#the real reason maggie shot mr. burns.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 7

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - suicide mention, more angst

Author’s note: GRAB YOUR TISSUES.

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER SEVEN - NEXT

Bruce motherfucking Wayne. You couldn't believe it. You pondered why he was at the Black Gold Cooperative Christmas gala— perhaps he was a friend of Maxwell's? They were, on the surface, very alike; both hailing from wealthy families and CEO’s of the most prestigious international conglomerates. You sipped on your bubbling champagne and laughed as he cracked a joke with you.

You had completely lost track of time. The music was loud and the ballroom was bustling with people of high importance. Everyone looked marvellous in their designer outfits and styled hair. You hadn't even seen Maxwell, that was until you hear him tap a glass, raising the attention of everyone including you and Bruce. The room fell obscenely quiet.

Maxwell was… nervous. He was good at being on television, but live speeches in front of all these important business associates, his mother and the president? That was terrifying. His eyes scanned the room for you. When his gaze finally landed on you, you shot him a warm and encouraging smile and he felt a gush of relief wash over his tensed up body.

"Hello everyone, I'd like to thank you all for joining me this evening. Firstly I'd like to thank the president for letting me use his beautiful home as a function," Maxwell spoke into the mic, his words earning an applause. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, sir. I wish you all the best for your presidency." you knew how much Max disagreed with the president and practically cringed at the fauxness of his tone. Maxwell spoke for a long while about the past year, the highs and the lows of his company and what Black Gold Cooperative had been through. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a shaky yawn.

"Hey?" Bruce whispered, putting his champagne glass on the bar. "Wanna get out of here?"

You were taken aback by his proposal. What exactly was he suggesting? Bruce Wayne was, by far, one of the more handsome men in the room. And he certainly seemed nice. He hadn't given the staff attitude (unlike Maxwell, who was rude to everyone he saw lesser than him), and he had been nothing but kind to you.

"I-" you sighed, glancing between Maxwell who was on the stage, and Bruce who was by your side. "I really shouldn't." you rejected him, and Bruce nodded sadly.

"No worries," he replied, taking a sip of his champagne.

"What do you think of him?" you asked, out of the blue. Your eyes were heavy as you drank in Maxwell's appearance. There was just something so fascinating about him. He wasn't your type but from the moment you met him you were so compelled to him.

"Who?" Bruce responded, cocking a curious dark eyebrow.

"Maxwell Lord." you pursed your lips into a thin line. He was charismatic, the coverboy of Forbes, a household name. He was Maxwell Lord.

"I think it's a shame, what happened to him when he was a kid," Bruce shook his head and your head snapped to face him. "But, the man has built his career and fortune on lies and greed. He thinks he's some kind of hero but really he's just… a lonely, broken little boy."

You were about to ask Bruce what he meant, what happened to Maxwell when he was a kid, when a thunderous applause erupted in the room and Maxwell padded off the stage. "I should go see him. But it was lovely talking to you." you smiled at Bruce. You leaned in, brushing your lips over his cheek. He smelled delicious. Another man drenched in expensive cologne, no doubt, but nevertheless you were sad to leave him.

You made your way past through the crowds of people in the ballroom, trying to peer over hundreds of heads in-attempt to find Maxwell. You just about made out his dark blonde head of hair talking to the president. You hurried over, holding your gown in your hands, careful not to trip over.

"Hey!" you gasped, placing your hands on Maxwell's back. The suit was soft in your hands, you didn't want to let go off him.

"Hi," Maxwell smiled, his eyes gleaming now that he had finally found you. "Uh, I'd like to introduce you to the president of the United States."

"The pres-" your jaw dropped as you shook hands with President Reagan.

"She's quite the gem," the president nodded, his hand stroking your arm. The contact was more than enough to make you uncomfortable.

"Yeah but, we're just friends." Maxwell insisted and you felt your heart sink a little. It was exactly what you had told the press, but hearing it from him was devastating.

"That's good then. Because I'd like to introduce you to my daughter Margaret." the president beamed, taking the hand of his daughter and thrusting her into Maxwell. She fell into her chest and he caught her just in time, albeit stumbling backwards.

She had tight blonde curls and pink glossy lips, her pearl earrings bringing out the blue in her ice cold eyes. "Oh, hi Mr Lord," she purred affectionately. You scrunched up your nose in disdain as he gently pushed her off him.

"Pleasure to meet you Margaret," Maxwell smiled, shaking her hand.

"Please, call me Maggie," she replied, not breaking eye contact once.

"Right Maggie…" Maxwell laughed awkwardly and you took a step back, scowling.

The burning feeling of jealousy rinsed through your body. This was outrageous— you had no reason to be jealous. Yours and Maxwell's relationship was strictly business only. But it didn't mean you had to enjoy seeing that woman leaning into his chest, his arms wrapped around her.

It seemed that everyday you grew more and more angered and confused by your feelings. It must've just been something in the December air.

"I'll be at the bar," you mumbled as Maxwell and Margaret continued to chat.

You sighed, walking back over to Bruce with a frown.

"Everything okay?" Bruce asked, concern dripping from his tongue. You didn't reply, shaking your head sadly and staring into the oak wood bar like it was going to give you answers. "Two glasses of your finest house wine, please." Bruce called over the bartender before turning back to you.

"Trying to get me drunk, Wayne?" you rolled your eyes.

"I'd never," Bruce replied, placing a hand on the small of your back. "I just know we're both going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this evening."

"Touché." you agreed, taking a swing of your drink and shuddering at the strong taste.

"Where do you hail from?" Bruce asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Never seen you around before. And trust me, I'd recognise someone as beautiful as you."

"I-" you felt yourself blush under his touch, and subconsciously lean into his hand, biting your lip. Just then, you spotted him. The man of the night. Maxwell Lord barked your name, anger crossing his dark brown eyes. "What is it?" you sighed, taking another sip of wine.

"I didn't know you'd be here." Maxwell snarled at Bruce, grabbing your hand and interlocking his fingers with yours. His action was rough and harsh but you felt butterflies just from his touch and his possessive nature.

"My father would've wanted me to be here," Bruce smiled. "When your mother invited me, how could I refuse? I think your father would've wanted me here too. Don't worry, I've placed a donation…"

Maxwell dug his finger in Bruce's chest. "You don't know shit about what my father would want."

You were confused, making quick glances between the two men who were, quite frankly acting like little boys. "And you do?" Bruce chuckled. "Your father is the reason for your success. He built his business on hope with the aim of helping those less fortunate than him. And what did you do? You turned it into an abomination… all his hard work, gone. Because you're greedy."

"Bruce!" you gasped, speechless at the businessman's cold words. You turned to Maxwell with pleading eyes. "Max… maybe we should leave." you placed a hand on his shoulder but his glare didn't tear from Bruce. You had never seen so much hate in his eyes.

"No," Maxwell breathed eventually. He couldn't even bring himself to look at you, his gaze finding the floor as he shuffled his feet sadly. "You can stay. I'm leaving." Maxwell murmured.

"Max I'm coming with you," you began to protest.

"No." Maxwell repeated, this time his voice was more stern. "I'm going home with Maggie. You're clearly more comfortable here, with Bruce. Wouldn't want to spoil your evening."

"Max?" you whispered as tears pricked your eyes.

"Good night." he said finally, before walking away with his head held high.

"What a man." Bruce tsked.

You turned to him, blindsighted by rage and picked up your wine glass from the bar. You didn't know how to react, you didn't know what to say. You were left so bewildered by the dialogue between Maxwell and Bruce. All you knew was that you had never seen Maxwell so hurt in his life. And that did not sit well with you at all. You threw the remenints of your wine all over Bruce, drenching him in the expensive liquid.

"You're a real jerk." you spat. The music stopped and everyone turned to face you. "I don't know what is going on with you and Max, but stay away from him." you gritted before storming off.

You tried to locate Margaret, spotting her by the Christmas tree as she overlooked the dancers. "Hey, Maggie?" you asked.

"Oh it's you," she spat, looking you up and down. "My name is Margaret."

You wished you had kept a little wine to throw over her. "I don't care," you shook your head. "Have you seen Max? Has he spoken to you in the last few minutes?"

"No? Why?" Margaret asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Shit okay, nevermind." you replied, spinning around on your heel.

You raced to the lobby, asking a member of staff to call you a cab. She gave you a judgemental look but followed your instruction none the less. Letting you know when your can had arrived outside, you raced out into the thick snow. Low and behold, the paparazzi were still there, snapping photos of you as you ran to the taxi. They screamed your name, asking questions about why you weren't with Max and why you were taking a taxi home. You ignored them, pushing past them furiously until you reached the yellow cab and slid inside. Your gown got caught in the door but you didn't care. You needed to see Max. You needed to make sure he was okay. Your heart ached knowing he was upset.

You arrived to his penthouse in your ripped gala dress and messy hair, still running to the reach the elevator. When you got to his penthouses the warmth and familiarity relieved you.

You closed the front door gently behind you and tip-toed to Maxwell's office. Before you could open the door and let yourself in, you heard gentle sobbing. It was quiet and there was the occasional pause before a sniff and a cry. You leaned against the wall, trying to process what you were hearing. Maxwell Lord IV was in his office, crying. You felt a pang of pain in your chest. Maxwell Lord doesn't cry— and yet here he was. You suddenly felt defensive and you wanted to know what had happened. You decided you could push your argument to one side. You slowly opened the door and stepped inside.

Maxwell was sat at his desk with a half drunk bottle of whiskey. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shirt had the top three buttons undone. His fingers were laced in his dark blonde hair and you noticed he was tugging on it out of frustration. He hadn't noticed you standing there yet. You took a deep breath.

"Max?"

You watched him stiffen up and wipe his eyes. He didn't turn to look at you— he didn't need to. Instead, his gaze burned into the amber coloured scotch in the crystal glass. He felt ashamed. Embarrassed. He didn't say a word. Cautiously, you approached him, with slow and light footsteps. As you neared him you noticed his eyes were sore and red and you wondered how long he had been crying for. You crouched down to his level and gently pressed your hand into his back, rubbing comforting circles.

Maxwell gulped as you touched him, but still didn't say a word. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd croak something ridiculous out or just as easy burst into tears. He knew it. You were there for him, as always. You had come back for him. His guardian angel— the only person who truly cared about him.

You cupped his cheek and turned his head to face you. He did so, willingly, his glossy brown eyes gazing into yours. "What happened, Max?" you whispered, your fingers gently tracing his golden tear stained cheeks. Max stayed silent and tried his best to suppress another sob. "Was it Bruce?" you whispered again, and leaned into him, resting your head in his lap.

Maxwell dropped his hands into your hair and your eyes fluttered shut under his gentle touch as he softly stroked you. "It's so much more." Maxwell admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "Bruce's words tipped me over the edge. This time of the year is already so hard and my mother… at the gala…."

"What did she do, Max?" you stood up from the floor and pulled a chair up so you could sit next to him.

"She always puts these ideas in my head," Maxwell admitted. "Fuck- I should know better. My whole life she's tried controlling me. And I know it's wrong but I still let her get in my head."

"What ideas?"

"It's always been about my father. Didn't want me to make the same mistakes he made. So she'd do everything in her power to ensure that, no matter what, I put the business first. She tells me it's my legacy. That I must finish what my father started. And my grandfather. And if I don't- if I don't, then I've failed them."

"Your father… Bruce mentioned him." your voice was quiet and you didn't know whether or not you were overstepping by bringing it up.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Maxwell asked you and you shook your head. "Because it's not public information. Bruce only knows because his family… his parents helped my mother cover it up."

"Cover what up?" you asked, almost afraid of how he was going to answer.

"The suicide." Maxwell deadpanned, looking at you with glossy eyes.

"Your father?" you were speechless, your heart breaking at his words.

"Yeah." Maxwell replied. "I was sixteen."

"Why?"

"I don't know… he. He never left a note." Maxwell crossed his arms over his chest. "I- I'm sorry. I've never spoken about this before. My mother chose to cover up the suicide because she said it would bring shame on the business."

"Shame? But it's- it's not shameful. It's…" you were really struggling to find words, all you could do was console Maxwell, as your friend if nothing more. "Your mother does not get to choose your legacy." You told Maxwell, taking his hands and squeezing them gently. "This is your life Max. Don't let her control it."

"I freaked out on you at the gala because my mother came and she told me that I should leave you-" Maxwell paused before correcting himself. "Fire you. I mean. I don't know. She told me that the weakness in my father was his love for his family, and his love for her, and his love for me. She told me my grandfather was the same and now- she sees that weakness in me. She blames you. Says I've been different since we began our arrangement," Maxwell scoffed. "She says you distract me. I didn't realise it at first. But I think she's right." Maxwell looked up at you, teary eyed. "She thinks if I marry Margaret sales will boost and… once again she's right."

You felt yourself freeze up. "Max…" you whispered, not knowing what to say or how to even process his words. Was he about to terminate the contract? Was he going to tell you to walk away and leave?

"I can't-" Maxwell choked out a sob. " I can't let her keep controlling me. After seeing you with Bruce, I was so fucking afraid of losing you for good and it was all her fault. I won't choose between you and the company. And she can't make me choose. But you know, if I had to? Fuck. I'd choose you."

"Maxwell don't be ridiculous," You shook your head sadly. He'd had a lot to drink. He was emotional. He couldn't be meaning these words. "You're an amazing CEO, look at the greatness that you've led Black Gold Cooperative to. Front page of Forbes three years in a row. No business in history has earned as much as yours in profit. You've done this by yourself. Sure your ancestors founded Black Gold, but Max, you've been working your ass off since you were sixteen."

"I don't want to hear it," Maxwell cut you off and took another sip of his whiskey. "I just want to make my father proud. I loved him so much." he sniffed.

