coiled up and ready for a fight. "You think you're better than me or something?"

Freed didn't know why the blonde thought that, exactly, but his response was instant. "Better than you, yes."

He felt that was a fair way to think. The blonde had proven himself to be nothing of note intellectually, he barely spoke in lessons and when he did it was usually to make an unwarranted joke or to get an answer wrong, and he seemed quick to anger. More than once, he'd lurched at another student, looking ready for a fight he'd probably win. The fights never happened exactly, but they seemed like a constant risk. So yes, Freed did think he was better than him.

"This whole thing might 'a worked out in yer old school," The blonde growled, taking another step forward. Freed didn't flinch. "But actin' like yer hot shit and that yer smarter than everyone here ain't working. You're here like the rest of us, and you ain't better just because your pa's got money."

"I don't think I'm better than everyone here," Freed retorted, also taking a step forward. "But I am better than an idiot who can't shut up and takes his hobby by rolling around in the mud, somewhat like a little pig. My betterment was never in question."

The insult wasn't his best. The reference to the blonde's position in the rugby team tenuous at best, and Freed's supposed superiority complex might have shone through – but it annoyed the blonde, so it served its purpose.

He would have rather not been shoved in the chest, though.

Stumbling back slightly, Freed made a choice. He had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to get into another fight, it was partially the reason he was there in the first place, but the blonde deserved a punching. He seemed to be something of an unofficial head-boy, and the fear of him was obvious to anyone who would look, and as such Freed felt a punch to the face was long overdue. He was a student like anyone else, and while others might want to lie down and take it, Freed didn't.

That was why he punched him. It hurt more than he thought it would.

Their fight was hardly that. It lasted less than a minute, and anger overpowered its elegance. Freed perhaps got another two punches in, and received one in return. Teachers were storming over the moment it started, and were dragging them away before it could get out of hand, but Freed felt good to hit the bastard.

"Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine," Their head teacher yelled, voice filled with a rage that Freed felt was slightly exaggerated given the situation. "My office, now."

As Freed was dragged – literally dragged, which again was an overreaction – into the office, he was sure of three things. He'd already completely failed in his goal of not bringing any attention on himself; his father was going to find out and want him thrashed for getting into a fight again; and Laxus Dreyar had perhaps the most interesting name he'd ever heard.

---

"You heard what he did?"

"Nearly killed him."

"Apparently they're gonna kick him out."

"Nah, he's the team captain."

Freed didn't pay attention to the conversations happening around him as he ate. After three months of being in the academy, he'd learned it was best not to. Most of the people had nothing of interest to say, and the people who were interesting were the ones likely to try and start a fight with you if they knew you were listening. He'd learned that when a younger boy, Natsu, tried to punch him and Freed had ended up dumping a bowl of cereal over the man's head and temporarily strangling him with his tie. The detentions and lack of breakfasts for a week had been worth it.

In truth, he'd forged a comfortable place for himself in the school. He was known as the boy who gave Dreyar a black eye, and that title came with its perks. Mainly that most people would leave him alone. He and Dreyar had… something. He couldn't tell if it was a truce, or simply a stalemate. But either way, Freed would enjoy the calm and only reignite the fight should Laxus need another punching.

Other than that, Freed was forgettable in the school. People ignored him, he ignored them, and everyone went on as if he hadn't arrived. The school was fine – teachers were far too happy to punish, but that was to be expected – and their lessons were as good as his old schools had been. Had his parents been scammed, the tuition fee had been high?

His parents were an issue. They hadn't visited, but they were in constant communication with the head teacher, and apparently their 'donations' meant Freed was put under a spotlight by the staff. Maybe that was why they were so quick to punish: they were being paid to do so. Annoying, but it could be worse.

The food, however, was abysmal.

Mashed potatoes and sausages would be a good meal, but the potato was half cooked, and the sausages were tiny. He'd eaten as much as he could stomach within a minute, so he absently played with the food with a slight huff. The rain, as tended to happen in England, was heavily pouring and Freed knew the moment a teacher saw he'd stopped eating he would be forced into the yard for recreational activities. The eating hall was at least partially warm, and he had to admit that the conversation behind him was of interest.

"What's that got to do with anything?" One boy shrugged.

"They don't wanna piss off the rugby team, they all worship him," The other explained. "If they kick him out, everyone gets angry about it, and they fight back. They'll never do it."

"You didn't see the kid," The first dismissed. "Half dead. They've gotta do something."

"Doesn't seem like Laxus to just beat a kid up for no reason," The second argued, and Freed did have to agree. Laxus was an argumentative and aggressive man, but he did tend to stick to people his own age. Mainly those who knew how to fight back, as well. "The kid must have pissed him off."

"Romeo, nah," The first laughed, and Freed frowned. "Kid's nothing. Wouldn't bother Laxus."

Romeo. Romeo Conbolt. It took Freed a moment to put a face to the name, and when he did his fork stalled and his body tensed. He had heard the rumours of a kid being beaten half to death, of course he had, but he hadn't heard who it was. He wouldn't have cared, were it not for the fact he had seen days prior the beating Romeo had endured. Laxus hadn't been the one to beat the kid, it had been a group of six of his classmates.

Freed had stopped it, of course. They were all thirteen, he was seventeen and the boy who got into a fight with the school's toughest figure, so they scarpered when he yelled at them to stop. He told the kid to go to the nurse, and saw the issue as finished with.

Had the kid used Laxus as a scapegoat? Or had it been the group of brats?

Either way, Freed was a man of principles. As much as he wouldn't mind seeing the back of Laxus and his insistence of approaching problems with his fists, it wasn't fair to have him blamed for something he hadn't done. Especially when a grown man beating a kid was something that could get him taken from the school and placed into an actual jail. That wasn't fair. He stood, and quickly started to walk towards the head teacher's office.

"Enter," The headmaster, Mister Fernandes, said once Freed had knocked on the door. Freed entered, and waited in silence. "Mister Justine. It's rare you're here voluntarily."

"I suppose so, sir," Freed agreed, ignoring the insult. "Sir, I have a complaint to make."

"Of course you do," Mister Fernandes sighed, removing a pair of spectacles, and leaning forward in his chair. "You do know that this is a disciplinary institution, and I don't act on the word of my students. If you have issues with your treatment then it's not my concern."

"I understand that sir," Freed assured him. "But my complaint is more about the treatment of another student: Laxus Dreyar."

"You needn't worry about that," Mister Fernandes dismissed the complaint, despite the fact Freed had yet to make it yet. "I know that you and he have something of a… personal vendetta against one another, and I'm sure that the rumours about what he has done have reached you. I will be following a strict set of procedures which will likely end up with him incarcerated for what he did to a younger boy. He'll be out of your hair soon, so don't concern yourself about it."

"That is not my complaint."

"If this is something to do with your silly feud then I'm really not interested by it," Mister Fernandes sighed. "As I said, he'll most likely be out of here within the month. If you can't be civil for that long then that's a bad reflection on your own character. And boys your age really should be fighting their own battles."

Freed bit back a retort, wanting to point out that the time he did try to fight his own battle he was dragged away and reprimanded. Instead, he calmed himself and spoke again with the level of respect a teacher believed they deserved.

"Laxus wasn't the person who attacked Romeo, sir," He said, and the headteacher paused. "It was a group of his classmates. Six of them, I believe."

"And you know this how?" Mister Fernandes asked.

"I walked in on them doing it, sir," Freed admitted, not flinching when the teacher looked at him with sharpened poise. "They stopped when I approached, Romeo went to the nurse's office and I expected him to tell you who actually was responsible, rather than placing the blame on Laxus. Had I known earlier what he'd done, I would have spoken to you sooner."

Mister Fernandes took a moment, thinking before sighing. "He did, actually. He gave me a list of names, before returning a day later stating that it was actually Laxus to blame, and that he'd lied initially as he was worried about the consequences."

"And you believed him?" Freed asked before he could stop himself.

"Are you questioning me, Justine?"

"No, sir."

He was.

"You're dismissed, Justine. Thank you for speaking with me," Mister Fernandes waved a hand in his direction, and Freed nodded curtly and went to walk away. "It was big of you to do this, Justine. Well done."

"It's what's expected of me, sir," Freed dismissed.

"Good man," Mister Fernandes nodded, before waving Freed off again.

Freed left, closing the door behind him. He immediately turned to the right and started walking towards the courtyard, which was still being battered by the heavy rain. As he walked, he was completely unaware that Laxus was leaning on the wall outside of the office, looking at Freed with an expression of mingled bewilderment, disbelief, and belligerent respect.

---

The idiom that the enemy of one's enemy was one's friend was a complicated one. It was limited, didn't work for all situations, and seemed to fall apart under any scrutiny. Freed had long since decided that it didn't make much sense when thought about, and yet he found himself subscribing to the idea when it fitted him.

That was the reason he found himself walking into the rugby team's changing room.

Laxus seemed to notice him approaching the moment Freed walked into the room, and stopped mid-way through changing into his kit to stare Freed down. Freed wasn't put off by the intense and lingering gaze of the man, walking towards him without hesitation. The room seemed to quieten around him, and Freed couldn't be sure if it was because of his presence in the room or because Laxus apparently changed in the back corner away from most of his team. That worked well for what Freed wanted, at least.

"The hell are you doin' here?" Laxus said, voice growly and angry sounding. He always sounded like that with Freed, but it seemed more intense today. Perhaps this how he acted before a match.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Freed stated.

"No," Laxus rebutted immediately.

"You might enjoy doing it."

"Wouldn't be a favour, it'd be an opportunity," Laxus smirked, seemingly proud of himself. Freed had to give him credit, it was somewhat clever. "So, what's the great and powerful Freed Justine need from a man like me? Lessons on how to be an idiot; that's what you keep calling me. Or is it a few tips on rolling around in the mud? Y'know, because that's all rugby is, right."

"The captain of the team you're playing," Freed began, rather than rising to the bait. "Hurt him for me."

"What?" Laxus asked, a laugh tainting the word.

"Hurt him," Freed repeated. "Kick him, punch him, give him a concussion if you're able to. Or perhaps accidentally kick him in the balls, that'd be rather nice to watch. Just do whatever you can to make him cry."

"Why?" Laxus grinned, clearly enjoying this.

"You're playing my old school's team, and he's the reason I got sent here in the first place," Freed admitted, ignoring the quirked eyebrow he got. "He deserves more pain than he gets, I suspect. I want you to remedy that."

"And why should I?" Laxus said, voice a little taunting as he continued to change into his rugby kit. Freed forced himself to ignore the strong body that was revealed to him when Laxus removed his shirt. "We ain't exactly friends, are we? Maybe I'd have more in common with him than I do with you."

"Do you need an excuse to hurt someone?" Freed asked, and Laxus held his gaze. Freed eventually relented. "I can tell you the team's weaknesses. The coach wont change tactics and so they can be exploited."

Laxus thought for a moment. "Nah, you don't need to. I'll do it."

"You will?" Freed asked. He… honestly hadn't expected that.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "So long as you watch. If I'm gonna put on a show, I wanna know I'm gonna have an audience."

Laxus pulled on his shirt, much to Freed's quiet disappointment, and sat on the bench before his locker. He leant against it and looked at Freed expectantly, who was looking back with confusion and disbelief. His arrival in the changing room was stupid at best – he'd seen the man who had gotten him there in the first place and old resentment bubbled up faster than Freed would have liked – and as such he had thought Laxus would dismiss him. It's what Freed would have done were the situation flipped.

"Why?" Freed asked.

"This place is shit, anyone would wanna punch the guy who put 'em here. I don't get to do it, but it'll be fun to do it to some other guy," Laxus shrugged, standing up and cracking his back when the coach called for the team to leave for their warmups. He stepped past Freed, but halted once they were all alone. "Be there, pretty-boy."

"What?" Freed stammered slightly. Had Laxus just…

"You think I don't know the reason you're here?" Laxus chuckled a little, but it lacked the edge it normally did. He lowered his eyes slightly and spoke softer than Freed was used to. "You two get caught? Or did he catch you with some other guy and squealed on ya?"

Freed shouldn't answer. He and Laxus weren't friends and admitting anything to him was stupid, but he found himself whispering, "The latter."

"Fucker," Laxus growled, equally quietly. Freed didn't know what to think of it. "Yer right, he needs a kick in the balls. I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Freed whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Laxus dismissed. "Besides, I guess I kinda owe you for stopping me from getting expelled, don't I?" Freed frowned a little. That had been half a year ago, and he didn't know that Laxus even knew of it. Laxus didn't seem to notice Freed's change in body language and continued talking with a smirk. "And, you never know, having a pretty little rich boy watching me might make me play better."

That was all Laxus said before slowly dragging a knuckle over Freed's cheek in a gesture so light but so intimate that Freed felt a shiver run over him completely. Laxus grinned at him, pushed his knuckle against Freed's lips for a split second, before leaving Freed alone in the locker room, heart racing and eyes wide.

---

"How did you know?"

"How'd I know what?"

"The real reason I'm here."

Both Freed and Laxus were sitting on the school house's roof. Laxus had been taking a drag of his cigarette when Freed had approached him and sat bedside him, and the blonde absently offered Freed one. He didn't take it, and for a few moments they had been sitting in silence before Freed had broken it.

It was the last day of the school year. Freed would be dragged back to his home, where his parents would no doubt have a list of grievances about his behaviour throughout the year. His father would make threats about how if his behaviour didn't improve immediately, he would be punished off the back of the man's belt. Nothing would come of it, of course – the elder Mister Justine stopped punishing Freed that way the moment Freed was of an age where he could fight back – but the yelling would be near consistent. It always was when Freed met with his parents now.

He wasn't going to complain. There was no point. Instead, he was going to tie off the loose ends of his school life, particularly with Laxus. Because, when it came to the beautifully, and now somewhat flirtatious man, Freed really didn't know where he stood.

"It's obvious, when you've been here for long enough," Laxus explained, puffing out a stream of smoke. "Yer not obvious, I don't mean that, but when you've been here for years you look out for the signs."

"And what were the signs?"

"You never spoke about why you're here other than saying you got into a fight. I'm guessing it was with the guy who told on ya," Laxus shrugged a little, shifting slightly so that his side was pressed against Freed. "Everyone here wears their story like a badge of honour. Getting into fights, beating kids up, stealing from places. They're all good stories and get's you a lot of credit in a place like this. The worse you were, the more respect you get," Laxus chuckled. "There's only one thing that gets you in here that you don't talk about. Yer queer, and you get found out."

"You don't talk about why you're here," Freed pointed out, and Laxus turned to look at him with a lazy smirk.

"My dad saw me with the neighbour kid," He laughed. "He wasn't even good looking, felt sorry for him really and wanted to know what it's like to kiss a guy. But dad walked in, threw a fit, and I've been here since I was thirteen."

"That's awful of him."

"Maybe, but this place ain't so bad once you get used to it," Laxus shrugged again, leaning back against the wall he was resting on. "Kinda funny, really. I'd say about a quarter of the guys are here for the same reason we are. If you know what to look out for, you can have a pretty good time."

"You could have told me," Freed laughed a little. "I've been rather bored."

"If I told ya, I wouldn't have you all to myself," Laxus grinned, and blew a puff of smoke directly into Freed's face. Freed simply quirked an eyebrow. "I've been spending the last couple of weeks showin' off to ya on the field and I think it was working pretty well. Hardly fair on me if I got you all excited only for ya to use it on some other guy."

"You're a manipulative man when you want to be, Laxus," Freed smirked, leaning just a little closer to Laxus. "But you haven't done anything yet, have you?"

"Maybe I want ya to be desperate for me," Laxus whispered, voice low and rumbling. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to make the move on me."

"If that's true, then maybe you've waited long enough."

They were close now, and Freed wanted to be closer. Laxus' hand was resting against his thigh, and Freed leant further in. He could smell the smoke on Laxus breath, see the slight dilation of the man's eyes as he grinned, and slowly brought their lips together in a slow, tentative kiss.

His first kiss. A beautifully electric, smoky kiss that set Freed's very soul on fire.

He tangled his hand into Laxus' short hair, tugging at it slightly and relishing the slight groan that he was given in return. Laxus pushed into him further, and Freed practically melted.

Eventually, when a harsh gust of wind flew over them and shook them from the spell of their kiss, they pulled apart. They were quiet for a moment, the gravity of what happened only just hitting Freed. He had just kissed the brutish, angry, brilliant man he had once expected to hate, and had felt more alive than ever before.

"You better be here next year."

"Nothing could stop me."

"That's right, pretty-boy."

They shared a smirk, and leant forward to reignite another perfect kiss.

[bi-robins-club]

jason had just settled onto his couch with a jane austen novel and his favourite peach iced tea when damian crept in through his window. he sighed internally and decided to simply ignore him. he had told damian to use the front door (nevermind the fact that jason rarely used the door) and more importantly? he was freaking comfortable. after a few minutes as jason flipped idly through the book, damian cleared his throat. jason sighed again, outwardly this time and reluctantly dragged his eyes up to his youngest brother. baby bat was shivering slightly from the rain outside and jason simply rasied an eyebrow as he sipped at his tea. scowling, dami stomped over to jasons bathroom to dry off. he rolled his eyes. how dramatic. damian was acting like he sentenced titus and alfred the cat to their deaths instead of how he was actually saving jason from deep cleaning his rain soaked carpet. (he was still going to deep clean the carpet the next time he tidied up but still)

when damian stalked back into the room, looking less like a wet, angry kitten and more like a dry, angry kitten, jason titled his head back and established eye contact.

"so what brings you over to my neck of the woods, demon spawn?"

instead of snapping back like jason expected, damian simply stood there looking extremely uncomfortable. he shuffled his feet, opened his mouth then closed it and sat next to jason on the couch he splurged way too much on.

"i don't know how to tell you this" dami began, hesitant "but i believe harper is experiencing thoughts of suicide"

jason jerked up, almost knocking over his tea (and what a damn waste that would be) before fixing damian with a look. he hadnt noticed anything different in roy lately but he knew more than anyone that depression acted strangely and was hard to pinpoint. his mind raced with thoughts of why roy might be suddenly suicidal, from a sudden relapse to not getting a happy meal toy included in his 3.99 box of clogged arteries. "why do you say that, damian?"

"i have been keeping an eye on his health since he became a close confidant to you and last night he said something worrying that i am still not able to parse the meaning of" jason smiled lightly at that, in damian speak he was basically declaring that he cared for roy- if for nothing else than for how happy he made jason. still he shook it off and asked what roy had said that was worrying dami.

"he was patrolling last night" jason knew that. roy had been picking up his patrols since jason had a nasty leg wound. it was the reason he wasn't out tonight. "and he was on the phone with an unknown person, though i am inclined to believe it was either Starfire or Canary" okay, still not surprising "and then he said that the only place he could die happy was between your thighs" oh hello blue screen. yes jasons mind was in the middle of rebooting but could you hurry it along? he almost missed what damian said next. "not only does he wish for death upon himself, he wishes for you to give it to him!"

"damian" jason managed, frantically trying to figure out a way to explain to his baby brother without including his sex life. "uhh its just an expression"

damians face brightened up slightly. "really? he does not wish to smother himself between your thighs?"

"yeah, its like...like just a way to say... mind your business? mmhmm" he struggled to get out, pulling an explanation out of his ass.

"you have told father to mind his business a thousand times but i dont recal you ever using that one. is it new?"

oh god. jason would rather die again than continue this conversation.

"uhh its only used if you're close to someone" jason didnt know what he didnt wrong but dami's eyes widened in clear worry. "i thought you and father were reconnecting? has something happened? are you fighting again?"

well shit. jason had not thought this one through. fuck roy and fuck his mile wide kink that centered around jasons thighs. he was going to kill him. and he wouldnt even use his thighs. "oh nonono dami we're fine, just not as close as me and roy" he hedged, pleading to gods he didnt believe in to stop this conversation with whatever means necessary. strike him dead if need be but *please*. damians eyes narrowed "and exactly how close are you with harper, jason?" jason stared in disbelief. how had his nice relaxing evening turned into such a shitshow? damian was fine with roy when he and jason were just friends but now that he was (correctly) assuming a relationship, his over protective instincts were kicking in? christ. he remembered how when dick and babs finally started dating (again), damian seemingly lost all respect for her and called her an evil harlot more than once.

thankfully he was saved by answering in the form of the best person jason had ever met aka duke thomas. he announced his presence by awkwardly coughing. jason met his dark eyes and mouthed 'help me' over damians head. duke smiled as if it was getting pulled out of him by torture but nodded.

