#steadily approaching a precipice. of some sort

[jawhole]

ykw. i understand

[karalovesallthegirls]

“Is this going to become unpleasant? Having Kara here?” “I’m not a child, Arthur. I can be in the same room as my ex-wife without causing a scene.”

“I know, dear, I know,” he soothes in that grating voice of his. “I just want you to be comfortable.” His grip on her arm is anything but. She smiles through the discomfort like always and places a hand affectionately on his chest. “I’m certainly not comfortable,” some old hag Lex invited chimes in. “I can’t believe they even let that creature in here.” It takes all of Lena’s self-restraint not to deck her clear across the face. To stand there with a placid smile while her present company disparage the woman she’d once vowed to have and to hold till death. It’s been a year since the divorce and it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“Now now, can we please be civil?” she hears behind her, and again she’s forced to focus all her energy on maintaining an air of indifference as her darling brother arrives. “That thing was Lena’s wife for a while, after all.” His smile is anything but kind, his figure imposing as he steps in close. “Yes, well,” Lena says with a passable smile, “we all make mistakes, right?” Arthur laughs and the hag laughs and Lex puts a brotherly arm around her to pull her in close, close enough to whisper against her ear without drawing attention, “Let’s not make anymore, hmm?”

He squeezes her so hard he nearly breaks skin.

-------------

Their story goes like this: They fall into a mad sort of love, one that consumes and surrounds and heals. They marry in the spring with flowers in their hair.

They finalize their divorce before the leaves brown and fall.

-------------

Lena manages to avoid Kara for most of the night.

Partially by her own efforts, partially from Arthur intervening. No one wants another Lena-Kara cat fight, not tonight at least. While it can be fun to watch the former spouses quibble over politics, tonight is meant to be a celebration honoring the most important thing in this world, something so important no drama should overpower it: Lex. Lex is running for senate. They announced it earlier in the week to great approval and support. Arthur figures he’ll spend a few years working the senate before making a bid for president. They’ve already written the campaign slogans.

“I’m so honored you all came here to join me for this momentous occasion,” he says, and he smiles at the crowd with equal parts affection and disgust, though perhaps only Lena can recognize that second part. “We stand here now at the precipice of a historic moment – an end to the horrendous occupation of our planet. To freedom from otherworldly invaders.” As if on cue, all eyes turn to Kara. The lone alien in a room full of bigots. Everyone knows who Kara is, of course. Even those who somehow missed the great identity reveal know her by her scars. Even in the face of hatred, she stands tall. Unwavering. Staring down the man who wishes for her demise.

“It’s amazing, the hubris. We can’t even have a moment’s peace at a banquet, can we?” Lex says, earning a round of laughter. Lena stares steadily ahead at him. She can’t stand to look at Kara right now. “I’m here as a concerned citizen, Mr. Luthor. Nothing more.” “Of course, as a citizen,” his voice drips with disdain. “Well then please, stay. I support all of my great state’s citizens. I’m a man of the people, after all. I represent all of my human constituents, but please. Enjoy the lobster.” The night moves past that temporary discomfort, and Lena almost finds herself settling into it when, of course, her ex-wife approaches.

“Mrs. Danvers,” Kara greets her, and she rolls her eyes like always. “Always a pleasure to see you.” “It’s Ms. Luthor now, Supergirl. Surely your alien memory can recall our divorce.” “My mistake. Sometimes I forget you’re really a Luthor,” she smiles, like she’s trying to joke with her. “You’ve got so much hair, after all. Your genes haven’t quite kicked in yet.”

Lena doesn’t smile. Doesn’t do anything more than stare. She can see Arthur in her peripheral vision stepping closer, but she holds a hand up to stop him. No need to cause a scene.

“Do you need something or are you just here to harass me?”

Kara just shakes her head, stepping back. “I apologize. Just wanted to say hello to an old friend before I left.”

“We aren’t friends, Supergirl. Feel free to leave now,” Lena sneers with a dismissive wave of her fingers. That is finally what does it – Kara gives her one forlorn glance before exiting the ballroom. The crowd around Lena snicker as she departs, and Arthur lays a too-large hand down on her shoulder.

"Security should have never let her in, love,” he says, genuinely apologetic. “What do you say we forget this unpleasantness and dance?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He takes her hand and leads her out to the dance floor and she smiles at him, with the burn of unshed tears at the back of her eye, and together they dance.

-------------

This is how their story plays out to the public: Lena Luthor marries Kara Danvers and, unknowingly, she marries Supergirl.

