#RIP the keyboard real victim of the show

[sweetlullabyebye]

Moonjo @ Jongwoo: I think real courage is hurting people you hate <3

Jongwoo the next day: I'm gonna fuck up this keyboard and those students so badly

[dzpenumbra]

3/22/23

I don't really know where to start tonight. I felt like shit last night, slept like garbage too. Had dreams about my old landlords, glad to know that shit is literally still haunting me.

I decided to take it real easy today. I did some very light yoga, only neck and upper back. I played this new game I started last night, Ad Aspera - it's a Mars terraforming simulation kinda game, but with a story line, I'm really liking it so far, but it's definitely a game for a certain type of people.

I spent a good chunk of the night working on the hoodie. I got a lot done. I mean, a lot, there's really not a lot left to do on the back piece. There's an outer ring, some silver fill work, adding in more layering to the white, the black line work and then... I want to add shading to the whole thing, so... that'll be the final step. That will make it look absolutely nuts. It's already really popping out, the colors are very vibrant.

Honestly, not a lot else happened, it was a really low-key day. I spent a little time looking for local art collectives, see if I can find some other weirdos like me so I don't have to just blindly introduce myself to normies and weird them out. The first one that showed up on my google search was one through a local mental heath clinic... that was an art collective for people with mental health/substance use problems, or people with them in their lives.

My initial impression was... yep, this is pretty much where I belong, right? I mean, I went on an hour-long cruise yesterday and led to me having cascading trauma responses all throughout the rest of the evening, convinced that like... everything I do just pisses people off. Like I can't exist in a space without upsetting someone. Like... I tiptoe around my own apartment at 3AM to make sure I don't upset my downstairs neighbor, because I know how loud my upstairs one is. I often worry about how loud my keyboard clacks are. That kind of shit. I frame it in my head as common courtesy, politeness, kindness, compassion. And, to a degree, it is. But... it's also fear. Fear of punishment, fear of someone lashing out. Which is weird because... you'd think I, of all people, could take that. Right?

Like... the more I think about it... pretty much everyone I've known has lashed out on me. A very select few I managed to avoid before that happened... and I shouldn't say everyone of all time, but like... everyone of the past 7 or so years. Plus, middle child. Plus, black sheep. Plus, abuse victim. Plus, PTSD. Plus, artist. Plus, skateboarder. Plus, listens to metal. Plus, used to have a pink mohawk, more recently a 2 foot long braided mohawk (RIP). If someone was getting singled out and blamed, in my family at least, it was going to be me. I've been a patsy for a long time, including for other people that called me "friend" too. It's confusing... Why does it have so much power over me if I'm so... used to it? If I have so much experience?

I'm thinking of it in terms of snowskating, like... when I do a trick I'm barely familiar with? Like... varial heel, front shuv, inward heel, hardflip, something way off my normal path... It's scary as fuck. Like... I don't even want to get above the board, I feel like I'm just going to sack or eat shit. I have very little experience with flip tricks, with detaching from the board and reconnecting. There's a lot of faith and trust involved in that. And new rotations are just... yeah, you get what I mean, attempting to land that feels very similar to how most people feel just standing on a board for the first time. Alien, scary, like it's going to hurt you in some unknown way.

But when I try something I'm still not confident in... but I have experience in? Like... heelflip, or kickflip, or varial flip... There's still a fear element, but it's very diffuse. The fears are much more specific and narrowed to rare circumstances. Landing with your weight too far back and slipping out, landing primo, landing on your nose and digging the nose into the snow and eating shit. Point being, the experience gives you... information, detail... so after 500 kickflips, you've kinda got a good idea what to expect.

Speaking of being sick... I'll pick this up in a few. --- Ugh, I don't know if it's a stomach bug or something I ate, but my guts are not happy with me.

So... where I was going with that analogy is... if I have a lifetime of experience being blamed for shit... why am I so bothered by it? Why does it upset me?

I think it's the "nothing left to lose" thing. I've had this thought a lot over the past few months, I found it interesting. I have suffered a lot of loss recently. And I've started to get into this realm of being super self-protective and not taking chances. Of course... But the logic is framed as being part of "nothing left to lose". Like... I don't have a buffer left to lose. Losing a friend is painful, losing a family member too. Losing your last friend? I ramps up the gravity. So... when I think "I have very little left to lose", my brain doesn't go to "fuck it, let it ride" anymore. It goes to "save up, be cautious, be deliberate, be intelligent". It does the opposite. Instead of going "fuck it, I've got nothing left to lose", I go "I can't afford to lose this." It's all wired backwards, and it keeps me super insulated and "safe", but it prevents opportunities for growth.

I can protect myself from injury by never trying to kickflip the 2 set ever again. But if I never roll the dice on that... I guarantee I will never land it. And I've been struggling to not only pull the trigger on saying "fuck it" more often, but also to do it mindfully in ways that are as respectful of others in my vicinity as possible. It's a really tough balance. Like... I can just say fuck it, eat the tickets if the cops are going to be pricks about it... and just skate around the town every day. I can do that. But if I'm just pissing off my neighbors... is it even worth it? Agh.

So... needless to say... as I was getting to way back several paragraphs ago... I still have some pretty debilitating mental health shit going on. Like... I never leave my apartment. And I'm scared of people. And I have no friends. So... yeah, I'd say that's not good, mental health-wise... So... I'd definitely qualify for this art community thing. Here's the weird part...

I watched one of their videos, to get a feel for what kind of people are in the group. I try not to be judgmental, I really do... I just... have a bad history of being best friends with very destructive and unstable people. I have a history of befriending predatory people, and damaged people alike. Heroin addicts, alcoholics, severe trauma cases, literal prostitutes and strippers - give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. My history with these people has been... less than fortunate. I truly do see the good in people, the redeeming qualities, the potential. In everyone. I mean that. I see it innately. Which, I guess, is not a common quality? But it can blind me. Blind me to the wrongdoings of self-indulgent people. People who do not empathize, or consider the effects of their actions on others. Or I try to blind myself to it, as an act of politeness. It happens quite often.

So... I'm cautious about... meeting friends in a potential lion's den. I've been there before several times. That's... okay, that's not the weird part, this is the weird part. I watched that video and on the recommended video bar (embedded YT vid) was a thumbnail of my therapist... Yeah... I knew he was a crisis counselor, he let me know that, this was a video posted a year ago, and he's in it. And he works... at the place... that hosts the art community. At least, he worked... because he's currently trying to transition out and into private practice.

So... the first Google result... was an art community for people with mental health relevance in their lives... and my therapist can't recommend it because... he works there. And he can't even name where he works. And somewhere... in a hollowed out volcano in Southeast Asia... a supervillain is staring at a screen with this scenario on it and wringing his hands and cackling "yesss all is going according to plaaaan"...

So... I don't know what to do with that. I think it might be good for me to look for other groups... too. And not to just write this group off, but to maybe sit in on a meeting or something, or just do more research at least.

Another thing that was running through my head was... remember about that whole ADHD screening? Remember how I was going to get an ADHD screening done... in like... late December? It's late March. It's been almost 2 months since I saw the fucking doctor. So... I have an idea. And I feel a bit bad about this, but I really just need to get over it. I think I need to try to switch doctors to one at the health center in my neighborhood. At least... I need to try. It's much closer, it's like... walking distance. Or... semi-legal skating distance. Rather than getting the community car and taking that halfway across the city. That's point one. Two, because this doctor has not followed up at all, at any point, in like... 2 months. I feel bad because she was nice, and kinda... bohemian like me, you know? So... I felt like we clicked a bit, and I wanted to give that a shot... But... idk. So... I'll float the idea by my therapist on Thursday, since he was supposed to have open talks with that woman, if opening the doors with another doctor would be more practical at this stage, I'll give it a shot.

My top priority right now is not the ADHD shit, I've all-but given up on that, honestly. Whatever. I'll just keep chugging energy drinks and sculpting my life around freeform wandering and bouts of hyperfocus, it's nothing new. My top priority right now is getting rid of this goddamn motherfucking bacterial scalp infection that has been plaguing me since November 2021. Since the month I quit smoking. It is horrible. I took antibiotics for it - both oral and topical - and it didn't kill it. I really don't want to take antibiotics again, I've been doing antifungal regimens for my foot fungus for like... over a month now. I want to be gentle with my body... But this shit? I swear... They're like pimples, but it's itchy and extremely painful, on my scalp and under my beard, they smell like garlic or onion when they pop, some the size of pimples, some can blow up to the size of my fucking thumb. I have no idea where they came from or why they won't go away, I tried antibacterial soaps, I've had my head steadily shaved to hopefully get the sun to help out, it just will not go away. It makes me super self-conscious, it's super painful and constantly uncomfortable and my body is constantly taxed by fighting this infection. I can only dream of the peace I will have when I'm finally free from it. And I really would like to bump that up the prio list.

I'll put the doctor stuff on the whiteboard, might as well.

Last, but not least, I found a minecraft mod that actually does desire paths! And it does them really well too, which is cool. I wish they were customizable in how many passes over a certain area for them to erode, but... it's effective and it's better than doing it manually. This is cool for me because then all I have to do is... clear grass, screenshot and explore. I don't have to manually add the paths in anymore. Pretty cool. And the paths are much more subtle when they start forming, they turn to dirt first before they turn to paths, and gradually turn to dirt at that... so it will encourage much more wandering. I'm pretty excited for that. I think that could be an interesting stream. Me literally walking back and forth through the woods between two shrines for hours, for an audience. I appeal to a very... niche audience... XD But hey, it's got shaders and shit, so... pretty cool, huh?

Bed time.

[ebonyslasher]

Do you have any headcanons for what jason, carrie, and jennifer are like in the talking stage of the relationship

Oh sure!

Early Relationship HCs for Jason, Carrie, and Jennifer:

What talking? He doesn't really speak 🗣️ of course

How you made it to this stage without him murdering you on sight, idk. You must have been doing something that made him pause

He knows a few simple phrases in ASL, from what he remembers from when he was a child.

So, it's just you talking to him and Jason is sitting/standing there nodding his head

If you have pen and paper, then he can write to you!

His handwriting could use some.....work. I mean a hell of a lot of work, it's gonna take a while for you to read it.

It'll get better as he gets used to writing again lol

He keeps his distance during this stage. He doesn't want to get too close and scare you off. Also, he's figuring out if he trusts you or not.

Both of you visit each other. When he visits you, he will stand in an obvious spot until you notice

If you visit him, you'll have to make a signature noise or just tell his name. That way you won't get accidentally sliced up.

He will go on walks along the lake with you

Gives you pretty flowers 🌸 he finds. Sometimes he will point to your hair and put it there

Thinks you're really cute but is too shy to let you know

Honestly, he's gonna be pretty shy the whole time. You make him nervous- in a good way!

She's easy to talk to, just very hesitant to reveal any personal information

Like Jason, she has trust issues- with good reason. Carrie has heard stories of bullies pretending to be friends with their victims and then revealing their secrets to everyone. She's a bit scared

But, as time goes on, she sees that you genuinely like her and have no ulterior motives. Eventually relaxes and starts showing you her true self

She talks realllll low. She often has to repeat stuff while you struggle to hear her

She can't text you. And it's hard to try to call you if her mom is home. So you both talk at school when you can

If her mom likes you (miraculously), then you got it in the bag. It'll be easier for you to communicate with her outside of school

Carrie smiles and blushes like crazy. So she will out her head down to try to cover her face with her long hair

She's so shy and embarrassed about it, it's real cute. She'll get almost explode if you compliment her

When she's feeling bold, she'll hold your hand. Or lay her head on your shoulder. Or even tell you, " I think you're really pretty." 🥺🥺

Now Y'all both cheesing lik hell

Often, stares at you when you aren't aware

Likes to talk about traveling the world, outer space, and how the future is going to be

The talking stage is going to be short compared to the other two

Jen moves fast. If she wants you, she's not gonna play around. She'll let you know off rip that she's fucking with you

"You know I like you, right?😏"

No??? But hell yeah, I'm into it

She texts fast as fuck. She's sonic on the phone keyboard. Hopefully you can keep up

Also not afraid to double text you

Likes to play 20 questions

'Whats your favorite color?'

'Water. R u a virgin??"

Lmaoo jk, she won't do you like that

But she will ask tons of questions. It's the best and fastest way to get to know someone

Goes on dates and generally likes to hang out with you. Either at home or maybe at an abandoned place where y'all can do stupid shit and have fun.

Jenn likes being free with you

There's gonna be a lot of small touches and smiling into each other's faces

Lots of flirting and banter between you two. Your friends even get tired of hearing it lol

"If y'all don't get together already, we are tired of watching- literally almost in bed bout to sleep 💤 watchin"

☠️

It won't be long until you two make it publically official anyway

[xoxo-teddybear]

Oh, The Lies You Tell - Bakugou Katsuki - pt. 2

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: angst, trauma, abuse, betrayal, fluff, slice of life, smut, cursing, manipulation, possible spoilers, physical harm, 18+

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Ep. Warnings: fluff, childhood trauma, cursing, Bakugou kinda OOC, DADZAWA

Summary: More Bakugou x reader interaction! And Y/N’s first time training with the students and showing off her “quirk.” How will the students react?

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

Once you saw the familiar blonde, you smiled. “.....hey back, cutie.” You said with confidence. Bakugou only blushed at the comment and sucked his teeth as he rolled his eyes.