"hey dames, dick wanted you to join him by the docks when you finished up here" damian scowled "cant you see i am clearly not finished yet"

"hah, well dick was facing up against scarecrow and i think he needed some back up but you know him"

"yes, he wont admit he needs help when he very clearly does" damian sighed "very well, ill go check on dick. you stay and question jason. " and with that damian clambered out the window and after he disappeared from sight, jason threw his head back to stare at his ceiling and groaned. duke laughed at him.

"hey daisy duke?" duke grumbled at the nickname and jason cracked a smile "how did you know i needed back up?" duke winced and ran a hand over his dreads. he made a face and jasons soul was slowly draining out of his body. "oh haha funny story" duke rocked back on his feet and faked laughed "damians com was still connected to the channel" jason froze.

"who was on the channel oh my god" duke smiled thinly and his hand paused on his head. "other than me? everyone." jason buried his head in his hands and let out a high pitched whine. duke consolingly rubbed his shoulder. this is why jason loved him. he hadn't even laughed at jason like tim, dick or steph would or started plotting death like damian started to. he and cass would just offer support. jasons favorite brother and sister right here folks. duke sat down beside him

"listen. i know what it's like to be outed when youre not ready and when i heard damian grilling you about roy, i thought i would help" jason turned and stared at his brother. duke was staring at his hands and avoiding eye contact. "i got caught with a boy when i was 15 in high school. its pretty shitty to be gay and poor in a homophobic neighbourhood but its worse to be gay, poor and black." jason knocked shoulders with him. "if you tell me the name of whatever asshat outed you, I'll shoot him for you." duke let out a waterly laugh. "they kept bullying me for being gay but if they even listened, they would have realised that im pan" he joked "its a completely different thing after all". jason snorted

"that was horrible"

duke winced "yeah, it was wasnt it. im bad at this" it was jasons turn to avoid eye contact now.

"talia once caught me with a league operative. a male operative. i was so paranoid for days until i caught shiva leaving her rooms. i got the courage to tell her i was bi and she just patted my cheek and asked how my training was going."

duke huffed out a laugh. "bruce gives you shit but i for one think your lesbians moms are cool"

jason laughed with him "just wait until you meet Ducra. shes a badass"

"ducra?" he questioned with a weird look. "how many moms do you actually have? i knew about diana and your assassin moms but thats a new name" jason burst into laughter at the expression on dukes face. "its not fair man. steph is the only other one with a mom and you have four! you need to share" jason choked on his laughter and shoved duke.

"first of all, its only *three*. ducra is like my badass abuela"

"dont you already have a badass grandma? have you forgotten about Ma Gunn? she threatened to shoot bruce in the dick last week!"

"yes well excuse you i need strong female role models in my life, fuck you" the two of them continued to joke around for a little while longer before jason caught a flash of black kelvar outside his window and sighed. duke followed his eyes and smiled before patting jasons shoulder and pushing off. "have fun with the one strong male role model in your life. im going to see if cass needs help" both of them knew that cass wouldn't need help but jason accepted the excuse for what it was. "me and steph are still coming over to study tomorrow. college is kicking my ass and i need you to explain this English assignment to me"

jason scoffed "im not writing your essay for you"

"eh worth a try. bye jace" duke gave a two fingered salute and slipped out the window. jason took the brief reprieve to sip his tea and mourned when he discovered the ice had melted and watered down the peach taste. for the third time that night, someone crept into his window. oh well. third times the charm right? jason wasn't going to acknowledge bruce until he said something himself. it was a repeat of damian. jasom read his book as it got increasingly uncomfortable.

"jason."

"bruce" jason drawled, not lifting his eyes from his book. bruce grunted like the neanderthal he was and jason finally huffed out a heaving breath before marking his page and looking up. bruce looked supremely uncomfortable. actually his face looked exceedingly neutral but jason knew how to read bruce and that was the brow furrow of how do i deal with jason without fucking it up? jason was well famailairsed with that one.

"you know i love you" jasons own eyebrows rose. bruce only said 'i love you' like four times a year tops. and he usually never wasted it on jason. bruce deflated at whatever face jason must have made. goddamn it. this was why jason always fought with bruce with his helmet on, he couldnt control his facial expressions for shit. "no you dont know that." bruce smiled thinly and to jasons suprise, quickly crossed the room and knelt, placing his hands on jasons shoulders.

"even if you dont believe it, and its my own fault that you do and i hate that i ever caused you to even doubt my love for you, i swear that i do, jay lad" jason was completely frozen. he had expected bruce to yell at him for letting roy go unchecked on patrol last night and how irresponsible he was yada yada, not this declaration of feelings that he had no clue how to deal with. he couldnt remember the last time bruce called him that. it had to have been when he was still in those scaly green panties and pixie boots. and not the adult verison that jason picked up from a halloween store on a whim just to see roys eyes.

bruce sighed and drew jason into a hug. when bruces shoulder started getting wet, jason was horrified to realise he was crying. "i wanted you to know that i wouldnt love you any less for loving a man. but you have to know that i love you in the first place for that to happen" bruce said self deprecating.

"shut the fuck up" jason said sniffling and gripping his dads back. "i hate you"

bruce laughed softly at him before pressing a kiss to the side of jasons head. "i want you to know that i expect roy-and you- over at dinner on sunday. i need to meet the man that stole my babys heart" he murmured. jason laughed wetly "youve already met roy, you just want to con me into actually coming to family dinner"

bruce smiled "that was before i knew you two were dating. roy needs to know what hes getting into" jason leaned back enough to stare into bruces eyes and weakly punched him in the chest "dont threaten my boyfriend. he refused to look at me for two weeks after t was done with him" bruce sighed longingly "its times like this when i remember what caused me to love talia in the first place."

"bruce!" the aforementioned man laughed and hugged jason tightly before stepping back a few steps. "Sunday dinner. you and roy. 8 pm." on a whim jason reached out and snagged bruces hand. "hey" he started, swallowing "you wanna stay for a while? we could watch a movie or something" bruces eyes softened and he nodded. "let me change out of the suit."

and if roy had crept in after patrol only to see jason napping on his dads chest to a shitty action movie playing in the background and took several pictures, well that bruces fault for not waking up when roy stumbled it. (nevermind the fact that bruce had every single one of those pictures saved on his phone) (nevermind the fact that after roy put his phone away, he was greeted to the sight of batman glaring at him as he twisted a batarang around his fingers. it was sorta ruined by the fact that jasons curls was hiding the lower half of his face but roy was still adequately terrified)

[mxupdate]

[ARTICLE] Wonho (Monsta X) opens up about his dark past and apologizes to fans

'Actually, I'm always feeling unsettled''

We asked why he felt like that,

Wonho opened up about his past.

"Because I know my mistake..."

"No matter what I say, it's just a fallacy. It's because I was wrong."

He continued.

"Therefore, I tried my best, so that I would not make the same mistake again."

Above all, he said that thanks to his fans, he was determined to change.

"I have got what is called love. I don't want to let them down, even just a little."

In February, Dispatch had a meeting with Wonho, Monsta X's former member. At that time, he was reviewing himself for his past controversies when the police were investigating his allegations of drug use in 2013.

"Yes, that's right. I acknowledge my past. I was too stupid. I have tried my best not to live like that again. I only think about the members, the group and my fans."

He added that he was misunderstood.

"I don't use drugs. The police are investigating it. When my innocence is proven, please write an article about my story. I want to apologize and clear up the misunderstanding. I also want to be forgiven by everyone."

On March 10, the police ruled Wonho not guilty. After the investigation on allegations of drug use, the police closed the case because no suspicious points were found. Therefore, we would like to write about Wonho's story.

◆ "It was unfortunate in those days"

An apartment for rent located in Sanbon Ward, Gunpo City, Gyeonggi Province. This apartment has a living room (small size) and a room. Wonho lived there with his grandmother, parents, and younger brother. A miserable period of his life.

"I lived in a small rental apartment until I was 20 years old. My grandmother used the only room. My father, mother, younger brother and I all ate and slept in the living room. At that time I didn't know it was poverty."

In elementary school, he didn't get along well with his peers. He was always teased. The torment went on repeatedly. Wonho was a shy and timid child.

"Sometimes my friends teased me by saying I'm dirty, sometimes bullied me just because they felt bored. My friends didn't like me at all. In fact, there are many more memories I don't want to remember. In short, I was alienated by my friends."

Certainly, he got troubled at his home as well. Wonho's parents fought every day for money. Wonho spent most of his time outside. Then, he knew a stranger in the neighborhood.

"At home, I was not at ease because my parents argued all the time. I had to kill the time outside every day. Just like that, I happened to know a brother in the ward, then I started to follow him."

◆ "I was once interested in bad things"

Since then, Wonho wasn't bullied anymore. No, rather, others started to avoid him. Wonho said he felt fun seeing his friends being dissatisfied.

"One day, I went downstairs and bumped into a friend who had bullied me. I unconsciously cowered. However, that guy opened up first, "Ho Seok, I'm sorry." I suddenly became arrogant. That's not good, but..."

Wonho escaped from being an outcast. But he did not feel happy. The situation was still the same, the discord did not end yet. Eventually, he became more and more pessimistic. This happened when Wonho was in high school.

"My parents argued on that day. Suddenly, I felt choked in my heart. I saw no hope in this house. I walked out of the house unconsciously. At that time, I did not realize the importance of families."

Outside the family's shelter, it was even more dangerous. Wonho hung out with new friends, then was caught up in something he shouldn't have done. Some of his friends went to juvie on suspicion of special theft. Wonho got milder punishment, he was placed under probation.

"I don't want to blame my friends. Because that was also my choice. It sounds like an excuse, but at that time, I was not mature. It was my fault. My fault only. I apologize."

◆ "I had a dream"

Wonho ran into a lot of difficulties in his teens. It's literally a stormy period with intense highs and downs. Then, he met Jung Dae Eun. He remembered that it was when he was in the 2nd year of high school.

"We immediately became closer. We also did modeling jobs together. Da Eun helped me a lot. She even supported my dream of becoming a singer."

Before the age of 20, Wonho, called Lee Ho Seok at that time, was a rebellious boy. He went astray and resented reality. However, after the age of 20, Wonho changed. He moved forward and tried his utmost to overcome the reality of life. That is the epiphany.

"I saw my friends practice like crazy. They were all dreaming of their own dreams. I was jealous of them. So I could only live in resentment... At that time, I promised myself that I won't waste my life anymore."

Wonho practiced day and night. Whenever he had free time, he ran to the stair corridor because he needed a place to practice alone. There, he constantly danced, rested, and danced again.

"I joined the trainees who entered the company at the same time with me to dance and sing all night. I didn't feel tired. Because there was a ray of hope in me that 'I have a future too'. I was happy. Activities with the group were also very delightful. In those 4 years, I learned a lot."

◆ "The past gets in the way"

In 2015, Wonho debuted as a member of Monsta X. The group has released 12 albums in Korea as well as taking Asia, Europe, and the United States by storm. Monsta X also achieved significant success as they landed at No.39 on Billboard's Pop Songs Chart (in 2019) and became the third K-pop artist to accomplish this.

In 2019, when Wonho was on the rise, his murky past caught up with him. He, in turn, entangled in the controversy related to the Me Too movement and the fact that he was once under house arrest was also exposed. In 2013, he was even placed under investigation in suspicion of drug use.

"It's true that I made a mistake, but there are some misunderstandings about me as well. Of course, I'm aware that these are irreversible. Because not everyone goes down the wrong way and falls into such a situation. I reflected on myself a lot at the time I was under house arrest."

Wonho didn't give more explanations. He admitted his past wrongdoings and apologized many times. However, he resolutely denied suspicion of drug use. He said that he absolutely never touched that illegal substance.

"I acknowledge my past deeds. But what I didn't do, I would say no. I absolutely do not use drugs. I have explained it clearly to the police."

After more than 5 months of investigation, the police have concluded that Wonho was innocent. They did not find evidence related to drug use. The police also investigated whether Wonho used drugs in the form of tablets. However, they did not discover any drugs.

◆ "I don't want to hurt anyone"

Wonho quit Monsta X. In October 2019, before officially departing from the group, he left a message that reads, "The members have been hurt by someone like me. All of them have no relation to me at all. I hope that you guys will be Monsta X's pillar of strength.

"The group made lots of efforts to prepare a new album. I hate to see Monsta X collapse (just because of me). I think I should leave the group as soon as possible so Monsta X can continue their activities. I'd like to prevent the damage to them as much as I could."

One more thing, the reason for his determination is MonBeBes.

"I can confidently say that I have completely changed after meeting MonBeBes. I understood what it is like to be loved. I want to live a good life every day."

According to Wonho, he has never lost his concentration on work. Most of his daily tasks are making music, exercises, and fan communication. In fact, Wonho often chatted with fans through live broadcasts, each of which lasted for around 3~4 hours, during his overseas tour.

"Actually, this is the first time I feel such warmth. So, I don't want to let everyone down. I just want to do the things that the fans like. I want to repay that love. But..."

◆ "Anyway, I'm sorry"

The past has been exposed. He wondered what he could do. It was concluded that he could do nothing but withdraw from the group. He thought it was a way to ease the fans' pain (even just a little).

"I promised the fans many things. I also said I would always stay by their side. Although I only lived and thought of fans, I apologize for leaving this way..."

However, he explained that he was forced to do so

"In the past, I lived as Lee Ho Seok, and now as Wonho. Is it possible that Wonho is not responsible for what Lee Ho Seok did? I have to shoulder that responsibility. In the end, I have hurt everyone with my past. I want to relieve that pain."

Wonho hasn't left his house for a while. He lived in silence, to avoid causing damage to those around him. During that time, he was cleanly acquitted of drug-related allegations. Wonho shared that it was fortunate enough.

"Even up to now, I can't forget the fans. On the contrary, I am just so regretful. I feel regret, I should have done a little better. I do this interview with one reason only, which is to apologize to everyone."

See article here.

[literatehiss]

You own (my) a heart

Written for Day 3 of JonEliasWeek Prompts: Entity swap & “We have a problem" Descriptions of Violence Jon needed to get rid of his rather clingy ex, Simon gives him the contact details of his favourite problem solver Read on AO3 here In one reality. Jonah Magnus leant into his love of knowledge, of watching those around him and knowing their deepest secrets. In another he made another, more violent, choice.

Who needs to control people through knowing things about them, when you could break all of their fingers and achieve a very similar outcome. All it took was yet another party with yet another group of rich rats laughing and making snide comments about him, an anger that almost scared him bubbling up until he took a cake knife to the throat of one of them. They fell quickly and he panted, satisfied over their cooling bodies. It wasn’t regret that filled him once the bloodlust faded, closer to irritation, a mild fear perhaps. He couldn’t kill everyone in the room, even if he had wanted to, far too many of the guests had fled the hall that the party was located in. He had ruined his own life. “It was worth it” a voice whispered in his head like music. Another idle thought led him to carve out the man’s heart and replace it with his own. A messy, frantic business that he barely managed to do before the lack of blood flow killed him. At least he wouldn’t get put in one of those awful prisons, he thought in his last moments.

And then he woke up. A new body, a new life, an old, scarred heart.

A man willing to kill anyone put in front of him and able to never be caught was a valuable ally indeed. A laughing Italian artist and an irritable merchant-sailor who had stayed while the rest of the sheep fled the party made fine allies, even if Jonah would never call them friends. One taken by the fear of heights and the other so deeply entrenched in his own loneliness that Jonah was surprised the man could even bring himself to introduce himself to him.

Centuries passed. Bodies of his victims taken and shed like ill-fitting suits. He would find bodies that he quite liked occasionally, and would do his best to keep them, but all would eventually fall to the curse of old age. Elias had been such a body, he had stayed in that one for almost 20 years by the time he met the youngest Fairchild.

Jonathan couldn’t remember the first time he met Simon, he had been very young when his mother had died and even younger when she had started to spend more time with the Fairchilds, taking her young son with her, in an act even the other Fairchild’s thought was fairly irresponsible.

Even when his mother has passed away, damn the Corruption, Simon still came and visited him at his grandmother’s. Not often of course, but at least once every year or so. There were two main reasons for this.

First, Simon Fairchild was 500 years old and hated being bored. It turns out after so many centuries, quite a few things started to become boring.

Second. Children love getting thrown around. Simon didn’t particularly know why kids were born with a complete lack of fear for his Patron, but it was entertaining to just throw the various Fairchild children around. And as he grew older, Jonathan never seemed to get tired of it or grow scared as other children did. So Simon just kept coming back.

Jon had always been a quiet child, had always been the one bullied rather than the one doing the bullying. Despite Simon’s encouragement, he would never be the sort of child to go pushing the other children off of things, to watch them shriek as they fell. He was the sort of child, however, who would happily look up at the stars for hours and hours, long after he should have been asleep. Simon would join him sometimes, he preferred the endless blue of the day, but he could still appreciate the true eternity of space. He told Jon of his plans for a Space Station, the Daedelus, and that he was looking for someone to send up there, and then had to fend off the enthusiastic pleas to send Jon up there. He only managed to calm the young boy down with the assurance that he needed someone who would be scared of the Vastness of space, not someone who would have “Far too much fun up there”. Anyway, it was going to take quite a while to set up everything, Jon might not be interested in space by then, he teased.

Jon could remember the first person he sent into the Vast in perfect detail, even years later. Bullies had started to leave him alone, not because he wasn’t a target, but because it was hard to do anything to a kid who could climb up onto the roofs of school buildings to escape them. He was about fifteen, walking home from school, when one of the school yard bullies caught sight of him (on solid ground for once) and couldn’t help but race after the younger boy, tackling him to the ground. He looked at the younger teen’s face, expecting tears. Jon had always had dark brown eyes, but to this young bully he was sure that they were fully black, like the pupil had expanded so far as to replace his iris. And in those deep, dark eyes were the twinkling of lights, like the stars in the sky. The world went dark around him, Jon vanished from beneath him and he was suspended in space, surrounded by stars that never seemed to end. No sign of the sky or the ground. Before he began to fall.

And fall.

And fall.

No one ever found the young bully’s body and Jon would never tell, but when Simon came knocking a few days later, he couldn’t help the proud grin on his face when the missing teenager was mentioned.

That bully might have been the first but he was nowhere close to the last. Various bullies and cruel teachers vanished from his school in the time he was there, a habit which continued into University. When his grandmother died, SImon was there with a hand on his shoulder and an invitation to join the Fairchilds that was eagerly accepted. He hadn’t finished University by the time the Daedelus rocket was set off, something he would complain about every time he saw Simon, well into his mid-20’s.

Jon was at home, a rather nice apartment that Simon paid for him, when there was a knock at his door, a glance at who was there and Jon groaned. He’d had fun at University, had dated around a bit before he met Georgie and their almost inevitable break-up and he hadn’t bothered since then. Most of his ex’s were either still friendly or he had sent them into the Vast. An efficient way to get rid of asshole exes, except for one. Jack was an adrenaline Junkie, he loved heights, did not get vertigo and most definitely was not weirded out by the mini planetarium Jon had set up in the unused bedroom of the house he stayed in at University. Jack was harder to get rid of, as proved by the fact that he was knocking at Jon’s door. His normal methods didn’t work on the man and he didn’t want to admit to Simon that he was afraid of a random man, unaffiliated with any of the Powers. Not that it stopped Simon from knowing. Three days into Jon’s self-imposed isolation to avoid the man who was camping outside his doorway, a business card was left on the window sill of an open window.

Elias Bouchard

Problem Solver

And then a number and email.

Unlike Jon, Jack needed to eat and eventually he left, leaving Jon enough time to leave his apartment and flee to one of the spacious Fairchild residences. He called the number on the card, he quite liked his apartment and would like to go back without an ex, who kicked a cat on their way home from the pub once, lurking outside his house.

The voice and the other end was charming, assuring him that Jack would be gone and that there would be no link to himself. He also laughed at Jon’s awkward jokes and stated that he “couldn’t wait to meet him” though he qualified that as that he was excited to meet another friend of Simon’s, but the three second hesitation before he said that was enough to make Jon flush.