Kara Danvers is Supergirl – something she didn’t know, something the world didn’t know until human hero Lex Luthor reveals it. When he heroically saves her from her mistake. Everything she has built as a human crumbles in one fell swoop. The legality of her marriage – the legitimacy – is questioned. How could an alien love a Luthor? How could a Luthor love a Super? Should humans and aliens even be allowed to marry?

Lex Luthor is released from prison with a pardon, and the anti-alien movement gains traction alongside him. There’s talk of voting out the Alien Amnesty Act and making public its list of intergalactic immigrants.

Lena files for a divorce, one the press lovingly reports on how it is in no way amicable. Kara Danvers stops existing as a reporter, as a person.

Lena takes her place beside Lex, leaves everything she ever built with Kara behind. She takes back up the mantle of Luthor and all that it entails. The world sinks back into its own bigotry, rolls back rights hard won. Lena falls in love with someone new – Arthur White. A family friend and loyal employee of Lex Corp. Gossip magazines love to talk about their romance, but always mention that Lena wants to take things slow. She’s in no hurry to tie the knot again.

When asked, Lena denies ever knowing Kara was an alien.

-------------

Lena finds a moment’s solace in the bathroom.

There’s something soothing about the rhythmic routine of scrubbing soap into her skin, under her nails, over and over like maybe the motion will be enough to fully wash her clean. She hasn’t felt clean in a long time. The bathroom door opens behind her but she hardly notices, too focused on her ritual.

“Lex is always such a charmer,” she hears from behind her, and of course. Of course, it’s the person she’s so adamantly avoided all night. Of course, they’re alone together. Not that Lena is ever alone anymore. “Sometimes I almost even buy the crap he says.”

“You know, I told Arthur I didn’t need to extend our restraining order but you’re making me think that maybe I should,” Lena says without looking up from her hands. Again and again she rubs them together under the water, scrubbing until her skin turns red. “You need to leave.”

Kara doesn’t leave. Worse, she locks the door and slowly approaches.

Lena looks up at her reflection in the mirror in alarm, eyes wide in terror, and she shakes her head frantically, mouthing ‘no’ repeatedly as Kara draws ever closer. Kara pulls out an earpiece from her ear and holds it up to Lena’s. “Listen,” Kara whispers. Her front presses gently against Lena’s back, bumping her into the sink. Lena grips the sink in a white-knuckled hold.

Through the earpiece, soft echo of someone quietly sobbing plays out. “Brainy’s looping this audio over your bug,” Kara whispers against her other ear. “They can’t hear us. To them it just sounds like you’re crying alone in the bathroom.”

“You can’t be sure,” Lena barely breathes out even as she sinks back against her former spouse. “Lex-” “Isn’t listening. I promise. Trust me.”

That really is all it takes. Lena will always trust Kara.

She’s turning and shoving before Kara can say another word, pressing her against the wall with a desperate kiss. It’s frantic and dirty, both of them gripping at each other like they don’t know where to touch, like any minute someone will catch them and it’ll all be over. “Baby,” Kara breathes against her lips, and Lena nearly melts. “My love.” Lena just moans in reply. Licks into her mouth, desperate, trying to work her hand underneath Kara’s gown, trying to take advantage of every second she’s allowed to be near her, but they’re both distracted by the rapid beeping coming from Kara’s communicator.

“We’re out of time,” Kara gasps against her. Lena shudders at the feel of her lips moving against her own. “Dammit, dammit!”

She pushes away from Lena with an anguished sigh, running a hand over her mouth. Lena leans heavily against the bathroom stall trying to catch her breath. “We have twenty seconds until the loop ends,” Kara announces, looking at her cellular device.  “Listen, I’m going to come for you, okay? This isn’t over. Don’t give up. We just need a little more time but he is not going to win. Just stay strong, my love, okay? You have to believe me.”

She kisses Lena’s forehead, then her mouth. Lena tugs her in for a longer, frantic kiss, like she’s scared to let her go. “I love you,” Lena says, because she doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t believe they can beat him. But she does believe in this: “I love you so much, Kara.” Kara kisses her again, then again, then the beeping becomes too much to ignore. With one last, lingering look, she turns and vanishes in a quick gust of wind, leaving Lena alone in the bathroom. She takes just a few moments to get herself back together. Wipes her face clean, her eyes dry. Washes her hands once more. When she steps out, Arthur is there waiting. He holds his arm out for her to take, and she loops hers through it. His grip is tight as he leads her back towards the main hall. “Crying in the bathroom?” he says, voice low. “How embarrassing, Lena.” The mask she wears falls back into place at that as the high of Kara is shattered. “We all have moments of weakness, Arthur. Let’s just go back to the party.” And so they go.