"Your mother said that your father's love for his family was his weakness. But I believe that it was his strength. That warmth in his heart he passed down to you, and Max, I'm so glad he did. Because I feel it. I feel your compassion. I feel your love. Before we met everyone said you were cold and distant… but you've shown me more care in the past ten days than I've felt in my whole life." You smiled at him and he gazed longingly into your eyes. "In the end, your father cared more about protecting your family than running the risk of exploiting Black Gold Cooperative. He chose love over his business. And for that reason, I know your father would be proud of you because I'm proud of you."

"Nobody has ever told me that they're proud of me."

"They haven't?" You furrowed your brows together and Maxwell shook his head sadly. You wrapped your arms around him and he nuzzled his face into your shoulders.

"You've shown me what love can feel like." Maxwell mumbled into your skin. "Never- never believed in it until I met you."

"Oh Max," you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

Max pulled away from you and cupped his hands around your face. He whispered your name and gently brushed his nose against yours.

"I think," Maxwell swallowed. "No. I know. I know that I've fallen deeply in love with you."

Taglists: let me know if you wish to be added!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part three)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 10,566

TW: Bullying, vomit

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

-Mind Over Matter-

  “So, you and Anne Boleyn…”

Katherine looked up at Mulaney, her right eye twitching. A barrage of emotions blistered through her whenever she thought about her cousin- anger, sadness, mourning, betrayal, happiness, guilt, pain, longing. It was a flurry of madness that she hated having to deal with. And hearing that name come out of this man’s mouth didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t sound right when the detective said it, like Anne had just been some character in a movie that was killed off too soon for a cheap sad moment. She was a real person, whether Katherine wanted to remember that or not.

  “Friends until the end?” 

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Katherine said.

  “And why is that?” Mulaney asked.

  “We’re cousins,” Katherine answered. “She was born a little bit before me, and we grew up together, so I guess everybody just assumed we were going to be close forever.” She shrugged. “But we had our differences.”

  “Differences about Joan Seymour?” 

  “Differences about a lot of things,” Katherine clarified. “I played with Barbie. She played with horses. She’s a back to front. I’m a front to back.”

Mulaney blinked at her and then turned his head to look at Madeline, who was trying very hard not to smile in amusement. Katherine set her shoulders back, smirking. It seemed Mulaney didn’t know how to reply to her statement because he moved on, taking a piece of paper out of a yellow folder on the table.

  “Do you know a girl named Donna Kellogg?” He asked.

  “Yeah, I know Kellogg,” Katherine replied smoothly. “Every guy in school had a bowl of her cereal.”

Mulaney stared fixedly down at Katherine. At his side, Madeline snorted a laugh, but was quick to cover her mouth and straighten herself back up professionally. Katherine let out a huge sigh, wiping the grin from her face.

  “She moved to Germany in Year 12.” She said. “What about her?”

  “She got an email from your cousin about four days before the prom,” Mulaney said.

  “What’d it say?” Katherine asked with mock enthusiasm.

Mulaney peered down at the paper in his hands and began to read, “‘Dear Dirty Donna--”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and exhaled a rueful breath, rolling her eyes skyward. That DEFINITELY was her cousin's writing.

  “--so I’m out of the prom, but they’re not going to get away with this. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do, but I guarantee you everyone is going to get a big’-- Expletive--‘surprise.’” Mulaney put the paper down and looked back at Katherine’s pale face. “Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?”

And, for once, Katherine made no snarky reply, only able to shrug silently, as her words were too caught in her throat to answer.

------

Mr. Stephens’s creative writing class was one of those rare cases where everyone wanted to be in it, regardless of whether they could write or not. And for a good reason, too. He was a laid back, supportive, jolly man who always made his lessons fun and engaging. His room was like no other, either, airy and full of light. He rarely ever turned on the overhead lights, opting to instead let the sun come in from blue-and gold-tinted windows he had paid for to be put in himself. 

A jungle of indoor plants snarled the interior, all fit with small golden plaques with names on them (one of the best assignments they had yet was to choose a plant and write a story about it; Katherine, personally, had chosen Hornet, the sassy lesbian honeysuckle). Shined mahogany bookshelves were arranged all around the room with their books sorted precisely in alphabetical order. Putting any borrowed books back into the right place was a rule even the most mischievous of students obeyed. Racks and drawers full of papers and pencils and pens of every color were set up for everyone’s writing pleasure, and there were several places to sit and write when it was time to work. Sometimes the black and pink bungee chair, sometimes the big blue bean bag or the strange egg-shaped cubbyhole you could climb into and nestle in the blankets and pillows that filled it.

The tables were assorted in a very different way, too. There were six in total: Fantasy, Horror, Romance, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Historical. At the beginning of the year, students got to pick their seats at whatever genre table they were most interested in, letting people meet others with the same interests. Or, if you were like Katherine, you just bustled into the same table with all your friends.

Mr. Stephens was her first class of the day and was always what she needed to get energized for the rest of school. The sun was out again, bleeding its early Monday morning light through the tinted windows and casting beams of gold and blue across the room. All her friends, including her beautiful Anna, were already inside when she got there, along with a few others. Bessie was sharpening several pencils at the expensive electric pencil sharpener by the door, while Maria looked through the Q-T selection of books, and Anne, Maggie, and Anna were sitting at the table they all had claimed at the beginning of the year: Fantasy (although Katherine had debated on going to the Romance table, but several of her friends didn’t like the romance genre, and Anne had proclaimed that the “gang had to stick together,” so she gave up that option).

  “Kitty!!” Anne cried gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.

Katherine smiled as she walked over, sitting beside Anna. The two shared a quick kiss.

  “Morning, gang,” Katherine said. “What’s the tea?”

  “Prom,” Maggie stated. “You guys picked out your dresses yet?”

  “A dress? Me?” Anna snorted. “If I ever wore a dress and heels, I'd look like a freaking giraffe or something.”

  “Anna, shut up!” Bessie suddenly barked, whipping her head around from the pencil sharpener. “You would look great!”

They all stared at her in silence, watching as her face slowly faded to a light red color, a hugely bright contrast with her bleached white hair. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

  “What? Girls eat that shit up!” She said, and then frantically began sharpening her pencils again. The table laughed and nodded knowingly.

  “But no,” Anna said. “I’m not wearing a dress. Your girl is going with a suit.”

  “Ooooo!” The chorus of intrigued coos whisked around the table.

  “How fancy!” Anne said.

  “You are a lucky lady!” Maggie said to Katherine.

Katherine grinned brightly and leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She sighed dreamily. “I know…”

  “I have mine picked out,” Maria said, walking over and sitting down with The Great Gatsby in her hands. “It’s orange.”

  “Oooo, nice pick!” Katherine commented. “Orange looks good on you!”

  “Why thank you!”

  “Okay, okay, question,” Maggie butt in as Bessie sat back down. “Do any of you know about waxing or shaving, you know--” She leaned in, “--down there? Like, for sex preparation?”

  “How naughty,” Anne teased, making Maggie stick her tongue out at her.

  “Well,” Katherine said expertly, “there are a few things you can do.” At her side, Anna shook her head and laughed. “There’s the rainforest. That’s where you don’t do anything at all. Hitler’s mustache. The landing strip. The Brazil.”

  “The Brazil?” Maggie laughed. “What does Brazil have to do with getting--your area waxed? Is it, like, the shape of the country?”

  “It’s because things like thongs and Brazil are so small you have to wax EVERYTHING to wear one.” Maria said.

  “Ohhh,” Maggie nodded. “Where is Brazil, anyway?”

Laughter and snickers and whispers suddenly bubbled loudly from the hallway, seeping in through the open door. A moment later, Joan entered wearing an oversized, rather ugly shade of pale yellow sweater and a long maroon skirt with small white flowers. She dragged her feet as she walked, not looking up, clutching her binders and folders close to her chest. 

Seeing her sent a sharp pang of guilt lancing through Katherine.

She had desperately tried to forget about Joan Seymour over the weekend, partially succeeding in that task, even when her father confronted her about it. But seeing the pathetic girl again sent all her shame come barreling back into her at full force. She could now see that she and her friends had ruined this class, once a place of serenity and peace, for Joan. Joan seemed...scared to even be attending.

  “Well, if it isn’t Prayin’ Joan!” Anne exclaimed. She jumped up and blocked Joan’s path, causing the younger and much scrawnier girl to reel back in fright. “I wonder who’s taking her to prom? Her mother?”

Katherine tried to laugh along with Maggie, Maria, and Bessie, but the sound raked her throat fiercely like talons of fire. She glanced to the side and saw that Anna had her jaw set firmly and a grim look in her eyes.

  “Leave her alone, Anne.” Anna said.

Joan tried to dodge around Anne to get to her table, but Anne stepped right back in front of her and she reared away again like she thought she would be burned if they were to make contact.

  “Come on, church girl!” Anne spread her arms in a grand gesture, smirking widely. Everyone in the class, even people out in the hallway, were watching, now. “Dance with me! I will make you see God!”

And then, out of the blue, Anne yelped out in fright as she suddenly crumpled to the floor. Katherine blinked in shock, watching the way her cousin had shifted her weight on her feet and slipped on her Heelys’s wheels--but that didn’t seem right. Anne hadn’t been leaning on her heels at all. It looked more like something had swept under her legs and made her fall--but what? There had been nothing there, nothing to trip her. She shuddered, and her skin began to crawl with goosebumps.

  “How’s your pussy, princess?” A boy at the Sci-Fi table asked over the laughter that had filled the room.

Anne shot up to her feet instantly, her face inflamed with rage. She glared at the boy, and her stared was filled with enough hate to make him snap his mouth shut immediately.

  “What are you laughing at?” She snarled. Her head whipped around to Joan. “The goddamn BITCH TRIPPED ME!!”

Is that what happened? Did Joan trip or push Anne? Had she finally snapped like that kid from Anna’s story on Friday night? But Joan hadn’t moved her arms or legs at all when Anne fell…

Katherine jerked out of her speculations when she saw that Anne was advancing on Joan with a murderous look in her eyes. Joan flinched away, as if she was expecting to be struck, and then there was suddenly the clattering of a chair to Katherine’s left; Anna was standing in between Anne and Joan.

  “What are you doing?” Anne demanded.

  “You’re being stupid, Anne.” Anna said calmly. “If you hit her, you’re definitely going to be thrown out of prom. Just sit down.”

Anne growled, but prom seemed to be more important to her than revenge, so she cast one like dark glare at Joan, and then let her anger snuff itself out for now. She returned to her chair like nothing happened. Anna turned to Joan, who was staring up at her with wide eyes as if she were Jesus Christ himself.

  “Are you alright?” Anna asked. She reached out to set a hand on Joan’s shoulder, but respectfully pulled it back when Joan flinched away. “Don’t listen to that gremlin. She’s just messing around.” And then she flashed Joan a dazzling smile that made Joan get an expression on her face that said she’s never been smiled at like that before.

  “Th-th-thank you…” Joan choked out, and then skittered past her to the Horror table, which she shared all alone (“Of course that crazy bitch would choose horror” was something Maggie had muttered the first day of class when Joan had chosen that genre).

Anna righted her chair and sat back down, looking like a true savior. 

  “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” Anne said bitterly, and Anna grinned at her.

  “What can I say?” She said with a shrug. “I can never pass up the chance to be the hero to a poor damsel in distress.”

The bell rang a moment later and everyone who wasn’t already sitting down bustled over to their specific table. First period was the smallest class, with Katherine and her five friends obviously at Fantasy, three kids at Sci-Fi, two girls at Romance, three more at Adventure, no one at Historical, and then Joan all alone at Horror. Writing utensils and notebooks filled to the brim with stories and projects are brought out as Mr. Stephens entered from the hall.

  “Good morning, children!” He chimed happily. He was a slightly plump man with olive skin and dark brown hair he always had up in a man bun. The aquamarine flannel shirt he was wearing today made his green eyes pop brightly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

After the initial opening for class, the lesson quickly curved into the topic of an assignment the students had been given last Friday, probably the only okay thing that happened on that day (aside from Katherine’s time with Anna in her car, of course).

  “As you know,” Mr. Stephens said, “last Friday I gave you all the task to write your own poem after selecting a word from my hat.” He held up the bedazzled top hat for reference. “Now we are going to read them! So…” He scanned the class, bypassing the people who usually always read first, like Bessie and Katherine and the boy with glasses in Adventure, for now. A smile broke out on his face. “Joan Seymour!”

Joan’s head whipped up so fast Katherine was surprised her neck didn’t break. She had been listlessly twirling a strand of her strangely natural white-blonde hair and writing in her small notebook with a black pen, which she accidentally sent flying across the room behind her when she was called on.

  “Present,” She sputtered. 

  “It’s not roll call, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said gently. 

  “Idiot,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes, and Mr. Stephens shot a glare at her and some of the other giggling students. He was one of few teachers who actually made an effort to stop the constant bullying Joan got in class. 

  “Did you write a poem?” Mr. Stephens asked. His voice was so patient and kind, his gaze merciful and lacking any irritation or scorn, despite the fact that Joan was floundering like a useless cow in a cattle chute. He never yelled at Joan or even got the slightest bit annoyed with her, even when she was being completely incompetent and probably deserved a good rapping on the knuckles with a ruler to get her head back on straight.

  “Oh-- Y-yes, sir.” Joan nodded.

  “Why don’t you come up and read it to us?” 

That seemed to be a death sentence for Joan, who became very rigid and pale. She opened and closed her mouth like a weird-eyed fish out of water, then finally choked out, “D-do I have to?”

Mr. Stephens tilted his head at her, sympathy in his gaze. “No,” He said. “But I would love to hear what you wrote.”

Joan perked up slightly, a new light flickering ever so slightly in her eyes. “You would?” She squeaked.