Jon honestly forgot about the whole deal until two weeks later. He was still staying in the Fairchild house about an hour away from his apartment, when a sharp knock came from the door. One of his “cousins” went to get the door but came back saying that it was for Jon, one of Simon’s friends.

The man at the door was nothing like what Jon had expected. Well dressed and calm, Bouchard shifted a package so that he could shake Jon’s hand. He handed over the package, and watched as Jon peeled away the paper. Inside lay a still bloody heart.

“As you can see. I dealt with your problem Jonathan.”

“Um, Jon is fine.” he couldn’t stop looking at the heart, dripping blood on the stone steps that lead up to the door. The other man smiled widely.

“Then you must call me Elias.”

Jon just nodded, still morbidly distracted.

“Simon will pay you if that’s your sort of thing.”

“Hmm, normally yes, but for you I will waive the charge. Though I would happily accept payment in the form of a date if you are agreeable?”

Jon looked away from the heart, back to the rather handsome man on his doorstep. He watched as the man’s smile dropped slightly as he stepped back inside. Jon placed the heart down on the side table next to the door, someone else could deal with that he thought, and grabbed his jacket. By the time he stepped back out the front door, shutting it behind him, Elias was fiddling with a knife and looked up at him, surprised.

“Well… Are you busy?”

The knife slipped back up into Elias’s sleeve and the grin came back to his face.

“For you? Never”

[tthael]

If you're still doing the DVD commentary thing, I'm curious about your thought process behind the whole discussion they have in the car at the end of chapter 11, when Richie asks Eddie why he thinks It targeted them specifically.

Oh boy, this answer’s a bit depressing.

See, I’ve gotten a lot of responses talking about how much they love Went and Maggie in Indelicate. And while they are fun--and a lot of their dynamic is influenced by my own parents and grandparents, and I decided to write their behavior as sort of blueprints for Richie and his behavior towards Eddie--Richie is more upset than he lets on about their conversation about Henry Bowers and his childhood.

So in Chapter 10, I have Richie sort of pick a fight with his parents. Eddie gives him an opening, and Richie immediately seizes onto the topic of Henry Bowers and his childhood bullying, because he wants to confront his parents. About their choice to live in Derry? Maybe. About their failure to respond appropriately to some very violent childhood bullying? Definitely. Richie brings up the incident from the book where Bowers wipes out in front of their class and Richie automatically and without thinking goes, “Hey, Bananaheels!” and Bowers chases Richie all the way through Freese’s department store with his cronies, intending to beat him. Because movie!Richie wears the Freese’s shirt, I decided to keep that incident.

And Went’s immediate response to Richie’s story of “Remember when I was in great fear of physical violence and very real fear for my safety?” is to ask, “Well, what did you do to make him angry?”

I don’t know if you’ve read Things That Happen After Beverly Leaves, but in that fic I have Bev and Richie have a conversation about Tom Rogan and a specific incident of violence that happens during the fic, during which Bev asserts that it was her fault that he went after her because she was antagonizing him. And Richie’s response is something to the effect of, “Oh, really? Does everyone have that threshold? What do you have to say to me before I decide to beat you, then?” Because it’s bullshit and victim blaming, and everyone has a choice of whether or not to commit violence, especially in positions of power. (Even when the violence is committed in self-defense, there’s always the choice to--not defend yourself, and to accept those consequences. In this instance, I’m not describing “violence” as an umbrella “this is always bad” sort of thing; but I do think that it’s always bad when enacted on someone else for the purpose of harming them, especially from a position of power to someone weaker.)

Like many readers of IT by Stephen King, I was horrified by the blasé approach that most of the adults have to the childhood bullying portrayed in the book. I know that King experienced bullying as a child--probably part of why he writes it so elaborately and brutally; and I know that one of It’s influences is that It exaggerates the negative and harmful tendencies of all of Derry’s residents, including bullies like Henry Bowers (even before It interferes with him directly), Alvin Marsh and Sonia Kaspbrak (whose “protective” and abusive natures become exaggerated and inhuman), and adults who turn blind eyes to the violence happening in front of them (the older couple who saw Bowers cutting Ben and drove on, bystanders who saw Alvin Marsh chasing Bev through the street and did nothing, a shopkeeper who tried to intervene in an act of bullying and allowed Bowers and his gang to run him off instead of rescuing the Loser in question, though I’m afraid I don’t remember the specifics).

In this case, I decided that the Toziers didn’t respond appropriately to defend their son. You can decide whether that was because of Derry and It or because of their parenting style. But in this case I decided to have Wentworth demand that Richie take responsibility for his victimization. And Richie gives a sort of Stepford smile when he admits to provoking Bowers; and Wentworth’s response is “You’re very smart, but you kept being stupid and getting into fights.”

If you read the Bananaheels scene from IT, we see that Richie has literally no brain-to-mouth filter. The very second the words are out of his mouth, he wants to kick himself, but he knows Bowers will do it for him. I also write Richie as having untreated ADHD, especially as a child, and his failure to consider cause and effect here is influenced by my own brother. He literally could not consider the consequences of his temper tantrums when he was a child, because there was no reflection or consideration of cause and effect for him. Many child psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists attested to this. Because this is a real person and someone I have great affection for, I’m not interested in breaking down whether that’s an element of being a child (it was not in my experience) or an element of having untreated ADHD (again, it was not in my experience, as I suffered crippling overthink and decision paralysis at the other end of the spectrum). But I did decide to let that influence Richie.

Eddie is very uncomfortable with Richie’s parents’ lack of sympathy, especially because he shared the experience with Richie; but he’s also uncomfortable with parents in general and very aware that he’s in the Toziers’ space and doesn’t feel he has standing towards them. Richie gets more defensive, Stepford smiling, and recounts other stories of Bowers’ gang harassing the Losers, getting crueler and more flippant both with himself and with his friends (he casually insults Ben), and culminates in the story of Bowers cutting Ben for the crime of not allowing him to cheat off him in school, something that Richie is sure the Toziers cannot claim was the wrong thing to do, the way they suggested that Richie’s actions were the wrong thing to do.

Only then does Wentworth remember that the childhood bully Richie mentioned was actually arrested and imprisoned for fratricide. This is something that even the fog of Derry’s memory loss didn’t take away from him completely, and Richie discussing it brings it back up. And Richie gleefully confirms that yes, that is the Henry Bowers he meant, and actually he tried to lynch Mike and successfully stabbed Eddie in the face, two actions that the Toziers cannot dismiss as provoked. Then the Toziers get distracted by dentistry and Richie coldly and excellently lies to his parents’ faces not just about Bowers’ whereabouts but about the fact that he killed them.

So Richie’s topic of conversation when he and Eddie leave is “Why do you think It went after us?” because he’s still trying to deal with the victim blaming his father expressed and what he actually means is “What do you think I did that made this happen to me?” Then Richie talks about his parents’ choice not to have any children after him, and makes a joke that’s actually completely serious about being such an annoying child that his parents decided they didn’t want any more, even at the potential of his mother’s longed-for daughter, because (in Richie’s mind) the risk of a second Richie was too great. And Richie jokes about his own death, and admits to Eddie that he was very lonely, because Richie is still very lonely right now.

And Eddie says that he’s not lonely and he never felt lonely, and Richie hears “I wasn’t lonely because I had you,” and that’s what he really needs to hear right then. It’s not a love confession (a love confession would be too good to be true), but Richie thinks it’s as good as he’s going to get, so he eats it up.

Even Eddie’s thoughts are about victim blaming, which comes down to an argument that I read on tumblr some years ago: that “she shouldn’t have dressed like that, she shouldn’t have gone off by herself” means “rape the other girl, the one who did all the wrong things,” the one that means violence as punishment. Eddie thinks that victim blaming in this case means that It should have killed and eaten the other kid, which is of course wrong, because It had to be stopped for its monstrosity, not because it was an ineffective deterrent or punishment.

So Eddie pushes Richie in the other direction--he says that what made a difference was not that the Losers ran around without supervision, but that they loved each other enough to risk their lives trying to save each other. Even Richie, in his magnanimous cruelty after speechifying and leaving Bill on the hook, chose to kill the fucking clown rather than abandon Bill, rather than leave It to eat the other kid. And when Richie says “Good for us,” about the Losers being willing to die for each other, he gets grim because Eddie is still like that, trying to die for him; and Richie can forgive himself for trying to die to save the others, but he doesn’t know if he can forgive Eddie for actually dying to save him yet.

That was a long one, but I’m planning on digging back into Maggie and Went in Indelicate again and it’s good practice for me to analyze the choices I made months ago. So thank you for asking! And for reading, of course.

[derireo]

rooftop talk ↦ itaru & izumi

Maybe Izumi was glad that the gamer nerd ended up being the person who discovered her hideout on the rooftop.

It's been years since she last talked to someone like this.

「 2.1k words 」

cw: mild hurt/comfort, family complications. can be connected to the workaholic.

Izumi wouldn't say she was depressed but going back to an empty home probably wasn’t the best feeling. She’d rather admit she was lonely.

Her father disappeared when she was fourteen, never leaving a note of any sort. He was a good father, that man, so it was like a punch to the face when Izumi and her mother woke up to his things no longer in the house and the car no longer in the community garage.

His disappearance left Izumi's mom to take care of the bills of the house, the groceries, and her school tuition.

This meant working multiple jobs. This meant coming home for a couple of hours and then leaving again. This meant blaming Izumi for something she couldn’t control. Her mother even had the audacity to glare at her whenever they were in the house at the same time, but Izumi could only choose the option to ignore it.

That was all she could do if she was living in her mother's house and so to lessen the chances of running into her, Izumi got a job at the convenience store at the young age of fifteen. She was given shifts on the weekend at first, but she begged for graveyard.

If working late into the night ‘til morning was what was going to reduce the risk of running into her mom at home, she’d take it. She'd even rather sleep at the school.

And Izumi’s manager was reluctant in giving her the shifts, knowing that she was only a child in tenth grade, but the desperation in her eyes had him yielding. He couldn’t say no if that was really what she wanted. She had told him that her mother had given her permission after all, and they needed someone to work the graveyard shift anyway.

So, years passed, with Izumi working nearly every night until morning only to then go to school afterwards, taking her naps during lunch break and then another nap at home when she had the day off. Each second, minute, hour, and day was spent in silence. The only sound that would fill her ears at home would be the scratch of her pencil against paper or the whistling of the rice cooker.

She grew accustomed to this silence that lived inside the house alongside her and absolutely hated the noise at school. The laughter behind everyone’s eyes as they talked with their friends, the bullies who would pick on the sickly boy in the corner of the room, to the stampeding of students running down the hall drove Izumi crazy.  

They were the reason why the rooftop was her home now.

She didn’t have any friends, nor did she enjoy having fun at the expense of others, so when Izumi discovered the doors to the rooftop, she knew she had hit the jackpot.

It was a breezy spring day when Izumi visited the rooftop for the umpteenth time.

Students weren't allowed to visit the rooftop as the place was used as a hideout for those who wanted to skip their classes and for those poor victims who were dragged here to get beaten down by their cruel bullies. The doors had been barricaded indoors by the teachers, a large, rotting plank having been slipped through the handles while old desks and chairs sat in front. It was like what you would see in a horror movie set in a high school.

It was spooky looking enough to steer naughty students away, but not enough to scare Izumi. The school wasn't known for ghosts, after all—not that she believed in any, and she needed a place to kill time. She threw that wooden plank to the side and dragged every single piece of abandoned furniture out of the way when she first came across it.

And so, here Izumi was. Sitting on the ground with her legs dangling on the edge of the roof with an old, iron railing keeping her safe from falling and going SPLAT.

Quiet. She thought to herself, sliding her arms through the barred railing with her fingers outstretched. The breeze slithered through the cracks between her fingers as it blew her light brown hair back, cooling her already chilly skin.

The silence is stifling.

The sound of the door clicking open made Izumi pause her thoughts, arms still held up in the air as the wind blew at her uniform skirt and the sun kissed her skin.

She turned her head to see a boy, probably her age, frozen in his tracks. He wore thick rectangular framed glasses and had messy blond hair that covered them. She noticed the bento box that was tucked under his arm as well as the small gaming device in his hand. Pursing her lips, she took a chance and guessed that maybe she wasn’t the only one who knew that the rooftop had opened again. Albeit secretly.

The boy took a flustered step back in order to leave the rooftop, but Izumi shook her head and waved her hand. She didn’t mind cutting her break short if he needed time to himself.

“It’s cool.” She said. “You can stay.”

She scooted back and bent her legs to release herself from the railing, skin dirty and grey with dust. The breeze had made her hair all tangled and cool to the touch, and she dragged her calloused fingers through the strands while her other hand pushed her body off the ground. Her black sneakers picked up an ugly ashen hue too, but she decided not to care too much about it as she looked at the boy again and nodded.

His lips parted in surprise when her brown eyes focused on him, and he waved his hand that held his device to keep Izumi from leaving.

“Sorry, I didn’t know someone was up here. Don’t go.” He apologised.

His stiff body was blocking the doors, preventing her from leaving like she had planned. His shoulders were hunched forward as he stood with terrible posture and his glasses perched right on the tip of his nose.

The silence between them was uncomfortable as Izumi struggled to come up with an excuse to leave. She didn’t know it, but her face was terribly expressive, and the boy was able to tell that she was conflicted.

He spoke before the silence drew longer. “We can share the rooftop together… I was only planning on eating my lunch here.”

The suggestion held no ill intent, but Izumi was still reluctant. She crossed her arms over her chest with pursed lips and raked her eyes up and down the person’s body. She’d never seen him around before, that’s for sure. He probably (hopefully) didn’t have any interest in her.

“Itaru.” The boy piped up again, voice meek. “My name’s Itaru Chigasaki. I’m a senior like you.”

Izumi uncrossed her arms and took a step back. She had most likely heard of his name before, but rarely paid enough attention in class to remember. Izumi’s feet were careful as they brought her back to the spot where she sat not too long ago and waved Itaru over with her hand, beckoning him to join her.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen me around if you know that we’re both Grads.” She spoke quietly, pushing her legs through the spaces of the railing again as the boy reluctantly shuffled to her side.

He nodded to confirm her guess and kept his distance away from the rooftop’s edge.

“We share Homeroom together.” Itaru said, popping open the lid to his bento box. “You’re always half an hour late.”

Izumi pressed her lips into a thin line and looked out into the city, going silent. The sunshine painted the buildings with a shimmery gold as the wind whipped through her hair. The cool but sunny weather was great on a lonely day like this, and Itaru gazed at Izumi with curiosity as he shoved a piece of sausage into his mouth with some rice.

He would never admit it but Itaru had come up to the rooftop today in hopes of catching Izumi here. And boy, was he glad to have swallowed his anxiety and pushed open the rooftop doors.

The last time he had seen her here, she was in tears, letter in hand. He could barely see the writing on the envelope that she had dropped on the floor, but he recognized the black scrawl spelling out ‘From: Papa’.

There were crystalline beads rolling down her cheeks then, sleeves stained with tears and dirt as the paper in her angry hand crumpled. Itaru remembered how she cried out into the roaring wind that day, and how her voice was drowned out by the school bell.

Itaru’s reminiscing was abruptly interrupted by the clearing of Izumi’s throat. She made it seem like she was going to say something and the audio cue reminded Itaru to chew his food.

“Yeah. My job ends in the morning.” She answered him, resting back on her palms.

The blond glanced at her through his fluttering fringe. “Don’t you get tired at all?”

It was an innocent question, but Izumi still laughed. How would you respond if someone asked you the same thing?

She turned her head in Itaru’s direction and sent him a kind smile. He paused in the middle of shoving rice into his mouth to patiently wait for her answer.

“Don’t you get tired at all?” She asked.

Itaru fish mouthed. “Well. Sometimes. When I study a little longer than usual, yeah—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Izumi laughed. The corners of her eyes crinkled and she gave Itaru a genuine smile, knocking her fist into his shoulder as if she’d known him for years. “You knew what I meant, right?”

Her tone was full of warmth despite the fact that she was laughing at him, but Itaru didn’t seem to mind. Her amusement wasn’t at his own expense, and Itaru felt comfort in that.

“I do get tired.” He sighed softly, biting at the ends of his chopsticks.

Years of trying to blend in to the crowd and avoid those who only caused trouble for him wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Plus, someone had found out that he was a total gamer nerd and people decided that that was good enough of a reason to push him around. That meant Itaru had to give up on hiding because of the rumor that quickly spread, and he didn’t have the heart to ask his mom for another transfer.

“Then you’ve got the answer you were looking for.” Izumi shrugged. She took a glance at the gaming console he had resting in his lap and went back to looking at the city. “I’d feel the same way if I was the kid who got bullied for liking video games.”

Her voice was gentle, but the last statement felt like a punch in the gut. Itaru put down his lunch box while swallowing the food in his mouth to defend himself, but Izumi kept talking.

“What’s wrong with having a hobby? Wasting money on games is so much better than wasting time hurting somebody's feelings.”

Itaru felt his throat tighten. “...Exactly.”

The bell rang just as Izumi gave Itaru a comforting pat on the shoulder, signifying that their lunch break was finally over.

The corners of his mouth lifted up into a smile and Izumi let out a pleased hum at the new expression. She removed her hand from his shoulder and heaved herself up from the ground, brushing off the dirt on her legs and skirt.

“It was cool meeting you, Itaru.” She said casually, holding out her hand for the boy to take.

Gratefully, he quickly packed his stuff up and tucked it under his arm before taking her hand, hauling himself up with the help of Izumi.

“You too.” He exhaled, out of breath for some odd reason. Itaru’s heart felt like it was going to burst with joy at (hopefully) having made a new friend.

He watched as she pulled her hand away from his and started her own trek towards the rooftop doors, her hair and skirt flowing behind her prettily as the gentle breeze picked up again.

Itaru called out to her before she left. “Uh. Izumi.”

She turned around, walking backwards this time.

“...I’m sure you’re doing so much more than you think.” He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to say that he knew how hard she’d been working, so he was just going to leave her to wonder what he meant.

“If you need someone to talk to… I’ll be around.” Itaru coughed.

“Sure. I’d love to take you on that offer.” Izumi chuckled. She waved her hand goodbye and waited until Itaru waved back to exit the rooftop first, the sound of the wind blowing cut off by the shut of the door.

The cold atmosphere that filled the top floor of the school blanketed Izumi and she sighed at the loneliness of it all.

Maybe replacing the silence in her life with a friend wasn’t such a bad idea.

[randomoranges]

the majority of the first part of this fic is based on a real thing that happened to me and my students yesterday

i applaud their ease at which all of this happened.

The Kids are All Right

 “M Édouard, est-ce que tu veux jouer avec nous?”

 It’s Friday afternoon and the first nice day of the week. The weather has been miserable, but luckily, he didn’t have to deal with indoor recess this time around. The group finishes in English class and he’s quite honestly killing time before he can leave them with their English teacher. He could have planned something exciting and fun, or ploughed on with another lesson, but he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to fight them. They’ve been – more rambunctious than usual these past two weeks and he’s been snappier with them than usual. He wonders if it’s the new seating arrangement or the coming of spring, but he’s counting down the days to the end of the school year and murmuring it like a mantra to himself on various occasions throughout the day.

 Still. Moments like these bring the smallest of smiles to his face.

 He likes to watch the kids play during recess, when he’s not aimlessly walking, and daydreaming about any other job he could have taken that wouldn’t be so taxing. This afternoon is one of those occasions. Most of the boys are on one end of the playground, playing a rather intense game of soccer, while the majority of the girls have been playing some invented game with a jump rope. The others are spread around; some are playing pear ball, others are sitting in clusters, but it’s nice to see that all the kids are hanging out with another kid and that no one is alone.

 He figures he can play with the girls this time around.

 Every now and again, he plays with the kids – when they ask him to, obviously and it’s a free bonding moment with them. He’s played some intense soccer and basket ball games, has played every version of tag and other such games, has learned to be decent at pear ball and he’s even been known to play hopscotch and jump rope. The kids love it. He also loves it.

 He nods and his student excitedly yells out “M Édouard va jouer!” which is greeted by loud cheers by the other girls. He gets a quick run through of the game; the person in the middle makes the jump rope go round, the others are gathered in a circle around it and they need to jump when the rope gets close to them. If the rope touches them, they need to tell a truth about themselves. Easy enough, really. He’s encountered multiple versions of this same game over the years.