-------------

Theirs is the story of two factions facing off in a cultural war.  

This is how their story goes for years and years, told through newsprint and blog posts and gossip whispered on the streets. Their story of lovers turned enemy, of humanity versus the other. Luthor and Super, alien and human.

But the real story, the truth hidden by all the gossip and hearsay, is so much worse. Beneath it all, theirs is a love story.

[shadowsong26fic]

How did you get good at writing? Do you have any tips? Also I really really love the Precipice verse. It's probably my favorite star wars fanfic right now.

Aaaaaaaaa, thank you so much!!!! <33333333

In terms of how to get good...(first of all, thank you for saying that, it means a lot <33333)

I think the main thing that helped me get to where I am, in terms of fluidity/skill/whatever, was that I just...kept writing? Like, there was a year or two where, through Rainbowfic, I was basically writing one short story a day (some of these were 100 word drabbles, some were longer; some took more than one day.) I don’t write nearly that much/that steadily anymore, but I still write as much and as often as I can/have the brainspace and/or time to do it.

Plus, I like to build universes and play in big sandboxes, and put together my fractal AUs, so there’s a lot of different stuff for me to bounce around and play with. I also sort of...IDK how many other people do this, but I tell myself stories/RP with myself when I’m falling asleep? I like to think that helped me get a sort of feel for specific moments I’m going for and/or snippets of dialogue I really want to work in Somewhere.

I mean, I do also write straight-line stories, but a lot of the time, when I’m writing, I’m bouncing around in a single universe (like, I have snippets of Precipice!verse that are...Several years out in the timeline already written, lol). And one of the advantages to that is that...it can just be about the words, kind of? It’s still Part Of A Story, so it doesn’t feel like an Exercise For The Sake Of Doing A Writing Exercise, but at the same time, I can do character and worldbuilding in much shorter bursts. Which does lead to me Jossing myself on occasion, but it also helps me hone my craft without either getting overwhelmed by the size of what I’m trying to write or bored by doing things that are Just Practice, if that makes sense? Finding sort of...low-stress ways to just Keep Telling Stories while minimizing boredom and/or frustration. Something like that. Big sandboxes are helpful, lol, whether it’s original or fanfic based.

...anyway, uh, basically, really long ramble aside...I think writing is one of those things that you just have to keep doing to get good at it. So, my advice would be...keep telling stories, to yourself and other people. Like, I’m very much the gardener mentality when it comes to writing, in that gardener vs. architect question of How You Approach Storytelling, which I mostly bring up because it’s a useful metaphor. Basically, just...dig your hands into the soil that is Language and Story and eventually you’ll figure out what you’re doing and it’ll come more and more naturally. At least it did for me.

Not necessarily on a strict schedule or a set amount each day--that works really well for some people, but not so much for me--but the real important thing is to Keep Telling Stories. Getting feedback helps too, of course, if there are people you’re willing to share your stories with with that in mind, but...the storytelling/just Practice is a huge thing all on its own, I think.

(Also, read! Which a lot of people/professionals/etc. advise and it’s also good advice. Part of that digging into the soil is experiencing other peoples’ stories and other peoples’ use of language/writerly Voice, so to speak, but yeah, my main advice is just...tell stories. Or write poetry, or essays, or whatever it is you want to write. Practice may not make perfect, but it does make things better and easier with time. And some of what you put out will be Not good, or Not shareable, but it’s still storytelling, even if you’re only telling it to yourself.)

[romioneflufffest]

Take It All Back

Title: Take It All Back

Author: @remedial-potions

Prompt: “It was two years ago”

Summary: Amid preparations to join Harry in his search for Horcruxes, Hermione stumbles upon a little relic from Ron’s past. DH missing moment.

“We ought to start packing tonight,” Hermione had said, discreetly under her breath, as she and Ron had gathered up the dirty dinner plates from the table.

Ron had opened his mouth to argue - they had loads of time, they weren’t even leaving to fetch Harry from the Dursleys for another two days, and wouldn’t they want his input? - but then had thought better of it. Given the choice between time spent with Hermione, regardless of the activity, and - well, anything, really - he would choose Hermione a thousand times over.

So they had taken a box of unassembled wedding favors - some fancy little candies that were meant to be packed into little mesh pouches and tied with a ribbon, the sort of thing that Ron thought nobody would even notice but his mum - and escaped to the relative peace and solitude of his bedroom. Within minutes, Hermione had upended both of their school trunks and was now making it her mission to sort through the resulting disaster, which had rapidly scattered itself to the corners of the tiny attic room.