“Soo...you’re my escort?” You flirtatiously asked. You can’t help it, it’s just your personality. Plus, after years of villainous work, you had to learn how to speak with a calm and seductive voice to get your way with your victims.

“Yeah, that means I’m stuck with your dumbass for the next few months. So try to keep up and don’t you dare hold me back.” He ferociously said. You just giggled and went to mess with his unbuttoned shirt collar.

“Whatever you say, Fiesty,” as you examined his clothes, you just had to speak up again. “Whattup with the clothes? No tie, no tuck, no....prestigiousness?” Bakugou scoffed at your question.

“Oh yea? Like you’re one to talk. You completely changed your uniform. You realize the girls in UA don’t dress this-“ you cut him off.

“What? Rebellious?”

“I was gonna say hot.”

“That works too.”

“Suits you real well.”

“Oh, I bet it does,” you smirked. During your time throwing spitfire replies to one another, you realized how close both your faces have gotten. You saw ruby eyes, perfect porcelain skin with the perfect amount of tan, soft but fluffy, spiky, blonde hair, and a smirk that copied your own. As Bakugou was too busy admiring your looks, you gently placed two fingers under his chin.....and flicked his head upwards at the sky.

“Hehe...let’s go, Cutie. You gotta show me my dorm, remember? Cant stand here forever staring at me.” You chuckled to yourself.

“I was not doing any of that shitty woman!” Bakugou yelled. As Bakugou did that, Rumor ran right across him making his balance go all outta wack.

“Heh..yeah, sure.” You said as you walked off with Rumor, petting his head. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

——————————————————————————

On the walk to the dorms, you and Bakugou got to know each other quite well. Just the basics though. Favorite music, favorite foods, personality types, likes and dislikes, all that good stuff. You also both shared a little flirtatious banter, not that you minded, however it threw Bakugou off. When the fuck does he ever talk like that? As you both walked up to the entrance you realized something.

“Hey, you never asked me about my quirk. How come?” You asked as you both continued to walk to the doors.

“Don’t need to. I’ll see all I have to see tomorrow during training.” Bakugou said.

“Makes sense.” You replied.

“Of course it does,” He said as he opened the doors to give you a tour. You were in awe. Growing up, you never really had a home before the league. You slept in benches, jail cells, or straight on the ground outside in the rain. But this? Basically luxury to you, but of course you kept up a chill persona.

“This is the common area, kitchens over there, everyone gets their own bathrooms, the showers are that way, and I’ll show you to your dorm,” Bakugou said, giving you the “grand” tour. As you walked up to your room, you saw how already filled it was...but this wasn’t any of your stuff.

“Didn’t realize you were into music like that.” Bakugou said. When you turned to look at your desk, you saw how large it was and how there was a control panel they used at recording studios on it. Set up with it was a microphone that artist used when recording their songs and there was a mini keyboard and acoustic guitar set up on the side. Then it hit you. You had gone over your interest with Mr. Aizawa, guess he filled up the room to make you more comfortable OR to make it seem like you were a normal kid who actually had stuff. In reality, you had nothing but your villain costume (which you demanded to be kept) and Rumor.

“Umm...not really. I just sing a little and enjoy writing little songs. Nothing special really,” you replied to him. “Uh, could you give me a sec? I wanna change out of this uniform and relax a little.” You said to him.

“Yeah, sure. Dinner starts at 6 so be down by then and come meet the rest of the morons.” He said as he backed out the room and walked on to wherever. You began to explore the room. Rumor took comfort on the soft bed, and you looked at the recording area. It was amazing. You strummed the guitar, taking in it’s beautiful sound and dabbled on the keyboard. You then realized.

“Rumor! What am I gonna change in to?! I literally have nothing!” You said as you ran to your closet, astound when you saw the large amount of clothes, along with a little sticky note.

Enjoy the gift, Y/N! Cant wait to have you in class!

- Ms. Midnight

“Midnight, huh? Then these clothes must be hot as fuck!” You excitedly said. Safe to say you put on a little fashion show for yourself and Rumor. As you put on the clothes and made new outfits, you noticed how she had gone for the typical “baddie style.” Lots of ripped jeans, plenty of casual heels, thigh high boots, leather jackets, bomber jackets, crop tops, tube tops, and of course booty shorts. You also noticed the massive amount of jewelry given to you. Plenty of necklaces and anklets. Very pretty.

Once done with your little show, you and Rumor looked at the clock. 5:30.

“I think we should stay in here. Who needs dinner anyways?” Rumor only growled at you. He knew better. You both needed food and you should go down there and make some friends.

“Oh c’mon! We’ve gone days without food before, why not now?” You saw how Rumor gave you this look of ‘because it wasn’t available then’ and you rolled your eyes knowing your friend was right.

“Fineeeeeee,” you reluctantly said as Rumor gave a happy bark and wagged his tail. You changed into some comfortable clothes and went to the common area.

When walking down there, you saw a spikey read head, a tall black haired boy, a girl with long greenish hair, and then you saw Deku, Kaminari, Uraraka, Todoroki, and Bakugou. While they were talking, the red head took notice of yours and Rumor’s presence.

“Oh! Hey L/N! Rumor! Come join us!” How sweet of him to include Rumor. As you both walked towards a single open seat on a solo couch seat, you saw how everyone had their eyes set on you with a smile.

“Umm....hey.” You nervously let out with a small laugh. As you tried to settle, Rumor placed his head on your lap to calm you down and Bakugou took notice of this.

“Would you idiots stop staring at her like that? She’s obviously kinda nervous.” Bakugou said with his head thrown back on the couch. The red head then spoke up to agree.

“Oh right! Sorry about that L/N!” He said kindly.

“No, it’s no trouble. And you guys can quit the formalities and just call me Y/N. I don’t mind!” You sweetly said.

“Alright then, nice to meet you Y/N! I’m Eijirou Kirishima, this is Hanta Sero, and Tsuyu Asui. I’ve heard you already met these guys, and I’ve also heard you got Bakugou as your escort!” Bakugou growled at Kirishima for mentioning that.

“Yeah! He’s kinda.....bratty?” You teased. Bakugou only looked at you with wide angry eyes and a small blush.

“Ha, yeah. Bakubro can be a brute, but when you get to know the guy, you find out he’s just a big ole softie with rough ways.” He joked.

“I AIN’T SOFT SHITTY HAIR!” Bakugou screamed. The group just giggled and watch the interaction go on. You guys talked and laughed and they got to know about you and Rumor a little better. Finally, a girl with a black ponytail came in.

“Hey guys! Dinner’s ready! Oh! And L/N, we made 2 steaks for Rumor. I hope you don’t mind.” She said.

“Oh not at all! Thanks you guys, that was really sweet of you.” Rumor understood what was going on just by the scent in the air and he was excited. As you all walked to the table and took ur seats, everyone got to talking again. Dinner went on and Rumor was enjoying his steaks.

“Man..what a lucky dog. Steak for dinner.” Kirishima spoke. Everyone chuckled and continued on. The girl with the pony tail, who you learned was nicknamed Momo, walked in with a final pot.

“Okay you guys! This is the final dish! Just some Miso soup to peck on. Kaminari, can you go and grab the ladel?” As the blonde walked away, everyone was excited for the dish.

“Sorry guys, the soup is a little too hot. You should wait for it to cool down before digging in,” Momo said apologetically.

“Oh hey, no worries, I have a solution!” You said as you made a tiny little tornado with you air bending and sent it to the pot of soup on the table to cool it down. The massive amount of steam was clearly decreased and everyone thanked you.

“So your quirk is tiny tornadoes?” Bakugou whispered to you as he was the one sitting next to you.

“No, you dummy.” You giggled until you heard a crack. Everyone looked over and saw Kaminari broke the one and only ladel. Everyone booed and sighed at the loss of miso soup and the poor blonde just apologized with a nervous smile.

“It’s fine you guys, we don’t need a ladel. Who wants some miso?” You asked and everyone raised their hands. So, you used your water bending to pick up the soup give some to all your classmates. Everyone was confused but impressed.

“Okay, what the hell is your quirk?” Bakugou asked in confusion.

“You’ll find out soon, Cutie.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He replied back.

It was safe to say the new nickname left you in shock with some blush and you noticed everyone stopped eating to look at you both.

“........huh?!” The group simultaneously said with blank and confused faces as Bakugou yelled at them saying they heard nothing.

——————————————————————————

The next day the students met up with Mr. Aizawa wearing any comfortable gym/fighting attire. Instead of meeting at Gym Gamma, the teacher took his students out to the Sports Festival Areana. The students all buzzed with excitement, most only wanting to know the new student’s quirk and fight style.

“Okay, today we’ll be doing sparring matches. We’ve paired you all up based on skill level and experience. One battle at a time. Whoever makes it to the top 3, those students are excused from classes tomorrow. Get warmed up, take your seats, and I’ll call up the first two fighters.” Mr. Aizawa spoke.

The students were ready. Everyone was, but no one was prepared for you. They never saw your fight style, never saw you use your quirk for battle, never even saw you pick a fight. This’ll be interesting.

“Okay bud, since it’s a 1v1, you’re benched.” You spoke to Rumor. He whined at the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any action but nonetheless, listened to his best friend. “Oh don’t give me that sass, why don’t you go talk to Kirishima or Bakugou while I’m in battle. Fair?” Rumor huffed at you, but you took it as compliance.

“Hey, Princess.”

You turned to who called you and saw Bakugou and what appeared to be his little posse following him. It consisted of Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Mina.

“Oh hey guys. What’s up?” You asked.

“We’re all pumped up to see your quirk! Those tricks you did during dinner last night had us all coming up with ideas on what it could be.” Mina squealed. “I guessed substance manipulation.”

“Telekinesis,” Kirishima said

“Weather powers,” Sero guessed

“Food control!” Kaminari answered. Oh what a piece of work that one is. Everyone looked at the fool with raised brows.

“Heh...guess not.” The goofy boy said with a scratch to his head. You all laughed and you looked towards Bakugou waiting for him to answer.

“Well..what’s your guess, Cutie?” You looked towards Bakugou as he just stared at you.

“Elements,” he said calmly. That shocked you. Who knew someone was gonna guess. Well, he was still wrong considering it wasn’t really a quirk but yeah.

“Just a guess. I’ll figure it out once I see you fight.” He added on.

“Oh yeah! Mr. Aizawa pairs us up based on skill level and experience! We’ll get to know more about how you fight based on your partner.” Mina said.

As the group continued talking, Mr. Aizawa finally came to speak up.

“Okay, listen up. I’m sure you’re all curious as to what L/N is able to do, so our first match we’ll be L/N vs. Todoroki.” Everyone had their jaws drop. Shoto Todoroki?!? He was one of the top students in the class in both intelligence and physical skill. He is an excellent fight with a powerful quirk. How the hell are you supposed to win. You only smirked and walked up to the fighting area. As you walked, a pair of red eyes followed you.

‘What the hell can this chick do?’ Bakugou thought to himself.

As you and Todoroki met in the middle facing each other with Mr. Aizawa in between you both, he spoke up.

“Okay, here are the rules......there are none. The match will begin when you hear the buzzer go off. You’ll hear 3 beeps then a ring, then you can spar. You can use your quirk at any level, do whatever you may please, do whatever it takes to win. The match stops when one of you falls off the square or is knocked out and unable to continue fighting. Understand?” He said while looking at both of you and speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. You both nodded your heads but Mr. Aizawa looked at you with a more stern stare.

“Do you understand, Y/N?” He asked once more. You nodded your head and waited for him to start the match. He walked off the field and went to sit with the class. They all stared in anticipation. Bakugou focused his eyes on you.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Ring!

At the first second, Todoroki used his left side to throw some fire your way. At the sight of the burning flames you only smirked and extended your hand. Everyone watched you do, what they thought was, nothing. They only saw you stand there.

“Y/N DO SOMETHING!” Bakugou screamed in fear of you getting hurt.

When the flames came close enough, you used your fire bending to move them around your body and attack Todoroki. The boy had a quick reaction and sent an ice wall towards you. Perfect. You ran to the ice coming your way and turned it into water, which you used to push back Todoroki, closer to the edge. You sent fire his way and he ran at you, dodging it and attempting to strike you. You flipped away from him. Everyone saw how acrobatic you were. When he came closer once more to punch you, you turned to you side and struck his right shoulder, paralyzing his arm.

Todoroki screamed in shock and pain as he realized he couldn’t feel his arm. He sent more fire to you, in which you used your air bending to put the flames out. You used your earth bending to lift the area that Todoroki was standing on into the air, as he flew through the air, you blasted fire from your feet to get up in the air and blasted him with a gust of wind that knocked him out the area of the square. When he fell to the ground, he hit the field instead of the square, meaning he lost. You fell closer to the concrete but used your fire to slow down before you could crash. Once you landed you looked around for Aizawa.

Beeeeeeeepppppp!!

“That’s the match. L/N wins.” You looked around and everyone still sat in shock. Nobody even clapped. They just looked so....impressed? Kaminari was in the middle of petting Rumor and when he stopped, Rumor noticed the match was over and saw you standing. He howled to cheer for you as everyone ran down to say something. As the crowd came up to you, you were hit with compliments.