 He offers to be the spinner, since the student who’d been doing it before had been struggling with the rope and the kids are delighted to let him have a go about it.

 The girls show no mercy when one of them gets touched by the rope and the questions they ask are harmless in nature; do you have a crush on anyone, what’s the most embarrassing thing you ever did, which of your siblings is your favourite, and so on. He politely reminds them that they’re not obliged to answer a question if they feel uncomfortable, and overall, everyone seems to have fun.

 On the fifth or sixth turn, the rope stops at a different student and the other girls flock around her chanting “Vé-ri-té! Vé-ri-té!” He joins them in, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the words and finally she gets them to stop as she thinks up of a truth to tell them, or be placed at the mercy of the counsel of questions.

 Finally, she graces them all with her truth, as the others wait with baited breaths, “Chuis bi,” She says easy as all else and the rest of the girls roll their eyes, laugh, and groan, complaining about how they all already knew.

 He’s – surprised by this. By the ease of the way she’s said her truth, but also by how not a big deal it seemed to be. He wonders, briefly, if it has anything to do with the talk he’s had with them earlier that week – about gender and sexual identities and such. Still, he marvels at the situation and it takes him a moment to recover, thinking of his own childhood and how long it had taken him to come to terms with his own sexuality. The fear he’d had. The anxiety it had produced. (And the relief, afterwards, when his parents hadn’t booted him out of their home.)  

 “Merci de nous avoir partager ça,” He says, because even if his fifth graders might not understand the full scope of it, he still wants them to feel that he accepts them as they are. He reminds them that they don’t have to share everything with him – or the others, but that if they do, he appreciates it and that he is someone they can come to and trust.

 Then, within the same breath, before they can start the game again, another one of the girls admits to being bi as well. Again, the rest of the girls react much of the same way; they laugh, they say they already knew, and they move on and it flummoxes him. He thinks back to being eleven himself and never in his wildest dreams would he have felt such ease in admitting something.

 Edward briefly wonders if maybe, just maybe, it has to do with the fact that they are girls and not boys. He knows it’s not the best way to think about it, but he feels that girls might have it just a little bit easier – with each other and their friend circle, whereas the boys – especially his boys this year, are still very much immature and very centered on the idea of being a Real Man (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.)

 Or maybe these students are just more open and more aware of themselves. It’s a better thought to have. He knows the discourse has changed, even if it isn’t perfect. There are now queer characters in media and literature that were very much absent in his day and age. Celebrities – young celebrities just a little older than his kids are using social media platforms to talk of their own experiences and doing their own coming outs and maybe that’s also helped make these terms less loaded.

 There has to be some good out of it, after all. It can’t all be about cyber bullying and fraud.

 Still, he makes it a point to remind them that they don’t have to “come out” to everyone just because and that it’s okay if they don’t want to tell people. They don’t own it to no one. They nod along and humour him and he wants to sit them down and tell them that no, he’s serious and that sometimes it’s not this easy. He should know. But – maybe it is this easy for them. Maybe it has become this easy for the new generation despite what he still hears on the news. Maybe, thanks to the new generation, different orientations will finally no longer be some big taboo and the world can be a better place.

 Maybe he’s still dreaming, but – it’s a nice hope to have. If anything, he can hope and appreciate that these two students seem to be very comfortable with themselves and for that, he’s happy. If they can have an easy ride of it, why the hell not.

 He leaves it at that and the game runs its course for a while longer, until recess comes to its end.

 “M Édouard, dites-nous une vérité!” One of the girls asks as they line up to go back inside. He laughs and stalls for a moment. Some part of him wants to share as well – tell them through his truth that they are not alone and that he’s gay. It would be easy, really, and he’d be an ally to them, or something – he’s not sure, but he likes that it’s not some convoluted over-thought process like most of all the other times he’s come out in his life. Thinking back to how casual the others were with their friends telling them, he figures they wouldn’t turn on him. They’d be surprised, probably, but – it’d be fine – he hopes.

 He opens his mouth to say it – to casually let them know that he’s gay, but then the words falter and die at the back of his throat; shrivel up as bile forms instead. He chokes over them and that same old fear creeps back in. He sighs, frustrated with himself. It’s not that the kids need to know, but part of him yearns to share and to show them that it’s okay to be like this – that they can lead successful lives while being themselves. Yet, even if these students would be okay with it, he fears they’d share the news and spread it – that it would then reach the ears of someone else, who would tell their parents, who would get upset, who would tell the school and ultimately, that he’d get fired and dragged through the mud.

 He doesn’t have the energy for that. Not now. And the fear ices his veins and suddenly, the pleasant mood from before is gone.

 The kids look at him, waiting for an answer.

 “Quand j’étais jeune, j’voulais être un astronaute.”

 It’s not a lie, but it feels like he’s just done them a great disservice. They don’t realise it and some other kid pipes up saying they too wanted to be an astronaut when they were seven, while another rattles off the name of a few astronauts they know. The moment passes, the kids move on to the next thing as they file back in and Edward breathes a little easier, even though the disappointment weighs him down. This could have been a great teaching moment and he’d let it slip through his fingers.

 He trickles in after them and tries not to over think it too much. After all, hadn’t he just reminded his students that they don’t have to tell other people about their sexual orientation if they didn’t want to? The same should apply to him, even if...

 Instead, he focuses on the fact that two of his students felt comfortable telling him, even if maybe they were only kidding and even if they went back on it at some later point. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they didn’t feel the need to keep this truth about themselves hidden. That they felt zero shame and malaise sharing. That their friends welcomed them. If anything, it was refreshing to see. Hopeful at its fullest. It’s good to know that maybe the discourse has changed, after all and maybe, with time, he’ll come to terms with his own fears as well. He’s got to keep hope, if not for himself, but for them and maybe, with time, he can learn something from them along the way.

 (There will come a time, later, a few years down the road, during the last leg of his career. The context will be similar; recess, a Friday afternoon and the girls will be playing some other iteration of a truth game. They’ll ask him to play and he’ll agree, for a lack of something better to do and a never-ending need to bond with his kids in whichever way they want him to.

 It’ll be great fun. The kids will share truths about themselves that’ll range from heartfelt to funny and he’ll appreciate every single one of them. Eventually, as the kids are often known to do, they’ll turn on him and ask for a truth in return. Eventually, he’ll abdicate and confess to his own.

 “Je suis gai,” He’ll tell them, easy and simple as that, with a teasing grin to his face. They’ll roll his eyes at him, complaining all the while that they already know and that they want something new – a real truth. He’ll get them to settle and they’ll wait patiently, thirsting for a new truth about their teacher, “M Étienne et moi on est ensemble,” He’ll tell them next, laughing as they groan because it’s old news. They’ve known for ages – some since first grade. It’s the oldest news in the whole of the school. Hell, some have known since before since they had older siblings who brought the news home even before that.

 But Edward will laugh, pick up the game from where it left off and resume it. He’ll share the truth because it is one of his favourites. He’ll share it because, finally, after so long, he feels comfortable doing so. But mostly, he’ll share it for the kids. To let them know. To remind them, really, that it is okay to be this way and that even when they have doubts and even if it sometimes feels as though they have no one cheering for them, they’ll always have him.)

 FIN

[glitterytidalwavedragon]

Putting it Out There (A Biracial Child)

I’ve always wanted to address this, I just never knew where or how to. But, as I write, I see the influences come into play more and more (More so when I am writing my B.B fanfic and the Tourist), so I thought, now is a good time as any and this is the only account and platform I feel safe (maybe because I don’t have 200+ friends or followers here who know me outside of social media). I also feel as if this prospective of life isn’t given much attention or heard. 

I, as some may know cause I had commented as such, am a biracial child. My father is a Caribbean Hispanic male and my mother of German and Italian descent. 

This does not mean I have the best of both worlds. In fact, most of the times I feel alienated. 

Born in the early 90′s, the song “Livin’ La Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin was every where. My mother would tell me that song was about me, now I was 5-6ish. I thought she referred to me liking cats, and trying to go out to perform a crap version of ‘Singing in the Rain’ along with the love for magic. 

No, it wasn’t so innocent. It was straight up because of my skin tone. I looked like the girl the song was describing. I had no idea. Nor did I realize a silent war was raging in my family. 

Growing up was...hard to say the least. It is even harder when you have racism on both sides pointing fingers at each other. On my mother’s side, my aunt and uncle wouldn’t allow me to visit unless it was a holiday to which there was pressure from the family. Out of spite, they would invite my much older siblings father over to cause a fight (The man did not celebrate christmas). Meanwhile my other aunt would tell me over and over again I was Italian. In the end, during these events I would end up alone and not know why. 

Now lets turn to the other side of the family, my father’s. My first words had been Spanish. Yet, I lived with English speaking relatives... guess who stopped speaking Spanish for a long while. When visiting my family on his side, none of of my relatives would address me, only if they had to because my father was not around. These people knew how to speak English, very well even though they had moved from their native island. They just refused to speak to me. This sucked cause where it was 3 people on my mother’s side, it was 16 aunt’s and uncles on my fathers not counting the dozens of cousins I had. So, as the other family events, I ended up alone not knowing why. 

The answer was rather simple but much to complicated for my child self. Both sides of my family was and still is completely racist. My white mother was near exiled for being with a man many would consider black (he considers himself Spanish and oddly doesn’t get the fascination on why his skin matters or makes me worry about him when he is stopped by cops...). I was the ‘mixed’ baby, a simple of her family’s shame. 

My father’s side could not care what color my mother was, only that she was not Spanish. For those who don’t know, Spanish can be an array of color, its cool. But, she was no Spanish, did not speak Spanish and therefore my father was exiled by everyone but his own mother for many years (which is why we ended up in family events, my mama wanted to see her youngest grandchild by her baby boy). This meant being put at the back table, being openly mocked, and never told of big family events like babies or weddings. 

This only lead to more fighting at home and in the end even my own siblings, alienated me. It was a pretty lonely experience. 

This carried on to school and friendships. Elementary was not fun, but I felt the effects more in Jr. and High school. In elementary I was grouped with the other Spanish kids, because starting in late summer I had my Spanish tan on and therefore, I was not white to other white kids. But I did not speak Spanish. At one point I spoke gibberish to just to be able to hang with the Spanish kids at recess. It worked and I still don’t know how. 

In Jr. ahhhh... at one point my family was making good money, which originally, it once took the income of five adults to keep us afloat, now it just took 2. My father and my grandpa (who I will talk about later). We moved to a ‘nicer’ neighborhood. In the early 2000′s that mean, a white neighborhood. Boy, did I stick out. 

Now you might think “But you grew up in NYC, said you were from Brooklyn” well, here is a fun fact. Nothing is more segregated than NYC schools. The north did not do busing like the south did, so white schools stayed mostly white while schools in low income areas stayed mostly black or other minority races. I was a very tan child going into a white neighbor hood to a white school. Lets top it off that I played video games and Yu-Gi-Oh, HA! 

I received hell. I had legit parents sneer at me, and girls asking me if I had sex because I was Spanish. A 12 year old, got hit on by 15 year olds because they thought my race made me easy. I was 12, all I wanted was to collect cards and play Pokemon on my stupid advance, I had no time for boys unless they were anime. But... someone (more than likely their parents) had set these ideas in their head on how Spanish people, more so girls, acted. 

Then I realized, I really liked all things Gothic. A Spanish Goth.... it pains me to think about it. Everything from poser, to faker, and ‘trying to act white’ was laid on me. I could not wait for Jr. High to end. And when it did, a whole 180 happen. 

I was no longer Spanish. I did not know why, just everyone referred to me as ‘the ONLY white girl’ in the school and that is not a joke. My school, was dubbed the worse in all of Brooklyn and shut down, which I believe it was dubbed that because of the 1% white population... I was the 1 after my second year when the other white kid (who was a boy people asked was my boyfriend) graduated. Now, in high school it wasn’t the kids who gave me hell. It was the teachers. 

In fact, high school led me to meet others who were also feeling alienated. One of which I am very close to, a black man who is Jewish (adopted by a white couple) and gay. He did not where he belonged either. In the mid-00′s to be a black gay man living near the ghetto was dangerous. I can’t count how many times he had to hide who he was so he wouldn’t get shot. Nor could I count how many times my other friend coped with being a biracial black man who loved anime and being goth so much he was bullied for it when we weren’t together (who I ended up dating throughout high school). 

Suddenly being labelled white get me an acceptance I was not expecting. I ended up being popular against my best efforts and people who I did not know knew me. At 15 I did not get what had changed, because no one had told me yet. No, I figured it out at 16, when I was placed in senior English because of my grades. My English teacher told me, I was white, in the worse why I could ever imagine. 

My English teacher, a beautiful black woman who celebrated her African roots, gave an assignment one day. I was one out of five in a class of thirty who did it, because I did it in her class the day before. I played sports, so did half the other kids, I did not have time after school. This did not sit well with her, she was mad, which was an understatement. So, she turned to the class and said

“This is why our people end up in Jail or having babies to early. Because like black people don’t take education seriously.” Then called be out by name and continued “is why she will end up being successful, because white people know the importance of an education.” 

First off, she was very racist towards EVERYONE, second I at 16, who was always called Spanish in school was now labelled white in front of everyone by an adult. I was both confused and terrified as my boyfriend who knew my family cared JACK SHIT about education looked ready to kill her. Luckily, he just walked out of class and waited for me as I was too studded to move. 

I later asked him if he thought I was white, he admitted he did until he saw my father and called me biracial. For the first time in 16 years, I had been called biracial. Went home, did not tell anyone what happened, asked my mother if I was biracial and she said yes. To shorten this up, this was what life felt like, 

At home, I had no race. Neither side welcomed me. 

In school, I was told I was Spanish and had to fake my way in the Spanish group.

Jr High, I am now trying to distance myself from everyone as being Spanish makes me a target. 

High School, I thought being Spanish would be a good thing. Now everyone is telling me I am white. 

I had not idea who or what I was. 

All I ever wanted was to be me. I wanted to understand why my family never got close to me, and I wanted friends who were friends because I was me. 

It was like I was being ripped to pieces. I could be what others wanted or be no one at all. I had no idea what to do. If people at the new school found out I was Spanish, would I become a target again? I was allowed to freely play games, watch anime, and be my gothic self if I were white. But that also meant I could not hang out with my friends who lived in the Ghetto, shouldn’t like rap, R&B, and reggaetón or use the slang I grew up always using. 

To be a Spanish person trying to be white

or 

A white person trying to be black/another minority of color. 

I had watched as the former got my friend (boyfriend at the time) kicked out of classrooms as he was compared to those involved in columbine shooting from teachers since he was different. Also the hell he received from other boys for cosplaying and playing anime based card games. At one point it was so rough he thought about dropping out and I begged him to stay along with his mother. I was so afraid of going through that again.

So I kept my mouth shut. 

I took on the military standard of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. My father never came to the school because he worked so much so no one knew. Everyday, I just took what my English teacher said to be without any force back. When Obama was voted in, she told me I had no right to celebrate, that my people had JFK and that Obama was for all the minorities to celebrate. I fell into a dark hole of hating myself. My home life was awful and now school I had to pretend to be something I wasn’t comfortable with. I started ditching classes, got into more fights than I would care to admit, did some really shady stuff and began hurting myself. 

The only joy I got was when I busted my ass grades wise and got out of school six months early. I did not have to go to school anymore and I could lock myself away to be no one but myself. It was lonely but I found company in books and my art. Through art I was allowed to be me and no one could take that away. 

When I returned for Graduation I June, did I get the final laugh on that English bitch. My mother and father showed up, she asked if my father was a cab driver helping my mother as she had gone blind. I told her, rather happily, that was my father. She went from joy to sheer disgusts faster than you can blink. For years she kept talking about who ‘mix babies’ never got any where as their fathers were never around. Yet, despite me hardly showing up, I gradated top of my class, never had a baby nor was I ‘loose’ (In fact I feared sex as a teenager), and my mixed couple parents as she lovingly called it, were together. 

She walked away from me and never said a word since. 

But now school was over, college was starting. I still hadn’t figured out who I was. Was I white/Italian or Spanish. In college I learnt no one was going to tell me who I was anymore, nor did they care. At home, it was still a battle of the races. Finally, one of my cousins spoke up and declared I wasn’t Spanish as I knew nothing of the language. At home, my aunt and uncle decided I was Spanish and called me a ‘Spick’ as a joke. I did not take it as one and therefore I was called ‘uptight’. 

My siblings also informed me, if I wanted free college to put down Spanish on everything unless it was the census. Then I should be white. Sometimes I still run into people who think I am one over the other. I had people come up to be speaking Spanish to be highly offended when I tell them I don’t speak the Language well. (I tried learning but it is hard when motivation is not there). 

In recent years, I had someone at work tell me how they met a Spanish person, shockingly where my father works, and then described in detail my father and then tell me they thought he was illegal since he looked the type. All because they thought I was white... proud to say that person got fired for being racist.I did also inform them that was my father to their response was “you’re one of them”. 

It never ends. 

No, the reason why I haven’t been driven insane is because of my late grandpa. My grandpa was a man I adopted to be my grandfather. My biological grandfathers on both sides died long before I was born and the man I adopted was close to the family and acted like a father to my parents. He was a good man and the reason I had a childhood. 

He once went through the same, Italian/Jewish, you wouldn’t think there would be a problem but when he was growing up that equaled Catholic/Jewish, to which he too was either pinned in the middle or rejected by both sides, this is the 1930′s-1940s. He gave me the best piece of advance ever. 

To be myself. 

That if I were myself, then it did not matter. The moment I stopped being who I am, that passing or faking would never tell me who my real friends were. That if he, could love me for who I was, a weird girl who liked boy things and drawing strange looking characters, then anyone else could. Being a stranger to myself would never bring happiness. So, after years of not listening to that, I finally decided to listen to my Grandpa. 

I know who I am, I know the history of my families. They might not like that I am not what they want me to be, but they don’t have to live with me. I have to live with who I am. My friends are my friends because they know who I am, not who they think I should be. 

So for all my biracial brothers, sisters and them’s, be yourself. Don’t try to force yourself into a mold, it isn’t worth it. None of it is worth it. 

Look yourself in the mirror and say your name. Say it loud and let everyone know they can not define who you are, and so what if they say you don’t belong, guess what? You do if you want. You belong because YOU say so, because that blood runs in your veins as well as theirs. So you get to make that choice! 

Make that choice of being you! Define yourself to YOUR standards. 

Don’t let anyone take that away. I know I won’t.

So here I see myself! A strange fox who changes coats with the seasons, that loves anime and video games, who plays Yu-Gi-Oh and listens to opera and Metal while can twerk and get low to Daddy Yankee! Who eats sushi and makes a mean chicken cutlet but can also make the best empanda with beans and rice with the rest of them!

And no one can take that from me.

[c-optimistic]

brave

They met as wide-eyed, sticky fingered, mess inclined, and chatty third graders. And Kara had known it was a love story from the start.

Well, all right. No, she didn’t know at eight years old, per se. She certainly had figured it out by the time they were seniors in high school, but in third grade, watching some short, grubby, sniffling boy attempt to shove Lena off the swing set made Kara see red, not hearts, ending up with a fistful of the boy’s shirt, making threats there was no way she could’ve backed up. (That bully hadn’t seemed to realize that; she found out he’d transferred schools not a week later, teachers citing he had ‘irreconcilable issues’ with the other students—namely, Kara.)

The point, of course, was that it wasn’t exactly the beginning of some romantic love story. Rather, it turned into Lena’s favorite thing to talk about when they met new people, an icebreaker of sorts when she met with investors and board members and random strangers on the street, the lot of them chuckling over Lena Luthor’s childhood best friend.

(“She was barely three feet tall, I swear. But she scared him with nothing but narrowed eyes and a gritted voice and honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more impressive. My best friend was, and I guess still is, a badass.”

Not that she’d admit it, but Kara always blushed at the story and at Lena’s added comment at the end.)

And the thing was, she knew she screwed up. Because Lena was more than just a best friend to her—most times, Lena felt a little bit like everything. Lena was her rock, her anchor, her grounding point. When everything was going wrong in her life, it had been Lena that she turned to, Lena who held her hand, Lena who allowed her to sob on her shoulder.

Falling in love with her best friend wasn’t a part of their story. Until, well, it was. And once it happened, it felt pretty damn inevitable. (Like the sun rising. Like the stars shining. Like the rising and falling tides. Like the changing of seasons and the blooming of flowers and the fresh scent of an afternoon breeze.)