This, Ron was content to watch, particularly as Hermione had just flung herself onto his bed, her stomach pressed flat against the Chudley Cannons quilt, and begun fossicking through the detritus behind his headboard. He hadn’t a clue what she was looking for, but he didn’t much care at the moment. Admittedly, these weren’t exactly the circumstances he imagined whenever he would picture Hermione in his bed - which was quite often - but he would take it anyway. Her hair had flipped completely over her head, hanging in unruly curtains that just barely grazed the faded wood floor.

Leaning back on his palms, Ron crossed his legs at the ankles and observed as her face slowly, steadily reddened.

“You doing all right there?” he asked, biting back the laugh on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m fine,” came her muffled response. “Your room is a mess, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even live here most of the year-“

“Exactly,” she replied, still upside down. “Think how much worse would it be if you - oh, for God’s sake,” she exclaimed, and from under the bed came the unnerving sound of rustling parchment. Ron hadn’t wrapped Harry’s seventeenth birthday gift yet, and if she’d found it, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to explain…

But she popped up, hair a wild halo around her face, with a stack of fading parchments clutched in her hands.

“You’ve got essays from fourth year under there,” she informed him as though she were accusing him of some horrific crime.

“Like you don’t keep all your old essays-“

“I do, but I’ve got them organized in files by year, course, and subject matter-“

“Course you do,” he chuckled. “Which one is that one?”

Hermione picked up a sheet from the pile on her lap. “Feeding Habits of Blast-Ended Skrewts,” she read, which made Ron laugh again. “You got an Outstanding on it.”

Ron shrugged. “Hagrid’s an easy grader.”

Had he blinked, he’d have missed it, but he thought an admonishing expression had crossed Hermione’s face in response to his self-deprecation. But before he could do what he usually did, and overthink it, she picked up another thick stack, bound together with a metal clip.

“Is this your dream diary from Divination?”

“Oh, that’s all rubbish,” Ron said, though he sat up a little straighter, savoring her amusement as she scanned the pages. “I think I kept it because I thought it was funny.”

“Did any of these predictions actually come true?”

“Well, they were made up dreams, so it’d be weird if they did.”

Hermione - despite her long-standing belief that homework was to be approached with the utmost seriousness - let out a laugh of her own and set the dream diary aside.

“What’s this?” she asked, now holding a yellowed, rough-edged scrap.

Ron’s stomach flipped. “That? That’s nothing.”

“Really?” The look on her face was pure relish. “Because it looks like it says ‘to Ron, from Viktor Krum’ on it.”

“You’d know his handwriting, wouldn’t you?” he fired back.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “At least I’m not the one asking for autographs-“

“It was two years ago,” he reminded, though he felt the familiar rush of blood into his face, “I’m a very different person now-“

“Yes, you are, so why have you kept it all this time?”

“He’s a git,” stated Ron, which only made Hermione laugh again, “but he’s also the best Seeker in the world, that thing could be worth money. I should probably try to sell it, actually.”

“It says ‘to Ron’ on it.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll just tear that bit off.”

“I really can’t believe you’ve kept this,” she said, biting her lower lip despite the smile still stretched across her face.

“Yeah, and I also kept the Blast-Ended Skrewt essay, so what does that tell you?”

“That you need to clean your room.”

“Yeah,” Ron conceded. “Probably.”

In all the bickering and back-and-forth between them, Hermione’s hair had remained as messy as when she had first emerged from the depths behind Ron’s headboard. Now, she raked her fingers through the thick locks, taming them, and Ron almost wished he wouldn’t. Or, actually, he’d like to be the one running his own fingers through her hair, to have that freedom to touch her and know that she would welcome it. To know, without a doubt, where they stood.

He’d thought he had known, once. Suspected, anyway, that maybe she had seen something in him, seen him as something beyond just her goofy friend who borrowed all of her class notes, but then he had bungled it all up. It had taken months to restore even a semblance of a friendship, and now he was just happy to have her here with him. In his room.

On his bed.

“Know what,” said Ron, rising to his feet, “I’ll just take that actually-“

“Going to frame it?” Hermione teased.

“Throw it in the bin, more like-“ And he made to grab it, but she yanked her hand out of his reach, leaning back toward the headboard. “Gimme it!”