  “Yes, Joan,” Mr. Stephens smiled, and Katherine saw that he was telling the truth. He was genuinely interested in what Joan had written.

Joan thought for a second, then grabbed her notebook, stood up, and said, “Okay.”

Shyly, with her head angled to the floor, Joan shuffled up to the short stage-like platform at the front of the class used for reading out loud. Mr. Stephens motioned for her to sit in the big black leather computer chair he would let students use when presenting, but she shook her head, clearly too tense and nervous to sit down. Mr. Stephens respected her choice and didn’t push her.

  “What was the word you selected, Joan?” Mr. Stephens asked.

  “Umm-- Stone.” Joan answered. Now that she was up and centered, Katherine noticed violet and indigo bruises along her jawline and a split in her lip that definitely hadn’t been there on Friday.

  “And what is the name of your poem?”

Joan fumbled. “E-Evening Prayers.”

  “Oh my god.” Anne said loudly. Mr. Stephens shot her a sharp look, and she shut her mouth instantly.

  “Go ahead, Joan. Whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Stephens said kindly.

It took a moment and a few deep breaths for Joan to find her voice, but she eventually gathered all her courage and began to read:

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone.

If he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so all alone?”

A few giggles and snickers and mocking whispers whisked through the class, but Mr. Stephens shut them down quickly. Joan looked at him fearfully, and he gave her an encouraging nod to go on.

  “Baby savior, meek and mild,

What do you do with my prayers?

If you hear me,

Why do I feel that no one cares?”

Joan lost some of the tension in her shoulders, easing them back down into a more relaxed position. A strange flicker lit up in her eyes, like the first silvery wisps of a fresh flame. 

  “Mama sees inside my soul,

But her face is cold as stone.

If she loves me

Why do I feel so all alone?”

Was that...hate in Joan’s voice? Katherine tilted her head at the girl, suddenly filled with so many questions. Had she always been this interesting?

  “There's a movement in my head

Satan? Angels? What can it be?

It's growing!

It's stirring!

It's churning, shifting!

Bending!”

Joan released a shaky breath and raised her glowing grey-blue eyes. 

Silence. 

Mr. Stephens would have said anything, but he still seemed to be too enamored to speak, in awe at his timid student’s raw poem.

Then, Maggie raised one of her hands and spoke without waiting to be called on, “Shouldn’t people like that be home schooled?”

Mr. Stephens blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “People like what, Maggie?” He asked cautiously, falling right into Maggie’s trap.

  “Creepy religious people,” Maggie said blithely.

Joan flinched back as if she had been struck and hunched her shoulders around her neck. Her fingers grip tightly around the edges of her notebook, staring at her poem with a sudden expression of shame and hatred and disgust.

  “Yeah, aren’t we, like, not supposed to talk about religion in school unless it’s in history class?” Bessie piped up.

Mr. Stephens glared at all of them. “Does anyone have anything to say about the poem?” He said, steering the lesson back on track without giving Maggie or Bessie any attention.

  “It was disturbing,” Anne offered. “I think that’s the most little Joey has said in class all year!”

Laughter erupted in the classroom, far too much for Mr. Stephens to wrangle. Joan shrunk back, like she was hoping she could disappear right into the wall, and Katherine thought she could see tears shining in her eyes.

  “Got anything else to share with us, sweetheart?” Anne asked in a sickly sweet voice. “Or are you done scaring us?”

  “Asshole…”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Joan’s head jerked up sharply. All eyes turned to look at Anna, who was leaning back in her chair and pressing her tongue against the inside of her lip.

  “Anna?” Mr. Stephens said. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, her words sliding slowly from her mouth like slithering snakes. “What did you say?”

  “I said awesome.” Anna said, sitting up. “I just thought that Joan’s poem was awesome.” She looked at Anne. “Didn’t you, Annie?”

Anne glowers at her, growling lowly. Joan, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reaction. Her eyes were wide and lit up, like that had been the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her, and a bright pink blush dusted her cheeks.

  “Yes!” Mr. Stephens nodded his head enthusiastically. “Awesome! That is a great way to describe Joan’s wonderful poem.” He smiled at Anna, then at Joan. “Thank you for reading, Joan. You did very good.”

Joan dipped her head in thanks and hurried back to her table. When she sat back down, she immediately glanced at Anna, a wistful look of adoration in her eyes. Katherine noticed it, and things began to click together in her brain.

  “Anna,” Mr. Stephens said, “since you spoke up, would you like to go next?”

Anna shrugged coolly. “Sure.” She stood up, grabbing her red spiral journal, and walked to the platform at the front of the class. She, like Joan, decided not to sit in the computer chair, opting to stand up tall before her peers.

  “GO ANNA!!” Her friends cheered from the Fantasy table and she rolled her eyes in a good natured way.

  “The word I got was ‘eagle,’” She said, then looked down at the page she was opened up to in her journal. “Dreamer In Disguise. By Anna von Cleves.” She cleared her throat, and then began reading smoothly:

  “An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Maggie suddenly leapt onto her chair, flapping her arms and letting out a bird-like screech. The class all giggled, except Joan, who looked startled, and Anna, who looked used to these kinds of antics.

  “Guys!” Mr. Stephens barked. “Quiet!”

The class settled. Mr. Stephens looked at Maggie.

  “Maggie--that was a pretty good bird, but hush up.” He said.

Maggie bowed and then plopped back into her seat. Mr. Stephens turned to Anna, nodding at her to go on.

  “A river is just a sheet of ice

'til winter turns to spring.

And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky.

Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more that meets the eye.

Like things I dream and things I feel

There's more to me than I reveal.

And 'cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize.

I'm a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise.

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Applause filled the classroom. Anna smirked proudly, bowing her head.

  “Very good, Anna!” Mr. Stephens said. “Class,” He turned to the others. “Any comments?”

  “Beautiful.”

The marveled comment came before anyone else could say anything, spoken before Mr. Stephens had barely even finished his sentence. Joan had a thoughtful look in her shimmering eyes. A small smile was tugged at the corners of her pale lips.

  “Beautiful, yes!” Mr. Stephens said. “Excellent, Joan!”

  “Yeah, nice one, period girl.” Anne tittered.

Like that, the light in Joan’s eyes is gone. She looked away, suddenly ashamed. Anna seemed to notice this on the platform and glared viciously at Anne.

  “Shut up, Anne.” She snarled lowly.

  “Go on, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said to his shy student. “Tell us how the poem spoke to you.”

Joan looked back up, fidgeting, and then stuttered out, “I-I just think it said that just because something or someone seems one way, doesn’t mean they have to be that way.”

Mr. Stephens beamed. Anne gave Katherine a “what is wrong with this girl?” sort of look, while Anna looked vaguely rapt. She smiled at Joan, and Joan blushed madly.

  “Very good observation, Joan!” Mr. Stephens said.

  “Yeah,” Anna agreed. “I think you have the poem more thought out that I do, and I’m the one who wrote it!”

Joan ducked her head with a shy smile. “Thanks,” She whispered, and all the pieces fell into place in Katherine’s head.

Did Joan like Anna?

Katherine spent the rest of first period pondering this- Joan was hopelessly shy, but it could very well be possible. The way she looked at Anna… There was some form of longing in her eyes. Like she wanted Anna to like her--not even in a romantic way, just to--like her. As a person.

The bell startled Katherine out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Anna had to run off quickly to get to her next class that was all the way on the other side of the school, and Bessie and Maggie left in a hurry, too. Katherine was about to head out with Maria to the next class they shared together when she noticed Joan still gathering her things.

  “I’ll meet you there, okay?” Katherine said to Maria.

Maria shrugged and nodded. “Okay!”

Katherine walked over to Joan, catching the attention of her cousin, who was still in the class and now watching them with interest.

  “Hey, Joan,” Katherine said.

Joan jumped and looked at Katherine, then over her shoulder, as if thinking she were talking to someone else. She blinked up at the older girl with big grey-blue eyes, and Katherine could see so much painful anxiety in them.

  “Earlier--that was nice.” Katherine said. “That was really nice, what you said about Anna’s poem. I thought it was beautiful, too.”

Joan continued to stare at her, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “Look-- Umm-- About the other day… I don’t know, things just sort of got out of hand and--”

  “Haven’t you had enough?!”

This time, it was Katherine’s turn to flinch, and she stepped back as if she had just been shot. She looked down at Joan and was shocked to see pure rage blazing in her eyes, which flickered like lit embers. Her teeth were bared, mouth pulled back in a snarl, and her fists were clenched into shaking fists.

  “Do you think you can just go on tricking me forever?!” Joan cried.

  “Oh no, Joan, no--” 

Katherine reached for her, but the girl clawed her hand away. She ducked under her arm and ran out of the classroom, leaving Katherine behind in shock.

  “My, my,” Anne said, sauntering over with a chuckle. “Little mousey’s got a temper!”

  “I--” Katherine’s words hitched for a moment. “I’ve never seen her angry before…”

Anne rolled her eyes and slung an arm around Katherine’s shoulder. She began guiding her out of the classroom.

  “Oh, who cares?” She said. “Just forget about it!”

But Katherine couldn’t forget.

Especially when they stepped out of the class and saw Joan, among many others, staring at the graffiti scrawled across the nearby lockers.

“JOAN SEYMOUR EATS SHIT”

Joan turned to Katherine with tears in her eyes, bared her teeth like a wounded fox, and then took off running down the hallway crying.

Guilt roared through Katherine and, this time, she knew it would be staying for good.

------

All the girls in the fourth period gym class got dressed in silence. 

The minute they had walked through the locker room door, conversations died away, giggling dissolved, and horseplay seized. There were no catcalls, no playful wrestling, no pinching or nudging or tickling. They just changed out into their gym clothes without speaking a word, already knowing what was coming.

Some teachers forgot.

Miss Aragon was not one of them.

It was no surprise when the locker room door slammed open with force after the bell rang and Miss Aragon came striding in. Her silver whistle bounced against her chest with every step she took, and a large, bulky black duffel bag was slung over one shoulder. She looked more like a wasp than usual, and not just because her outfit was a bright shade of lemon yellow with bands of black lacing over the fabric. She simply looked like she wanted to prick each and every girl in the locker room with something sharp and pointy until she had them squealing for mercy, just like they had Joan Seymour squealing in the stall just a few yards away. Resentment and disgust twisted her features as she scanned the class with brown eyes so dark they looked black.

None of her students dared to look at her.

  “Well, aren’t you all just the bunch to send off to graduation,” Miss Aragon said after five minutes of just watching the teenagers fumble with their gym uniforms. She had seen Bessie try to stick her head through an arm hole three times and Katherine apparently forgot how bra clasps worked, and she decided that it was more pathetic than anything they’ve ever said Joan had done. “When is it? A month?”

Nobody answered. Miss Aragon sneered. 

  “And then there’s the prom!” Miss Aragon began again. “Katherine, you’ll be going with Anna von Cleves. Maria, William Willoughby.” She turned to Anne, one eyebrow raised. “What about you, Anne? I imagine you can take your pick. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

  “Catherine Parr,” Anne said. “You don’t know her, she doesn’t go to this scho--”

  “Who?”

Anne ground her teeth when she was interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Anne, I can’t hear you.” 

  “Catherine Parr.”

  “Well, isn’t she the lucky one?” Said Miss Aragon. “Are you going to get her a corsage? Or are you just going to tie a bloody tampon around her wrist?”

Anne’s face went red and she growled like a wild animal. Miss Aragon was anything but intimidated, easily towering over Anne and beating her in terms of fierceness and muscle. 

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Miss Aragon said. “Why don’t we skip the sport we were going to be doing today and make boutonnieres and corsages for your prom dates instead!”

The girls exchanged confused looks, finding this awfully suspicious.

  “Yeah? Sounds fun, right?” Miss Aragon said. “We can make them out of these!”

As fast as lightning, she ripped open the duffel bag and began throwing its contents all over her class. 

Tampons.

Their teacher was throwing tampons at them.

The sanitary items flew like a raging blizzard of white plastic and cotton. Bessie got hit in the eye by one and reeled back into Katherine, who nearly toppled over in shock. Another got caught in Maria’s curly hair and she clawed to get it out. Maggie let out a piercing alarmed screech. Miss Aragon smirked at their hysteria, then threw the bag down at her feet, fuming both in rage and pride.

  “I’m leaving.” Anne said, storming past the coach.

Something flashed in Miss Aragon’s eyes. 

Fury. Boiling hot fury.

Miss Aragon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joan Seymour at all over the weekend. Every time she closed her eyes she would see that poor child crying out to her for help. Her dreams were tainted by visions of Joan bleeding to death or killing herself because of all the harsh bullying she faced. She kept hearing her scream “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. She couldn’t keep her wrath tamed any longer, and unleashed the full firestorm on her class.

Miss Aragon reached out, moving as quick as a cracking bullwhip, grabbed Anne by the arm, and slammed her into one of the rows of lockers. The sound of the student’s back smashing against the metal rattled loudly throughout the room, only beat by Anne’s cry of shock. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

  “You can’t hit us!” She yelled.

  “I barely touched you.” Miss Aragon said, as if she were talking to a whining younger sibling she had just punched in the face. She pinned Anne against the locker in a position that looked to be very uncomfortable on Anne’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get canned for this.” Anne growled, tears of pain springing to her eyes. “See if you don’t, you bitch!”

  “I don’t really care, Boleyn.” Miss Aragon said. “If you--or any of you--think I’m wearing my teacher hat right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

She backed up so she could glare at all the other girls, but Anne didn’t dare move from her spot against the locker. Her eyes darted to Katherine in a sort of plight for help, Katherine looked away uneasily. Her gaze landed on the shower area, where this all began, and she jerked it away to look at something else. Anything else.