Yet, when Kara shared these thoughts with the others in her life, she wasn’t exactly met with a response that inspired much confidence. Alex just laughed at the use of the word inevitable, Winn questioned her sanity more than once, and James had pulled her into a silent hug. And yes, their support would’ve been nice, but it’d gotten to the point that Kara didn’t care what they thought, because they hadn’t been there the day she met Lena. Her sister and friends weren’t there when Kara turned to Lena, her chest heaving in anger, horrified that anyone would dare hurt someone over a swing set, and Lena had smiled at her, stuck out her hand (already practicing her future career, already charming and clever and confident), and leaned forward.

“Hi,” she’d said, “I’m Lena. Thanks for helping me.”

And Kara (clumsy, cheerful, and carefree) promptly fell in love.

It just took her ten more years recognize it for what it was, then another ten before she did anything about it.

x

Lena was her best friend.

She didn’t come to such a conclusion lightly. No, at nine years old and precocious to boot, Kara took great care in the way she labeled the people in her life. Alex was her sister in all but blood—their families close, spending most free evenings and weekends with Alex, Eliza, and Jeremiah—and Clark, her actual blood relative, was a continual disappointment, making promises he seemed never able to keep.

And Lena, Lena was her best friend.

“Is that why you talk about her so much?” her mother asked one afternoon, home early from work, an exhausted but pleased expression on her face. “Because she’s your best friend?” Kara didn’t understand the wry smile, the funny expression. It didn’t seem to matter at the time.

“Yes!” she answered cheerfully, bounding over to her mother and ignoring her aunt’s snort from where she sat in the kitchen, head buried in a book, hands preoccupied with a mug of hot chocolate (the one she made for Kara long finished, burnt tongue forgotten in the repeated—and rejected—requests for more). “Like you and father! Or Aunt Astra and Uncle Non!”

Astra looked up at the sound of her name, brows furrowed in the way that Kara worked so hard to mimic, and she put her mug aside, lips quirking into something resembling a smile.

“Oh little one,” she began slowly, shaking her head as she clearly steeled herself to say something, her eyes soft in the way she only ever looked at Kara. “That’s not—”

“—it’s fine, Astra,” Kara’s mother interrupted, her own smile still in place. “I’m sure she’ll figure it out eventually without our help. Kara’s a smart girl.”

Astra laughed and agreed, neither her nor Kara’s mother deigning to answer Kara’s repeated questions as to what was so funny.

(Later, Kara will find solace in the fact that though she was too young and too naïve to put her feelings into words, her aunt and mother had understood anyway. Even years later, it felt important that her family had known about what she felt for Lena—it was a big thing in her life, and she was glad she somehow shared it with her family.)

x

Lena did not get along with her adoptive mother.

Kara wasn’t sure why, Lena never quite explained or even acknowledged it except with soft sighs and resigned expressions. Alex told Kara that the Luthors were an old family—Kara didn’t really understand what that meant and Alex assured her once she was a teenager it’d make sense—and that Lillian Luthor was a stickler for tradition.

(The truth was that Eliza and Jeremiah had worriedly discussed a bruise Kara had mentioned to her parents offhandedly when telling them every detail about her day with Lena, and Alex had merely repeated phrases she’d heard her parents utter.

The truth was that ‘did not get along’ was an understatement, not at all an accurate description of what Lena dealt with everyday, and yet those in any position to offer help were rendered powerless against a name like Luthor and everything that entailed.)

Kara wasn’t a teenager like Alex, she wasn’t wise like Lena, but the same protective instinct she’d felt in elementary school made a raging comeback in middle school when Lena confided to her that she was afraid to go home, afraid to disappoint her mother somehow. And it was so different from Kara’s own experiences—her own desire to spend as much time as she could with her busy mother, looking forward to the days she wasn’t buried in cases, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt as she finally walked through the door late at night, forcing the exhaustion from her face and smiling wide at Kara—that she took Lena by the hand and told her quite firmly that she didn’t have to go home at all.

When Lionel Luthor himself came by their home several hours later, he frowned at the protective way Kara stood in front of Lena, listened carefully to what Kara’s mother had to say, then knelt down and placed a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“I’m very glad Lena has a friend like you, Kara,” he said, using his free hand to rub his bald head unconsciously, weariness tingeing his actions and words. “Do you mind if she spends more of her time here?”

“Of course not,” Kara answered, almost offended that he even felt the need to ask. Lena was her best friend. She didn’t think there was anything she wasn’t willing to do for Lena.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lionel Luthor said as he got back to his feet, looked over to Kara’s parents now. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Thank you for your daughter.” He grinned over at Kara, holding out a hand for Lena, seemingly unsurprised that Lena took great care to first squeeze Kara’s hand in thanks before reaching out for her father.

(When she was tucked in that night, Kara’s mother told her she was proud of her, that she did the right thing bringing Lena home with her.

And many years later, Lena will squeeze her hand much like she had that day, smiling as she said, “You saved me from the day I met you. But it wasn’t till that afternoon that I realized you were my hero.”)

x

She was thirteen when her parents died in that fire and her aunt and uncle were jailed for it.

Clark and the Danvers called it an explosion, the papers called it an attack by those who disagreed with her parents’ work, but Kara always referred to it as ‘that fire’ both in her head and out loud. It was ‘that fire that killed her parents,’ ‘that fire that ruined her life,’ ‘that fire that took everything from her.’ She didn’t want to give that fire legitimacy by giving it a proper name, a proper description. It was cruel and senseless and quick, and Kara could do nothing but hate that fire in the only way she knew how: by never dwelling on it, by never giving it a name.

(Calling it that fire rather than ‘murder’ or ‘crime’ or ‘loss of everything she once held sacred’ made her feel better, made her think that maybe one day she would hear the name Astra and not want to throw up, that she could think of her parents and not imagine the horror they must have felt when their own family stabbed them in the back.

Calling it that fire gave Kara distance and separation, two things she desperately needed unless she wanted images of a bright red flame tearing everything she held dear apart seared into the back of her eyelids, visible every time she closed her eyes.)

Only Lena had ever seemed to understand. Only Lena had never once brought it up, merely following Kara’s lead and referring to the explosion, the attack, the death of her parents, as nothing more than that fire.

And Kara was thirteen, she was heartbroken and alone, and Clark—the one her parents had named as her guardian in the event anything went wrong—packed his things and disappeared, leaving her with the Danvers.

(“I’m too young to be a parent,” he’d said, hugging her tightly. “I’m not good for you, Kara, please understand that.”

She didn’t, of course.)

And Kara was thirteen and she had Alex’s warm hugs at night, promising her that they were officially sisters and she’d always be there, and she had Lena’s tight grip on her hand at school, silently swearing she’d always lend her strength, the two of them spending every free moment together.

But Kara was thirteen, and she mistook the love she felt for Lena with the sort of love she felt for Alex, and that seemed enough at the time.

x

“What’re you doing?” Alex asked, chin on Kara’s shoulder, eye on the sketchbook placed on the desk in front of her. She grimaced a little when she noticed the graphite coating Kara’s fingers, and she reached out, plucking each individual digit, prying them from the pencil in Kara’s hand, rolling her eyes when Kara merely huffed and hunched her shoulders, attempting to ward off Alex’s lanky limbs.

“None of your business.”

“You’re in the middle of the living room, it’s my business when you’re in my line of sight.”

“How about I use that argument when you’re chatting with whatever her name is on the phone until three in the morning?”

As if the words were a jolt of electricity, Alex’s arms pulled away from Kara, her entire body floundering as she stumbled backwards, managing nothing more coherent than a series of half-hearted monosyllabic protests.

“That was a low blow, Kara,” Alex hissed once she got her head on straight, looking decidedly annoyed. “You promised not to bring it up if I bought you ice cream after school.”

“You got me a Popsicle, it wasn’t the same and the deal is off.”

“What’re you hiding?” Alex asked, eyes suddenly narrowing, much more interested in the sketchbook than Kara felt comfortable with. “You’re always more snarky when you’re hiding something.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot of homework and I promised Eliza I’d help with dinner so—” She attempted to pick up the sketchbook and get up from her seat at the table, but Alex pushed her back down, tugging the sketchbook towards herself with only one finger, her movements exaggeratedly slow, as if daring Kara to stop her.

“Rambling and attempting to hide away?” She whistled, flipping the cover of the sketchbook open agonizingly slowly, one finger thumbing the bottom of the first page, drawing out the moment she’d finally turn it over. “It must be a big deal if you’re acting like this.”

“It’s really just a sketch, it’s nothing—”

Alex turned the page, and there, in graceful pencil strokes, was a sketch of their neighbor’s dog.

“Are you kidding? You were hiding this?” Alex demanded, sounding more disappointed than she had any right to.

“I told you it’s nothing, you didn’t believe me.” Kara held her breath, not daring to look away from Alex’s gaze, hoping that her adoptive sister saw nothing but sincerity and honesty. Unfortunately, Alex knew her better than Kara had imagined, because a moment later a wicked grin appeared on her face, and she flipped through the sketchbook, pausing when she reached the pages about halfway through, her eyes widening as she took in the drawings.

“This is so gross,” Alex finally commented, shutting the book and pushing it towards Kara. “You’re gross.”

“It’s not gross.”

“It is. It’s sappy and sickly sweet and it’s just gross.”

“Stop saying that, it’s not gross—”

“—you drew pictures of your best friend like a sap, Kara. Puppies and Lena. That’s what you spend your time drawing.”

“I like puppies and I like Lena. Maybe if you were nicer, I’d draw you too.”

“And be subjected to that cavity inducing mess? No way.” She huffed, collapsing over Kara, arms and legs splayed wide and their position terribly uncomfortable—both because Kara felt crushed and because she was sure the way Alex had thrown herself over Kara couldn’t have been good for her back. “When are you going to do things I can hold over your head for years to come? I mean, besides the getting caught on the roof thing.”

“I do things!” Kara insisted, shoving Alex to the floor when her adoptive sister’s only response was to laugh uproariously at the lie. It proved to be less of a fib much later in the week, after she tossed her paints at Alex, learning through a call from Lena that Alex had torn out one of the drawings and gifted it to the Luthor.

Alex fondly dubbed it the ‘Paint Incident’ and she brought it up every chance she got.

x

“Wait. Wait,” Kara said, holding up a hand and staring at Lena in confusion. “You want to…break into the art room…why exactly?”

“Look, taking art was your fault in the first place, Kara,” Lena said, wringing her hands together and staring determinedly at the floor as she paced feverishly up and down the length of Kara’s bedroom. “You said things like ‘oh take it it’ll be fun, we’ll be in class together’ fat load of fun it’s been to fail—”

“—you’re failing art? I didn’t realize that was even a thing—”

“—so the very least you can do is help me break in to steal back my final piece so that I can fix it before Mrs. Grendson grades it,” Lena continued, ignoring Kara entirely and looking terribly pleased about that fact. She ceased her pacing and turned to Kara desperately, hands now clenched at her sides. “Please, Kara. I can’t fail. Especially not in art.”

Kara stared at her best friend, open-mouthed, trying to think of a response other than flat out laughing at the distress on Lena’s face, the certainty that Mrs. Grendson was capable of failing anyone, let alone a Luthor.

(Lex was long gone, making a name for himself in every corner of the scientific community, but their high school still thought fondly of him—and all the trophies and awards he brought for them.

Sometimes, Kara wondered if it was hard for Lena to grow up with Lex towering over her as he did, casting a rather large shadow.)

“How do you know if your redone work will be better? Apparently you’re terrible at art.”

At this, Lena smirked.

(It did funny things to Kara’s chest.)

“Because you’re going to do it for me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me,” Lena murmured, stepping over to where Kara sat on her bed, advancing rather slowly.

(It made Kara feel like her heart was attempting to pound straight out of her chest.)

“I don’t know if that’s true…” Kara said weakly, trailing off when Lena’s smirk just widened and she was standing so close to Kara that her legs brushed Kara’s knees, the heat of her skin practically burning Kara.

“Please, Kara?”

(She wasn’t sure if it was the please, the proximity, the heavy pulse, or even the pathetic groan she hoped that Lena hadn’t heard, but it didn’t matter. One minute Lena was looking down at her, asking her to break nearly a dozen school rules—and Kara was rather generally fond of rules—and the next Kara was nodding dumbly, unable to say no.

Later she’ll think about this moment, the look in Lena’s eyes as she stared down at Kara, and it’ll give her hope.)

x

For the most part, Kara was remarkably good at pretending she was fine. It’d been a little over three years since she lost her entire family in one fell swoop, and it was easy to fake a smile, to push away the sadness that threatened to creep up and envelop her whole, to take each day as it came and never allow anything to bog her down for long. There was something…easy…about the way she lost her family. It was clean and quick, a surgical cut, and while the pain and emptiness remained, she knew she’d manage to heal somewhat—hobble on despite the scars, keep moving despite the ache that shadowed her every movement.

(She had Alex and Eliza and Jeremiah to lean on too, analgesics during a time she felt overwhelmed by pain, soothing her and calming her, turning the angry, red wound into a neat scar that served as a constant reminder, with a twinge of pain she came to expect on rainy days.

Lena only had her.)

Lionel Luthor’s death was slow and cruel. Lena’s cuts were jagged and deep, never quite given the chance to heal, left festering and infected, scar tissue never forming. There was nothing to soothe her, nothing to do to take away the pain, because each time she even drifted close to the process of beginning to heal, her father’s health began to deteriorate—or even worse, would improve, giving her hope only to have that hope come crashing down.

Lex disappeared on her, unable to witness the slow pace with which the illness took his father, and Lillian…Lillian was never much of a mother anyway, and hoping she’d offer comfort to a teenage girl was too much to ask.

Kara, who’d experienced loss and everything that entailed (the memories that kept her awake at night, the lingering anger at the unfairness of the universe, the regret that she’d never share her artwork with her parents, never excitedly tell them about her day or her passions or her love), wasn’t quite sure how to stitch Lena together. After all, when Kara lost everything, she found herself still loved and still cared for, sure that at the end of the day she could get a hug and a chance to forget her pain. But Lena? Lena had shattered and putting her back together was too big a task for Kara alone. She shied away from hugs, refused to accept comfort, and it took weeks before Kara realized the best she could do was merely offer her presence, the silent promise that she would stay—something solid and real and permanent amongst everything that had changed in Lena’s life.

Because after Lionel Luthor died, Kara learned that sometimes love just wasn’t enough to help people heal.

x

It was two weeks before graduation that Kara…figured it out.

(It being her feelings for Lena, the very feelings her mother and aunt understood before her, feelings she was rather sure Lionel understood before her, feelings Alex understood before Kara even bothered to put a name to them.)

Then again, ‘figuring it out’ was putting it simply, as if she woke up one morning and the knots tangled in her chest somehow unwound and realization came crashing down. It wasn’t like that at all, though. It was slow and arduous, a long time coming and yet somehow mysteriously shocking and life-changing.

She figured that the unraveling of that knot in her chest began with Lionel’s death, when her heart would hammer away in her chest just at the sight of Lena’s smile, which came rarely and disappeared quickly. Or maybe it was when they went to their senior prom together, neither quite willing to put up with boys wearing too much of their father’s cologne and ill-fitting suits. Maybe even it was when Lena held her hand as they laid together in her bed watching a movie Kara had picked out and Lena quietly confided that she didn’t think she was very much into boys at all.

(Most likely, however, it was on a playground in third grade, after threatening a boy she didn’t know and getting the most dazzling smile in reward, a smile Kara would swear shone brighter than any star she spent hours gazing at with Alex.)

It was two weeks before graduation and she felt so stupid for not seeing it before, for not paying more attention, for mistaking the flutter and the swoop and the sense of rightness with the same sort of love she felt for Alex or the boy in her chemistry class who always managed to make her laugh with his antics. She’d allowed herself to pretend, to overlook, to be blissfully ignorant, and all the while her heart had been busy breaking apart piece by piece and reforming somewhere in the palm of Lena’s hands.

She was in love with Lena Luthor. It was such a relief to think, like her lungs had finally managed to fill with air for the first time in her life—as if a weight she hadn’t even been aware of finally was lifted off her shoulders, giving her a chance to stand up straight and tall.

(Every smile that took her breath away, every touch that made her heart race, every comment that had her feeling warm suddenly made sense. And she felt so…blind. How could she have looked Lena in the eye and thought anything other than god I love you and mistaken the promises to always be there and always protect her for anything other than proud declarations of her feelings?

How had she spent ten years around Lena and not realized that she’d fallen head over heels for her best friend?)

It was two weeks before graduation and Lena was lounging on the couch, arguing with Alex over advances in biomedical engineering, the movie Alex had put on long forgotten. At first, Kara had been content to follow along silently, not adding to the debate even when Alex scoffed at Lena’s mentions of Lex’s work, but then her focus had shifted from the words to the way Lena waved her hands around as she tried to get her point across, the way her eyes lit up, the way she impatiently tossed her hair over one shoulder. It was the animation in her voice and the grin on her lips and goddid Kara love her.

As soon as she thought it, she panicked, jumping a little and sending popcorn toppling over the edge of her bowl and onto the ground.

(The thought came so easily, as if it’d always been there in the back of her mind, biding its time until Kara was too distracted or too tired to tack on the just a friend as she tended to do mechanically.

Because of course Kara knew she loved Lena—she just hadn’t been brave enough or smart enough or just old enough to realize all loves weren’t the same.)

“Kara?” Alex asked, staring at her oddly, one eyebrow raised, her argument with Lena forgotten for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Kara?” Lena prodded when Kara was silent a beat too long.

(And she was so beautiful. Kara wondered how she hadn’t noticed before—the smooth skin and dark hair and vivid eyes that seemed to change color—how she’d never been struck dumb when faced with Lena when she was least expecting it.)

“I—I’m fine. For a second I thought I forgot to do homework but then I realized hey! It’s graduation soon! What does it matter, right? Ignore me, honestly, I think it’s just that I haven’t been sleeping—”

“Up talking all night with Daniel again?” Alex asked with raised eyebrows, looking like she was about to approach Kara, about to attempt to needle information out of her, but Kara could only stare at Lena, watching as her best friend turned to look at the ground.  

(It’s not what it sounds like, Kara wanted to yell. She didn’t like Daniel—not like that. But he was helping her with Lena’s surprise for graduation, something that had taken longer than Kara had expected.

But Lena wasn’t meeting her eyes and Alex was waggling her eyebrows suggestively and oh this was bad time for a life-altering realization.)

“Daniel’s helping me with something,” Kara said quickly, getting to her feet and crossing her arms, not at all amused by the way Alex kept grinning. “Besides you know I don’t like him.”

Alex laughed, shaking her head.

“Um no,” she said, turning to Lena as if to ask for support, eyebrows furrowing just slightly when she noticed Lena’s pinched expression and downcast eyes, “you’ve been super secretive these past few weeks. What’re you up to?”

“Can we just watch the movie please?” Kara begged, and something must’ve shown on her face because Alex’s eyes shifted from Lena (who was still staring rather determinedly at the floor) to Kara and then back, her mouth falling open in shock or excitement or confusion—or maybe a little of all three.

“You know what, the movie sounds nice,” Alex murmured, shooting Kara a look that screamed they’d be spending that night talking on the roof like they did when Kara was first taken in by the Danvers and everything was still so raw.

(Kara thought to just tell Lena right after graduation, blurt out the truth just like ripping off a Band-Aid. But when the day finally arrived, Kara could barely breathe when she looked out into the sea of parents and suddenly found herself longing for her family, an ache that wasn’t made easier even though Alex was screaming in the stands and Eliza and Jeremiah were clapping as loudly as they could.

And if Kara was struggling, how did Lena feel when no one showed up for her at all?

So instead Kara shoved her feelings down and gave Lena the bracelet she’d gone to Daniel and his family for help to make, deciding then and there she could wait.

She just ended up waiting a little longer than she expected.)

x

She always found an excuse to remain silent, utterly convinced by the lies she told herself, the I’ll tell her tomorrow and the it’s not a good time and the she looks so busy right now.