As the class continued to hype you up, you saw how Bakugou still just stared at you. You walked over to him.

“Impressed?” You asked.

“......you’re good.” Bakugou still said in slight shock. You only laughed at his answer. You knew he thought more, but you weren’t gonna push him. Every one saw Todoroki get up and limp towards you.

“L/N....that was a great fight. You’re incredibly skilled.” He complimented.

“Thank you Todoroki. And please, I told you to call me Y/N.” You kindly said

“Right, of course...ah.” He hissed in pain. You felt bad for how hard you went on him.

“Here..let me just,” you took the moisture in the air and took water out of it. You used it to heal up Todoroki’s injuries and soothe his pain. “Feel better?”

“Very much, yes. Thank you.” He said.

“No problem, but your arm is a different story. I temporarily paralyzed it with my dim mak fighting style. It’ll take some minutes for it to come back fully.” You explained.

“Okay. That was really impressive. I had no idea there was a fighter like you.” He said once again.

“Whats dim mak?” Kirishima asked.

“It’s the fighting style I use. It’s attacks a person’s pressure points with quick and sharp jabs. It paralyzes a person or just a limb for a good hour depending on how hard I hit.” You replied.

“Pressure points?” Kaminari asked.

“They’re the parts in your body where you’re sensitive and can be detained when they’re hit. With that, it means I know the human body like the back of my hand. Thanks to that I’ve come up with a skill called Chi Blocking.” You explained.

“What’s that?” Mina asked.

“Something you’ll all find out about the next time Y/N fights. Until then, let’s have Todoroki get to recovery girl and let’s continue the matches.” Aizawa said. As everyone went to their seat and Aizawa called up Iida and Aoyama, Bakugou asked you a few questions.

“What the fuck was that?!” He asked.

“What?” You giggled.

“The fucking fire, and the wind, and you moved rocks and you turned his ice into water!!” He spasmed out.

“Uh huh...” you said with a smile and raised brow.

“A-and the flips! You flip and did a bunch of acrobatic tricks, and the jabs, the “dim mak,” it was- I was- it was-.......HUH” he exclaimed.

“Not like Bakugou to freak out over a fight like that. What happened to Mr. Cool Guy?” Denki said.

“You shut your mouth, Sparky!” Bakugou threatened. “Look, all I’m tryna ask is..how and when did you learn all of this? Your quirk is crazy OP, and your fighter skill is insane! Appreciate that bullshit cuz I don’t say shit like that often.”

You just laughed and sighed. You weren’t sure how to answer his question. “Umm,” you started “I don’t really know...I just-“ you were cut off by a mouse. Principle Nezu, you remembered him.

“Mr. Aizawa?” The peppy mouse asked.

“Yes?” Aizawa replied.

“May I speak with you? Concerning your new student and her transfers. There’s been a few complications with her paperwork that need to be solved.” He politely asked.

“Yes, I understand sir. Class, free day. Head back to your dorms but be sure to get in an hour and a half of training today. That’ll be all. Dismissed.” The pro said as he followed the principle. As students gathered to leave and head back to the dormitory, Bakugou stopped you.

“Hey, wait. You still gotta tell me how you learned all this, Princess.” He said.

“What’s there to say?” You awkwardly laughed out. “Uh..I discovered my...quirk.. while doing some work-“

“Work as a child?” Bakugou asked.

“Sorta. I discovered it there and then..I met someone who trained me how to fight like that.” You explained.

“Your parents must be really proud.” Bakugou slightly smiled.

“Umm..yeah, I bet they are.” You said kind of skiddish.

“I can imagine the look on their faces when they saw the pretty impressive quirk you got. My parents were pretty shocked too with mine.” He added on.

“Oh really? You can imagine their faces?” You laughed out nervously. ‘I sure can’t,’ you thought to yourself.

“I mean yeah. Parents usually....” you drowned him out. Parents...parents...parents...PARENTS. You snapped.

“Bakugou!” You said with tone. “I don’t have or know my parents....” you said as he stopped talking and dropped his jaw to the ground. Before he could say anything, you bit your lips, called Rumor to go, and left, leaving Bakugou in regret.

As you ran with slight tears in your eyes, you told Rumor to change into a giant wolf. He shifted and you hopped on him.

“Let’s go to the spot, Rumor.” You said as he took off.

——————————————————————————

When Rumor arrived at ‘The Spot’ you settled. The spot was beautiful. Tall trees, beautiful plants, plenty of adorable creatures, and a gorgeous pond right in the middle of it all. You layed against a tree as Rumor placed you down so you could stop your tears and he transformed back into his wolf-dog form and cuddled up against you.

“No parents...” you said aloud. Although sad you never really got to experience or meet your parents or what it’s like to have them or a family, you were conflicted. Yes it was sad not having parents or a family, but you never had one so it’s hard to tell how you feel about the topic. As the thoughts ran through your mind, your eyes glowed a bright white and when you opened them, you weren’t at the spot anymore.

“Hello....?” You said as you looked around. “Helloooo...?? Anyone there?”

“Welcome back to the spirit world, Y/N.” When you turned to your side, you were in awe.

“Avatar Korra!” You bowed to show respect but then went to hug your spiritual mentor. She embraced you with wide arms. She’s always been the friendly, open, optimistic type. “What am I doing here, Korra?”

“Why do you think you’re here, Y/N?” She said with a sly smile and hands on her hips, but beaming eyes.

“My parents?” You questioned but she only shook her head.

“Your path.” Korra stated.

“My path?” You asked.

“Yes. Or more so, the path you choose.” She corrected.

“I don’t understand.” You said.

As Korra continued to smile at you, you both stood still as the world shifted. You looked around and saw the LOV hideout.

“The league? I don’t understand, what does my path have to do with them?” You questioned, but before she said anything, the world shifted once more and you were infront of UA’s building.

“The school?....Oh, this isn’t some typa light and dark thing, is it?” You asked Korra.

“It is.” She replied back.

“Ugghhhh, we’ve been through this. I’m a bad person. I could never fit in with those goodie two shoes! I’m a member of the league of villains! Not heroes. My path is the darkness.” You stated.

“Is it? You weren’t born into darkness.” Korra said.

“What?....”

“Y/N, you’re not a bad person. Your a villain because of survival. That’s the life that you know. That’s the life that you were kidnapped into.” Korra began.

“Yeah but-“

“But nothing. You know in your heart you would much rather be a hero than some low life villain!” Korra exclaimed.

“No I couldn’t. They’re too good. I could never be that great. Hell, I’m on a plan to take down UA right now!” You said.

“And are you doing that because you want to? Or is it because you think the league is gonna torture you any less if you succeed......you don’t wanna take down the heroes. You wanna be like them.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I can’t!”

“But you can. You can be all these amazing things, but you’re just on the wrong path with the wrong people. All you have to do is make the choice to leave them. You want to be good, Y/N. It’s in your nature. You’re the avatar after all. It’s your destiny to bring peace to the world.”

Once Korra had said that, a flash came and you were back in the spot. You gasped as you returned and shook your head. You saw it had gotten dark now and figured it was best if you headed back. You woke up Rumor and asked him to become a giant wolf again. He shifted and brought you back to UA. Along the walk, you couldn’t help but think back to what Korra said.

“My path......light or dark...” you looked down at your palms and squeezed them shut in frustration. You huffed and looked ahead, and saw you arrived at the front of the dorms. Standing there, waiting for you, Mr. Aizawa.

“Welcome back.” He said to you.

“Hi...” you blankly said as you attempted to get past him. However, he stopped you from going in.

“Not so fast, we need to speak first before anything else.” He stated

“What about? Because I’ve had a really long and kinda frustrating day, and I don’t need some bullshit to fuck it up even more. I mean, I’m so aggravated that I-“ a piece of paper dangling in your face shut you up.

“What are those?” You asked the hero.

“Adoption papers. I’m now your legal guardian.” Aizawa stated.

“.........HUHHHHH?!?!???” There was no way this was happening. It couldn’t be. You??? Adopted??? By a pro hero??? One that you almost killed???

“Okay, I’m sorry but I don’t need a guardian. I’ve been by myself, on my own, the second I was born. No family raised me, no motherly figure, no nothing. It’s just been me, the spirits, and the villain who took care of me till I was, what, 5? And then kicked me out and left me stranded. I’ve been surviving on my own for over a decade, I don’t need you to look out for me.” You exclaimed.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I won’t be an annoying parent, I’m just your legal guardian. You’re still underage, meaning you’ll need permission for certain things to continue to move forward.” He explained to you. You thought about it, and damn it, he was right. If you wanted to go about this whole thing the legal way, you’d need this.

“.....Fine. Just don’t tell me what to do dAD,” you sarcastically said.

“I’m your guardian and teacher now, I can tell you whatever I want, brat. Now get inside, you’re past curfew.” He said but you only squinted your eyes at him in disbelief. Did he really give you a curfew?

“Student curfew. You live in the dorms, all students have to be in this building by 10:30,” he explained. You just scoffed and went inside with Rumor.

“Guess I have a dad now, Rumor.” You sighed. You never had a father before. It warmed your heart a little, but then you remembered he wasn’t really your dad. Just a guardian. As you walked into the common area, you saw the lights were out. The students must’ve been in their dorms. You walked to the kitchen to grab a snack before heading to bed but you saw Bakugou sitting there with a water bottle in hand. He seemed kinda bummed out. You cleared your voice to get his attention and when he looked up at you, you told Rumor to head to the room.

“Y-Y/N! Hey!..” he said to you.

“Heh..hi Bakugou...Umm..I’m sorry about the whole..running away thing. I just needed to clear my head a little.” You said as you took the seat next to him.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m.....i-.....I’m sorry for pushing you about the whole parent thing. I didn’t know.” He apologized. You only shook your head and stared at your hands before speaking up.

“It’s fine. How could you know? After all, I’ve only been here for 2 days. Besides, you didn’t really upset me, it’s just..I feel kinda outta place when the parent topic comes up. Guess I just freaked out,” you saw the look on his face. Disappointment. Is he that upset that hurt you? Or at least thought he did? “B-but don’t worry! I’m fine! For real! I’ve been parent-less for almost my entire life so it doesn’t sting like that. Hehe..wow Umm. Depressing. You know I feel like I’m rambling, am I rambling? Should I stop? I think I should shut up, or maybe I’m just gonna go now that I-“ Bakugou placed his hand on yours which shut you up real quick. You looked up at his face as he stared into your eyes.

“You can talk to me about it you know. It’s clear you wanna get some things off your chest and I’m really interested in you.” You raised your brow at that last sentence. He realized what he said and quickly tried to correct himself.

“I mean- uh- not like that, or um it could be like that! It could be, if you’re cool with that. But it’s not, or maybe, i don’t know, it’s not it’s, I was, it was, I- yeah I’m gonna stop talking now.” He cleared his throat at the end of that, settling down. You giggled and reassured him.

“No, no it’s fine. I really don’t mind. Umm, what do you wanna know. I’m fine with sharing anything.” You said.

“Okay, let’s just continue with this parent topic then....how were you raised?” He asked. This scared you. You had to be real careful with your choice of words or else your cover would be blown.

“Okay, let’s see. I was born in a place-“

“Oh really?” He teased.

“Shuddup,” you laughed and playfully hit his shoulder.

“And that place was..very private. Very unknown, but my parents Umm, i don’t really know what happened to them. The earliest thing I can remember is that..someone found me and told me my parents were gone, they weren’t my real family, they just took me in because they couldn’t let a baby die, and raised me till I was 5.” You said.

“And then?” He asked.

“You sure? It just goes down hill from here.” You warned. But he only nodded and asked for you to continue. You looked at your hands in your lap before continuing.

“I was kicked out. Left on the streets. I slept on park benches, in alleyway tunnels, on rooftops of buildings. I pawned for food and..” you didn’t know if you should admit the next part. But Bakugou held onto your hand and asked for more.

“And then?” He questioned.

“.....I did what I had to do to survive. I committed crimes, but I had to live. I was just a child and didn’t know what to do. If you look at me any different for what I did though, I won’t judge you.” You said. He squeezed your hand almost as if he was telling you he understood. He nodded and pleaded for more.

“After 2 years on the streets, a cult found me. An evil and dark cult. They used their quirks to torture people they kidnapped and made them slaves to create weapons. They kept us in cells and chains, working 24/7. It was there that I learned of my abilities. I found out I could control the 4 elements and their sub-elements. There, I also met a master. He was old and couldn’t fight anymore, but he saw the potential in me and taught me dim mak in the shadows. After a year of being enslaved there and secretly training, these people (the LOV) came in and killed the cult members and stole some of their weapons and destroyed the rest. Once I saw them taking down those horrible people, I used my abilities and they saw. I guess I impressed them and they recruited me to join their little family. I’ve been with them ever since. But then I met Mr. Aizawa and he asked me to join UA. Since the group I joined wasn’t really family, I didn’t need their permission. They were more like friends and they were even the ones who pushed me to come here.” You finished up your little story and saw Bakugou looked at you with worry in his eyes.

“And now I’m here! Sitting in a dim kitchen at UA with a cute boy at 11:00 p.m.” you said trying to cheer up the mood. “Bakugou...”

“You’re not..affected? By everything you’ve been through?”

“You don’t have to feel bad!”

“But I do! You’re here! You’re not...”

“Dead?” You teased.

“Basically!” You laughed at that.