  “I hope you all know what you did on Friday was a really shitty thing.” Miss Aragon said. To her left, Maggie snickered and she glared at her so fiercely it was a wonder Maggie didn’t drop dead. “Do any of you ever stop to think that Joan Seymour has feelings?”

She looked around. Her rage only continued to build when she got no answer.

  “Do any of you ever stop to think?” She narrowed her brown-black eyes dangerously. “Katherine? Maria? Bessie? Maggie?”

Another pause. Miss Aragon seemed to be swelling up like a King Cobra.

  “Oh,” She said as if she had just read their minds. “You think she’s ugly, don’t you?”

Maggie snorted and made a “well obviously” face. Miss Aragon rounded on her, eyes flashing.

  “Well, you’re ugly.”

The stupid, shit-eating grin Maggie had been wearing was wiped clean from her face instantly.

  “I saw just how ugly all of you were on Friday.” Miss Aragon said.

Anne suddenly reared up, shaking her head. 

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” She snapped. “My dad’s a lawyer! He’ll sue your ass!”

  “SHUT UP!” Aragon roared. She got in Anne’s face, smoke practically billowing from her ears and nostrils. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll plug you up.” She jabbed a finger into Anne’s nose, cracking her head back against the locker. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth? There’s plenty of tampons here to see.”

Anne said nothing, but that didn’t stop her from glaring mutely at her coach. Miss Aragon backed away from her, smirking briefly. The rest of her girls were exchanging frantic, nervous looks, wondering if they were about to be murdered or beaten to death or something horrible like that. Personally, Katherine thought they all deserved such a fate.

  “Now,” Miss Aragon said, lowering her voice to a slightly calmer tone, “my punishment for this little charade you pulled was a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

An immediate uproar of unhappy gasps and murmurs eddied through the locker room. Katherine found herself sighing with them, but did agree that that would be a good way to get back at all of them.

  “That would hit you where it hurts, wouldn’t it? And you would deserve it, too.” Miss Aragon said. “Unfortunately, this administration is staffed entirely by men. I don’t think they have the slightest idea how utterly nasty what you did was.” A sneer tugged on the angered grooves in her face. “So you’ll get a week’s detention.”

Instant relief.

  “But it’s MY detention.” Miss Aragon went on. “Fifty minutes. In the field. Every day. And I’m going to run you ragged!” 

They all could already feel their legs burning from exertion and throat aching from dry heaving so intensely. 

  “I won’t come,” Anne said, shrugging.

  “That’s up to you, Anne.” Miss Aragon said. “That’s up to all of you. But I just want you to know that the punishment for skipping detention is a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

There was that wave of unhappiness again, sweeping powerfully through the locker room, and it was music to Miss Aragon’s ears. She smirked wickedly.

  “Get the picture?”

Nobody said anything.

  “Good. Now change out. And think about what I said.”

With that, she turned and surged out of the locker room like a triumphant killer wasp. The tension of her presence quickly lifted, but only slightly. The girls were still mumbling and whispering, not daring to raise their voice in fear their coach may come back in and just take their prom tickets now.

Anne must not have gotten the memo.

  “She can’t get away with this!” She snarled.

  “Anne…” Katherine sighed.

Anne yanked her gym shoes out of her locker and hurled them across the room, as if she were hoping for Miss Aragon to materialize inside and get hit.

  “This isn’t over!” She screeched. “It’s not even in the same area code as over!!”

And she was right.

------

Meanwhile, skipping gym class like she was told, Joan was in the library.

For most of her life, books had been her only friends.

Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you.

Books never told you that you were creepy or called you a monster or a freak or a pig or any other mean names. Books never said, “Joan Seymour eats shit.”

Joan had hid out in the bathroom after she saw the writing on the walls, rocking back and forth in one of the back stalls and crying to herself until her throat ached and she felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She remembered the bathroom door opening and somebody walking in. She had tried to keep quiet as the girl was reapplying her makeup in the mirror, but her lungs began to burn and she let out a choked sob that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Silence.

  “Hello?” Called a voice Joan didn’t know or recognize. “Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m f-f-fine.” Joan choked out.

  “You don’t sound fine.” The girl observed. “Is this your stuff on the ground?”

Right. She had just thrown her belongings on the floor in her panic to get away from prying eyes to cry alone.

  “U-umm--” Joan sniffled.

Outside the stall, she heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of papers. Her binders and folders were slid underneath the door a moment later.

  “There.” Said the stranger. “Just so nobody will take it if anyone else comes in.” She paused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Joan tried to answer, to lie, even if God would strike her down for it, but all that came out of her mouth was a sob. She curled up tighter in the stall, burying her face in her knees. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks like streams of molten lava.

The girl outside made a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing.” She said. “Crying in the bathroom at school. I know that feeling.”

Joan’s crying halted for a moment. She sniffled and looked up slightly.

  “Y-you do?” She stammered.

The girl laughed. “Oh yeah.” She sat down on the other side of the stall, her back pressed against the door. “I got dumped in Geometry in Year 11.”

  “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes,” The girl laughed again. “I wanted to hide in the bathroom forever, but I eventually went back to class. Trust me, crying in here is completely normal. I’ve seen tons of girls do it.”

  “Did you talk to them, too?” Joan asked quietly.

The girl thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “...Then why are you talking to me?”

  “I had this feeling.” The girl said. “That you just--needed someone. More than those girls did. You know?”

She didn’t, but she still said, “Uh huh.”

The girl outside shifted slightly. Joan wished she could see her face.

  “So...what was it?”

  “Huh?”

  “What brought you in here to cry?” The girl specified. “If I may ask… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

She was giving Joan an option, Joan realized dizzily. She wasn’t forcing her to answer.

Sniffling, Joan said, “I-it’s, umm--kinda silly…”

  “Nonsense,” Said the girl. “Was it a breakup?”

  “Umm-- N-no.” Joan said shyly. “I don’t date…”

  “Good for you.” The girl chuckled. “We love a strong, independent woman.”

Joan felt a flurry of butterflies flap wildly in her stomach and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like a giddy idiot. She was always flattered way too easily.

  “School problems?” The girl guessed again.

  “Kinda, yeah…”

  “I feel you, girlfriend,” The girl said. “They expect so much from us, you know? It’s like, do this research project in a week, but I’m only giving you one day to work on it in class so you’ll have to try not to procrastinate when you do the rest on your own and do this math assignment I barely taught you at all, oh and also, find the cure for cancer!”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle. She thought the girl outside the stall may be smiling.

  “It sucks, but you’ll get through it,” The girl said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Joan nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The girl got up. “No problem.” She said. “I gotta run. My teacher is probably going to tear me a new one for taking so long.” She laughed. “I hope you feel better soon!”

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered again. “Bye…”

And then, her savior was gone. Joan hadn’t even known her name. She wondered if the girl would have treated her any differently if she knew who she was…

Joan had managed to make it to third period after finally coming out of the bathroom, and then got to retreat to the one place in the school where she felt at peace.

The library.

Nobody was ever mean to her in the library. They were always too busy to pick on her, and that was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. People didn’t care about her in there, instead hunched over tables with research spread out over the surface, clicking furiously on computers, scribbling in notepads in the windowsill nooks, and reading, reading, reading.

A kind of peace settled over her as she stepped inside, breathing in the crisp smell of books. She felt like she belonged here, with all the oddities of literature, even if she didn’t belong anywhere else. In here there were answers and information and thousands of stories waiting for her to read...right behind Mama’s back. 

Mama didn’t like her reading a lot of things, especially young adult novels. But what Mama didn’t know was that she was already ankle-deep in a franchise about wild cats who were in clans and several other standalone books. When she was at school, the Bible was not Her Holy Book.

Shelves radiated out from every direction like a burst of sun, and more aisles with more books filled the overhead balcony ring. Yes, her school technically had a two-story library. A DOUBLE-DECKER library! You had to take a narrow wooden staircase to get up to the top ledge, which wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room and had a few private rooms to study or read in. The guard rail was laced in white fairy lights, causing the ceiling to glow beautifully.

Another thing Joan loved was the statue at the front, poised below the two entrance ramps and short staircase. It was of a long, serpent-like dragon made of white marble, coiled up on a mound of books with its snout dug in a thick, bulky novel. Its name was Haze, and it looked as though it might glance up at any moment, see Joan, and say, “Oh my gosh, have you read this one? It’s amazing!”

Joan gently brushed one of the claws as she passed by. There weren’t many kids in the library, rather in class, but there were a few Year 13’s in there for a free period. None of them even glanced up at Joan.

  “Mrs. Johansen?” Joan called meekly as she walked up to the librarian’s desk.

Mrs. Johansen was the blatant stereotype of a librarian- big, wide-rimmed glasses, older, warm amber eyes, curly brown hair. She looked up from the book she was reading to smile at Joan.

  “Yes, dear?” She said.

  “C-can you show me how to do a search?” Joan asked. She felt painfully awkward asking that, especially to an older woman, who apparently supposed to know nothing about technology, but Mrs. Johansen smiled kindly and nodded.

  “Of course,” She said. “Come on.”

It took a good five minutes, but Joan was eventually adept enough in computers to search things up. The first thing she did was look up ‘miracles’ and began to scroll through the search results, hoping to find some answers to the strange sensation she had been feeling in her veins ever since Friday.

mir·a·cle

/ˈmirək(ə)l/

noun

a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

Joan blinked, tilting her head at the definition as if she thought the words may start explaining their meaning to her even further if she stared hard enough.

Surprising? And welcome? She looked down at one of her hands, flexing her fingers. Mama didn’t seem to think her...issue...was either of those things. She clicked down to keep searching.

Miracles of the Renaissance

Jesus - Man of Miracles

Apparitions and Eucharistic Miracles 

Miracles on the internet!

Pray for a miracle

Herbal Miracles

Miracles and Modern Scientific Thoughts

Miracles: HIDDEN POWERS OF THE MIND

Joan paused. That last one seemed interesting. She clicked on it and was opened up to a page using big, fancy words she couldn’t really wrap her head around. But there was one in particular that caught her attention-- /telekinesis/. She had no idea what it meant, but something inside of her seemed to latch onto it and tug her interest towards the word until she searched it up in the search bar.

Psychokinesis (from Greek ψυχή "soul" and κίνησις "movement"), or telekinesis (from τηλε- "far off" and κίνηση "movement"), is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction.

Joan’s eyes go wide with interest. Isn’t that what she did to that annoying neighborhood boy? And to Anne Boleyn? She moved them with her mind? 

She looked down at her hands again, but didn’t see anything special about them. They just looked like normal hands, just more bony and scarred than usual. Suddenly self conscious, she rubbed the old burn over her knuckles while clicking on a video about telekinesis.

And it was like watching a dream come true. Joan’s eyes widened even further as she watched as a man simply held out his hand and began to move the pages of a book without even touching them. Just like she did with Anne and the biker boy! He must have the same powers as her! Oh how she wished she could reach into the screen and pull this man out and ask him all the questions now running through her mind. Like, how are you doing that? And when did you know you could do it? And are there others like us? And will you teach me how to do that, too?

She was so enthralled with the video that she didn’t even realize someone was creeping up behind her…

  “Sorry! Sorry.” The brown haired boy with a camera around his neck said when she flinched around to look at him. “I just-- You can make it full screen, you know? Watch.” 

He reached over Joan and clicked the ‘f’ key and the video filled the entire computer screen. Joan’s eyes glimmered in awe.

  “Thank you,” She whispered.

  “No problem!” The boy said with a cheeky grin. He quickly hurried off to an empty table, leaving Joan alone.

He...wasn’t mean to her.

How strange...

------

Katherine quickly realized she had a lot less stamina than she thought she did. She has always been a perfect, well-behaved girl, always slipping out of punishment during the few times she wasn’t, so there wasn’t ever a need to have tough endurance for running because she never thought she would piss off a gym coach of all people.

But here she was, running Suicides in the field after school, fighting the urge to dry heave every few seconds.

The sun seemed to be unnaturally, blisteringly hot that evening, like it, too, was punishing her and her classmates for what they had done on Friday. Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever been so hot before. Her skin felt like it was baking, her hair was tassels of golden fire, and her back was a plateau of roaring flames. Gleaming yellow sunlight made her eyes prickly and sore, and if she squinted through the haze of exhaustion, she swore she thought she could see a big black buzzard circling overhead that seemed to be just waiting for one of them to drop dead.

  “Come on, ladies!” Miss Aragon shouted from the side of the field, looking absolutely delightful. “Lift those legs up! Faster! Faster!”

  “She--she can’t do this to us,” Anne wheezed as she careened up next to Katherine. She was absolutely dripping with sweat and red in the face, but Katherine couldn’t tell if that was from the sun, the exertion of the Suicides, or the fury from both.

  “Just--let it go, Anne. We’re almost done.” Katherine said through her teeth. It took a great effort to speak; she could feel bile curling in the back of her throat like bubbling acid.

  “And then every day this week?” Anne spat. “All because of Joan Seymour?”

  “Anne.” Katherine hissed. She picked up her pace to get away from her cousin, but when she turned to run back to the starting line, her foot slipped in the slick turf of the football field and she was sent sprawling on her stomach. The impact jarred her heavily and she dry heaved painfully until her lunch finally came rushing out of her mouth. A few girls winced, but mostly everyone kept running--not that she blamed them. Anne, however, darted over to her side, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked. Her concerned Big Cousin voice was slipping into her words and Katherine couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile at that. This was the side of Anne she liked, not the evil, cruel one who liked to pick on kids three years younger than her.

  “Y-yeah--” Katherine answered, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Howard,” Miss Aragon called, walking over, twirling her whistle on her finger. “Are you alright?”