She stayed silent the entire summer before they went off to college (“Come on, Alex,” she’d defended when Alex gave her knowing looks and made pointed comments, “she’s not even here, she’s on vacation in France with Lex”) and then bit her tongue during the first several months of their first semester, nodding and forcing a smile whenever Lena spoke of her first real girlfriend (“She’s beautiful, Kara, and so smart, god I could listen to her talk all day”), shamefully relieved the day she learned that long-distance had been too much to handle for the other girl. In fact, the first time Kara came even close to admitting the truth was their first Christmas away from home, the two of them deciding to spend it with Alex and a girl she’d only introduce as ‘Sawyer’ with a strange expression on her face.

She came close to admitting the truth when Lena brushed by her and whispered that it was so easy to tell when someone was in love, grinning over at Alex and winking playfully, and Kara wanted to ask, if it truly was so easy, why Lena still hadn’t been able to tell Kara was in love.

She didn’t of course.

Lena looked terribly busy as she chatted away with Maggie, a smile gracing her lips.

x

It took Alex and Maggie another month to get their shit together and admit their feelings.

A month after that they went on their first date.

Near the end of Kara’s freshman year Alex had rushed over to Kara’s dorm, gushing about how she just admitted she loved Maggie and how great it felt and how Kara had to tell Lena now, she just had to.

And Kara…well, she tried.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Kara said with a grin, just finishing off her story about Alex for Lena, the two of them laying out on the grass outside the building where they had their last exam. She leaned back, staring up at the blue sky, hands pillowed behind her head. “It’s romantic and sweet and just…new love. How beautiful.” She was about to say more, wax poetic about how happy Alex was, maybe segue into her own feelings if she felt an opening, but Lena snorted slightly and Kara found herself turning to her best friend, shocked to see the distaste coloring Lena’s expression. “What?” Kara asked, rolling her eyes a little. “Is this too saccharine for you?”

“No, I’m happy for Alex.” When Kara just raised an eyebrow in response, Lena sighed and elaborated. “I am happy for Alex. It’s just…come on, Kara. Let’s be real. Love doesn’t exist.”

(If there was anything that could break Kara’s heart, it was that.

And god it was said so easily, so terribly sure and matter of fact, and Kara didn’t know why it was so hard to breathe suddenly.)

“W-what do you mean? Love is real. You’re my best friend and I love you.” (This was the closest she’d ever get to admitting the depth of her feelings for another nine years.)

“That’s not the same,” Lena answered, pink dusting her cheeks suddenly, looking awfully interested in the grass. “Love is…it’s a series of chemical reactions. And it’s temporary and fleeting and finicky.”

(Temporary? Fleeting? That wasn’t Kara’s experience. She’d been in love since she was eight, before she could recognize it for what it was, before she knew the feeling had a name.

But if Lena was right, which she often was, did that mean what Kara felt wasn’t love, was something different, something stronger and more lasting?)

“Lena, you can’t mean that. Love is, you know, love. It’s why we’re here. It’s why anyone does anything. Even if you don’t feel romantic love—”

“I don’t mean I don’t feel it, Kara. I mean it doesn’t last.” She swallowed hard, clenched and unclenched her hands, turning to Kara warily. “Look, can we just talk about something else?”

“Well no, now we can’t, now I want to know why you’re so anti-love.”

Lena stared at her, expression hard and lips pressed into a thin and angry line, then she turned away. Kara didn’t think she’d answer until she did, Lena seeming more surprised by her honesty than Kara felt.

“Because I asked my mother if she loved my father,” Lena admitted in a soft voice. “And she said love had nothing to do with it.”

“Your mom isn’t exactly the picture of—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Kara. Okay? I’m happy for Alex. I hope things work out for her.”

Kara wanted to argue, but Lena’s shoulders were tense and she knew if she said one more word on the topic, Lena would up and leave. So she just sighed.

“So. About the writing class I want to take…when do you think you can fit it into your schedule?”

(She didn’t need Lena’s relieved smile to know she’d made the right choice.)

x

She met Mike through Winn at the end of her junior year, and she cursed him everyday for it.

“For the tenth time, no Mike, I don’t want to go out with you,” Kara hissed the moment Mike stepped into her space, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He looked surprised by her anger, which only served to piss her off more.

She came out to drink with her sister and friends, not spend an hour trying to shrug off Mike.

“Whoa, I wasn’t going to ask you out,” he defended, holding up his hands. He smiled at her and she hated—hated—that he seemed vaguely charming in that moment. Then he opened his mouth. “Look, I’m a prick. I know it. You know it. But I’m a prick that knows a lost cause when I see one. I give up.”

“It took you ten tries to realize it was a lost cause?” she huffed out sarcastically.

“Nope,” he told her, drawing out the pop. “It took meeting Lena Luthor once. So?”

“So what?”

“Ah, avoidance strategies. I know them well.” He grinned and motioned at the seat next to her, actually waiting until she made a vague sign that he could sit. “I know all about unrequited love Kara Danvers, and if that’s what’s holding you back, you shouldn’t worry.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kara bit out, not at all in the mood to carry on a conversation anymore. Mike didn’t seem at all bothered by her annoyance. If anything, he seemed strangely…fond? Endeared at the very least, something that made Kara’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you what you already know,” he began, giving her a look and a wink when Kara couldn’t help but briefly glance at where she knew Lena was standing, deep in conversation with Winn about one of their classes. “But I do want to offer my help.”

“Your help? Why would I need your help?”

“I know a few things about love,” Mike said, wiggling his eyebrows and making Kara want to gag. “And I know for a fact that nothing makes you more attractive than when people think you’re…forbidden fruit, shall I say.”

“That sounds stupid,” Kara said flatly, rolling her eyes and refocusing on her drink. Mike, however, didn’t seem to recognize her body language as the dismissal it was.

“Trust me, Kara. Make her jealous, make her think she can’t have you, and she’ll be running right into the palm of your hands.”

“And let me guess, you volunteer to pretend to date me.”

Mike missed her deadpan.

“It would be my honor, Kara,” he said, aiming for gallant and charming but coming off as more than a little creepy.

Kara sighed, shifting in her seat to face Mike and motioning for him to lean closer.

“Mike,” she began slowly, watching as the beginnings of a smile formed on Mike’s lips, “that is absolutely, undeniably the worst idea I’ve ever heard. It also sounds predatory.” Her hands clenched and she knew her eyes had hardened because Mike’s smile was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed look, as if he couldn’t understand her anger. “Lena’s my best friend, not some prey to be baited into dating me. So if you don’t mind, keep yourself and your lousy ideas away from me and Lena.” She gave him a harsh smile, watching in satisfaction as he nearly stumbled in his rush to get away.

It was only a minute later when Alex took the seat Mike had abandoned, a questioning look on her face.

“You look like you’re ready to punch someone,” Alex said cheerfully, attempting to defuse the tension, make Kara smile. It worked.

“He says he’s given up, that’s something.”

“Oh? Finally realized it was a lost cause?”

“Apparently Lena is too much competition for him.” It was the first time Kara ever tacitly admitted her feelings for Lena, the first time she acknowledged it aloud, and admitting it now to her sister felt a little like a rush of fresh air, clean and crisp and carefree. Alex smiled, thankfully not making a big deal of it, reaching out to squeeze Kara’s shoulder gently.

“Come on,” she said. “Maggie beat me once at pool and she’s become insufferable. You have to beat her, deflate a bit of that ego.”

“You can’t beat your own girlfriend?”

“Honestly? I think the competitiveness is cute. And she looks so happy.”

“But you want me to beat her?”

“If you do it, she won’t be upset with me.”

Kara stared at her sister for a moment, grateful and a little jealous all at once, then laughed, not for the first time, ridiculously glad for Alex Danvers.

x

Amongst their friends it was a well-known fact that Kara and Lena did not fight.

This was strange for several reasons. For one, not fighting did not mean there was any shortage of disagreements. In fact, Kara and Lena disagreed on a great deal (“No, Lena, you can’t just write off someone because of something he’s done in the past. People can change, they can choose to be better”) and were often seen in the middle of quiet, measured, and passionate debates (“I understand your position, Kara, but I can’t just ask my brother to give someone a job, it’s unethical and she’s not even in a STEM field”). For another, as their majors and hobbies and interests drew them further apart, it was always assumed that distance would crop up in their relationship, adding pressure to an already precarious situation (“Come on, Kara, how long are you just going to pine after Lena before you realize something’s got to give?”).

And yet they did not fight.

Their disagreements were just that: disagreements. More than once, Maggie commented on how easy it was for Lena and Kara to resolve their conflicts, talking through their issues within the hour it cropped up, nipping it in the bud expertly and efficiently.

(When Winn asked for their secret, Kara had laughed. “It’s simple,” she’d said, patting Winn on the shoulder. “There’s two rules: never lie and never allow issues to fester.”

“Kara, you make it sound like that’s easy,” he’d said, rolling his eyes. Lena, who was arguing with Maggie over the choice in wine—not quite willing to go another night with the cheap brand Maggie bought from the supermarket, ignoring Maggie’s protests that they all tasted the same anyway—took the time to grin over at Winn and Kara, shaking her head fondly.

“It’s not easy,” she’d informed Winn. “But it’s worth it.”

“Totally worth it,” Kara had echoed, not hearing Maggie’s mumbled get a room.)

Thus, no one was more surprised by their fight the week before Christmas than Kara and Lena.

“What do you mean you go home for Christmas?” Kara demanded, arms crossed over her chest, unable to help the hitch in her voice.

(She was angry. Never lie, she’d told Winn, turning out to be a joke.

Except no, she was hurt, and she wasn’t used to that when it came to Lena, had never looked at her and thought, ouch.)

“Come on, Kara. It’s not that big of a deal—”

“—you’ve been going home these past two years, to your mom, and you’ve been telling me you spend Christmas with Lex. Why would you lie?” Kara’s interruption didn’t go over well. Rather than respond, Lena’s lips twisted, her eyes narrowed. Kara hadn’t seen her this displeased since she’d made a B in an inorganic chemistry class.

“I don’t have to discuss every single little thing I do with you, Kara,” she finally said, and by the way her eyes widened—the way she immediately stepped forward, as if to take what she said back—she regretted her words as soon as they came out of her mouth.

(Later, Kara will wonder why the comment felt like something piercing her between the ribs, why it felt like a blow to the middle, leaving her breathless and heaving for air. She’ll wonder why it hurt so much when logically she understood that Lena didn’t need to share every detail of her life—Kara certainly didn’t, hadn’t told Lena about that balloon of emotion in her chest every time she even looked at Lena.

Later, Kara will wonder if this was what being heartbroken felt like.)

“I see,” she muttered, raising her chin and stepping back when Lena looked like she was about to reach out. “You’re right.” (She was. After all, Kara hadn’t told Lena about her feelings, feelings she shoved away, torn between it never being the right time to confess and the certainty that a confession would only serve to break them apart.) “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Kara—”

But for the first time, Kara didn’t listen.

They didn’t talk again until they both returned to campus, at which point they both pretended the argument never happened.

(Never allow issues to fester, she’d told Winn.

Well that turned out to be a joke too.)

x

“As far as electives go, it’s not the worst,” Lena graciously conceded, attempting and failing to wink over at Kara from across the table. Alex—visiting for the weekend—snickered before pretending to choke on a potsticker when Kara glared at her. “I’ve actually learned a lot.”

“The humanities are boring, Luthor, admit it. You crave labs and the thrill of discovery and late nights with nothing but coffee, microscopes, and Jack’s suffocating cologne.”

(Kara turned her head, suddenly overly interested in the baseball game on the television, not wanting Lena—or worse, Alex—seeing her grimace.

Pfft Jack. He was…annoyingly decent and frustratingly kind. Jack was Jack and Kara didn’t question it when Lena said he’d asked her out on a date after long months spent working in the same lab, didn’t mention her late night confession back in high school, didn’t ask Lena if she was sure when she said she wanted to give him a chance.

Because Jack…he made Lena smile.)

“Go back to your formaldehyde soaked apartment, Alex,” Kara scoffed when she realized she’d been silent too long—long enough that Alex was looking at her knowingly and Lena seemed a little bit concerned. “Don’t you have slides to study?”

“I take a break from studying for you and this is how I’m treated?” Alex said in mock offense, leaning back exaggeratedly and placing a hand over her heart. “I’ll have you know, medical school is no joke.”

“Then go back, I’m sure all your professors are missing you,” Kara muttered, dragging her finger through the condensation that had gathered on her glass. She flicked the water over at Alex, narrowing her eyes when it just made her sister grin.

“You could’ve stuck with physics, you know. No one forced you to change your major.” Except, judging from Alex’s eyes and the uptick of her right eyebrow, that wasn’t what she was saying at all. It was more like you could tell Lena and put yourself out of your misery or maybe something like stop moping already and eat the last potsticker.

“I like my major,” Kara said, leaning back in her chair. And judging from Alex’s resigned expression, she’d read that to mean stop meddling in my life.

“I hate it when the two of you have your silent conversations,” Lena said suddenly, pulling Kara and Alex out of their stare off. “You’re not as sneaky as you like to think. There’s too much eyebrow wiggling and sighing.”

“You sound jealous, Luthor,” Alex said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, Kara likes you too.”

“That wasn’t what I—”

“—speaking of electives,” Kara interrupted, already tired of Lena and Alex’s faux arguing, a habit they’d formed since Alex went off to medical school and Lena asked Lex to push LuthorCorp towards investing more in biomedical engineering. “I have to go rewrite my story.”

“Yeah, I still don’t get that. Why are you rewriting your assignment?”

“Kara decided our professor was wrong in assigning the prompt in the first place. But with the threat of a failing grade looming over her head, she’s finally willing to see reason,” Lena explained, smiling over at Kara fondly, apparently terribly amused by Kara’s show of protest.

Alex, clearly deciding that today was the day she wanted to settle once and for all who knew Kara best, just raised an eyebrow and looked steadily at Kara.

“What was the prompt?” she asked softly, like she knew, without having any of the details, exactly what was twisting in Kara’s chest and why she was willing to nearly fail—why she’d rather fail.

“We’re supposed to write something that ends tragically. It’s supposed to be a homage to naturalism.”

“That’s not quite the prompt, Kara, you’re—”

“—so we weren’t supposed to have a unhappy ending for our characters?” Kara said, cutting Lena off more harshly than she intended. She turned away from Lena’s hurt expression and focused on Alex, unable to meet her sister’s eyes.

“Oh, Kara,” she said after a moment. “It’s just a story.”

“That’s not the point, Alex,” Kara said, arms crossed over her chest. She knew Alex was getting so much more from that one comment, reading in-between the lines and understanding just how deep it went.

“I know,” Alex said, and it broke Kara’s heart because Lena just seemed confused—when normally, she was the first to notice something was wrong.

x

James Olsen was…gosh, he was James Olsen.

He was kind and generous and brave and he dragged Clark right back into her life, and when he spoke Kara thought her knees would give way because gosh he was James Olsen.

He was sweet and passionate and could make her laugh with ease, and he was late for work the day they met because apparently she made the bestcoffee he’d ever had and he couldn’t believe his best friend’s cousin worked at the café down the street for nearly a month without his knowing.

“It’s fate,” he said, grinning as he tossed several twenties into the tip jar, much to the glee of Kara’s coworkers. “I’ll see you later, Kara,” he added and made it sound charming and not creepy like Kara was used to (because it was a question, a request, made confidently and kindly, with all the promise of respecting her wishes and boundaries).

(And Clark was grinning next to him, his eyes sad as he looked at her but the hint of a promise on his lips, a whisper of things changing as he murmured a quick and awkward goodbye.

Clark, who left her. Clark, who was back again thanks to James Olsen.)

James Olsen…James Olsen made her heart flutter, made her stomach fill with butterflies, made her feel heard and respected and important. He took her around Metropolis, on his daily attempts to snap a quick picture of whatever caught his interest, telling her all about what it was like working with Clark and Lois and Perry White—telling her about the Daily Planet and finding a home behind the lens of his camera. He spoke of his father, of his admiration for all those who gave everything to help others, his hope that one day he could do the same.

And Kara…she told him about Alex, about missing Clark sometimes even if she was still furious that he left her behind, she told him about her parents and the lab her father worked in, the cases her mother poured over at nights pausing long enough only to make sure to tuck her in. She told him about how she’d wanted to follow her parents’ footsteps, wanted to help people, wanted to do something important with her life.

She told him about her Aunt Astra—how she wanted to see her again, wanted to find out why she did what she did, if she regretted her actions, if she felt guilty that she ruined Kara’s life.

She told him about Eliza and Jeremiah and how much she loved them.

She told him about moving to Metropolis and how she’d imagined it would be the next big adventure, that coming here would change everything—help her find her place.

She did not tell him about Lena.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t admit that Lena had a permanent place next to Alex in her heart, couldn’t tell James that Lena was a constant before and after her parents—a grounding point, an anchor. She couldn’t confess that Lena held her hand throughout all her anger at Clark, all her mixed feelings over her Aunt Astra, didn’t even know how to say that Lena was her family as much as Eliza and Jeremiah.

She didn’t even say that the move to Metropolis was for Lena, for them to remain together in some way even while she was off rising in the ranks in her brother’s company. She…she couldn’t even begin to verbalize what it felt like to watch Lena slip away, for their daily lunches and texts to dwindle down to nothing in weeks, for Kara to hear Lena apologetically say she just didn’t have the time to come to game night, even if Alex had gone out of her way to visit.

Kara told James about every big thing in her life, but she couldn’t talk about the biggest, and when she kissed him for the first time—the night he brought her Chinese and ice cream to cheer her up after she’d texted him to say that she hadn’t gotten the job at the Daily Planet like she wanted—she couldn’t help but think that it wouldn’t be right if she fell for him because she was rather sure Lena’s shadow would always hang over her.

But James was James, and when he kissed her back, she fell anyway.

x

It took months before Lena met James.

(It wasn’t weird that her best friend didn’t seem all that interested in meeting her boyfriend. It wasn’t strange that Winn took more interest in her love life than Lena, her best friend. It didn’t bother Kara at all that Alex flew in and spent a day with Kara and James before Lena even acknowledged that Kara had a boyfriend.

She was busy. Kara understood.)

Her tiny apartment—that she was barely able to afford with her meager salary from the café and the few random freelance articles she’d written—was full to the brim with only a handful of people. James was busy grabbing plates and glasses from the cupboard, chatting with Winn as he did so, discussing an article Clark had written with Lois. Lena and Alex were on the couch, arguing over bioethics concerns coupled with the rapid advancement in medicine. Kara leaned against the doorway, watching them for a moment, smiling at Alex’s impassioned speech for more regulation as well as Lena’s counterpoints that innovation could never be curbed.

It was nice, this moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to witness Lena and Alex’s arguing, both of them throwing around words that eventually went over Kara’s head—even if she’d studied the sciences in college. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to see Lena’s wide smile.

Kara stiffened at the thought, at the longing she felt, and with a guilty glance back at James, she shuffled over to the window, opening it as far as it would go, and climbing through it, dropping down onto the metal fire escape. The cool night air calmed her somewhat, but not as much as the sounds of honking cars and indecipherable voices, the rattle of a train somewhere in the distance, the sound of music coming from one of the lower apartments.

“Oh, there you are,” James said, sticking his head out of the window and smiling. It was charming and cute and he was so perfect for her. She loved him so much. “I was wondering where you went off to, and there aren’t a lot of hiding placing in your apartment.” He smiled wider at his little joke, joining her on the fire escape, looking down at her like he always did: like she was the most important thing he’d ever seen. And Kara wondered if she was somehow broken, because she deserved this, she did. She deserved someone who would always be with her and always take her needs and wants into account. And yet…yet all she could think about was how James deserved better than her—that he offered more than she ever could, and she’d dragged him far enough behind her for it to be cruel and wrong.

“James, I—” She stopped when he shook his head, still smiling and still looking at her like she was the most important thing he’d ever seen, even as his eyes filled with understanding and his shoulders slumped with resignation.

“It’s Lena, isn’t it?” he asked, no real bitterness in his tone, just quiet acceptance. “I guessed, you know? From the start,” he explained, chuckling mirthlessly at her look of shock, leaning against the railing and turning to look up at the sky. “You avoided talking about her so much I knew you either hated her or loved her, and I don’t think you’re capable of hate. But I was sure when I saw you look at her tonight.”