“Y/N, I’m serious!” Bakugou tried to say.

“And so am I! You don’t have to be upset. I value everything I went through, all the good and bad.” You explained.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because it made me the kickass baddie that I am today!” You said flipping your hair and laughing. “Seriously though! Everything I went through made me who I am. It’s made me stronger, more independent. It lets me know I can handle myself. So I’m good, you don’t have to worry.” You said grabbing onto his hand again and reassuring him. He used his thumb to rub at your hand and enjoy the feeling.

“You are...probably the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He said calmly with a small SMALL smile on his face as he looked at you.

“I’ll also bet that I’m also the only “criminal” that you look like you wanna kiss.” You playfully said.

“Maybe I do...” he said with a smirk and soft voice as he leaned in closer.

“And maybe I’ll let you..” you said as you leaned in. As you two got closer and closer, your eyes filled with daze and the world around you two fell apart. It was just you and him in that moment. Until it was ruined. Just as your lips were about to touch, Mr. Aizawa came in.

“Hey!” He shouted

“GAH!” You both screamed and jumped away from each other with a blush adoring both your faces. Aizawa walked up to both of you, shoving the adoption papers in bakugou’s face.

“No smooching with my newly adopted daughter!” He said with a stern voice.

“I’m not your daughter! You’re just my guardian and it only happened like a few hours ago!” You stated.

“You can’t tell me who I can and can’t kiss, old man.” Bakugou said.

“Listen you little punk! I outta...” then Bakugou and your teacher were now going at it, yelling over each other and saying whatever, completely leaving you outta the conversation. You let out a little gust of wind to shut them up and get their attention.

“Okay, it’s late, tomorrow is Saturday, so you two won’t have to see each other, MAYBE, for 2 days. Can we just let this whole thing cool over?” You asked.

“We can, I’m just annoyed at the fact that this dynamite stick was gonna steal my daughter away from me!” Aizawa complained.

“I wasn’t stealing her, I was-“

“STOLEEEEEEE” Aizawa corrected and Bakugou just sucked his teeth and looked around.

“Whatever, can we just let it go?” You asked again. They nodded and you all went your separate way. Except for the fact that once Aizawa was outta sight, Bakugou went running right back to you and walked you to your dorm.

“Sooo..about that kiss.” Bakugou said. You just giggled and opened the door to your room.

“Goodnight, Bakugou,” you said but as you were about to walk in, he said something else.

“Katsuki.”

“Huh?” You said looking back at him.

“Katsuki. It’s my name. You can call me Katsuki.” He explained.

“Wow, trust me that much?” You teased.

“You trusted me enough to open up, this is the least I could do.” He said. You smiled and corrected yourself.

“Okay then...goodnight, Katsuki.” You said smiling. He pulled you in by your waists and held you close as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Princess.” He said and walked off.

A/N: Ok Cubs! That was the second part and in here we got to see the spirit world! We’re intorduced to Avatar Korra and we’ve discovered Y/N is the present avatar! How do we feel about this? Good? Bad? Let me know!!! I hope your enjoying the story so far. I know it’s kinda weird and all outta disorder but this is my personal day dream that I wanna bring to life that I’m hoping some of you enjoy. It’s just a jumble of avatar elements with a BNHA/MHA base. Please be patient with me! I know this is a Bakugou x Reader fic but it is also a story. It’s gonna grow and build and once we establish the basics, more Bakugou x Reader issues will show up along the way! I hope you’ve liked it so far! See you next time! 💗🧸

[sexbirthdeaths]

if i had an orchard

ship: morgan x garcia

summary: penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. with each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. and he can’t look away.

warnings: mentions of minor character death (hank morgan, the boy morgan finds in the junkyard), episode 3x09 “penelope”, rotting fruit/maggot imagery, religious imagery, implied murder (boy in junkyard), toxic masculinity

words: 3000

Derek is eight when his dad takes him camping for the first time. It’s the summer of 81, Sarah is entering middle school and Desiree is about to start Kindergarten, so after all of the stress of school applications, Hank proposes they just go out, enjoy the sights of Illinois.

So they go to Buffalo Rock, and he loves it, loves the smell of nature and the feeling of the sun on his skin. He plays soccer with his dad by the campsite whilst Sarah burns through her summer reading list and Desiree cries because she doesn’t like the bugs and she’s too small to play with the boys, and it’s the best summer of his life.

One night, his father pulls a bag of apples from the rucksack, suggests they bake them in some tinfoil over the fire. So while Fran puts Desiree away to bed, Hank sits him down by the campfire and shows him how to pare an apple with a penknife. Slow, using his thumb to stabilise the blade, careful not to cut his finger.

He cuts it straight through the core, hands Derek one of the slices to parcel up carefully in tinfoil. And once those are on the flames, he gives him the knife, another apple from the bag.

“Be careful,” Hank guides him slowly, hand hovering over Dereks’ own, “You don’t want to cut yourself.”

Derek peels it clean and precise, he’s always been a bit of a perfectionist like that. But when he cuts down the core of the apple, and the two pieces fall away in his palm, something is wrong. Very wrong.

His hand retracts in an instant, sends the apple flying, maggots spilling onto the ground into a writhing mass. His stomach is churning, twisting itself in disgust at the sight, and his father stomps it with his boot.

“That one was rotten,” Hank says, pulls the knife from Derek’s hand, “No good. It’s no good.”

Even when the apples are done baking, he can’t stand the sight of them, can’t stomach it after seeing the rotten fruit.

“Tenderness is a sign of rot,” Hank informs him as he eats his slices, “They shouldn’t be soft. That’s how you know they’re bad.”

And he takes that sentiment with him. Even when his father dies, especially when his father dies. He doesn’t cry at the funeral, he starts lashing out at anyone and everyone because to be soft is a sign of rot, of corruption at the core, it makes you undesirable and unwanted and sickening. Keep the toughest rind and you will come out the other side strong.

So he picks fights, even with the kids he knows will beat him. He’s always been a tall kid but Rodney has always been taller, stronger, but to turn the other cheek is a soft man’s path, and Derek Morgan is not soft.

He picks fights and he loses them, comes home battered and bruised and his mother will fuss over him, press a bag of frozen peas to his eye and sing him to sleep. She doesn’t care if he’s too old for it, he’ll always be her son. And even when the pain runs more than skin-deep, crawls through his veins and writhes like a maggot, sickly and decay-drawn, she will cradle his body like he isn’t crumbling from the inside out.

When Derek is 11, it’s the first Thanksgiving since his dad died. There’s an uncomfortable silence in the house as Sarah and Fran work on dinner, and Desiree’s out in the backyard with the neighbour’s kids. His grandparents aren’t coming this year, something about the Chicago winters being cruel on their arthritis.

There’s a faint layer of snow already beginning to settle outside, and he can see the constellations of snowflakes in Desiree’s hair as she finally bids the neighbours farewell and comes tumbling inside, ready to bound up the stairs.

“You promised you’d help me with the apple pie,” Sarah chides as she scoops Desiree up in her arms. The girl laughs loud and gleeful, the first real laugh since the day began, wriggles as she tries to escape her older sister’s grip. Desiree is a big girl now, 6 years old and wide-eyed and too mischievous for her own damn good, and she’s too big now for Sarah to pick her up with ease but she tries anyway.

Derek steps out, takes Desiree from Sarah’s grasp and slings her over his shoulder, grinning at the shrieks he hears.

“Come on, Des,” He laughs, “You promised!”

So, whilst his mom cooks the turkey and the mash and the myriad of thanksgiving side dishes, the three Morgan children converge in the living room, and work on the apples. Sarah peels them and Derek slices them, and Desiree just watches with her big brown eyes and pretends she's helping, because Lord knows no one trusts her with a real knife.

When they’re done there’s a pile of peels in a bowl. Their mom takes it, a sparkle in her eye.

“You know,” she says, grinning and setting down her knife, “There’s an old wives’ tale that if you throw the peel behind your shoulder, it will spell your husband’s name.”

Desiree and Sarah dissolve into giggles. Desiree’s too young to know what true love like that really feels like, too young to be thinking about marriage and life as an adult. And Sarah’s approaching it closer and closer with each passing day, she’s had her heart broken by careless boys to want nothing but a guarantee that the next boy will be the one.

So they take the peels and throw them. Desiree’s looks sort of like an L from the right angle, and Sarah’s is an A, if you use a bit of imagination, and Derek doesn’t get anything because he refuses to try it.

“That’s for girls,” he scoffs, puffs his chest up like a proud robin all red and strong.

“You’re impossible,” Is the response he gets.

When he is 15 he finds a boy’s body in the junkyard. All battered and bruised and broken and he wishes he could press a bag of frozen peas to his head like his mother had done, tell this boy it would all be okay. But it won’t be okay, and the case is never solved because the police don’t seem to care for kids like Derek or the boy, seem for focused on pinning things on them than catching their killers.

When he sees the policeman shake the community centre owner’s hand, Derek knows his killer will not be caught.

He goes door to door and pools up enough money to buy a headstone, and he visits it whenever he can, touches the cool rock and feels himself break. And he doesn’t know this boy, know his face or his name, but they feel connected. Through space and time and tragedy, maybe in another life they were friends. Maybe in another life it was him, and he would be the one rotting in the ground.

Move forward a few years and he feels like something inside of him is broken. Like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together again but something went wrong in the process. He feels moldy, he thinks one day as he’s filling out college applications, disgusting. If he could he’d rip all his skin off and scrub himself spotless. But this runs deeper than skin.

He gets the football scholarship, and his mother cries when he reads the letter because her baby is going to Northwestern and he’s gonna be something great, bigger than himself, he’s gonna change the world. And the success feels like the pinprick in the lid for him, like he can finally breathe as there’s a chance for him to go. Leave those rotten parts of him behind.

After college and the Chicago department, he finds himself starting in the BAU. The team is pretty small - Hotch is a hard-ass and Gideon is, well, Gideon, and the liaison stays in her office too much for Derek to really know who she is, but the BAU feels right for him. Gideon’s got some kid on his radar and so does Hotch, but they’re both so frustratingly secretive that he has no clue who they could be.

He fits right in like a puzzle piece that’s been missing for so long, takes on a role as the ladies’ man and the handsome coworker who flirts with you over coffee, but also the guy who’ll sit with child victims for hours to make sure they’re alright. Hotch hasn’t booted him yet so he figures he’s doing something right.

And then he meets her.

Penelope Garcia, she introduces herself as, and she’s so unlike any girl he’s ever met before with her long, dark hair and she acts like she’s the smartest person in the room (and after a few hours interrogating her, he figures that sentiment isn’t too far off). She’s got these big curious eyes and glittery pink acrylics and he can see the person that sits behind the dark facade.

They don’t hit it off, at first, because he’s proud and she’s defensive and he has a job to complete, but then Hotch informs him of the deal that’s been made, so he better start trying to get along with her. She gets along great with JJ, they eat lunches together in Garcia’s ‘batcave’ and JJ’s finally starting to open up a bit more, actually talks to Derek at the coffee machine in the mornings and asks how he’s been. Before, she’d talk to him, or Hotch, or Gideon even, with strained words and avoiding eye contact.

The first time he calls her babygirl is the first time he sees her properly flustered, cheeks red and stammering as she types away at her keyboard and Hotch gives him the mother of all death glares because they’re trying to run an FBI investigation here, Derek. But it makes him smile, seeing her all blushed pink, and he decides he likes it.

She pretends she doesn’t struggle sometimes, and he sees it. The mass of figurines and posters in her office are just a distraction technique - he’s well versed in those - and he knows just how taxing it must be for her, seeing all those awful things. She loves and she loves like it’s the only thing she knows how to do, full-bodied and all in, and some days he wonders if she’s really capable of hatred at all.

“How can you do it? How do you deal with it all?” She asks one day over coffee, voice small and sad. She’s seen some awful things over the past few days, and he wraps her up tightly in her arms. The worst thing is - he doesn’t know what to say. For as long as he can remember, he’s just been pushing it away and ignoring it. Letting it sit inside him and simmer, rip him from the inside out and just pray he’ll be able to pick up the pieces once he finally falls apart.

Things shift, change, over the years as people come and go. There’s a new kid, one Gideon’s been raving about for months who’s finally gotten all the necessary qualifications, even if some exams had to be waived. And he gets hurt, gets hurt bad, and Derek wonder’s if that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back because it isn’t long before Gideon leaves. There’s a new man in his place and they’re still trying to trust him, but he just isn’t Gideon, he isn’t the mentor and the peacekeeper and the caretaker that they’ve all grown to need.

Penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. With each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. And he can’t look away.

She has a date. She has a date and he doesn’t know why there’s this ache in his chest, like something’s been scraped out from him and left him hollow. But it’s her choice, he figures, he doesn’t own her. And then he gets the phone call.

Shot, he hears Hotch say over the phone, voice crackled and rough, and it’s like everything in him shuts down. Like someone’s ripping him apart limb by limb. That motherfucker. He will not know kindness from me. Do you need me? He asks, but Hotch just sighs.

She needs you.

And he’s driving to the hospital but he’s so pissed he can barely even focus, consumed by the rage bubbling within him, he wants to find that son of a bitch and make him feel a thousand times what Penelope felt. His skin is itching like thousands of maggots are crawling across him, it’s so overwhelming.