  “Like you care…” Anne muttered. Miss Aragon gave her a dangerous glare, and Katherine set a hand on her knees to not only calm her cousin, but to also boost herself back up.

  “Yes ma’am,” Katherine said. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Miss Aragon rumbled. “I’m glad.” She shot Anne another look for a brief moment. “Get back to it. You’re almost done.”

Katherine nodded and then took off again, shortly followed by Anne, who was muttering something about this being “child abuse”.

Ten minutes of running in the searing heat passed and Miss Aragon’s whistle finally pierced the field. A collective sigh of relief swept through the class as girls skidded to a halt and instantly doubled over or completely collapsed to the floor in moaning, groaning heaps of soreness. A few scrambled for their water bottles and began drinking like it was the end of the world. Miss Aragon walked over to them, amusement painted brightly on her face.

  “Don’t drink too fast,” Their coach said to the girls guzzling down water, “or you may throw up.”

  “My legs are gonna fall off,” Bessie said in a woebegone voice. She was flopped over on her back, spilling her bleached white hair all across the green grass.

  “Now you know how it feels to be Joan Seymour, don’t you?” Miss Aragon said, looking down her nose at the girl.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have to run before,” Maggie pointed out grumpily. “Even though she’s the worst at literally everything we do in class…”

Miss Aragon glowered down at Maggie for a moment, then began marching up and down the cluster of girls. They all watched her tensely, waiting for her to exact an even harsher punishment than Suicides.

  “Life’s all about making choices, ladies,” Miss Aragon said. “And, last Friday, you made the wrong one. So here’s how it’s going to go.” Her eyes flashed like gleaming pieces of onyx in the sun. “You’re all going to apologize to Joan.”

There was an uproar of annoyed confusion. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes.

  “You are all going to apologize to her in front of everyone.” Miss Aragon said. 

  “And if we don’t?” Anne challenged.

  “Do you really want to find out?” Miss Aragon said scathingly. She turned and strode away from the field to go retrieve Joan Seymour from wherever she was, swathed in gleaming gold. 

The minute she was out of sight, Anne let out a roar of fury.

  “That goddamn pig!” She yelled, working herself up to a proper fit. “This is all her fault!!”

  “Let it go, Anne.” Katherine said tiredly. She carefully eased herself to the ground, wincing when her throbbing muscles pulled and bent. Relief was short lived, because Anne came charging up to her a second later.

  “Why are you taking her side?!” Anne cried.

  “This isn’t about taking sides!” Katherine cried back, a new sharpness in her voice. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you? Or to any of us?”

A few of the girls exchanged looks, seemingly only now thinking about that, while others, like Anne, looked unfazed. Katherine saw Anne’s fists clench tightly at her side, but she didn’t back down her own defense. She didn’t think Anne would strike her, but if she did, she liked to think she could take her in a fight.

  “My, my,” Anne said with sickly sweet venom in her voice. “Look who’s become the little Joan of Arc around here?” Her demeanor then switched, flaming into seething resentment, and Katherine could now see that her older cousin hated Joan Seymour with every inch of her being--simply for existing. There was no rhyme or reason, she just despised the girl. “Oh yeah, remind me. Who was in there pitching with the rest of us?”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but blew it out in a sigh. “I was.” She admitted.

  “Yeah.” Anne sneered. Several of the other girls were packed behind her, backing her up, while a few, like Bessie and Maria, stood or sat in the middle, looking from the swarm of sweaty, angry teens to Katherine and then back to the swarm. 

  “But I’m sorry.” Katherine said.

Anne barked a laugh. “Sorry?” She laughed again, then turned to the girls behind her. “Hey, everyone, little Miss Perfect is sorry! She’s so sorry! Oh, Kitty’s sorry!”

  “Anne!” Maria hissed, then jerked her head to the side, where the yellow figure of Miss Aragon could be seen walking back over. The group quickly dispersed and Katherine shook her head.

Miss Aragon stopped in front of them. At her side, little Joan looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes are wide and paler than the moon in the sunlight, and she kept fidgeting like she wanted to run. She was trying very hard not to look at any of the girls, but didn’t know where else to stare, so her gaze kept shifting around everywhere in a panic.

  “Now, do you all have something to say to Joan?” Miss Aragon said sternly.

  “Joan--” Katherine stood up, gritting her teeth through the awful wave of pain that burned through her muscles. She slowly walked up to Joan as to not frighten her, but Joan still backed up into Aragon’s side anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Joan hunched her shoulders in and looked away. 

  “Maria.” Miss Aragon said.

Maria hesitated for just a moment, then gave in. “Sorry.”

  “Your turn, Maggie.”

Maggie pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip and spat an uncaring, “Sorry.”

  “Bessie.”

Bessie squinted up at Joan through the sunlight, then said, “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Alright, Anne,” Miss Aragon said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “When goddamn pigs fly…” Anne muttered stubbornly. A few giggles broke out around her. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “What was that?” Their coach said. “We’re waiting, Anne. I can’t hear you.”

  “Please, it’s okay,” Joan squeaked, gripping onto Miss Aragon’s sleeve. She looked up at her with the saddest, most scared eyes Katherine had ever seen before. Miss Aragon gently touched her head in a form of reassurance, then instantly glared at Anne.

  “I said--” Anne growled lowly.

  “You don’t have to do this!”

Joan is in front of Anne, now, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab onto her. In the sun, Katherine could see the silvery scars on her hands more clearly, whorled in strange patterns in her skin. The light made her long white-gold hair look like it was charged with glittering electricity or made of jeweled silk. Anne looked down at her, and Joan backed up, clasping her hands together against her chest nervously.

  “Joan Seymour?” Anne said softly, stepping towards the girl. She stooped down to her height and spat, “Eats shit.”

Joan flinched backwards as if she were just sprayed with venom. Miss Aragon instantly got between her and Anne, acting as a protective shield of sorts.

  “Good news, ladies!” She announced. “Because of Anne’s comment, you will all be getting another week of detention with doubled time!”

The class simultaneously groaned, now turned against Anne. Anne clenched her fists, smoldering with rage.

  “I’m not running another goddamn inch,” She snarled, “because Joan Seymour got her period and was too stupid to know what it was.”

Joan flinched again, and Katherine had the unbearable urge to run over to her and cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear this. Her own blood began to boil and she glared at her cousin.

  “That’s it.” Miss Aragon said. “You’re suspended.”

That seemed to hit Anne like a punch to the gut. Her eyes bulged hugely out of their sockets.

  “What?”

  “You’re out of prom and you’re out of my class.” Miss Aragon stated firmly. “Now.”

  “No!” Anne shouted.

  “NO?” Miss Aragon towered over her, eyes ablaze. She looked ready to rip Anne’s throat out, and Katherine found that she wouldn’t quite mind seeing that happen.

  “You can’t decide that!” 

  “Watch me.” Miss Aragon said. She turned her gaze to the other students, as if she were challenging them to try and speak out. “The rest of you. Another lap. Come on.”

  “You can’t do this to us!” Anne squawked. “Someone could die of dehydration! Bessie, you have a heart condition, don’t you?”

Bessie apparently decided that she didn’t know who Anne was, because she was looking at everything but her.

  “If we all stick together, they can’t suspend all of us!” Anne said fervently. There was a spark of craziness in her eyes as she watched her group of friends crumble around her, suddenly not backed up anymore. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Joan’s quiet whimper begged to differ. Miss Aragon looked at Anne in disgust. 

  “Come on, guys!” Anne desperately attempted to rally them together. “Haley, Allie? Maria? Heather?” She spun around for somebody, anybody, and then her eyes landed on her cousin. “Katherine!” She strode over to her and clasped their hands together. “You’re with me on this, right?”

  “Katherine…” Miss Aragon warned.

Katherine’s heart ached in her chest. Anne was looking at her with so much desperation and need. There were flickers of love in her gaze, love for her little cousin, love that showed that the old Anne was still in there somewhere and ready to play harmless pranks with Katherine again. But when she looked right into her eyes, all she saw was Joan on the floor of the stall, crying and hyperventilating and surrounded by blood.

Her mind was made up.

  “Come on, guys,” Katherine pulled out of Anne’s grasp and jogged over to the starting line to get the last bout of Suicides over with. The others followed, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Anne staring at her with a look of heartbreak and betrayal. 

Heartbreak and betrayal that morphed into something awful and sinister.

  “You fucking bitch,” Anne seethed lowly, wheeling around to glare at Joan. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the wind, practically cowering behind Miss Aragon. “I’ll get you for this! See if I don’t, you filthy pi-”

Anne’s words were silenced by a fierce slap across her face. She tottered backwards, and all the girls running stopped to gasp and ogle the scene with wide eyes. Miss Aragon was scowling and rubbing her hand.

  “You can’t--” Anne sputtered, and then yelped loudly as her collar was grabbed. Miss Aragon shook her roughly, screaming in her face.

  “ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER SHOWED UP TO SCHOOL TODAY!!” Miss Aragon roared. She shook Anne again, then drew her in close. Her words came out barbed and wrapped in shards of glass. “Do you understand me?”

Whimpering, Anne nodded. Miss Aragon released her and Katherine watched as her cousin took off, crying. Miss Aragon looked at the rest of them and shook her head.

  “You’re all dismissed,” She said. Then, she turned, gently took Joan by the hand, and guided her back inside.

Everyone else dispersed pretty quickly, not caring enough to change clothes. Katherine, however, had to trudge to the locker room because she stupidly put all her stuff in there. When she entered, she could hear voices coming from Miss Aragon’s office.

  “Joan, sweetheart? I’m so sorry, if I had known it would have gone like that--”

  “Oh, Miss Aragon, you just have to let Anne go to the prom! You got to!”

Those were Miss Aragon and Joan. Now Katherine had to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. She shut the door silently so as to not alert them and crept closer to hear better.

  “Joan--”

  “Prom is very important to her…”

  “And what’s right is important to me.” Miss Aragon said firmly.

  “But prom is everything to those girls!” Joan warbled. “It’s the one night they get to dress up and be beautiful! It’s like a dream!”

  “But what about you?”

Pause.

Hesitation.

  “No--” Joan said, and Katherine thought she may have been shaking her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going. I’m--I’m /different/.” 

Was that disgust in her voice? Why?

  “Not that different.” 

  “Yes, I am.” 

That was sadness and grief. 

Joan added a moment later, solemnly and slightly envious, “They all got someone…”

  “And so will you one day, things change.” Miss Aragon told her.

There’s a moment of silence. Katherine could bet a million dollars that Joan was looking at Miss Aragon in disbelief right now.

  “I tell you what. Let’s pretend--”

  “Miss Aragon…”

  “Just for a minute! Pretend that the right someone comes up to you and says: ‘Joan, will you be my date to the prom?’ What would you say?”

A beat of silence.

  “No.”

  “J--”

Miss Aragon sighed heavily. Katherine struggled not to laugh.

  “Joan, why not?”

  “I’m not--” Joan fumbled. “I’m not--pretty.”

Miss Aragon gave a tiny gasp.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Sure you are! Look--” Katherine can faintly hear her root around for something, most likely a pocket mirror. “See there? That’s a pretty girl.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. She kept thinking “poor Joan” over and over and over again. The girl’s self esteem was so low. It was normal for people to make comments about their body, but there was a sort of deep hatred in Joan’s voice when she said that she wasn’t pretty that made Katherine think all of this ran a lot deeper than she thought.

Would there ever be a way to make things right?

[cruzrogue]

Perfect Party

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: 15   “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity

Rating:PG13

Warnings/Tags: AngstyFluff

Summary: Continuation from prompt 14 College kids: Oliver and Megan (Felicity) become a couple and this is when he finds out her real first name as he tells his kids the story. 

Notes:(This became a monster… there was supposed be no angsty conversation but it happened anyway. I wrote to make another fluff piece but… Ah! Anyways here it is…)

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Perfect Party on A03

  Cracking open another book to read. Oliver just gazes at where his tutor is sitting reading her own book. She’s plopped down using a sofa as a backrest as her slender legs are over an interior designer’s weird conversational piece. Her heavy long kneed boots are off to the side. She’s reading her least favorite subject of U.S. history as he is taking side notes as he’s reading his textbook of macro-economics. They are both bored out of their minds but they’re under a timer. These minutes belong to these textbooks and they have been both honoring this kind of system of studying.

Oliver won’t argue that since he first took in seriously studying with the help of the Goth girl he met in South Boston by a sidewalk in the late evening hour his grades have steadily improved. To this day she still adheres that she saved him from that lame party. He’ll never know if it was truly lame but he deeply doesn’t care. It’s the party that brought them together thus to him he has no qualms of ever knowing.

The little ding in the background goes off and he lets out a content sigh. He can’t help but watch Megan stretch out like a cat and he inwardly groans because they’re not at that stage of their relationship. She looks so damn sexy all the time and he’s learned that cold showers don’t always work because she’s now always on his mind.

“I’m hungry!”

He’s learned that she has a very vast appetite. As long as tree nuts are not on the menu she can have it all. “What are you hungry for?”

She shrugs but says anyways, “You pick, I chose last time.”

“Greasy or no?”

“Does it matter? You have full control of the pick. Even that rabbit food you’ve successfully added to my diet.”

“Okay, okay! So, I feel like a cheeseburger and some fries.”

He can see the moment that her excitement for meat comes to the forefront as she does this cute gesture of raising her hand in a fist bump.  

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

He just chuckles and it has her cozying up to him as her lips finds his. Mmm… this part of their relationship is gotta be the best. Every kiss they share is full of sizzling potential and they’ve never crossed any lines. For now, they are taking everything slow. She has this thing about slow burn and her explaining it to him was a doozy. Her words cycle around his mind as she’s making herself comfortable on his lap as the phrase refers to stories featuring characters who gradually and naturally fall in love or lust before beginning a romantic or sexual relationship. He won’t suggest to her again that their already in some sort of romantic relationship because it led to her thinking things through the first time and it landed him cursing himself as he lost out on more intimate moments. Yep, he shot his foot off with that mistake he learned not to do it again.