“She’s my best friend,” Kara said haltingly, wanting to hug James or lean into his warmth or use his shoulder to steady herself, knowing that none of those things were appropriate anymore. “I thought I just needed—I thought if I…I don’t know what I thought.” She was quiet for a moment, choosing to look through the window and watch Winn join Alex and Lena’s debate, Winn saying something that made them all laugh. “Is it really so obvious?”

“For someone who’s looking for it? Yeah, it’s pretty obvious,” James told her, knocking his shoulder lightly with hers, prompting her to look at him. “You know, she feels the same way.”

No, Kara didn’t know, barely considered the possibility. But her heart thumped at the very thought.

“Even if she did, she’s…I don’t think she has the time for a relationship.”

“She’s your best friend, Kara,” James said, accepting her point easily. “If anyone knows her it’s you.”

She nodded, but boy, Kara didn’t think that was true anymore.

“Do you think that job in National City is still open?” she asked suddenly, avoiding his eyes when she noticed concern begin to flood his features.

“Kara,” he began, “I don’t know if running away is the answer.”

“It’s not running away. I’m—I thought I’d find something here. I thought being closer to Clark, being in Metropolis would help me find what I’m looking for. But it wasn’t. And Alex is in National City,” she tacked on at the end, as if it would settle the issue. In many ways it did though, and James knew it.

“It’s still running away,” he told her softly, not really arguing but just pointing out a truth. “If she’s your best friend, what are you so afraid of?”

(And oh leave it to James to get to the heart of the issue, to look at her and understand and not let her get away with deflections and excuses like Alex tended to. She was afraid. Of what, Kara wasn’t quite sure. Maybe that Lena wouldn’t feel the same way. Maybe that it would change something between them. Maybe that it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back and Lena’s flimsy presence in her life would disappear entirely.

Maybe it was just that every time Kara wanted to confess, she thought about how Lena didn’t believe in love at all and it broke her heart.)

“Are you upset with me?” Kara asked weakly instead of answering James, and though he gave her a look that clearly said he knew what she was doing, he indulged her anyway.

“No,” he answered, having paused long enough that Kara knew he’d put real thought into it, had searched his feelings for any hint of anger or bitterness, a slight tinge of surprise in his voice when he found none. “No, I knew what I was getting into, even if I hoped I was wrong. So it’s not like you led me on or anything.”

“I’m so sorry, James.”

“Don’t be,” he said, waving her off, his voice slightly gruff—like he was holding back some sort of emotion. “Can I just—would it be weird to ask one thing?” When she shook her head, James cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “If you met me before her, if you’d never met her at all—” He stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave a firm shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment. “What ifs don’t matter.”

Kara studied him sadly, from the stiffness of his shoulders to the fixed smile on his lips, and she felt something in her break.

“Can we—can we just stay out here for a while?” she asked in a low voice, knowing that returning inside would make this all real, all permanent, would mean that there would never be any going back. And James—soft, kind, generous, and gentle—gave her a real smile before wrapping and arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer to him, his warmth shielding her from the nip of the night air, his presence as sturdy and strong as ever.

“However long you need, Kara,” he whispered into her hair.

And they stayed out there for what felt like ages before Alex came to collect them, brows furrowed and expression concerned.

x

She was still on her phone as she sat down across from Kara at the café she’d chosen—a fancy place Kara normally would never have stepped in under her own volition—but before Kara had the chance to feel annoyed, she shoved the phone away and smiled brilliantly at her, and things were fine again.

Until she spoke, at least.

“Kara! It’s been so long, I am so sorry, things at work just got—”

“I know, Lena. Lex put you in charge of R&D, that’s huge.”

(She tried not to sound bitter, but she was rather sure she mostly failed because Lena was looking at her oddly, hurt at Kara’s tone. But the thing was, Kara was furious. She only found out about Lena’s promotion through Clark and an article he’d written about LuthorCorp. Even worse, when he’d asked if she could get into contact with Lena and see if she would be willing to sit down for an interview—something that might’ve made Perry White see reason and give her another chance for an entry-level job at the Daily Planet—she’d gotten nothing in reply. Not even a text back.

She remembered a time when they couldn’t go two days without talking. Now they were going months without a single word between them.)

“Kara, are you—”

“I have news of my own,” Kara interrupted, smiling wide and knowing it likely seemed forced, knowing because it felt forced. “It’s why I was so insistent we get coffee.”

“Oh?” Lena asked, giving Kara that smirk she loved so much. “Did you get that job at the Tribune you wanted?”

Kara blinked.

“No. No, they turned me down nearly a year ago.” It had been one of the first jobs she’d applied to upon arriving at Metropolis. And though she’d thought Lena had been the one to bring her potstickers to cheer her up, she now realized that had been Clark and Lois, the two of them cheerfully tearing down everyone at the Tribune just to make her laugh.

(Had she just inserted Lena into her memory? Imagined her there to offer comfort because Lena had always been there before? Was she sick? She was rather sure there was an entire season of Grey’s Anatomy devoted to Izzie seeing things.)

“Oh,” Lena muttered, looking as shocked as Kara felt.

“It’s not a big deal,” Kara hastened to say, both not liking the look on Lena’s face or the dark path her thoughts were winding down.

“Isn’t it though? The next thing you’ll tell me is you married James.”

She was going for a joke, Kara knew that. But boy, did the comment hit her like a truck. For a moment, she could barely breathe.

“Actually,” she struggled to say, “we broke up a few months ago.”

“Kara,” Lena said, eyes now so wide that it was comical. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kara let out a loud and undignified laugh, but it was better than letting out the sob that threatened to break free.

“Alex said she thought you weren’t listening to your voicemails. Guess she was right.”

“I-I’ve been in the lab,” Lena stuttered through her shock. “I didn’t realize—I’ve been—Kara, I’m so—”

“It’s fine,” Kara stressed, waving off Lena’s pleas and smiling at her. “That’s not why I asked you to coffee either. You see, I did get a better job—”

“—that’s amazing, Kara, I had every confidence you would, you’ll make a wonderful reporter—”

“—as Cat Grant’s personal assistant,” Kara finished, speaking over Lena.

“Sorry, what?”

“Apparently Ms. Grant has gone through four assistants in four months. Clark and James think that if I can hold the job for a few years, I could move up. Get a job as a writer for Ms. Grant’s magazine.”

“That’s hardly hard-hitting journalism, Kara, it’s not what you wanted—”

“—no, but I have to be realistic. Perry White was never going to give me a job. CatCo might.”

“It’s in National City,” Lena pointed out suddenly, as if this would put an end to whatever argument they were having.

“I know. That was my second bit of news, actually.” She paused for effect. “I’m moving!”

Lena didn’t look as thrilled as Kara hoped she’d be.

“You’re what? When?”

“I’m moving,” Kara repeated, checking her watch surreptitiously. “Alex and I are making a road trip out of it. She flew in last night and we’re leaving in a few hours. She likes to drive at night.”

“You’re leaving? Tonight?” She looked hurt by that and Kara felt guilty for only a moment before her anger and frustration returned. (Never lie, never let issues fester—that was how they managed to never fight, for their arguments to get settled quickly and efficiently, without much hurt on either side. But Lena was lying and Kara was allowing issues to fester and she was rather sure the resulting implosion was inevitable. Needed, even.) “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Why don’t you ever call me back?” Kara returned flatly, getting to her feet. “You’re my best friend, Lena. You always will be. But I’m unhappy here, moving to National City is a good choice for me.”

(It felt like they were breaking up. But that was ridiculous. They hadn’t been dating in the first place.

She idly wondered why no one had ever mentioned that losing your best friend hurt worse than losing a boyfriend.

She idly wondered if her position was unique because she was losing Lena.)

Lena got to her feet as well, and for a glorious moment Kara imagined a scenario in which Lena kissed her senseless, in which she grabbed Kara’s hands and fought to make her stay, in which she swore she’d stop being so distant, so faraway even in the moments they were together. But the moment passed quickly and Kara crashed down to reality when Lena only offered her a weak smile.

“Don’t lose touch, okay?” Lena said, playing with her watch and staring at the table. She made an awkward movement, almost like she wanted to pull Kara into a hug, but stopped halfway and just remained motionless. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t just so sad.

Kara ignored the question, gathered all her courage, and placed a soft and brief kiss on Lena’s cheek.

“Bye, Lena.”

(Lena didn’t chase her down as she left the coffee shop, didn’t find her huddled in an alleyway, wiping her cheeks furiously, didn’t even come by hours later, as Kara found every excuse to delay their trip National City and Alex continued to give her pitying looks.

And by the time they were on the highway, Kara staring out her window without speaking, that goodbye felt rather permanent.)

x

She rather thought that National City was good for the soul.

It was sunny in National City, the people seemed livelier, kinder, warmer. And even if Cat Grant was in one of her terrible moods—which she was in at least once a day, usually because someone from photography and layout had messed something up—Kara could always count on sticky buns from Noonan’s to cheer her right up. (Not Cat, obviously. Cat wouldn’t touch one of those buns with a ten-foot pole. No, the sweet was for Kara.)

She had Sister Night in National City, a job she usually adored and a goal she was determined to reach, an apartment she loved, and wonderful new friends.

Kara was happy.

Really.

“Kara, I’m watching that. Stop changing the channel.”

“Why do you need to watch the news, don’t you get enough of it from Maggie?”

(Another thing National City had? A chance for Kara to witness her sister’s happiness. She’d broken things off with Maggie sometime during medical school, but had run into the newly minted detective and things had apparently just…worked out. Alex was smiling all the time, and it was beautiful.)

“Just because you avoid everything that has to do with Lena—”

“—I don’t do that,” Kara denied, shaking her head quickly and vehemently.

“—doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do my research so that I can destroy her when she visits. She’s got to know her brother’s company does more harm than good.”

“Do you talk to her?” Kara found herself asking despite herself. It was stupid. She knew it would just hurt if Alex said yes and bum her out if Alex said no. It was a no-win situation and she hated herself for it.

“Only when she visits. And you know she always wants to see you too, but you keep acting surly.”

“Sorry if I expect my best friend to care about me more often than only when she’s in National City to oversee something at a branch of LuthorCorp.”

“You’re both ridiculous, I hope you know that,” Alex said happily, turning the television off once she noticed Kara’s grimace. “She’s your best friend.”

“She didn’t come after me.”

“You know she can’t run in heels,” Alex joked, and Kara struggled to keep her impassive expression, “that’s not her fault.”

“She hasn’t tried reaching out.”

“Because you’ve shut her out,” Alex countered, referring to the almost weekly trips Lena made to National City the first month after Kara moved. Each time, Kara had said she was busy with work and couldn’t get away, and Lena would leave with only a text goodbye.

And then those had stopped too, the visits. The calls and the texts became rare enough that it was almost as if they had stopped.

At times, Kara thought if it weren’t for the occasional press conferences Lena gave in her brother’s place, she wouldn’t have even known Lena was healthy and happy.

“Come on, Kara,” Alex continued, “you’re older than her, you’ve got to be the mature one.”

“I’m only older by three months!” Kara huffed, throwing herself onto the couch and staring hard at the ceiling. “Besides, distance is good. Great, even. More than necessary. We were too dependent on each other.”

“Right, and my hair is green,” Alex deadpanned, leaning over Kara and shaking her hair in Kara’s face, as if to show off her auburn locks. “For two smart people, you’re both being really stupid.”

“You’re being really mean. Like Ms. Grant mean, and that’s just sad, Alex.”

“Shut up and move over, if you’re not going to let me watch the news, you might as well put on a movie.”

Kara did as she was told, only half-heartedly listening to Alex’s running commentary on the film she’d put on, finally breaking after half an hour—much to Alex’s very obvious amusement.

“I miss her,” Kara admitted in a soft voice.

Alex’s expression fell, and she pulled Kara into a hug.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, voice full of something Kara couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Have you tried drawing her and puppies to feel better?”

“No ice cream for you,” Kara muttered while Alex apologized for her joke, but she was hiding a smile in Alex’s shoulder, so she supposed her sister wasn’t very sorry at all.  

x

She’d begun to think something might be wrong when the name ‘Luthor’ appeared in the news more often than normal.

The family was always in some way making news. Whether it was funding research for a cure to a rare disease or a shady business deal with a foreign company, LuthorCorp and by extension the three Luthors in charge, was consistently in the public eye. It wasn’t always good, but it was never obviously bad, either.

Until, however, Lex seemed to go off the rails entirely.

It started slow, slow enough that at first Kara didn’t even notice in between watching news clips while waiting for Ms. Grant’s coffee. There was an odd article about abnormal contracts with weapon manufacturers. Then, there was a report or two about odd—if not outright strange—transactions with certain individuals that any wise businessman wouldn’t touch.

About a year after Kara moved to National City, the Daily Planet published an explosive article that LuthorCorp was secretly funding a weapon production program and selling said weapons to various third parties.

Six months after that, Lex was arrested on a vast array of charges, Lillian Luthor stepped away from the company, and Lena was named CEO and took on the brunt of the backlash as LuthorCorp basically went up in flames.

And for the first time in about eight months, Kara heard from Lena:

Clark did all the legwork for the article.

And well, Kara was quite familiar with the sensation of her family members destroying things she loved, and it didn’t come as a shock at all.

x

Kara eyed her new office apprehensively, leaning against the far wall and staring at her empty desk with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She was thrilled, she was, she’d been eyeing a job like this since she arrived in National City, but now that she had it….

It was a little anticlimactic. She’d called Alex and her sister had been appropriately overjoyed for her, as were Eliza and Jeremiah, and yet something felt missing. Something felt wrong.

(She stared at her phone, at the news notifications about LuthorCorp’s move to National City and their planned rebranding, and she tried to pretend that had nothing to do with how she felt at this moment.

She tried and she failed.)

“Ready for lunch?” Alex asked from behind her, eyes kindly averted, choosing to stare at her nails instead of the look of panic that quickly took over Kara’s expression when she continued scrolling through the articles and stopped at what must have been the most recent photo of Lena, looked ragged and annoyed as she shoved her way past reporters to get into her building here in National City.

The caption below the photo wasn’t flattering.

“Have you seen her yet?” Kara asked, knowing Maggie was waiting for them at some vegan restaurant, wanting to celebrate Kara’s promotion. Alex continued to stare at her nails and Kara continued to think that was rather kind of her.

“Why? Will my answer change what you plan on doing?”

“What do you think I’m planning on doing?”

“Honestly?” Alex asked, finally looking up and eyeing Kara critically. “I think you’re going to keep pretending you’re not missing her.” She hooked her arm through Kara’s and dragged her out of the empty office, pulling her towards the elevators. “When you wanted to leave Metropolis, I was glad. I hated seeing you waste your life away in a coffee shop just because you wanted to be near Lena.” As the elevator doors slid shut, Alex leaned heavily into Kara’s side, head resting on her shoulder. “You were right. You did need to learn to live your own separate life from Lena, but now that you have, just go see your best friend. She needs you.”

“What about the vegan restaurant? Maggie is waiting,” Kara protested, resisting weakly when Alex tugged her into CatCo’s lobby and then out into the street. “We were going to celebrate.”

“Don’t act like you’re not excited to miss out on this restaurant,” Alex said with a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to Kara’s cheek, a halfhearted attempt to make sure there were no hard feelings between them. “Go home, Kara. Think about what you’re planning. Then go see Lena.” Then, without giving Kara a chance to argue, Alex shoved her lightly in the direction of her apartment and then turned on her heel, walking briskly away in the opposite direction.

And Kara went home, fully intending to drown all her doubts and sorrows in a pint (or two) of ice cream.

Or at least, what was what she intended. She never really got the chance; by the time she’d changed into her comfort pajamas, a thick blanket thrown over her shoulders, and was digging through her freezer for that ‘rainy day’ ice cream, there was a knock on her door. Grumbling and annoyed, because of course Alex wouldn’t trust her enough to believe she would actually listen to her sister’s advice (for good reason, she supposed, considering her current state), Kara practically stalked towards her door, throwing it open with more force than necessary, eyes pressed tightly shut.

“Alex, you need to let me have my night to mope, can’t your lecture wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry,” said someone with a voice that decidedly didn’t belong to Alex. “It’s a bad time, this was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have come.”

Kara’s eyes flew open, and before her visitor had the chance to step back, Kara had reached out for a hug—it was instinct, it was habit, it was just what she did. And when she got her hug back, mismatched edges seemed to finally slot into place, and Kara felt like she could breathe again.

“It’s always a good time for you,” Kara said into Lena’s ear, unable to help her wide grin.

x

“Come on, Lena. Feel the burn! Enjoy the burn! If it hurts, that’s how you know it’s working!” Kara called over to Lena, watching her struggle with mild amusement. She’d suggested morning jogs as a joke initially, but Lena had taken to the idea with surprising eagerness, something Kara was rather sure she regretted now, in between all the heaving breaths and the sweaty hair. She wondered if Lena still thought it was a good way for them to rebuild their friendship.

“I…can’t…believe…” Lena managed to say between gasps, bending over with her hands on her knees and head practically in her chest. “…people…do this for…fun.”

“I could carry you on the way back if you like.”

“This isn’t a joke, Kara,” Lena said, looking over at her with narrowed eyes. “You killed me. I’m dead. Say goodbye to the last sane Luthor, please don’t let my obituary be too embarrassing.” She straightened as she spoke, stretching out her back and arms and Kara was a little bit distracted to immediately respond.

“Don’t say that,” she finally found the voice to admonish. “Of course your obituary will be embarrassing. I’ll write about the time we snuck into the art room to fix an assignment you’d already made a perfect on.”

“I didn’t know it’d already been graded, Kara,” Lena said, not looking particularly glad that this had been brought up. Kara wondered if she remembered the way they’d giggled as they escaped the school building, tangling pinkies and swearing they’d never bring it up again. “It was ugly, what sort of person gives perfect marks on something so ugly?”

“Well, I thought you were adorable,” Kara said without thinking, grimacing as she registered her own words, “I mean—not adorable, but um, adorably criminal.”

“It was my Luthor genes shining through,” Lena joked, winking when Kara rolled her eyes. “I’m ready to go now, you don’t have to go so slow because of me,” she added when Kara jogged in place, staring out into the park—looking at the couple walking their dog and the old woman sitting on a bench reading the newspaper. Kara laughed, listening to Lena’s heavy breathing, and shook her head.

“Oh shucks, look at that, my shoes are untied,” Kara said in mock surprise, leaning down and untying her shoelaces before taking her time to tie them up again. She took extra care in making sure everything was tight, going as far as to untie and retie her right shoe—just in case. And when she looked back up, Lena was staring at her with a mix of fondness and confusion.

“Back in Metropolis,” she began.

“Lena, I don’t—”

“—I avoided you. I wasn’t working all the time, I could’ve seen you more often but I…” she trailed off, frowning. “And I didn’t realize how much that could hurt until you avoided me. When you left. And I’m sorry.”

“Why were you avoiding me?”

Lena blinked, looking like she hadn’t expected the question, but surely she should have. She’d brought it up, she made it a point to apologize. Of course Kara would want more explanation.

“How about a race?” Lena suggested, ignoring Kara’s question completely. “First one to the gate gets to choose breakfast?”

Kara’s grin was her only reply.

(Needless to say, she won the race. They ended up with sticky buns and coffee from Noonan’s, Kara regaling Lena with horror stories about needing pick-me-ups at all hours, depending on Cat Grant’s mood.

And the entire time her thoughts were a million miles away, wondering what would make Lena avoid her in the first place.)

x

“You know,” Lena said in between mouthfuls of pizza, “I never thought I’d say this, but reporters aren’t so bad.” She took a sip of her wine—the charm and sophistication of the action lost on Kara as Lena was drinking her wine out of a plastic cup—and smiled benignly. “There’s even one reporter I’d go as far as to say I like.”

“Oh really? Let me guess. She’s a dazzling cub reporter at CatCo. Golden hair, dazzling blue eyes, impeccable fashion taste?” Kara asked, grinning and pointing at herself exaggeratedly, not quite appreciating Alex’s snort or Maggie’s not-so-subtle shake of her head. She opened her mouth to tell off her sister and her sister’s girlfriend, but before she could, Lena smiled softly and derailed all of Kara’s thought processes.

“Well, I was going to say Lois Lane, but yes, you’re a close second.”

“A—a close second? To Lois?” Kara spluttered indignantly, mouth falling open in offense. “Was she the one to write stories about the phoenix-like rebirth of L-Corp and the CEO that spearheaded its rise? No. That was me. All me.”