He feels rotten, like he’s so full of pain he can barely breathe, and his cheeks are wet and he doesn’t know why they are until he reaches up to touch them, realises he’s crying.

Men like Morgan do not cry. It’s a sign of weakness, he thinks, and you cannot afford to be weak. Not here, not now, you have never been safe enough to be weak. You bottle it up and ignore it, because to be soft is to be rotten.

He flashes his badge to the hospital receptionist and she informs him with pitying eyes that Penelope is in emergency surgery, that he can wait until she’s out and hear the verdict. So he collapses into the waiting room chairs, unable to look at the others, waits for Penelope to be okay.

Waiting lasts a century. All he wants is to take her in his arms and let her know she’s going to be okay, but he can’t. He can’t even guarantee that it will all be fine, because from what he’s heard it’s a bad wound from a good shot and it’s not looking good.

See, Penelope is an apple tree. She gives and she gives and she asks for nothing in return but a spot in the sun and a love her body has been starved of for years. And all Derek wants is to drown in blossom petals and cider, to drown himself in her warmth. All she asks for is to be loved, and that bastard didn’t even try. Derek will try, he will try and he will pray to a God he does not even believe in (Goddamnit he’s trying, he’s trying) if it means he can love her, if it means that she will be there to receive his love.

When the surgeon comes back, gives them the news, everything in him relaxes. Like the tightly-wound coil of a music box as the lever is finally released. She’s okay, she will be okay, no one must die today.

Her makeup is gone, hair a knotted mass, she’s traded out the bright clothes and heavy jewellry for a hospital gown. And she’s as breathtaking as ever, and Morgan can’t look away. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, press his forehead against hers, let her know that he’s here and everything is going to be okay, tell her how glad he is that she’s alive.

“You really love her, huh?” JJ asks with a smile, looks up at Morgan with a piercing, knowing gaze once they file out of the room, split up the group. She’s cradling a to-go coffee cup in her hands and disshevelled - she’d been the first one at the hospital, been in charge of letting everyone else know.

It’s JJ that knows Penelope the best, if not Derek. She knows the ins-and-outs of their relationship, she can see what they’re too scared to say to eachother. Love, he thinks, this is what this is.

“I do.” He nods.

“So tell her- show her, god knows she needs you right now.”

He waits until the others have left Penelope’s hospital room. The thing is - he flirts with her all the time, has himself branded as a ladies man, but it’s been so long since he’s had something real. He’s always been too afraid to show that tender side that a relationship requires.

But he’s tired of holding back. Penelope softens him, turns all his harsh edges hazy, makes his heart wrench in his chest. He has forgotten what it means to be rotten.

So he sits himself at the edge of her bed, doesn’t care if any of the others can see him through the window, all that matters is here and now.

“I almost lost you,” he says, voice soft, “I was so scared- I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you’d gone besides tear the bastard apart.”

He scoots closer, chair handle digging into him as he leans into her. His hand cups her face, feels her warm skin against his cool palm, heartbeat thrumming under his fingertips. She’s alive, good god, and she’s here with him, and maybe everything will be okay.

His forehead presses against Penelope’s own and she seems to welcome the movement, twists a handful of his shirt in her grip like she can’t bear the thought of ever letting him go. Derek has never wanted to be loved more than right now, loved by her.

He’d bite the apple for her, Derek thinks, swallow it down seeds and all. Because he loved her, he didn’t care if the fruit was rotten or wretched, damnation was a gift if he was condemned alongside her. He’d run to the edges of the world where all that could reach them was the moon and the stars, and he’d tell Penelope how he hung them just for her.

Kissing her feels like breaking the water’s surface. Being reborn, baptised under her hands, and for what feels like the first time, he can breathe.

[theunderdogwrites]

In Defense of Marilyn Manson

Just kidding.

This is another one of those ‘if you live under a rock, you might not know what is going on’ pieces. But because this story appears to be unfolding daily, I’d think you’ve heard a murmur here or there even if you haven’t really paid too much attention to it because for many, I think this may fall into the “that guy has been a messed-up weirdo for years so I’m not surprised” category.

Please note that in NO WAY I am making fun of this situation, but I learned a long time ago that I require a certain amount of humor to be able to digest much of what this world presents to me.

As always, let me give you the Coles Notes version with the hopes you will go and do your own reading as well.

On February 1 actress Evan Rachel Wood posted this on her Instagram:

"The name of my abuser is Brian Warner, also known to the world as Marilyn Manson. He started grooming me when I was a teenager and horrifically abused me for years. I was brainwashed and manipulated into submission. I am done living in fear of retaliation, slander or blackmail. I am here to expose this dangerous man and call out the many industries that have enabled him, before he ruins any more lives. I stand with the many victims who will no longer be silent."

Quick history lesson – They started dating in 2007 when she was 18 and he was 34 and were engaged for a brief time in 2010.

This was Manson’s response to what she wrote:

"Obviously, my art and my life have long been magnets for controversy, but these recent claims about me are horrible distortions of reality. My intimate relationships have always been entirely consensual with like-minded partners. Regardless of how - and why - others are now choosing to misrepresent the past, that is the truth."

Since the original statement on February 1 a number of women have come forward with stories of their own ranging from physical and emotional abuse to human trafficking. And everyday something new is revealed. Evan Rachel Woods is feverishly posting on her Insta-Story and is slowly burying Manson in an ocean of consequences. She isn’t “fired up” or “a woman scorned”, she is a victim rising above the shame she has felt and the fear of what others will say about her to tell her story and encourage others to do the same. She is the voice that started the ball rolling. The ball that is about to crush Marilyn Manson.

Whenever I write stuff that is currently being heavily featured in the media, I always dive into articles so I can get as much information as possible. But more importantly, I plunge my sensitive little soul into the murky depths known as “the comments section”. I do this because unlike those polished, finished pieces the comments section will give you a better idea of what your fellow human beings think and feel about the topic at hand. And it is never polished or even polite. And often not for the faint at heart. In case you didn’t already know – people can be quite terrible.

The comments section is the modern-day gladiator pit. Only most (not all) of the participants are not ripped, athletic warriors but rather drooling basement dwellers with one hand down their pants (not gender specific by the way) and the other hand maltreating the letters on their keyboard.

Side note: Look, I am not the grammar police as I often just push past all the warnings from the Gestapo editing program in Microsoft Word. BUT I know the value of proper spelling, well placed punctuation and valid attempts to appear smarter than a domesticated turkey by making sure sentences are well-thought out and complete. Raising your argument doesn’t mean USING ALL CAPS AND ABUSING THESE THINGS -> !!!

I just deleted three paragraphs going over the recent “reckoning” that has taken place in the past few years with regards to sexual and physical abuse accusations against (mostly) men in positions of some kind of power. I eliminated all that writing because I started to tumble off topic. I’m not writing about all the dicks now getting their comeuppance, but rather the reactions to it being Marilyn Manson’s turn in the chamber.

Victim shaming is sadly a real thing.

The easiest way I can explain this to you – if a person gets pickpocketed and then blamed because they should’ve known better than to carry their wallet in their back pocket.

Evan Rachel Woods and others have come out to accuse Manson of some pretty appalling acts of abuse and what I’ve found to be the biggest reaction is, “How did they not know he was a bad guy? His music is so graphic and they thought it was all an act? Why did they stay so long?”. As innocent as those questions might seem, and I say that because our brains don’t always serve us or others well, it is a form of discrediting those women. Let’s be honest here… it’s hard to look at Marilyn Manson and his art form and not say, “What the fuck, this guy has bad idea written all over him!”. I feel that is a perfectly reasonable response, but that is where it should end. I think it is fair to pause and attempt to understand the choices of others, but it’s heartless to minimize their experience by placing blame on them for a situation we couldn’t possibly understand if it has never happened to us.

And like I’ve quoted before: People only understand from their level of perception. But that doesn’t stop them from laying on the judgement and damaging already fragile individuals with their inability to show compassion for a fellow human being. Reading through comment sections isn’t just maddening, it’s disappointing and sad but also a real look into how awful many people feel about themselves… to the point where they seem to derive some pleasure or satisfaction from condemning a rape victim for wearing a short skirt and getting drunk.

So… we have to touch on this to be balanced: innocent until proven guilty. Only these days it’s an automatic trial by media with the public acting as judge, jury and executioner. This is where “cancel culture” steps in and within days can destroy an entire career / life. I am not a fan of cancel culture. It does not give people a chance to learn from their mistakes or make amends as it immediately harms their very existence. Often times even before any proof has surfaced. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this is… the fact that just an accusation could ruin your life.

Let me make this clear: if someone comes forward and claims they’ve been sexually assaulted/abused, they need to be taken seriously and not dismissed based upon the circumstances, their gender identity, the color of their skin, their economic position or profession or the person they’re accusing. In turn, the individual being accused should be given time to address the claims before the public begins demolishing their life.

A reoccurring comment in almost all these cases where someone comes forward and alleges abuse YEARS after it happened, is – “Why did they wait so long to come forward?”.

Is this a fair question? Sure. And I feel it is asked because our brain needs to find a way to understand the information we are being given. Because while we’d all like to think that if in the same situation we’d be unfuckable with and anyone who dared to bring damage to our doorstep would immediately suffer the consequences, we actually cannot predict our reaction. There are too many unknown variables to be able to confidently say we’d instantly speak up and seek retribution.

The fear of not being believed. The fear of being blamed. The fear of rejection. The fear of retaliation from the person being accused. The fear of being forever defined by your experience. The fear.

It does not matter the why, what matters is the chance they’ve taken by speaking up at all. Those who come forward should be embraced, not ridiculed. Not abandoned. Not criticized.

“Don’t ask why victims wait so long to speak up. Ask what systems were in place to keep them quiet”. Anonymous

I own a few Marilyn Manson CD’s. And I’ve even attended one of his concerts. Would I say I am a fan? Probably a number of years ago I was but truthfully, I’ve not paid attention to any of his music in recent years because I feel it devolved while my taste evolved. That’s not a slam against him or anyone who fancies his work, it’s more a statement on how I’ve matured and now seek out music that feels authentic to me.

The one concert I attended was opened by Courtney Love. I know, what a duo to pay money to see. Near the end of Manson’s set he made a disparaging remark about Love and trashed her music. At the time he was wearing some pretty hefty platform shoes so it made it all the more hilarious when from out of nowhere she charged like a rhino and tackled him to the stage; throwing punches at his head all the way down. When he finally was able to get up, he announced the show was over. There would be no encore and then him and his bandmates trashed the stage in a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler Napoleon. Still makes me laugh to this day.

Shoutout to Evan Rachel Wood and her most recent movie ‘Kajillionaire’. Watched it on demand about a month ago and it’s a brilliant comedy that will also pull at your heart. I highly recommend you give it a chance.

Check out the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiMPCevu8Wk

[jessicalynnhepner]

What Every Parent Needs to Know About Child Sex Trafficking

For most police officers, this scene is a familiar one—a young kid gets mixed up with the wrong person and finds him or herself on the wrong side of the law. In virtually every case, this would be the end of the story. The young girl would get a slap on the wrist and be released into her parents’ custody where they could, presumably, set her straight. And, at this point in our story, Officer Scott was prepared to do just that—to trust the overwhelming testimony of prior experience and process this girl out so that he could get on with his shift. But, something was different this time… Discerning the SignsAs Officer Scott sits down to file his paperwork, he’s reminded of last Tuesday’s roll call.  His Sergeant, having recently attended a training seminar on human trafficking, used that day to teach his officers how to identify potential trafficking situations. All of a sudden, alarm bells start going off in Scott’s mind: The Fear — Sure, a kid’s going to be afraid of the consequences. But, this girl seems to fear for her physical safety. She’s acting like there’s something worse waiting for her than an angry mom and dad at home. The Stolen Merchandise – Why did she need a Red Bull and a pack of condoms? Scott recalled that traffickers use starvation to control their victims. Usually, their only choice is to steal the bare necessities. The Boyfriend – Per the owner’s description, this guy was at least 10 years older than she. What were they doing there together in the first place? A New ApproachWith these things in mind, Scott calmly invites the young lady out of holding and brings her to a quieter part of the station, away from prying eyes and menacing glances. She looks cold, so Scott hands her a sweatshirt. As he does, he notices a small tattoo of a crown with the name ‘Hugo’ scrawled beneath it—likely a brand to show who ‘she belongs to.’ They start to chat. This time, he speaks less like a cop and more like a friend. Clearly, she hasn’t had anything to eat for quite a while. Moments later, a female officer appears with a bag from McDonald’s. The three make their way to a private lounge. As they talk, the girl lets her guard down. Scott listens as she describes her broken home life, struggles with friends at school, and her constant search for belonging. All the while, her phone continues to buzz. “Your boyfriend?” “Yes. He just wants to make sure I’m ok.” He really is a great guy, she explains. He’s been there for her when her parents weren’t. He shows her the affection and attention she needs. She feels protected. He loves her……only, sometimes he makes her do things—things she would ordinarily never do. TrustHaving earned at least a glimmer of trust, Scott asks if she would slide her phone over. Reluctantly, she does, and he begins to scroll through the text messages. Wisely, Scott checks his emotions before he begins to read. It doesn’t take him long to realize these are not the supportive words of a loving boyfriend. No, they’re the verbal assaults of a degenerate thug bent on belittling her into submission. Scott does his best to hide his disgust as he reads about threatened consequences for ‘missed quotas.’ Horrified, he sees insults that no human being should ever have to endure, capped off by threats against her little sister for talking to the cops. Officer Scott thanks the young woman for her trust and politely excuses himself to make a call. He can read the writing on the wall: this girl is clearly a victim of trafficking. She needs someone with much more experience than him to help regain her freedom. He picks up the phone, dials his Sergeant, and together, they get to work. What Made the Difference?This story, though generalized in some ways, is rooted in the accounts we hear from police officers every day. The first part of the story is common enough. But, what about the second when, in Scott’s eyes, the girl goes from ‘shoplifter’ to ‘trafficking victim’? Not so much. So, how do we get from A to B? How do we help police officers learn