He holds her closer to him enjoying that her chest bumps against his and he knows she can feel how excited he is but she just doesn’t mention it ever. This is girl is becoming a staple in his world and the thought of him now graduating next year while she’ll still be working for her double major has made its presence in his psyche. She just too incredible and they’ve been together for over two semesters now.

The fact that he doesn’t even notice other females has been brought to his attention several times by his male buddies. Using his studies as an excuse he’s keeping more to himself and interacting on a down low with any college partying frat boys. Being honest with himself has been hard. It’s one of the things that has made his growth possible. It would put a lot of stress on his relationship with Megan if she were the sole reason for the changes. Because she doesn’t want to be his savior but he knows her well enough that she believes more in equality. Sharing burdens and stuff. Things he has learned about her through conversations over long noir films, studying moments, and these wonderful make out sessions.

Her perfect weight on his lap not only does things to him but feeling her beside him all the emotions he has deep inside have a way of coming out slowly and after all these long weeks together he wants to tell her that he’s in love with her. He thought about being cheesy a few times but she’d be so disappointed if he went that route. Not on the declaration of love but using time tested romcom samples that are overboard. He finds she has big tastes on technology but doesn’t fancy jewelry given by really anyone.

He landed up giving her signed poster of music groups she loves or that one actress she adores from her favorite show they watch. Buying her a convention ticket to see these people she can recite story lines was like he got down on one knee and proposed. It was amazing how excited she was.

One thing they’re both of aware of is their different social-economics and he is careful to not overwhelm her with family’s status. It would spook her away. It took a bit from him when she found he comes from a wealthy family not to lose her back then. Just lucky they share a close connection.

“Megan, you are such a nerd.”

“I am not apologizing for liking meat.”

He chuckles. “I meant the fist bump. That is such a geeky thing to do.”

She shrugs her shoulder she’s done a lot of other nerdy things she won’t apologize even if he’s just teasing. She shrugs her shoulders she’s done a lot of other nerdy things she won’t apologize even if he’s just teasing. “But you like the thought of me liking meat?” For the first time in their relationship she grinds against him and his eyes become so wide as he is flabbergasted at her forwardness.

“I… I”

“Is Mr. sexy pants mute?”

He nods still wondering what his temptress is doing. Her fingers softly messaging his scalp through the light cropped hair she seems to like. Gosh he’s even sporting scruff that has her kissing his neck since she told him to cut off the beard deep in December after he grew out his facial hair for no shave November. Keeping it trim to this day many months later. Anything that he notices or she out right tells him how much she likes or hates something has him keep to a beauty regimen. Not that he hasn’t had some little says in her own little routines. Like a certain fragrance he admiringly associates with her.

“We are on a break; I’m going to eat a juicy burger and what isn’t there to love?”

“Megan? That isn’t the reason I’m surprised.”

“Hmm… I need to confess something to you and I need you not to get upset.”

Just as quickly as he is aroused, he becomes paranoid that something is going to break this perfection that they have going on.

“As much as I love how you say Megan…”

“Baby I love your name.”

“It’s actually my middle name.” The frozen look on his face has her worried that he may think she’s lied about many other important things. “There is nothing else I’ve kept from you, I just liked using Megan and the way you’d say Meg or Maggie or any other variations just was so perfect but…”

He isn’t totally convinced. He doesn’t understand how she kept something as monumental from him. Everywhere they went he introduced her as Megan his girlfriend. She has yet to meet his parents but the name Megan has fallen from hips a million times conversing with family and friends.

“I mean in reality Megan is still my name.”

He pushes her off slightly and she moves so he can get up. “No!” He just walks to a window in his apartment. They always hang out here because she lives in a dorm. “To think some of your friends having to go along with this farce when they call you by your real name.”

“Oliver? That isn’t the case. I introduce myself to a lot of people as Megan.”

“Really? And how many of these people think about you? Truly care about you? Even dream of you? Simply as what your middle name is?”

She makes a joke of it, “My mother calls me by my whole name either when she’s really happy or annoyed with me.”

“That is supposed to make me feel better?” He is now really agitated. “You don’t get to make this into a joke. Here I am opening myself to you and I don’t even know your name.” He looks away from her. Not allowing her sorrow to change how angry he is becoming.

She knows she in deep trouble he is right and she played the whole name thing lightly not seeing it through his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I would have continued calling you Megan if you have this horrendous name you didn’t want to share at first. Though whatever it is I would love it. Just because it’s a part of you.”

“Wow! I guess I’m a stupid fool I never put much stock into it but I should have and I am really sorry.”

He finally slowly turns to look at his girlfriend and it strikes him he doesn’t even know her name. She can see the realization in his face as he just stares at her blankly.

“It’s Felicity, Felicity Megan Smoak.”

If she thought the frozen look on his face before was concerning whatever is going through her mind is really a shocker.  

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

When Oliver pauses it has his kids on edge. He’s telling the story in a cleaner version of how he learned his wife’s first name. It seems telling his kids this as they wait for their mother to come home may have not been the wisest idea.

“Dad what happened?”

“Yes daddy, did you break up?”

The youngest being so innocent and not truly understanding relationships asks if they ever made up.

Oliver checks his phone and a text by Felicity telling him she’s running late. She finishing up from another conference meeting so he continues on with the story. She’ll be home soon.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

“Felicity… Fe-li-ci-ty.” He just says her name one more time, “Felicity! I don’t get it. It’s actually a very beautiful name.”

“It’s a cheesy name. It means happiness, I’m a Goth girl.”

Oliver sighs he really doesn’t get it. She has been making him happy all these months. The name is perfect. Now that he knows the truth. As much as she’s been Megan from now on, he’ll always think of her has Felicity. What is the most important matter to him is how long he will get to know Felicity? It seems that maybe he had more emotional attachment to her than she has had of him. Maybe her tutoring him and having him mastering his academia is a thrill for her. She’s one of a kind who is he to really know what goes through that mind of hers? Only that he’d be devastated because along the way he gave her his heart even if he hasn’t said so its implied.

“I know your mad, I guess I really screwed up and I’m sorry.”

“It makes me wonder if I’m just an experiment. A fixer upper that you…”

Felicity looks horrified as she cuts him off, “Oh no. No! You’ve been nothing but the perfect dream. I’m always worried I’d wake up and you’d be over me. Falling in love with you was so easy.” She catches what she just said and her hand goes to her mouth. He is about to break up with her and she’s telling him she loves him. She can be such a fool.

“I couldn’t be over you even if I wanted to.” He doesn’t mention the whole falling in love that could just be faux pas said in haste.

Felicity aches now knowing that he doesn’t even think her declaration of falling for him is seen real to him. That stings. “I should go.”

“That is probably for the best.” Yet neither move. The air is thick with unsaid words as their emotions are crumbling with angst.

Felicity is a smart girl she knows if she walks out there won’t be a them any longer. The them that has been crafted over time. She sucks in a breath; she created this mess and she needs to fix it. “I can’t apologize enough for how my careless way of thinking of things in simplest of facts.” She won’t go without at least telling him how much she loves him. “It being a name.” She sighs as she glances at him and watching that he is listening gives her some hope. “I didn’t take to account the emotional side of all this.” Taking a small pause, “You mean the world to me. Oliver, I love you so much…” She tearing up. “That love is from all of me. Felicity Megan Smoak the daughter of Donna and also a father named Noah who I haven’t seen since I was seven.”

Talking about her parents is like pulling teeth. He knows it hard for her so this acknowledgement means something. She really is trying to amend the situation. It really is just a name. It’s not like he doesn’t know how clinical she can be in her thinking process.

“Noah is a fool of a man letting go of such a bright amazing girl.” He moves up to her just like when they met.

“Maybe I just wasn’t…”

“Shh.” He’s looking down to her, “His failure isn’t your own.” He wipes a few stray tears she has let go. “You mean the world to me too.”

“I do?”

“I love you.” He cups her face and finally kisses the one who has his heart.

Still having his hands on her face, she inquires, “Does that mean you forgive me?”

With a sigh his eyes searching hers, “Of course I’d forgive you. We’ll always see some things differently and there will always be fights that are bound to happen.”

“I don’t like fighting.”

He leans in to kiss her as he tells her the same thing.

She’s a little forward in rubbing her hands just under his shirt. “I heard making up is supposed to be…”

He stops her. They haven’t crossed that line yet and he’ll be damn if their first time is happening this way. “I love you Meg…” He closes his eyes this is going to take some getting used to. “Felicity Smoak but I’m still processing this whole name thing and when we take the next step it won’t be after an argument.”

She nods in agreement.

“So, what about some burgers?”

Felicity stops him from leaving her space as she now holds him to her as she raises on her tiptoes to kiss him.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

As the door in the back where it leads to the mudroom opens and Oliver takes a pause as his kids are listening to a very clean version of when he found out Megan was indeed Felicity’s middle name. He looks to the newest addition sitting in the high chair just happily gnawing on a teeth ring. Oblivious to his siblings’ excitement until he hears his mother’s voice and all of a sudden his son a babbling genius. A pang of jealousy hit Oliver as his little munchkin doesn’t show him that kind of welcome.

“Mom’s home.”

Felicity welcomes her two youngest with open arms and gives them kisses than she hugs her eldest as she slowly walks into her husband’s embrace. It doesn’t take long for their youngest to disapprove and want his mother’s sole attention.

“Sorry, hi there handsome.” She’s kissing the baby as the other kids settle back down. She looks at the expecting faces and makes sure to look at her husband as she asks, “Did I miss something?”

“I was just telling them about when I learned Felicity was your first name.” She gives him a weary look. “Don’t worry it was the PG version.”

“Did mommy come off as a clown?” She regrets saying those words as her kids start to asking about clowns. She just meant if she came off sounding awful but now she’s denying any clowns were a part of the story their father told them. Oliver is just off to the side observing his wife having to explain herself ah yes those memories fill his mind as he has his lips puckered up. She sure can dig a hole for herself. As he recalls the true lustful events of that study session.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

“So, what about some burgers?”

“Oliver? I am hungry!” She doesn’t wait for him to truly understand as she already hopping onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist as her lips find that particular spot that has him growl and that’s the purr of his she needs. He catches on quick as he has to keep them from falling as his girl is doing things to him. He unfailingly finds the perfect spot a few steps away to allow her to continue doing this most erogenous thing to his body as she certainly rubs herself on him.

He’s losing the ability to think because just a moment ago he was against this scenario and now his body pretty much told his mind to shut up.  He sinking down deeper onto the sofa she used as a backrest earlier.

There is lips and teeth and the occasion tongue and oh those moans that have both of them panting as they seem to be so lost in each other. Succulent skin that deserves the devotion as hands seem to roam and sweet nips upon each other’s skin only raises the stakes to needing more. Sweet words spilled as some gasps of warm sweet air spurs stimuli onto their hair follicles making for the most enticing shivers.

Felicity has been ready for this for a while, the thought of Oliver’s palms caressing her without barriers of any kind. Even pondering wet dreams of the friction she mostly thirsts for that only he can quench.

At first she teased him. Their relationship wasn’t formed the bonds they have now wasn’t there and it was easy to promise things like promiscuity. Fortunately for them It didn’t work like that because they found that it wasn’t just an attraction that kept them coming to each other’s orbit. They truly sought one another just to discourse what was actually happening in their lives. Until they couldn’t fathom not having the intertwined lives they were leading. Good and bad shared, memories of past conversations, voices becoming lullabies at night and waking thoughts of the other person in mundane tasks. They were falling in love.

It took a stomach rumble which neither could tell if it was theirs but they pulled away laughing. They were good. Though they pulled away from the other knowing that it really wasn’t the right time to go further. There is no hurry.

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

“Come to find out your mommy was very hungry.” Oliver chuckles as his wife actually accidentally demonstrates his point. She is hungry.

The kids try to follow their parents story but there are so many vague points they have no idea what actually happened. They just know that their dad found out what their mom’s name was and that was the end. There was kissing. More kissing. As they watch their dad pull their mom into another hug they know another kiss will happen.

[sapphicscholar]

For @4alarmfirecracker – I hope your day gets a little better!

Prompt: Kinda like Mr and ms Smith AU. Maggie and Alex work for enemy companies and their ordered to kill one another. But of course they can't do that because they take time to spy on each other, maggie even finds that alex has a sister and that she tries to go on dates with guys but it never works out (maggie is gay and she know she's gay, alex doesn't know that she is gay yet but she totally is into maggie) alex on her side doesn't find much about maggie because maggie outside of work doesn't have many people. Anyway at a certain moment they can meet (I'll give you the total liberty on that ^^) I just want at least a kiss, an "alex puts back maggies hair behind her ear (she truly has beautiful hair)" and a happy ending !!!

A/N: Okay, so, there's angst for sure. And some talk of violence. Also the backstory I used to try to keep them in character got pretty dark and a little dystopian...BUT I promise a happy ending! So....there's that?? (I've also not seen Mr. and Mrs. Smith, so try not to go into it with that as your expectation...). If it's not clear, I'm not 100% certain that I did the prompt justice, but here's to hoping and to going outside of typical writing genres! Anyhow, if you're looking for straight-up spies instead of assassins, I wrapped up Undercover(s) last week, so you can check that out here!

Chapter Text:

“Newest orders from on high.” A manila folder skidded across the desk to where Maggie sat, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate in front of her.

“What happened to ‘just one more’?” Maggie yelled at the man’s retreating form.

“If it makes you feel any better, sweetheart, then by all means, it’s just one more.” He laughed loudly on his way out the door.