“No!” Her small fist closed firmly around the scrap of paper, and without thinking, with realizing it, Ron knelt on the bed and closed his fingers around hers. “Thought you were selling it-“

“Can’t if you keep crumpling it-“

Hermione released a shriek of laughter as Ron’s fingers fumbled against hers, and before he knew it he had planted a hand on the mattress beside her hips and his long torso was leaning over hers and her face was close, so excruciatingly close to his, close enough to smell the treacle tart on her breath. Their eyes locked and slowly the smile slid from her face as she held his gaze… and he wanted to kiss her. He wanted so badly just to kiss her, and she was right there, but - but he couldn’t, he knew the dozens and hundreds and thousands of reasons why he shouldn’t…

“Fine.” It took great force of will, but Ron managed to let go of her hand and drop down to sit on the bed, which bounced under his weight. “I give up. Why don’t you just frame it in the sitting room so my brothers can all see it too?”

“I don’t think it’s an approved wedding decoration,” said Hermione, deadpan as Ron chuckled again. She arranged herself to sit beside him, slim legs dangling off the edge of the bed. “It isn’t as embarrassing as you think, you know, I really doubt you’re the first person to ever ask for his autograph.”

“No, it’s still embarrassing,” he said. “But it’s not even that, it’s just…”

Hermione tapped his ankle with her bare foot, and Ron’s blood rushed just a little more quickly through his veins.

“What?”

“Nah, nothing.”

“It was clearly something,” said Hermione loftily, “or you wouldn’t have started to say something.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it was easier said than done to just go spilling his heart out to her. Because if that was the sort of thing that came naturally to him, maybe he’d have already told her, and things might be so different. Maybe he wouldn’t have wasted so much time and they wouldn’t be here, on the precipice of an unknown and frankly terrifying journey with Harry, with him still biting his tongue.

Or maybe they’d be the same - or maybe so much worse - but at least then she would know what she meant to him.

“Well, it just-“ Ron looked down at his legs, stretched across the narrow expanse of his childhood bed, parallel to hers. Merlin, they were sitting on his bed, of all places, and he still couldn’t find the words. He still didn’t know if he should. “It just reminds me of all the mistakes I’ve made.”

“What do you mean? What mistakes?”

“Too many to count.” He wasn’t quite ready to meet her eyes, though he could feel her gaze on him, warm and intent. “I think back on the past couple years, and - and I just think I would do everything so differently.”

The bedsprings squeaked as Hermione shifted, angling toward him, her knee bumping his leg. “Like what?” Her voice was oddly soft; Hermione was many things, but quiet was not one of them.

But he couldn’t tell her, could he? That if he had a chance to do it all again, he’d actually ask her to the Yule Ball - and not as a half-joke in front of Harry, but really ask her, so she would know was serious, that she was his very first choice. Or if he’d just realized a little sooner that it didn’t really matter if Hermione had ever snogged Viktor Krum, he could have avoided the whole mess that was his sixth year. He might have gone with her to that Christmas party and maybe… just maybe…

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he said, rueful. “Not like I can go back and change anything.”

“I suppose not.” Hermione turned even closer to him, the length of her shin pressed against the side of his thigh. She made no effort to move, and the warmth of her touch drew nearly all his attention. “For what it’s worth…” The very tip of her tongue snuck out to wet her lips. “There’s a lot I would change too.”

“I don’t reckon you’ll tell me what, will you?”

“Not if you won’t tell me yours.”

And all those things he regretted, they were things he hadn’t done, things he hadn’t said… and he decided he wasn’t interested in adding to the list.

“Mine are all about you,” he confessed, painfully aware that his face was turning an unpleasant shade of beetroot.

A slight flush entering her cheeks, Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Say something, Ron willed her. Anything. Please.

“Mine,” she said, voice trembling, “mine are about you too-“

The knock that sounded at the door may well have been a cannon for the way it burst through the room.

“What?” snapped Ron, simultaneously bereft and furious at the sudden loss of the moment.

The door opened to reveal Ginny, whose brows rose for the briefest second at the sight before her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, lips twitching, “but Lupin and Tonks and the rest of the Order are all downstairs. They want to talk about Harry.”

Right. Of course.

“All right,” sighed Ron. “We’ll be there in a second.”

Giving the cluttered room another scan, Ginny curled her lip in distaste. “You are such a slob.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and set off down the hall.

“We’d better get down there,” said Hermione, straightening out her legs and inching slowly off the bed. She seemed as reluctant as he felt to leave the sanctuary of his bedroom - he’d have gladly stayed there forever with her - but responsibility called.

As they left, Hermione bent and picked up the box of still-unassembled wedding favors, peeking inside at the spools of ribbon and gleaming candies.

“We didn’t do anything we were supposed to,” she lamented, looking up at Ron.

“S’alright,” he said, letting her go before him on the narrow staircase. “We’ve got tomorrow, too.”