to look at each ‘punk kid’ as a potential victim, to ask deeper questions, and find the real story lies beneath the surface? Just as in Officer Scott’s story, that turning point comes when an officer recognizes the signs, trusts his or her gut, and decides to unravel that thread. It all starts with that one officer—a soldier on the front lines of the underground battle to set captives free. This can only happen when officials at every level of law enforcement learn to detect the signs and receive the tools they need to bring trafficking victims out of the cruel darkness and into the liberating light of day. National Human Trafficking Law Enforcement Training ProgramAt ERASE, one of the most impactful things we do is train police departments so that they produce more officers like the one in this story. It’s our mission to educate officers to detect the warning signs, identify potential victims, and safely lead them to freedom.  Your donations make this possible. Source Child Sex Trafficking-Not My Child Mom shakes her head and Dad raises his voice. Their 16-year old daughter storms up the stairs. As the bedroom door slams, she collapses on the bed with phone in hand. She’s ready to vent her frustrations one status update at a time. With every angst-laden tap of the keyboard, she lays bare her soul: “Nobody here gets me.” “No one understands!” “I feel unloved.” 📷An hour later, a boy from the next town over reaches out. She doesn’t know him, but they’ve got a few mutual friends, so it’s probably no big deal. He’s cute and thoughtful. And, he seems to understand what she’s going through better than anyone else. For the next two weeks, they exchange messages every day. He’s sweet, a digital shoulder to cry on when nobody else seems to care. They decide to meet up in person, so she borrows Dad’s car “to meet some friends at the mall.” That night, Daddy’s little girl doesn’t come home for dinner and Mom sits up all night. The next morning, they call the police. An officer searches her computer and finds evidence of the girl’s new relationship. Turns out, the boy she thought she knew didn’t exist. And, just like that, she’s gone.Reality check about child sex trafficking At ERASE, we hear heartbreaking tales like this all too frequently. Stories from average families dealing with everyday stresses when out of nowhere, their child is lured right out from under them. Whenever we tell these stories, the most common response goes something like this: “Child trafficking is something that happens to those types of kids out there. We live in a great community and our neighbors are good people who look out for one another. Something like that could never happen to one of my children.” This is the kind of response that makes us cringe. If only parents knew what we know, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore this real and pervasive threat. Sadly, that very ignorance is what traffickers count on most when looking for children to target. The danger is far more imminent than most parents recognize. If we’re going to protect our children, we need to be clear on the real threats child traffickers impose. Traffickers are Smart, Motivated, and Tech-SavvyA dark and horrific market has grown up around the purchase and sale of human beings. Researchers estimated that, in 2007, Atlanta’s underground sex economy alone brought in $290 million. Even in a far less “saturated” market, sex trafficking in San Diego enables a pimp to pull in over $11,000 per week. Fast forward 10 years and there’s no reason to think that number hasn’t grown. Innocent children aren’t given a pass here. Instead, the most vulnerable among us are routinely bought and sold like property—many of them up to 15 times a day. With business booming, traffickers are working harder than ever to keep up with demand. Leaving no stone unturned, they use social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, to research, target, and groom children for sexual exploitation. In fact, 77% of sex trafficking victims

report having been initially approached online. Just as a skilled marketer uses sophisticated keyword searches to identify his audience, traffickers monitor social media for anything at all that would suggest an easy target:Children with social media profiles open to public viewing Teenagers posting introspective status updates about feelings of insecurity Boys and girls who are venting about arguments with their parents Like a lion crouched in his thicket, a predator will scan through lines of text looking for vulnerable children to drag off into the tall grass. How many of those lines will have come from one of your children? Yes, your child can be a victim of sex traffickingThe children that traffickers rip from their happy homes aren’t pretend characters on television or disembodied faces from the evening news. They’re our kids, the ones we work hard to raise and the ones we hope to see grow up happy and healthy. They’re the kids we teach to be smart, to mind their surroundings, and never talk to strangers. And yet, we give them free reign to explore every dark corner of the internet via their cell phone. We must do betterLittle more than half of parents closely monitor their children’s online activity. So, when a stranger asks to connect on Snapchat, it’s nearly an even shot that no one will be looking over that kid’s shoulder. You can count on a child trafficker to take that bet. Do you know which platforms your children are using or who they connect with online? Do they have any secret accounts and how would you find out if they did? If someone asked to meet in person, would they do it? Can you be sure? These questions may seem intrusive and even overbearing. However, considering the reality of child trafficking in the United States, we have to ask these questions.  Every day, thousands of children disappear into slavery. We’d like to hope our kids could never be victims but the facts simply don’t allow us that option. Understanding the facts of child trafficking is the first and most important step in prevention. There is HopeGood people around the world are standing up and fighting back against this great moral evil. You don’t have to live in constant fear for your children. The story we shared at the beginning of this post doesn’t have to be your story. And with some common sense and the will to step intentionally into your kids’ digital lives, you can protect them from becoming a victim of sex trafficking. The question is: will you? At ERASE, we want to educate parents on how best to protect their children from online predators. Please take a look at our tips and best practices pages to see how you can teach your children to be safe online.Juvenile Delinquent or Victim of Human Trafficking? Blog Story of a Human Trafficking Victim It’s midnight. Officer Scott pulls his patrol car into the lot of a small, 24-hour convenience store. As he approaches, he peers through the decal-laden glass door to see a middle-aged man struggling to restrain an agitated 16-year old girl. The store owner had caught this young woman and her boyfriend stuffing items into a small handbag. Her companion—a ‘white man in his late 20’s’—had bolted out the door without so much as a backward glance. The last thing on Officer Scott’s mind was “human trafficking victim”. Scott had seen this before. Some young teenager, looking for thrills, decides to pocket a few items from the local bodega and gets grabbed by the watchful owner. As he escorts the girl to his police car, Scott’s treated to an earful. She can’t stop going on about what a jerk he is, how he had violated her rights, and how much trouble she’d be in if he didn’t let her go right away. “Just wait until I call your parents,” he thinks. 📷 The Same Routine When they arrive at the station, Scott walks this young woman to his desk. She can hear the snide remarks of a few men handcuffed to chairs nearby. As they leer conspicuously at her, she shrinks further into herself.  Scott starts in on his typical line of questioning: name,

age, address, and so on. The entire time, her phone buzzes with one text message after another. She begs Scott to let her reply, but he refuses. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to your parents later.” “I’m not worried about them,” she snaps back. “They don’t give a crap about me, anyway. They’re too busy arguing to even notice I’m around.” Not sure what to make of that outburst, Scott begins to sort through the items she had attempted to steal: a sleeve of Hostess Cup Cakes, a Red Bull, and a box of condoms. “Must be one heck of a boyfriend to leave you there like that, huh?” “You wouldn’t understand. He loves me. He takes care of me.” Angry and frustrated by this girl’s bad attitude and ignorance about that poor excuse for a boyfriend, Officer Scott escorts her to a holding cell and prepares to process her out.Is This the End of the Story?

https://whateveryparentshouldknowaboutcps.blogspot.com/2020/08/what-every-parent-needs-to-know-about.html

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

After the Fall Ch.17 Butterflies

LoganLight, AO3

"You've improved a lot," Adrien complimented as Max's avatar reduced his to pixels.

"Actually, your own skills have declined by twenty-one point four percent!" Markov corrected. "Max, however, has improved by ten point two percent!"

"Markov!" Max scolded gently. "We've discussed your honesty parameters towards humans, remember?"

Markov drooped, chastised. "Sorry, Max. Sorry, Adrien."

Adrien smiled at the floating robot. "It's alright. I prefer it when people are honest with me."

Markov perked up immediately. "Your social interactions have improved by an astounding thirty-six point nine percent!"

Max gazed at the robot questioningly. "When did you establish those parameters?"

"Last night!"

Adrien refrained from pointing out that Markov was about as good at 'people' as Max. He observed their exchange in amusement. It reminded him of a kwami's relationship with their holder. Though Markov was much younger than any kwami.

He gazed with wonder at Max's creation. Markov was a work of genius. The only person he knew as smart as Max.

Which is exactly why I'm here.

The thought sobered him. "Max? Markov? There's something I need your help with."

"What is it, Adrien?"

"I'm certain we could provide invaluable assistance!"

Adrien looked both of them in the eye and said with all due gravity. "I need to spy on my father."

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

Adrien was sitting down to dinner. His plate untouched in front of him. His eyes wandered aimlessly across the room when the butterfly motif caught his attention.

It sent his mind back to Ladybug's accusation: that Gabriel Agreste was Papillon. That theory lasted all of twenty seconds after meeting the Collector. After all, a Miraculous holder couldn't use their power on themselves.

No, in order to do that they'd need-

Nathalie walked in, her brooch catching his eye.

-a partner.

"Adrien your father is very busy and won't be able to come to dinner," she informed him like she'd done every day since the incident, not bothering to glance up from her tablet.

". . . That's alright, Nathalie. I wasn't hungry anyway." He stood up and walked past her. Side-eyeing the peacock themed accessory.

"Be sure to practice your piano before bed," Nathalie said from habit, even though he hadn't played the piano in months.

When Adrien entered his room he glanced at the untouched instrument but otherwise ignored it. He turned on the TV and switched to a news channel.

There was no reason to jump to conclusions because of a few coincidences. Even if every missed meal and last minute interruption for the past two years coincided with an akuma attack . . . Just like this one apparently.

The news crew had only just arrived outside the building where the battle was taking place but Adrien wasn't interested in the fight itself. He rushed to his computer and pulled up the Ladyblog's list of akuma attacks, comparing each event to what he knew of his father's schedule . . . Which wasn't much so it led nowhere.

Shifting approach Adrien thought of how his father had reacted to them. Or rather, how he hadn't reacted to them. Not once had he threatened to pull Adrien out of school despite all the akuma that seemed to target Francoise Dupont. He hadn't even seemed bothered.

It wasn't until he'd found -lost- the Miraculous Grimoire that he'd been pulled from school. That book started the whole Volpina/Collector episode . . .

Adrien clenched his fists as he trembled.

Riposte tried to cut me in half!

The mouse went flying, shattering against the wall.

Style Queen turned me into a perfect, pretty statue!

The keyboard was ripped away from the monitors and slammed into the ground.

Sandboy . . .

The chair was lifted overhead and brought crashing down onto the screens.

Oni-Chan!

Adrien breathed heavily as he leaned against the desk. Looking up he saw the surviving monitor had reverted to his screensaver.

Maman.

Forcing his mind back on track Adrien realized he was missing something crucial: evidence.

He walked over to turn off the TV, which showed the Guardians of Paris helping the de-akumatized victim, and waited.

Nathalie burst into his room with the Gorilla a moment later. She took in the destroyed computer station and his expressionless features in silence.

"I'll need new equipment," he stated obviously.

Something like sorrow passed fleetingly over her face before she nodded once and turned on her heel.

That was expected. Nathalie had grown even more distant since the incident. Just like his father. They hadn't even said a word of protest when Adrien simply stopped showing up for his scheduled activities.

His mood swings were taken in stride.

The Gorilla was still there, watching him in concern. His bodyguard was the only adult in the manor to draw close to Adrien, allowing his stoic exterior to fall for brief moments.

The Gorilla gestured to the destruction and grunted a question.

Adrien gave him a melancholy smile. "I'm sorry . . . Thank you."

Seeing that he wouldn't elaborate further the Gorilla gave him a pointed stare and left, reluctantly.

Collapsing onto the floor Adrien exhaled slowly. Turning his foot slightly he glared at the black butterfly on the side of his shoe. The Gabriel logo.

. . . Adrien needed proof. And he knew just who to ask for help.

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

"Are you sure about this?"

"There's a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that we will accomplish our objective."

"He meant, am I sure I want to go through with this." Adrien corrected the robot.

"Oh . . . Why would you not want to be certain that your theory is correct?" Markov glanced at both of them, puzzled. "If we obtain the evidence we need then stopping Papillon becomes a simple matter of informing the heroes."

"Well, yes," Max agreed. "But that wouldn't be the only consequence." He turned his eyes to Adrien.

". . . Papillon used our friends as pawns. Used us as pawns. 'Father' kept me prisoner in my own room to 'protect' me from what was out there, when the real threat was in here. He's shown a constant disregard for the lives of the people around him. So, to answer your question, Max. Yes, I'm sure!"

Max's wide eyes stared at him for a moment before he pushed his glasses into place and refocused on their task. "Markov," he instructed, determined.

"On it!"

Markov floated to Adrien's recently repaired computer station where Max was sitting. Together they interfaced his AI systems with the mansion's security network. Markov's face screen showed twin hourglasses.