Flipping open the folder, Maggie found a woman’s name, “Alexandra Danvers,” along with a photo and an address. The woman was gorgeous—not that Maggie should notice such things, not when her survival depended on killing that gorgeous woman. She found herself wondering what it was this one had done to get on the boss’ shortlist. The answer came soon enough in the form of three capital letters scrawled in black Sharpie across the back of the photo: DEO. Well, at the very least, she wouldn’t have to feel quite so guilty about this one as she did about some of the others.

Every last one of the ordered hits ate away at her, kept her up at night until the burn of whiskey was enough to dull her nerves and knock her out for a few hours. But some were worse than others: the family members of targets she’d been told to hold for ransom; the young woman who had never known what she was getting into when she started dating the son of one of the fight club managers; the strung out kid who couldn’t have been more than twenty and already bore a life sentence for having stolen less than a hundred buck’s worth of drugs from one of their shipments. The robberies and deliveries and jobs whose end purpose she never asked about—they were easier to bear, the kinds of things she expected.

Of course, her first few years had been nothing like this. When Roulette’s men had come to Darla’s place and found a human shacked up with her, they’d offered Maggie a job too—no real definition of what this “job” was, but anything to make money seemed like a good. She and Darla had made do, working illegally for the manager grungy bar down the street where they were paid under the table at half the wage of the others, scrounging for food and loose change in the shopping mall downtown, and, when it became necessary, stealing the necessities—a loaf of bread, a bit of cheese, some peanut butter here and there. It wasn’t glamorous, but it beat the hell out of life she’d had after her parents kicked her to the curb at 14 years old, and over the years, she and Darla had found…well, it wasn’t love, but it was something like care. So when someone came for Darla, it seemed only right that she go too.

And god, the pay was good. They gave her a bike, which later turned into a motorcycle once she’d “proven her worth,” and sent her around town doing deliveries. They didn’t tell her what was in the packages, and she never asked. For a few years, that was all. She and Darla got a new place in one of Roulette’s buildings. It meant they were on call 24/7, but it seemed worth it for the nicer apartment.

Over the years, it became clear that Maggie was a bit of an anomaly as one of the only humans there. Slowly but surely, her responsibilities were differentiated from Darla’s and the other aliens she had gotten to know. Her pay was better, and the jobs given to her came from the higher ups. They started pulling her into trainings—martial arts and target practice. Later came more advanced weaponry—things designed to kill and nothing else. The kind of jobs she did, though, they were still similar to the ones she did before. Sure, she went to nicer buildings, and sometimes she was asked to carry weapons, but she never had to use them.

But then things changed. A series of riots organized by a group that called itself the DEO sparked outrage against the alien population of National City. Maggie noticed more and more of them pouring in to Roulette’s buildings by the day. They were forced to share rooms, while Maggie was moved into a new building.

The first time she was given an assignment to kill, she was told it was to protect Darla—they said someone from the DEO was coming for her, would kill her if they didn’t strike first. So she did. The next time, it was someone coming for M’gann. She shot with deadly precision. After that, they stopped giving her reasons. She learned only later that some of her targets had been aliens themselves.

Things in the city slowly and gradually improved; President Marsdin took office, and things began to thaw between people and aliens around the country. There were even rumblings about an alien amnesty act to come. But Hank Henshaw still ran National City’s DEO—a fact that Roulette and her men constantly repeated, reminding their alien employees that they were still better here than anywhere else. The emergence of Cadmus scared the ones who had dared to leave right back into Roulette’s arms. Even working for little pay or fighting most nights for wealthy patrons seemed better than the fear Roulette cultivated in them of the Henshaws and Luthors of the world. A hard life was still better than no life.

With too many arrest warrants out to count and a rap sheet a mile long, Maggie had nowhere else to go, and she justified her actions to herself each night by spending time with Darla and M’gann and all the others she liked to think she protected, even if it meant becoming a killer herself.

---

Alex cringed at the sight of Hank Henshaw striding across the room toward her. “Your next target, Agent Danvers.”

“Yes, sir.” There was no point in disagreeing. She’d known what she was getting into when she volunteered, had known there would be no coming back from the things she’d be forced to do here. But it was worth it to protect her family—or what was left of it. Apparently taking a father from her and returning nothing more than an empty coffin hadn’t been enough for the DEO. They’d come back, demanding Kara or another scientist as tribute. Already struggling her way through graduate school, nearly crushed under the weight of her mother’s disappointment, Alex flew home and offered herself as the DEO’s newest recruit. Her life might not have much value left, but, dammit, it was enough to spare her mother and her sister.

Peering down at the file, she found a young woman’s mugshot staring up at her—Margaret Sawyer.

“She’s human.” Even with the bags under her eyes and what looked like a long scratch running down her cheek with flecks of dried blood, she looked young. Even pretty.

“And?”

“We capture aliens.” Well, she captured aliens—for the most part, when it was a viable option; other people killed no matter what the circumstances were.

“And she works with aliens.” Hank’s frustration was increasingly obvious. Alex may have grown into an obedient soldier, but he suspected if her family were no longer around, she’d have tried to escape from the DEO ages ago.

“But she’s still human.”

“She’s a human out to kill you.” Why the knowledge that she worked with aliens wasn’t enough, Hank would never understand. Surely Danvers had seen enough of the devastation aliens wrought to know that consorting with aliens—especially the band of criminals this woman associated with—was justification enough.

Alex gritted her teeth. She’d known something was coming after she spearheaded the mission to capture two of Roulette’s prized fighters. The fact that her agents had killed a few of the other aliens and one of Roulette’s men along the way had done nothing to improve Alex’s odds of avoiding retaliation, though she’d hoped that the fortress that was the DEO might protect her. Apparently not. It was kill or be killed, and when being killed meant leaving her family at risk once more, Alex knew exactly what she would do.

---

As rain slowly flooded the roof around her with puddles, Maggie huddled deeper into her black raincoat and kept her binoculars trained on the window of the address she’d been given for Alexandra Danvers. Over the past few days of devoted investigation, she’d seen little of the woman. One night she’d finally wandered in around 10pm, had a few glasses of something, and finally crashed around midnight. The next few nights had been much of the same. Tonight, for the first time, she was with someone else.

As Maggie waited for the person to turn around so she could see a face, she adjusted the focus, trying to get a better view of the woman’s face. The rain helped nothing, but her view was less blurry, at the very least.

Finally the other person—a man—took off his coat and moved further into the apartment with Alexandra—no, the target, Maggie reminded herself. The distance was important. They sat on the couch, and Maggie watched him inch closer and closer, finally throwing his arm up and around the woman. She seemed to tense, and Maggie couldn’t help but feel a burst of indignation before she remembered that the woman killed aliens, hunted them like prey and dragged the few who survived back to labs for what she could only imagine were cruel experiments.

----

Alex forced a smile before seeing Jeff to the door. He claimed one last kiss before leaving, squeezing her hand and promising to call her tomorrow to schedule their next date. He was the third date in what felt like as many days that Kara had set her up on, and she figured giving one the chance for a second date might get Kara off her back. She knew her sister meant well, knew the dates and the sister nights and the constant check-ins were the product not only of Kara’s good heart but the guilt she still bore for letting Alex go off to the DEO.

But for now she had work to do in tracking down her target. Getting anywhere near Roulette’s apartment buildings, which had turned into something more like a compound than a courtyard, was out of the question, which had left Alex spending her evenings after work circling the area for hours—always to no avail. But today at work, she’d finally gotten her first break in the form of traffic camera footage that allowed her to follow Margaret Sawyer all the way from the apartments to a coffee shop downtown. She’d zipped across town and hunkered down in an alley across the street, waiting as the woman who was out to kill her held hands with some blonde and sipped coffee, cracking jokes as though she weren’t in the middle of plotting a murder.

She’d followed the cameras across town to the blonde’s apartment, and planned to go back under the cloak of darkness to figure out if there were any ways to get off a clean shot from outside the building.

She hadn’t expected for the lights to still be on in the apartment after her date, for the two women to be pressed up against the large bay windows and clawing at one another, for her heart to hammer in her chest the way it did. Clearing her throat, she decided it was a clean enough shot and booked it back to her apartment to get herself enough scotch to forget the image and fall asleep.

She went back to the apartment every night for the next two weeks. Not once was the woman there a second time.

---

Tapping her foot impatiently, Maggie checked her watch and waited for the woman to get back to her apartment. While she would never advocate for treating an investigation into an assassination target as entertainment, she couldn’t help but find the woman’s life intriguing. There had been a string of men, but most had been turned away with a small kiss at the door never to return again. And each date had been followed by an extra glass or two of what Maggie had, after finally purchasing much nicer binoculars, been able to determine was scotch. Tonight was the third date with the one who had seemed least offensive. He brought flowers, and they left for a couple of hours. When they came back, Maggie watched what she would later think of as the worst sex she’d ever have the displeasure of participating in—even if it was only as a voyeur.

At that point, Maggie decided she really didn’t need to see certain things twice and resolved to make her move, finding a way to intercept the woman on her way to work. Which is how she found herself merging into traffic two lanes over from Alex’s SUV, a knife tucked into her boot, and a gun hidden under her coat, hoping that the woman would stop somewhere—maybe for coffee—where Maggie would be able to casually run into her. From that point on, it was just a question of getting her alone, and that had never been much of a problem.

---

Alex cursed as the light switched from yellow to red before she could accelerate through the intersection. She looked around her, gasping when she noticed the very woman out to kill her perched on the motorcycle whose plates she’d been tracking for weeks now, only one lane of traffic between them. She shook her head when the first thought to cross her mind had nothing to do with how best to kill her and everything to do with how very good she looked on the bike. Ignoring the flush of heat that swept through her body, Alex merged over one lane once she got her green light, now driving side-by-side with her would-be-assassin and target. The roads still weren’t particularly crowded. She wondered if she could veer over, claim the woman had been in her blind spot….but no, there were still plenty of witnesses who would see.

Remembering that Margaret needed to kill her too, she figured she may as well make herself visible in the hopes of getting the woman to follow her, so she turned up the radio and cracked the windows, pretending not to notice when the woman’s eyes flashed over to her. Singing along loudly with “The Great Escape,” Alex slowed down slightly and merged over into the woman’s lane, sliding in right behind her. After a few more blocks, she turned off into the parking lot of some small café, watching as the other woman made a sharp turn, receiving several loud honks and screamed obscenities as she followed Alex into the lot, parking several spots over.

“Nice bike,” Alex observed, feeling for the gun in her waistband.

“You ride?” Maggie tucked her helmet under her arm as she fell in step with her target, keeping just enough distance between them to have room to draw.

“Not much these days.”

“Ah, well, maybe one day I’ll have to take you out on a ride…”

Alex laughed and ignored the swooping sensation in her stomach at the wink she got. “Maybe one day.” In hell, she added in her head. Quite the way to kill someone.

Maggie tilted her head to the side, not having expected the pink flush on the woman’s cheeks. Then again, her dates with men seemed to have been going terribly, so maybe women were her thing. But no, she chastised herself, this wasn’t about getting a date; it was about getting a hit. Just because the woman didn’t exude evilness like some cartoon villain didn’t mean she didn’t go off to her lab and commit atrocities every day. “Maybe if I start with buying you a coffee, it’ll help?”

“Why not,” Alex shrugged. Unbidden, the image of Margaret and her date stripping each other of clothes and finally throwing one another into the bed flashed through her thoughts. Which was utterly ridiculous. Because she was only saying yes to get her alone long enough to shoot her without witnesses. Obviously.

“I’m Maggie, by the way.”

Alex reached out and shook her hand, adjusting the way she’d thought about the woman. Admittedly, Maggie seemed to fit her better than Margaret.

“Alex. Nice to meet you.”

Maggie smiled back at her.

While they waited in line, they chatted—both of them lying, both fully aware that they weren’t getting any true answers. They spoke about jobs they’d never hold and families they didn’t have, all the while sizing each other up and both concluding, “If it comes down to it, I can take her.”

As they neared the front of the line, Maggie let herself brush up against Alex just slightly and grinned as she heard a sharp intake of breath. “So, uh, I know I haven’t technically gotten you coffee yet, but what do you say to dinner this weekend? I’ve got some new recipes that I’d love to try.”

Pretending to consider it, Alex waited a few moments. “I don’t know…we don’t really know each other yet.” Mainly, she didn’t even know where in the damn compound the woman lived, and it seemed like a really terrible place to go to commit murder and escape unscathed.

“Give me your number, then. Let me prove to you that it’s worth the risk.” She flashed a toothy smile that she just knew brought out her dimples.

Nothing was worth that risk, Alex thought. “Alright, give me your phone.”

After a moment’s panicked hesitation, Maggie finally handed it over, watching the woman like a hawk to make sure she wasn’t installing any kind of tracker on it. Instead, Alex—no, the target—just put in her number and sent herself a text. Maggie almost pitied her. Sure, she worked for evil people and probably did evil things, but she had no idea she was texting herself from the phone of the woman who would kill her.

“Excuse me,” the barista called out, rolling her eyes when the two women finally turned around. “I get that first dates are exciting, but we’ve got a line.”

“Oh that’s not,” Alex stammered.

“Not yet—it’s really more of a pre-date,” Maggie clarified, ignoring Alex’s flustered looks. She quickly placed her order and then let Alex order before swiping her card. “I told you I’d buy you a coffee, so let me.”

“Um, alright. Well, you know, this means maybe I should cook dinner for you instead.” The fact that she couldn’t cook would never need to be an issue, so long as she killed the woman before the main course.

The barista shook her head at their flirtation; subtle they were not.