“But that corruption article—” Lena said, not even bothering to hide her laughter as Kara stared at her in betrayal. “I’m joking,” she said when Kara went as far as to push her plate of pizza away, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. Alex snorted again. “Your articles are wonderful, I’m so grateful for them, Kara.”

“I didn’t write them as a favor,” Kara mumbled, turning her head and glaring at Alex, daring her to let out another snort. “I wrote them because it’s the truth. You rebuilt LuthorCorp from the ground up. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Ugh,” Alex cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “Come on, Maggie, that’s our cue to leave. They’re going to be gross again. Compliments thrown back and forth, no you hang up first,” she tacked on in an affected voice.

“You don’t give me any compliments,” Maggie said, almost petulantly, while Kara found herself unable to do much more than open and close her mouth repeatedly, no response ready on her lips.

“Shh, Maggie, it’s okay. It’s their foreplay.” Alex grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and dragged her out of the apartment, leaving Kara and Lena alone at the table.

“So,” Lena said, sipping calmly from her plastic cup of wine, “when do you think Alex will remember this is her apartment?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m going to steal all her vinyls.” She paused her plotting and stared at Lena thoughtfully. “Is Lois really your favorite reporter?”

“Of course not,” Lena scoffed, waving a hand, as charming, clever, and confident at twenty-eight as she’d been at eight years old, merely amplified by the years that had passed, still managing to leave Kara in awe with nothing but a smile. “You’re always my favorite, Kara. In everything.” The words brought her heart to a thudding stop. Her eyes were fixed on Lena’s lips.

(She was going to do it. She was going to stand and lean in, she was going to settle that voice in her head and that thrumming in her chest once and for all. She would know, know for sure how Lena felt, all she had to do was be brave in this single moment—gather all her courage and ask onesimple question, hope to whatever was out there that Lena would nod, would say yes, would dispel of words entirely and close the distance between them.

She was going to do it, she was going to do it.)

The door swung back open and Kara was rooted to her seat.

“Can you believe Alex forgot this was her apartment?” Maggie laughed as she approached the table, frowning as she took in Kara’s face and then Lena’s. “Are you two okay? You both look like you saw a ghost.”

“F-fine,” Kara stammered, tearing her eyes away from Lena’s lips and forcing a smile. “I just said I was going to steal all of Alex’s vinyls.”

“I heard that!” Alex called from the door, letting it swing shut behind her. “But you know, if you do manage to pull it off, it might even outdo the roof thing. But nothing can top the Paint Incident,” she tacked on dreamily.

Maggie and Lena laughed, familiar with both stories, and Kara sighed, unable to help it when her gaze flicked briefly over to Lena.

She felt her courage fade, felt the moment slip past her fingertips, and she couldn’t help but sigh. But when she did, it wasn’t Alex who looked at her quizzically and in worry. She was too busy rolling her eyes at something Maggie was saying. Instead, it was Lena who looked at her in concern, eyes wide and pleading—wordlessly asking if she was okay, back in sync for the first time in years.

(At the very thought, Kara felt much of that courage race right back.)

x

It was very late or very early, Kara wasn’t quite sure which, and she and Lena were lounging on the couch in Lena’s office, leaning heavily on each other, Lena’s work long forgotten. It’d been quite some time that they’d had nights (mornings?) like this, Lena calling her because she felt her world spiraling, and Kara the only one who could stop the spinning for even a moment. Sometimes there were tears, more often there was total silence, Lena tightly grasping her hand until Kara couldn’t feel her fingers anymore.

This morning (last night?), Lena had just buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, not saying a word for hours as Kara rubbed her back and muttered nonsense under her breath just hoping to ease whatever Lena was dealing with this time.

“Do you remember Jack?” Lena asked suddenly, bringing up her ill-fated whirlwind romance from their last year in college without prompting. Kara nodded hesitantly, wincing a little internally as she thought about all the anger she’d directed towards such a perfectly decent guy, wondering if she should call him up one day and apologize—admit she’d been jealous and she’d really had nothing against him. Then again, to admit that to Jack would mean she’d first have to admit those feelings to Lena, and she wasn’t quite sure if that would ever happen—at least, if her track record was any indication. “I really wanted things to work out with him. Thought if I could focus on him and my studies, I could forget about everything else.”

Kara’s breath hitched and she swallowed hard. Admittedly, it hurt to hear Lena say something like that. Because around that same time, Kara was feeling lost, had needed her best friend, and had been left unmoored and aimlessly floating away from shore in Lena’s absence. It hurt to hear that Lena’s distance had been intentional.

“Okay.”

“Are you going to ask why?”

“Would you answer?”

“I don’t know,” Lena admitted softly, tucking her head more comfortably under Kara’s chin.

“Why did you lie about where you were going for Christmas?” Kara asked instead, voice barely a whisper, unsure even now if she should bring it up. Lena stiffened slightly, then inhaled deeply, relaxing just as suddenly.

“My mother told me she wanted to make up, start over. She told me she knew she strained our relationship and wanted to fix it.”

“Did she?”

“No. As it turned out, she just wanted me to spy on Lex for her.” Lena cleared her throat and pulled away from Kara, shifting so that she was sitting on the very edge of the couch. “Besides, after working at LuthorCorp for a few months after graduation, it was obvious Lex was up to something, and it was obvious she was trying to hide his mess for him. She was just trying to use me as a pawn—I was disposable, you see.”

“You’re not disposable,” Kara immediately argued, not sure if she liked the way Lena laughed in response—like she found the comment inherently flawed, but couldn’t bring herself to explain just how wrong Kara was.

“I’m not sad, Kara,” Lena explained gently, shrugging when Kara looked at her in disbelief. “I’m not.” She shrugged again, seemingly not caring that Kara had been rendered speechless. “I’ve known what my mother is my whole life.” Her head tilted to the side, and she studied Kara so intently for a moment that Kara was sure she was reading every single secret Kara had buried away deep in her heart for safekeeping. “But then you just waltzed in one afternoon and forced my dad to take a stand.” She reached out and took Kara’s hand, squeezing tightly, eyes showing no hint of melancholy. And it was a beautiful sight. “I’m not sad, because whatever my mom has done, I’ve always known I had you.” She smiled then, something changing in her expression, something Kara sometimes saw in her own reflection. “You saved me from the day I met you. But it wasn’t till that afternoon that I realized you were my hero.”

“I’m not a hero. I’m just…me.”

“You’re my hero,” Lena said, grinning when Kara gave her another disbelieving look, finding it difficult to ignore the pounding of her heart, though she was giving it a valiant attempt. “Can I ask a question now?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you leave Metropolis?”

(And oh Kara felt her courage fail her at this critical moment. She felt it escape her in a flood, a mass exodus of bravery in the face of such overwhelmingly terrifying prospects. Because an admission could lead to reciprocation. It could lead to a moment she’d imagined again and again and again. Or it could lead to horrifying and awkward rejection, a friendship she treasured and missed dearly when it was out of reach—when it felt shattered beyond repair—becoming lost forever.

And oh Kara stared at Lena and she found she’d brave any enemy, any storm, any short, grubby, sniffling bully if only it meant she’d have a chance to keep Lena in her life.)

“It’s hard to get over someone when they’re in the same city as you,” she found herself saying, a non-answer that she thought said entirely too much. (Be brave, she thought. Be brave.)

“You and James were really good for each other,” Lena nodded, and it was the way she looked at the ground, the way she released Kara’s hand, the way she swallowed, the way her eyes grew sad that Kara finally, finally, saw what Alex had seen, what James had seen, what even gross Mike had seen. “It makes sense that he’s hard to get over,” Lena added, a pinched expression on her face, one that Kara caught even if most of Lena head was turned away.

(Be brave, she thought. Be brave.)

“Actually, Lena,” Kara began slowly, heart racing, “I wasn’t talking about James.” Lena turned to her in shock, eyes wide, and of course Kara began to ramble, stomach swooping up and down and feeling as if the blood rushing through her veins was on fire. “He was wonderful. He is wonderful, I mean. But he’s not wonderful for me. Does that make sense? I mean, he’s perfect. But it’s really hard to love someone the right way when you’re in love with someone else and I—”

“I was jealous of James!” Lena blurted, apparently quite surprised by her own interruption. “I couldn’t—I didn’t want to hear about him. I’d be jealous of anyone you were with. So I avoided you, because I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know if I could hide how I felt—”

“—I hated Jack,” Kara confessed. “And that girl from France, the one you met before we started college, I hated her on principle, and James told me I’m not capable of hate, but they had you and I hated them and—”

Lena interrupted her again, this time by grabbing her face and pulling her forward, her lips on Kara’s making it quite difficult to talk at all. It was awkward and needy and full of a pent-up sort of want and it made Kara’s head spin, it fried all her nerves, it left her permanently incapable of any sort of rational thought. Because Lena—her best friend, Lena—was kissing her.

“Wait, wait,” Kara said suddenly, pulling away from Lena’s kisses, unable to help her smile at Lena’s groan, “so are you anti-love?” Lena’s eyes, which had been closed, opened lazily, and she blinked at Kara in confusion, seemingly unsure what they were talking about. “You said you didn’t believe in love,” Kara elaborated, feeling her ears heat up because as far as she knew, she’d admitted she loved Lena, but Lena had just admitted feelings, and what if she was making a fool of herself, reading too much into one kiss—even if said kiss was as singularly mind-blowing as Lena’s?

“I was nineteen,” Lena admitted softly, and she reached out with a hesitant hand, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Kara’s face and then cupping her cheek, thumb rubbing idle patterns into her skin. Kara felt rather than directed her eyes to flutter shut, felt rather than directed her head to lean into Lena’s hand. “I was bitter because I’d fallen for my best friend and I didn’t think she’d ever feel the same way.”

“So not temporary and finicky?”

“Not in my experience, no.”

“You know, if you hadn’t said that, if you’d just waited ten seconds, I was going to tell you how I felt that day.”

Lena didn’t answer for so long that Kara opened her eyes, only to be met with impossibly soft eyes.

“That’s okay,” Lena said finally, leaning forward to press her forehead against Kara’s. “I sort of like how our story ended up anyway.” And when Lena closed the last of the distance between them, pulling Kara into another kiss (being brave never felt so good), Kara couldn’t help but agree.

x

The next time they all got together, Kara and Lena were holding hands and sneaking not-so-sneaky kisses and gazing adoringly at each other, and upon seeing it, Alex first pretended to gag before she laughed uproariously, demanded champagne in celebration, and told anyone who’d listen that she’d called it from the day she found out that Kara alternated her time between drawing puppies and Lena.

[hargrove-mayfields]

You’ve Set my Soul to Dreaming  Pt. 1

Christmas has always been Steve Harrington’s time to shine. 

It wasn’t that it was his favorite time of year; darkness falling at 5pm bummed him out, and the heat in his house was never good enough to stand up to the freezing, unpredictable Hawkins weather. Overall, he preferred the spring, when the sun was warm and the breeze was cool and the flowers were blooming. 

But festivity, that suited him well, and, probably more than anything, so did giving people things. In the non-physical sense, he always gave his all to ensure that everyone around him was happy. 

Whether that was a good character trait or a flaw on his part he had yet to decide, but nobody could say that Steve Harrington was selfish. Sometimes it felt like he gave so much away that there wasn’t even much of him left at all, so much as just who he tried to be for his friends, for his parents.

Literally though, he was the best at presents too. Maybe it was the unlimited bank account, or just the fact that he was so considerate, but everyone always loved what he bought, or made, in the case of the few exes who’d refused material possessions over a heartfelt, handmade gift. (ugh) 

That’s why, every year, he couldn’t help but buy as many presents as possible. For his mum, his friends, though the supply of those was getting rather sparse recently, the kids he babysat, their parents, the neighbors, the house keepers, his teachers, pretty much just anybody who he could possibly think of a reason to give them something got an expensive little novelty in hopes that he'd get to see their grateful reaction.

Sometimes he wondered if they just faked it to make him feel better about himself, but he kept doing it anyhow because it did make him feel better about himself, thank you very much. 

Especially because recently, there was a lot going on to feel not so good about.

This would mark the tenth year in a row that his parents flew out to the tropics, where it didn’t snow or reach temperatures even half as cold as Indiana, and that’d been fine and dandy for a while, since before, he was living in the childish daydream being home alone, and after that he’d always had someone to spend it with.

But this year, this year he’d be all alone, in his mansion big enough for half of the city’s population to fit inside, and he’d been feeling pretty lousy about it since they informed him of the trip in early December. 

That and the fact that he’d almost been killed a handful of times literally a month ago didn’t bode too well for his Christmas spirit. 

Steve Harrington didn’t back down from a little hardship though, so what if he was plagued by a sense of crippling loneliness and nightmares bad enough to keep him awake for days on end, that just wouldn't be enough to keep him from rising to the occasion. 

‘Tis the season to shove aside all that troubles you and put the needs of others before your own right? 

So the morning of the fifteenth, the last day before winter break, Steve does as he always does and ditches his books, opting to instead stuff his backpack full of presents. 

They’re wrapped terribly, he’s never been too good with his hands, and recently they’ve started to shake when he gets too nervous, so it’s kind of, lumpy, wrinkled, way too much wrapping paper on tiny boxes, but he’s happy with it. Even if he stabbed himself with the scissors about a million times and got tape in his hair trying to get them wrapped. 

Another of Steve’s holiday trademarks is ugly sweaters. He has exactly twenty five of them, one for every day leading up to Christmas, and he wears them religiously. 

These aren’t just any old tacky sweaters either, they’re homemade, the ugliest of the ugly. 

His gramma had done basically nothing but knit in her free time, so when she heard that her grandbaby wanted a Christmas sweater and couldn’t find one that wasn’t made out of wool, (side bar, he was extremely allergic, like, life-threateningly so) she made him enough to last him the entire month of December up to Christmas Day. 

Thank heavens she was terrible with sizes, so they all still fit if not just a little snugly even about 10 years after she made them. By now they were somewhat faded and pilled and riddled with loose threads, but they were soft as all hell and one of a kind, so he didn’t bother with replacing them. 

This particular morning he’d chosen a white sweater embroidered with tiny versions of his childhood poodle Charlie in her little Christmas hat, the first his gramma did without a pattern, and his absolute favorite. 

Maybe everyone else though it was dumb how into the whole thing he got, but nothing made him happier than pulling up to the school in a sweater from ‘74 with a bag full of overpriced knickknacks. 

Steve started his day by giving Jonathan and Nancy their gifts in the cafeteria before the first bell rang, since they wouldn’t all three see each other again throughout the rest of the day, and he could barely contain his excitement. 

Watching his friends carefully pull apart the crummy wrap job he’d done was probably one of the best feelings ever, in his opinion. Or maybe it was just the knowing that he’d put a thoughtful effort into making other people happy combined with the fact that he was using all that hoarded wealth that went towards nothing but funding his parents trips to bring someone a gift that would mean more to them than those wasteful luxuries. 

Whatever it was that compelled him so, it was enough that he had to stuff his hands in his pockets and bite his tongue to keep from making a fool of himself in front of the whole school while he waited for Nancy and Jonathan to open their presents. 

This year he’d reined the budget in a little, since last Christmas he’d gone just a little bit overboard with a $300 camera for Jonathan and a necklace and a ring for Nancy that cost him a 7th of his (very expensive) car payment. He still probably spent more than was considered normal, just not enough that his parents would notice the huge sum of money missing this time.

They didn’t have a whole lot of time before the bell would ring and they would split off to their respective classes, but it was enough that Steve got to see their reactions and revel in the hug Nancy gave him on behalf of the both of them. 

He’d opted to get Jonathan a bag for the camera he’d gotten him last year, since you never know when something could happen to it, and before he even had it all the way unwrapped, Jonathan was getting his camera out of the bag he already used to put it in the new one. 

Nancy got a bag this year too, but hers was a fancy designer thing he’d picked out of a catalog meant for his mother. He figured she’d need it for when she went off to college, or got the journalist job she’d been telling him about for a year and a half. 

Heading off for first period, he already felt the swell of pride that comes with the season, and he could not wait to hand out the rest. 

Perhaps another of his favorite parts was that, giving people things was the secret to saving his reputation when he was the way he was. 

Everyone knew Steve Harrington was the “up to no good” type, who bought weed off of the shady guys camping out at parties, and got in your daughters panties just to promptly break her heart, and who fails all of his classes and barely scrapes by in high school. 

But then he shows up in a hand knitted sweater and with a candy cane between his lips to spread his Christmas cheer, and suddenly all is forgiven, and he is transformed into the sweet Harrington boy who always gave the most thoughtful gifts. 

First on the list was Mrs. Click, the history teacher he’d been stuck with since sophomore year. 

History was by far his worst subject, and Mrs Click wasn’t the type to make sure you understood before she sprung a pass or fail pop quiz, so he’d failed her class twice. 

Even with how stupid she had to think he was, the bright smile on her bitter old face when he handed over the little box with a large Givenchy brooch inside meant that he’d earned his redemption for the third year in a row. 

Next was the tie-pin for Mr. Cook, the Spanish teacher, a little golden thing that had cost him more than he’d like to admit and earned him a pat on the back. He was good enough at remembering what he had to know in Spanish, but reading and speaking it? He might as well have been completely illiterate. 

His pronunciations were so poor that even the chunky ruby inlay was almost not enough to save face, but in the end his ego got its booster anyhow. 

The rest of the day went on like that: a bottle of Mon Parfum for Miss Foster, the English teacher, a SoundBand for the coach, a gift card to the most expensive store he could think of for Mrs.  Hall, and so and so forth, each giving him that same rush of confidence, a sense that he was doing something important until he was practically floating through the halls. 

By seventh period math, he’s only got two gifts left. A fancy pen set for Mr. Butler, and the other, well, the other one is for Billy Hargrove. 

Billy Hargrove who, only about a month ago, had beat his stupid face in and gave him a concussion he still wasn’t quite over, and who definitely wasn’t going to give him that giddy joy he usually got from giving gifts, but he still felt like he needed to extend a holly branch. 

Because the way he saw it, Billy couldn’t take all the blame for what went down, so why shouldn’t he be the one to try to apologize, be the bigger person and earn Billy’s respect through his shopping abilities like he did with everyone else. 

He knows it’s kind of poorly thought out, maybe even completely crazy to try to make a peace offering to a boy who could practically be called his bully, but he’s still not anticipating the fact that, when he walks down the third row of desks and holds out the little box wrapped in red paper for the other boy to take, Billy just sort of stares at him. 

Shaking it a little, like he’s trying to get the attention of a cat with a bag of treats, Steve sets the box down on Billy’s desk and retreats to his own seat a few aisles over. 

That’s where it stays until about halfway through the period, which is just a free day anyways, no 75 year old man in his right mind would make a room full of teenagers do algebra on the last day before Christmas break, when Billy finally leans forward and snatches the gift box off the polished surface.

Steve could try to pretend he’s not staring, vibrating in anticipation of Billy’s reaction to the gift, a silver zippo with Venetian engraving, but he’s caught when Billy, having dumped the lighter out of the box and into his hand, turning it over a few times, turns to look at him. 

There’s a look on his face that’s a cross between confusion and surprise and something unreadable, like maybe he’s trying to tell Steve with just a look that this was a mistake, and he’s going to kick his ass again as soon as the bell rings, but in a way he still thinks it’s worth it. 

Because Steve Harrington does not have enemies, no matter how many toes he steps on and things he does wrong, and maybe Billy won’t accept a fancy lighter as an apology, but at least he’ll know that he tried to make peace. 

Even after he turns his attention to the gossip circle running in front of him, Steve can feel Billy’s eyes on him. It’s borderline creepy, in Steve’s own opinion, but he supposes he can understand it. 

He might have been a little more grateful and not so stalkerish were he in the same situation, but, potato potahto. 

As soon as the bell rings Billy’s out of there like a bat out of hell. He’s up out of his seat before anyone else, halfway out the door and tossing a crumpled ball of red paper in the trash before the rest of the class could even blink. 

At first, Steve isn’t even sure that Billy didn’t throw the whole zippo away, but he sees it catch the light from where it’s held tight in Billy’s fist just before he disappears through the doorway completely. 

The fact that the lighter wasn’t in the bottom of the trash can was a good sign, but, this still didn’t bode all that well for a Christmas truce.

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