". . . How long will it take to go through the security footage?"

"Given the extensive number of cameras, the three year period we're searching through, and Markov's processing power . . . About two minutes and thirty-five seconds."

Adrien smiled. "That long?"

"We're trying to increase his efficiency but, it's a, secondary priority . . ."

". . . What is it, Max?"

"You could be wrong. There might be an alternative explanation for all of this."

"And the chances of that are?"

"Zero point zero one percent . . . Oh."

"Did the math beforehand, huh?"

"I was . . . concerned."

"That's fair."

". . . Why do you think he wants the Miraculous for?"

Adrien reached over and tapped a key, shifting the image on the right-most monitor.

Max gasped softly. "Adrien . . ."

"Done!" Markov spun and blinked a few times as though clearing his head. "Most of the footage we need comes from M. Agreste's office."

Markov opened several windows on the computer. The monitors showed Gabriel pressing hidden buttons on Emilie's painting and then vanishing into the floor. They showed the Collector rising up. They showed Papillon Escarlate walk out the front door. They showed an unknown akumatized villain, who could only be Nathalie, open the safe and then transform into the one they'd come to know as Mayura.

"M. Agreste enters his secret lair and approximately five minutes and forty-nine seconds later a new villain is identified. There are a few deviations from the pattern: Vanisher, Despair Bear, Queen Bee, Heroes' Day, Backwarder-"

"Thank you! Markov," Max interrupted. "I think we should-"

"Isn't there any footage of him transforming?" Adrien asked.

"Yes, actually," Markov replied. "During Animaestro's attack Papillon exits his lair and detransforms in the hall."

Adrien moves to enlarge the desired window.

"Adrien, wait. Perhaps you should-"

"You're worried about me."

"Of course! You're my friend! If this revelation is emotionally overwhelming for me then the chances of you having another breakdown-"

"Max?"

"Y-yes?"

"I'm tired, Max. I want this to be over. Just because he hasn't akumatized me yet doesn't mean he never will. I'd like to stop him before that happens."

"But you're his son!"

". . . Markov, what's the likelihood of me being akumatized within the week?"

". . . One hundred percent."

"That can't happen, Max. Once this is all over I promise to . . . slow down. But right now we need to show Ladybug what we found."

". . . Okay. Markov get that footage into a more user-friendly format, make sure the time stamp is visible for reference. I'll double check our footprint to make sure they won't know we were in the system. Adrien, call Alya, she has the greatest chance of contacting Ladybug quickly."

". . . I have a faster way," Adrien pulled out his phone and called Marinette.

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Ch.1  Ch.2  Ch.3  Ch.4  Ch.5  Ch.6  Ch.7  Ch.8  Ch.9  Ch.10  Ch.11  Ch.12  Ch.13  Ch.14  Ch.15  Ch.16     Ch.18  Ch.19  Ch.20  Ch.21  Ch.22

[lnc2]

Viral

Summary: The Ladyblog catches a private moment and Marinette is furious.

This story can also be found on FF.net and AO3.

The video was uploaded sometime after midnight early Saturday morning.  

As was usually the case after an akuma attack, Alya Cesaire had been running on a caffeine rush and adrenaline high that made sleep impossible.  The dedicated blogger would not see the back of her eyes until her copy was written, her files rendered, and her newest masterpiece was live for the entire world to see.

Or at least the majority of Paris.  She was young yet.

Fortunately for the aspiring journalist, the Ladyblog’s wide and devoted readership ensured that the hits would rack up quickly regardless of the time of posting.

What no one could have anticipated, however, was just how quickly.

It started with the local news.

Nadja Chamack’s bright-eyed good morning Paris grin punctuated the more somber news of floods, akumas, and politics with the light-hearted clip.  The segment usually reserved for heartwarming fluff pieces about eye-seeing dogs and neighborhood bake sales was instead taken over by the city’s most reliable ratings machine.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were television gold.

From there the clip hit the major news networks and was being broadcast to the whole of France. Then came the talk shows, the copycat blogs, the online articles, Buzzfeed, and more.  When the video hit the front page of Reddit there was no stopping the infection.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, less than three days after the akuma attack and the video going live, Chat Noir had become the laughing stock of Paris, the Internet, and the world.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely furious.

The akuma came first.

A recently humiliated magician on the warpath to take down his former theatre troupe, his embarrassment, rage, and all-consuming desire for vengeance left Paris a card-trick disaster in his wake.

Ladybug was of one mind with Chat Noir that his act was nothing ta-dah for.

However, it wasn’t Hawkmoth’s latest victim that had the whole of Paris tied up in fits.  It wasn’t Ladybug’s short-stint as a lovely volunteer and her near miss with a trick box and saw that was plastered all over the news.  Nor was it Chat Noir’s timely use of cataclysm to free her that had the blogs buzzing.

Not even the fact that the so-called Madgician managed to make the Eiffel-fucking-Tower disappear could distract the most avid of francophiles from this unanticipated dark horse of viral fixation.

No.

Out of every ridiculous rabbit-wielding, bullet-catching, table-of-death-defying moment, it was a 30-second clip caught by one sneaking Alya Cesaire that turned the eyes and ridicule of the world onto her partner.

It was a nothing of a video. Just a brief exchange after the akuma had been purified and the city restored.  It wasn’t even a great shot as the bottom left corner of the screen was obscured by what appeared to be the edge of a dumpster.  As if the person filming had been crouched down in an alleyway, which, knowing Alya, she probably had been.

In fact, the only remarkable thing about it was that she managed to get so close without either of them noticing her.

“So my Lady,” Chat Noir purred, reaching out for his partner’s hand and slowly lifting it to his lips.  “What was your card?”

Ladybug, triumphant, battle-worn, and very much aware of her beeping earrings, frowned.  “Excuse me?”

“Because mine was definitely the king of hearts.” He leaned in, mouth wide and flashing white.

“Oh no, minou.  That last fall must have you confused.” Ladybug freed her hand from his and gently pushed him back by his nose.  “Yours was definitely the joker.”

“Huh.” Chat didn’t seem at all discouraged.  If anything he grinned wider.  “Can’t blame a cat for that.  It was a hare-raising situation.”

“Oh my god,” But she was laughing as she punched him in the shoulder.

And that was it.

Nothing world-ending,

nothing to keep the masses awake at night.

Just her being her and Chat being Chat.

Just them being… them.

Until it wasn’t.

Because Alya’s candid camera work not only broadcast their private moment to the Ladyblog and an already too-invested Paris, but its sudden skyrocketing status put their relationship on blast.

There couldn’t just be Ladybug and Chat Noir now.

Now it was Ladybug, Chat Noir, and an ever-expanding chorus of voices, ridicule, and misplaced concern.

Because of a godforsaken meme.

It started with a fedora and a bad photoshop edit and spiraled out of control from there.  By Sunday evening the discourse had started and suddenly there was an influx of articles bashing Chat Noir as a Nice Guy™ or Ladybug as a tease for leading him on.  

Vindicated men dusting off their fedoras to add leather cat ears and concerned citizens writing articles letting Ladybug know that she didn’t owe her partner anything.

Body language specialists started appearing as guests on local talk shows to show how she liked him, how she didn’t like him, how they were already sleeping together

(Look at the way her shoulders are turned towards his hips. There’s definitely been intimacy there).

It was enough to make a girl scream.

And worst of all, it wasn’t just her.  She knew that Chat would be seeing everything as well.

How could he not.

Marinette had hardly been able to leave her house without hearing some one person or other laughingly throwing out “m’lady” to loved ones, passersby, the goddamn garbage man.

And she just knew this would hurt Chat.  That sensitive, pun-loving flirt.

This would mess with him. Mess with them.

How dare they.

How dare Alya.

“I can’t believe her,” Marinette muttered, furiously shoving her books and homework into her school bag for Monday.  Marinette might not be able to do anything to hurt the nameless online hoard, but she could definitely work out some of her frustrations on her friend.

“Marinette,” Tikki said softly.  “I think you should take tomorrow morning off.”

“I’m fine, Tikki,” She snapped.  When her kwami didn’t respond, she sighed.  “I’m sorry.  You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s really admirable that you care so much about your partner,” Tikki said, floating from her place on Marinette’s desk so she could look her charge in the eye.  “Chat Noir is lucky to have a Ladybug like you.”

“God he must be so upset right now.  They’re all laughing at him, Tikki.  And Alya-”

“Doesn’t know that she’s hurting you.” Here the little god nuzzled into Marinette’s cheek.  “She’s your friend too, Marinette.  I know you’ll be devastated if you lose sight of that in a moment of anger.”

Ugh.

So now Marinette couldn’t even explain to her friend why she felt so betrayed.

She would have to stand there and listen to Alya as she raved about her hits, her clip being used on real news networks, the assholes who had already ripped her video and tried to claim it as their own.

She would have to nod and smile and be supportive and pretend that something personal and sacred hadn’t just been ripped away and exposed to the world.

Or at least, that was the plan she and Tikki decided on until the Ladyblog posted its newest article. The one capitalizing on its viral hit entitled Is Chat Noir A Nice Guy™ ?: A study in Ladybug and Chat Noir Interactions.

Marinette couldn’t even bring herself to read it in its entirety before she closed her browser and slammed her hands down on her keyboard.

So it was that nine hours later, running on little sleep and Tikki’s words echoing in her ear, that a stormy Marinette Dupain-Cheng stalked through the halls of her lycée.  Turning the corner to the locker room, she caught sight of Nino laughingly bowing over a grinning Alya’s hand and swallowed her infuriated scream.  She didn’t need to hear him to know he was saying “m’lady”.

Opting instead for sanity, Marinette brushed past them to the safety of her locker.  If she was trying to be inconspicuous she failed because Alya caught her immediately.

“Girl, where have you been?” She grabbed Marinette and pulled her in for a bone-crushing side hug that had her stiffening.  Alya was too excited to notice.  “You’ve been MIA all weekend and I’ve been dying to talk to you!  Did you lose your phone again?”

“No.”

“Did you not get my texts?”

Marinette sighed.  “I got your texts, Alya.  I was just busy.”

“Okay…” Alya was looking at her now.  Her excitement momentarily put aside as she took in her friend’s rumpled appearance. Her signature pigtails were in disarray and there were dark circles under her eyes that hinted at a restless night. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.”

Judging by her concerned frown, Marinette could see that Alya didn’t believe her but wasn’t going to press the issue.  Which was unfortunate really when her change of topic took them back to a place Marinette really didn’t want to go.

“Did you see my video?” Alya held up her phone, opened to the video in question.  “It’s all over the news!”

“Yeah, I saw it.” Here Marinette really couldn’t hide her annoyance. 

“What’s got your tails in a twist?”

“It’s nothing.” Alya rolled her eyes.

“It’s clearly not nothing.  Why don’t you stop stalling and just tell me what bug crawled up your butt and get it over with.”

“Fine,”  She slammed her locker shut, startling a nearby student who took one look at Marinette’s glare and took off down the hall.  “You want to know what my problem is?  It’s you, Alya.  You and that stupid video.”

“Stupid?”

Marinette ignored her.

“It’s only been three days and it’s everywhere.  The entire world is speculating about Ladybug and Chat Noir. How would you like it if people openly discussed whether or not you and Nino were going out?”

“People do openly discuss whether or not Nino and I are going out,” She said hotly.  “You’re my best friend, M.  Out of everyone I thought you would be happy for me.”

“Well maybe that moment was private and now you’ve gone and embarrassed him.”

“Him?”

Marinette scowled. “Not everything is for public consumption, Alya.”

“I’m a journalist, Mari. It’s my job.”

“Well you didn’t have the right!” She snapped and Alya took a step back at the vehemence in her friend’s voice.  “After all of the attention they’ve given you.  The private interviews, the shout outs – it just seems like a shitty way to repay them.”

Alya tapped her foot anxiously against the tile.  “I didn’t mean for people to make fun of them.”

“Yeah, well. It happened.” Marinette blew a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “And you posting that article last night didn’t help either.”

A small pressure at her hip let her know she needed to calm down.

No matter how angry she was, in Alya’s mind she was Marinette and Marinette had no reason to be this upset.  Marinette would be happy for her.  Marinette would be sharing screenshots and sending champagne emojis with each new view. What Marinette would not be was hurt.

Ladybug however…

“… Marinette?”

There was a question she was not willing to answer.  Marinette crossed her arms against her chest and avoided Alya’s searching gaze

“Just forget it, Alya. Do what you want.” 

And before she could do anything else to put her identity in jeopardy, she turned away and took off down the hall.  Or rather, she tried to take off down the hall but only made it three feet before plowing into one rigid Adrien Agreste.

Her tell tale blush was nearly a habit at this point and she was too angry to care much about it. Marinette barely even had time to take in his own state of dishevelment and sleeplessness before muttering a hoarse sorry and fleeing down the hall.

Fucking perfect.

She sought refuge in an empty hallway.  Class was starting now but she couldn’t really bring herself to care about being tardy or the inevitable note her parents would receive.  Her backpack lay forgotten on the stairs beside her as she fought off the imminent guilt she would feel when her anger ebbed.

She shouldn’t have yelled at Alya like that.

Tikki didn’t say anything, for which Marinette was grateful.  Unwilling to risk coming out of her purse entirely, her kwami merely reached out and gently patted her thigh.