---

Over the next couple of days, they texted almost constantly, and even though Alex rarely told the truth about what she was doing, she found the truth about her mood or the general gist of her feelings seeping into her texts. And she couldn’t help but notice that Maggie always knew just what to say—whether it was the promise to come kick the asses of any one of Alex’s bosses who didn’t see her worth or a barrage of gifs that had her smiling even at the lowest of times.

And Alex realized that she was learning small things about Maggie despite herself—never the kinds of things that would help her with an assassination, though. Instead of having any idea of how to get into Maggie’s building unseen, she now knew that Maggie was a vegetarian who didn’t drink milk—hence the preferred soy chai tea latte order. Instead of learning what times Maggie was alone outside of that goddam complex, she found out what shows Maggie liked to watch in her spare time and the songs she absolutely required on a road trip playlist.

Inadvertently, she found herself even admitting one or two true details about herself—the fact that her dad died several long years ago, the fact that she had a sister who came over to watch Game of Thrones and ate more pizza than anyone she knew.

---

Even though there was no chance of possibly intercepting Alex tonight, unless she waited for the sister to leave, Maggie found herself sitting cross-legged on the roof’s edge of the building across the way simply watching Alex through her binoculars as she tidied the apartment for her weekly sister night. She could feel herself growing attached and continually reminded herself of all the horrible things the DEO did to her friends. One less person like that in the world was a good thing, she repeated like a mantra that she just couldn’t quite believe.

Eventually the sister arrived—all blonde and bubbly and everything Alex was not—carrying with her several large pizza boxes, though Alex provided the wine and ice cream. Watching the two of them sit side-by-side, Alex’s arm draped protectively across her sister’s shoulders, she felt a pang for everything she lost when her family forced her out of her home. She hated knowing that she’d be responsible for wiping the smile off of the sister’s face—possibly forever. She took a few minutes to compose herself, pulling the binoculars away and counting out her breathing until she felt steady once more.

Once the episode ended and the last of the ice cream was finished, the blonde woman pulled her sister into a tight hug. When she turned around, though, Maggie could swear she saw what looked like bickering. Focusing in on Alex’s face, she saw that her expression had grown tense, lines of worry and stress and age hardening her features. Finally, after an exasperated shrug from Alex, the sister jumped out the window—no, that couldn’t be it. But no, there she was, floating in midair and swooping up into the cloud cover and away into the night. And oh god, she was an alien. The sister was an alien. Did that make Alex an alien? And oh, Maggie paused, did that make Alex one of the good guys? Why work for an organization designed to kill your sister?

She barely slept that night, consumed with feelings of guilt that weren’t helped at all by the harsh reminder one of Roulette’s men delivered about how soon she needed to act.

She found herself agreeing to dinner at Alex’s place the day after next, fighting back the wave of guilt and nausea and self-loathing when she sent a cheery text back to the woman whose life she was about to end.

---

With her weapons all hidden in places designed for easy access and a store-bought meal in the oven, disguised as homemade, Alex wiped her hands on her jeans. She hated how nervous she was, how consumed by guilt she felt over the thought of killing the woman who was ready to do the same to her. She’d thrown on a Kevlar vest under a chunky cable-knit sweater just in case, though she didn’t really want it to come down to that. It was simple—just get the first shot in, and be done with it. Clean up. Destroy the evidence on Maggie’s phone. And go about her days as though she hadn’t taken the life of a human who hadn’t yet done anything wrong—at least to her knowledge.

---

Clutching flowers in her hands and ignoring the cold metal of the gun in her waistband, Maggie knocked on Alex’s apartment door.

“Hey,” Alex greeted her, throwing the door open wide.

Maggie hated how trusting the gesture was. She swept in and looked around and made polite conversation like she’d never seen the place, as though she hadn’t spent the past month staring through the windows and watching Alex cook for herself and drink alone and cuddle up next to her sister and have terrible dates and even worse sex. “Oh, these are for you!” She held out the flowers and smiled despite herself at how charmed Alex looked by the simple gesture.

“Thanks, let me just find water for them,” Alex muttered, making her way into the kitchen without turning her back on Maggie. She quickly threw out the flowers she’d gotten from Jeff and replaced them with Maggie’s, which were, truth be told, much closer to her style than the gaudy pink and purple and white bouquet Jeff had brought her.

Over appetizers and wine, the conversation flowed easily. Maggie asked about her week, remembering the deadlines and stressful meetings Alex had mentioned in passing and making a point of asking how they had gone. Alex, in turn, asked whether Maggie had gotten around to catching up on American Horror Story, volunteering to watch with her that night since she knew it sometimes freaked her out if she watched alone late at night. She flinched as her hand brushed against the gun strapped to the underside of the table at her place. She wondered whether it would be so bad to put it off for one more day…

As they sat talking, Maggie reached a hand out and let their fingers tangle together. Alex swore she could feel her heartbeat in every inch of her body at the press of soft, warm skin against hers. And god, she wasn’t the kind of person who felt like this, certainly not with women, but she found herself looking deep into dark brown eyes and noticing flecks of gold and wondering how they might look fluttering shut if she leaned over and… No! No, the woman was going to kill her, and it certainly wasn’t the time to be swept away in some silly fantasy.

---

When Alex went to the kitchen to bring out the main course, Maggie couldn’t bring herself to draw the gun from her waistband. Surely it could wait for dessert. She wished there were some way she could find out how Alex had come to work for the DEO. Maybe she was a mole, some plant meant to take it down from the inside. If that were the case, Roulette would have to understand sparing her, right? She doubted it, even as she let herself hope.

While Alex scooped two generous servings of a very professional looking lasagna onto their plates, Maggie joined her in the kitchen and refilled their glasses from an open bottle of wine. She swirled it in her cup and inhaled deeply. “This is a nice merlot, Danvers,” she mused, shooting her an impressed look as she brought it up to her lips to test it.

“No!” Alex yelled, lunging at her and smacking the glass out of her hands. The glass shattered and red liquid spattered against the wall and floor—a bit heavy-handed on the foreshadowing, Maggie thought grimly. “It’s, uh…bad luck! I’m the host, you know? I need to, uh, make a toast first.” Alex didn’t mention that it was also in poor form to serve guests wine laced with enough alien tranquilizers to knock them out for hours if not kill them.

As Alex bent over to pick up the largest glass shards, Maggie found her gaze drawn to her ass, but before she could even enjoy the view, a glint of metal and a slight bulge drew her attention. She had her own gun drawn and the safety clicked off before Alex could even stand up.

“Don’t even think about it,” Maggie growled.

Alex’s eyes widened in fear for a second, but then she launched the handful of glass at Maggie and lunged behind the wall while Maggie was left closing her eyes and shielding her face as best she could from the onslaught. By the time she had opened her eyes again, she found Alex pointing what looked like an actual bazooka at her.

“Put the gun down, Sawyer. You’re not winning this fight.”

“The bigger gun doesn’t equal the better shot,” Maggie bluffed, knowing full well it’d be fairly impossible to miss at such a close range.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Alex growled, backing Maggie across the kitchen and into the counter.

“You greet all your gests with the best weapons you have to offer?” Maggie asked, trying to buy herself a bit of time to figure out an escape route.

“Only the ones trying to kill me.”

“Wait…you knew?” The secret was out in the open at this point, so there was really no reason to act like it wasn’t true. Really, there was no coming back from pointing guns in each other’s faces and acting like it was all some silly misunderstanding—a comedy of errors, really.

“Of course I knew,” Alex huffed. “Why else would I be ready to kill you at a moment’s notice?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Pretending to ponder it, Maggie tilted her head slightly. “Maybe because you work for a murderous, xenophobic organization that kills aliens for sport?”

“Oh right, because Roulette’s so much better with her underground fight clubs where she lets them kill each other instead of doing the dirty work herself.”

“I—look, I’m not Roulette. You’re actually one of them.” Alex just glared at her. She was, and she hated herself for it. “You’re not gonna tell me it’s all for the good of the city?”

“It’s not.”

“What?”

“What we do isn’t good. Maybe it could’ve been…I hear in some cities the DEO is a force for good.”

“Is this about your sister?” Maggie didn’t realize she could make the situation worse, but with the way Alex’s gun was suddenly touching her chest, she suspected she just had.

“What about my sister? Think really fucking carefully before you answer.”

“Why would you work killing aliens when your sister is one? And you clearly love her,” Maggie stammered. “I’m not trying to out her! I—most of my friends are aliens. My ex-girlfriends too. I just…it didn’t make any sense.”

“So? Maybe she is.”

“Then why work for Hank Henshaw?”

“Better me than her,” Alex answered as though it were the simplest thing in the world. And for her, it was. She would have given her life a hundred times over to spare Kara’s.

“You didn’t join by choice?” Maggie asked it like was a question, but deep down she already knew the answer. It wasn’t just attraction skewing her judgment; Alex really wasn’t like the other DEO agents she’d met and taken out over the years. Because she didn’t choose to be one of them.

“No.” The one syllable spoke volumes, carrying with it years of regret and pain and hatred that seemed to flash in vivid color on Alex’s features for just a moment before they were schooled back into a mask of cold indifference.

And Maggie knew it might be stupid—probably was—but at that, she lowered her gun and set it on the counter behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“I was ordered to kill someone who worked for the DEO, the kind of person who delighted in hunting and torturing and killing my friends—aliens, people who are different. And had you been, I would have killed you already.”

Alex lowered her weapon a fraction of an inch. “Why?”

“This—Roulette and her men and the shit they do—I didn’t sign up for this life either. And I know what that feels like. But I do it to keep fighting for the lives of my friends, the people I care about…my family. I won’t kill you for doing the same.”

Alex slowly dropped her weapon, putting it all the way down only after sweeping Maggie’s gun to the side. “I didn’t really want to kill you,” she admitted.

“That’s comforting.” And they couldn’t help but laugh. And they laughed and laughed until the corners of their eyes prickled with tears because how else could they possibly respond in this situation?

But when Alex looked up, she found she was a lot closer. And this time, she didn’t feel the same weight of guilt laying heavy in her stomach when she noticed those flecks of gold sparkling in Maggie’s eyes. And this time she didn’t flinch back from Maggie’s touch. No, this time she brought her own hand up and tucked a lock of hair behind Maggie’s ear, letting herself notice just how soft it was and how right it felt and how beautiful Maggie looked, and then she lost herself in the feeling of Maggie’s soft lips against her own and fantasies of running away together, leaving behind the burdens and responsibilities of National City for some island getaway—just them and some guns and as many alien friends and family members as they could smuggle out with them and cartons of that gross vegan ice cream she remembered Maggie mentioning in a text once. And when Maggie’s soft hand came up to cup her jaw, Alex let herself believe that their happily ever after was just around the corner.

[max-isnt-a-megafaggot-blog]

October 1992: Homer The Heretic airs and ends with Homer talking to God.

http://i.imgur.com/uwHdZLM.jpg

Homer: God, I gotta ask you something. What's the meaning of life? God: Homer, I can't tell you that. Homer: C'mon! God: You'll find out when you die. Homer: I can't wait that long! God: You can't wait six months? Homer: No, tell me now! God: Well, ok. The meaning of life is…

April 1993 (SIX MONTHS LATER): So It’s Come To This: A Simpsons Clip Show airs and involves Bart’s April Fools prank inadvertently putting Homer into the hospital, where he is then crushed by a vending machine and put in a coma.

Now the episode ends with Homer waking up (and giving us a hilarious POV shot of him choking Bart), but it seems to be too convenient and sudden.

http://i.imgur.com/9GYMplw.jpg

I propose that Homer didn’t actually wake up from his coma. He is still in a vegetative state and every single Simpsons episode afterwards is in Homer’s imagination.

This is why the characters don’t age. Homer remembers Bart, Lisa, and Maggie as 10, 8, and 1 year old, so they will always appear that way in his dreams. He is subconsciously aware of time passing, so his mind will often “update” his memories so that the year they occurred matches up with the age he thinks he is (eg. That 90’s Show contradicting other flashback episodes).

While the characters’ ages don’t change, the events happening to the Simpsons definitely did. The plots of episodes following the April Fools show are far zanier than beforehand. Let’s compare, shall we?

Plot Examples Before April 1993 Bart cheats on an IQ test Homer tries to give up drinking Marge considers cheating on Homer Lisa has a crush on her teacher

Yes, there were some wacky plots, but overall fairly mundane stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary for most people.

Plot Examples After April 1993 Homer goes into outer space Principal Skinner is revealed as an imposter Mr. Burns captures the Loch Ness Monster Homer works for a supervillain who takes over the eastern US Bart and Homer buy a racehorse and discover the secret land of jockeys Also, celebrity after celebrity after celebrity

This is clearly Homer’s imagination running wild. With no real world restrictions, Homer’s mind is able to dream up scenarios of him and his family in fantasies involving him winning a Grammy, his father fighting his boss for buried WW2 treasure, his wife getting breast implants, his infant daughter saving him from drowning, etc.

The massive amounts of celebrity appearances are easily explained as well. People in comas can sometime hear what people in the same room are saying. While Homer wouldn’t physically react, his mind processes that information and includes it in his dreams.

Maybe the nurse leaves the radio on and Homer hears a Lady Gaga song. Suddenly:

http://i.imgur.com/4C0817Q.jpg

His family visits and talk with each other about the new Mel Gibson movie they’re going to be seeing after leaving the hospital. Next thing you know:

http://i.imgur.com/nzyS4my.gif

And so on.

There’s one last thing I want to leave you with. Going back to Homer’s conversation with God, what is the meaning of life? Or at least Homer’s life? Well life can have different meaning for different people and a purpose or reason for one’s existence can be as unique as their fingerprints. For Homer, his grand purpose is obvious – he is here to entertain. His dreams, his imaginative adventures, have provided billions with amusement and will continue to do so for decades.

NOTE: i didn't make this, it was made by hardtopickaname on reddit.