God this was a mess.

So caught up in her own misery Marinette missed the sound of approaching footsteps.  It wasn’t until Adrien was standing directly in front of her with nervous hands that she even realized he was there.

“Hey, um.” He gestured towards the stairs beside her. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Marinette blinked at him slowly as his words broke through her fog of misery and shame.  When they finally registered she sighed.

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I’m probably not the best company right now.”

 “You’re better than everyone else I’ll bet.”

She didn’t saying anything and he took her silence as acceptance and took a seat beside her on the steps.  The halls were quiet, save them, and Marinette closed her eyes as she tried to bring her emotions down to a baseline level.  Adrien seemed to understand her need for distance and just sat with her. Despite the nervous thrum she always felt when she saw him, it was paradoxically calming to have him with her now.

Gradually the tension in her chest and shoulders loosened and Marinette released a deep soul-cleansing sigh.

“Better?”

She nodded, opening her eyes.  Green stared back at her in concern. 

He looked exhausted.

“Thank you.  By the way.” He raised his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick that sent a burst of warmth through her chest. “For what you said.”

Marinette didn’t ask him why.

She had her suspicions about her partner.  Strong, well-founded, terrifying suspicions that she wasn’t quite ready to talk to him about.  But the conversation was looming.

“They’re all idiots. Everyone.”

“Yeah,” But he didn’t sound convinced.

Marinette wasn’t sure if he knew her identity yet.  If he didn’t, he was getting there.  Her kitty wasn’t stupid.

“It’s none of their business.”

“Maybe they have a point though,” He watched her from the corner of his eye.  “Maybe it is a stupid nickname.”

“It is not a stupid nickname,” Marinette snapped, startling them both.  “And who are they to decide?  Or you for that matter.  If Ladybug doesn’t mind then who the hell cares what anyone else thinks.”

He was quiet.  She sighed.

“They’re jerks, Adrien.”

“Alya’s not a jerk,” he said half-heartedly.

“Yeah, well she acted pretty thoughtlessly.”

Marinette took in Adrien’s uncharacteristically mussed hair and the dark circles beneath his eyes. His clothes, as always, were immaculate but such was the life of a fashion mogul’s son. 

No, his distress was more subtle than that.  It was in the tightness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his spine, and the way his hands kept fidgeting.  It was like someone had taken a dimmer switch on his soul and turned it all the way down. Watching him, her heart broke all over again.

Pushing aside the voice in her head that screamed this is a bad idea Marinette shifted on the staircase so that she and Adrien were side by side.  She ignored his startled look and grabbed his hand instead.

“You know,” She said, squeezing his hand gently.  “They’re just being assholes because they can’t handle that Chat Noir is smooth enough to use a line like that and get away with it.”

Adrien turned away from her but she could still see the creeping pink on his cheeks.  She released his hand and he rubbed the back of his neck again as if he could force his embarrassment down.

Cute.

“Smooth, huh?”

Marinette grinned.

“Yeah, but don’t let it get back to him,” She bumped his shoulder.  “I hear his ego’s ridiculous enough as it is.”

They fell into a companionable silence.

It was nice. 

To just sit there with him when there wasn’t any akuma, or threat, or secrets (mostly). 

It was also terrifying.

To be Marinette while he was Adrien,

was to be without her suit

to be without her skin

and exposed for everything she was.

And Chat Noir knew her flaws better than most.

She tapped her fingers nervously against the stairs.  “I’m going to have to apologize to Alya, aren’t I?”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.”

Now it was Adrien who nudged her with his shoulder.  “She didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”

“I know.  I just wish she’d… think beyond the story for once.”  She begrudgingly stood up and wiped the dust off her capris.  “I guess it’s time to pay the piper.”

Marinette looked down at him.  Despite their talk and the small smile pulling at his lips his shoulders were still tense.  Like the dimmer switch was still on.

She didn’t like that. Not when there was something she knew she could do to make it go away.

Well, now’s as good a time as any.

Before she could second guess herself, Marinette leaned forward to ruffle Adrien’s mussed hair into a more properly Chatlike disaster.  The action seemed to almost electrify him and she smiled as she met the questions in his eyes.

“Cheer up, Chaton. Things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

It was worth her miniature heart attack to see his eyes light up with comprehension, confirmation, and triumph as the last link fell into place.  A devastatingly shy grin broke out and transformed him and Marinette found she could not scold her heart into a steady rhythm.

Lord she was in trouble.

But that was a problem for another time.  For now she reached out and took his offered hand as she pulled him to his feet. Meeting his happy grin with one of her own, Marinette squeezed his hand briefly before letting go.

Still beaming, Adrien’s eyes shined as he made a wide sweeping gesture and bowed.  And even though she knew it was coming, her heart still gave a happy stutter when he laughed and said

“After you, my Lady.”

[gaiyofanfiction]

“Sticks and Stones” Part 2

A/N: I’m glad people like the first part! This is my first solo three shot. It’s easy for me to write about bullying since I have been the victim many times as I was growing up. I just want everyone to know that if you have ever been bullied or hurt by someone you ever loved, you’re not alone! Though this is purely fiction and Minhyuk is a sweetheart, I am definitely writing with my past experiences in mind. Enjoy! ~ Gaishō

“Sticks and Stones” - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 

You’re freaking out. Minhyuk just messaged you and you have to say something back without being a complete weirdo. Once more you check to make sure it is indeed his real profile and sure enough it is. He has over 3,000 friends on Facebook. Yep, that’s him.

Your fingers just sit on the keyboard of your laptop and don’t move. Suddenly the bubble with ellipses pops up and he messages you again.

Facebook chat:

Minhyuk: Too good to talk to me?

You: No! I’m sorry… I was just surprised you would be talking to me.

Minhyuk: Why’s that, huh?

You: Well, I’m… A nobody lol. You’re the most popular guy in school.

Minhyuk: Don’t be silly. I like everyone.

You: Everyone… Except me.

Minhyuk: Oh, stop! To be honest, I think you’re the prettiest girl ever.

You: You’re kidding… Right? Someone put you up to this. I know it.

Minhyuk: I’m not kidding at all! I promise. You’re beautiful and I actually wanted to ask you something…

You: What? What is it?

Minhyuk: Not on here. I want to ask you in person. You know. Face to face. I want to look into your eyes when I ask you my question.

You: Really? Okay. Um, maybe at lunch then?  

Minhyuk: Yes! I can’t wait to see you at lunch tomorrow. Bye ;)

You: Same! Bye bye :)

Your mouth completely drops. ‘There is no way that just happened!’ Pacing back and forth in your room you think about the messages. You couldn’t believe it so you went back to your laptop to see that they were real. You read them over and over again making yourself dizzy.

You smile to yourself like any other teenager struck with love. Immediately you start picking out an outfit for tomorrow. ‘Maybe he’s going to ask me out on a date!?’ You stop for a second.

Doubt starts to fill your mind. You know he is insanely popular and could get any girl that he wants. Something didn’t seem right to you. You shake your head and continue to sift through your closet. ‘It’s possible he see’s something in me.’

You laid your clothes out for tomorrow and headed for bed. Barely able to sleep you tossed and turned at the thought of what Minhyuk might say to you. Maybe for once, you won’t be the underdog. You smiled at the thought of his posse of girls watching Minhyuk sweeping you off your feet.

Morning finally came and you shot up with so much energy you would have thought you had just been reborn a whole new person. You put on a cute floral patterned shirt that would show a little cleavage and some nice tight leggings to make your butt pop.

You applied a little bit of makeup, but not too much; just simple winged eyeliner and a light red lipstick. Sitting in front of your vanity you start to worry and pick at your fingernails. You’re still unsure if all of this was really real.

Once more you read over the Facebook messages between you and Minhyuk and you let out a big sigh. All of a sudden you hear your mom yell at you from downstairs, “Y/N! You haven’t left yet?” You realize what time it is and it’s way too late for you to walk to school today so you have to try to catch the bus instead.

Just making it to the bus stop in time you get on and see a couple people glare at you. “Did mommy pick out that outfit for you?” Someone rudely utters to you. You roll your eyes and keep walking to the next available seat.

As you sit down you feel completely sick to your stomach. ‘They could be right. I probably look so stupid right now.’ The bus ride felt unusually short today. The tires screech to a stop and everyone starts to get off. You can’t go back now.

With each passing hour you felt more and more anxious to meet with Minhyuk. You also just realized you never asked if you should meet him somewhere specific or if you were to join him at his usual table. The anxiety started to make you extremely nauseous.

You ran to the nearest bathroom to get yourself together. A few girls walked in as well. “Oh, would you look at that. Y/N all dolled up today. Who you trying to look good for, huh?” The girl picked at your shirt and you slap her hand away.

“Honestly, it’s really sweet you take the time out of your day to run your mouth about me and constantly stalk my every move, but even a girl like me needs some space.” You smirk at her.

“Whatever, stupid bitch.” They all leave.

You look into the mirror and see a different person. An overwhelming feeling of confidence took over you. ‘I’m going to tell Minhyuk how I feel.’ You nod to your reflection and head out.

The bell rings and finally it was lunch time. Since you were so focused on trying to look good today you forgot to pack a lunch. So, you went in line for some hot lunch and took your tray out to the lunch tables.

You stood still looking around trying to find Minhyuk at his usual table but he wasn’t there. People were trying to walk around you so you decided to just sit down at an empty table and wait for him.

Though you couldn’t even think about eating any food, you didn’t want to look dumb just sitting there. Your tray consisted of broccoli cheddar soup, milk, and a cookie. Your nerves were so high you just grabbed whatever you knew that would calm you down.

Minutes start to pass and then eventually half the period was already almost over. ‘Where is he?’ You look on your phone and see if he might have messaged you on Facebook and he didn’t. You anxiously look around for him and still there was no sight of him.

You start to fidget with your fingers and realize what was going on. ‘Minhyuk stood me up!’ Just as you were about to get up and leave you see Minhyuk in front of you.

“Oh! M-Minhyuk! I didn’t think you were going to come…” You slowly sit back down and your cheeks were suddenly flushed.

“And miss your gorgeous face? Never.” His face glowed and he smiled at you! The one and only Minhyuk smiled at you.

“S-so, w-what did you want to ask me?” You stare straight into his soft eyes. Slowly you start to realize that the cafeteria was growing quieter and quieter as everyone’s eyes were on you and Minhyuk.

Your heart starts to race. ‘Why is everyone looking at us!? What could be going on?’ Minhyuk grabs your hand and asks for you to stand before everyone in the cafeteria. Dead center.

“Y/N, you’re everything a guy wants. I know this is last minute, but would you be my homecoming date for tomorrow’s dance?” Everyone gasps and so do you.

“Y-you’re joking, right? You w-want to take… ME!?” Your eyes glistened. ‘Is this for real?’

“Yes, my dear. Close your eyes, I’m going to kiss you,” he says sweetly to you.

You close your eyes and puckered your lips. But, you start to hear faint giggles around you. Before you could open your eyes to see what could be going on, you felt something hot being poured all over you.

Minhyuk was dumping the broccoli cheddar soup all over you! Then he grabs the milk and pours that over you as well.

“Awww, don’t cry over spilt milk!” Minhyuk said so sarcastically.

Standing there in shock you look around to see that everyone was laughing at you and a bunch of phones were pulled out recording you.

“W-what… I thought -” you choked on your words and tears started to fill your eyes. You turned around to try to run away but you slipped on the puddle of soup and milk. 

The cafeteria burst into hysterical laughter. Minhyuk slowly walks over to you and nudges your body with his foot. 

“You thought what? That I would ask a girl like you out? Please. You’re nothing but a stupid slut.”

The words pierce your heart. You quickly grabbed your things and ran down the hall. Hall monitors tried to stop you, but you ignored them.

Laughter faded in and out as you passed several students. You ran out the front doors of the school and continued to run. Not for one second did you stop running.

You ran all the way home and immediately jumped into the shower. Standing there naked you let your body slump into the tub. You let the hot water wash away the soup, the milk, the tears, and the shame. Pulling your knees into your chest you continued to cry.

“How could have I been so stupid!” You yell to yourself. Letting the tub fill up with water you submerge yourself and held yourself under water as long as you could. Your body jolts and you got up to gasp for air. You continued to do it a couple more times. 

After letting the tub drain you dragged yourself to your and threw on some pajamas. You lit your favorite three-wick candle and put on some music to try to get your mood up. Still, you felt like the whole world was against you.

You mutter to yourself, “Minhyuk… Why?” You couldn’t cry anymore, but your heart still hurt. Each word that left his mouth ripped at your heartstrings. You hear them over and over again in your head.

As curious as you were about what could be online at this point, you still haven’t checked. Unexpectedly your phone started blowing up. They were text messages from numbers you didn’t even know. Then again, you didn’t have any friends to begin with. 

‘Stupid bitch’, ‘so pathetic and gullible’, ‘just kill yourself.’

Before you read another text you threw your phone against the wall. You then stare at your laptop that was on your desk. ‘Well, I might as well see the damage.’

You open your laptop and looked on the different sites. Videos, photos, and memes were posted and shared everywhere imaginable. You couldn’t even scroll anymore because your hands were shaking so terribly. Slowly you close your laptop and crawl into bed. You cried yourself to sleep that night.