#and the other eight kids because there are eleven of these poor kids in total | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carol-effing-danvers · 5 years ago

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push me, pull you

this is part three of the series “run long, roam far, return soon” part one: “knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe)” (cont.) (fin.) part two: “where we grew up”

(click here if you’d prefer to read this in AO3′s format)

“You guys have been in here for over twenty minutes,” Steve complains, turning into the kitchen of the Wheeler’s house – not the same as the one they lived in while Nancy and Mike where in high school. Karen got her heart set on a fixer-upper after Mike left for college and it became a passion project for her. It’s old, charming, and deeply haunted. “What are you two doing?”

Quickly, El turns away from Billy, nervously running her hand over the end of the braid draped over her shoulder. She’s dressed a little nicer than he normally sees her today, in a sweet flowing dress patterned in butterflies that leaves her shoulders bare. There’s always been an innocence to her, despite her childhood, or maybe because of it. A wide-eyed wonder that he secretly hopes she never loses.

Steve notices that Billy looks concerned as he informs Steve “El’s gotten herself ready for a big date.”

“Billy,” she pleads, mumbling at her hands. “I can’t.”

“Just ask,” he coaxes softly. “Even if he says ‘no’, anything is better than wondering. You know that.”

“Ask who what?” Steve asks, confused. Then, feeling like he’s been hit with a frying pan: “Jesus fuck, please do not say Lucas, I will have a fucking heart attack-”

Lucas has spent six years hoping that Max would see what a monstrous snake her husband was and leave his ass and Max has, from what Billy’s told, regretted most of the eight years since they broke up for good. Steve can’t take watching life break El’s heart that way, not sweet and loyal Eleven.

“Henderson,” Billy says, clipped and brusque. “She’s talking about Henderson.”

“Why would you talk El into asking Dust on a date?” he says, even more confused now. “Eleven doesn’t even want to talk to Dustin. I mean, I don’t think you hate him, but he’s pretty sure that you do. He can be dramatic sometimes.”

El trembles as she slides down the wall into a crouch. “I can’t!” she tells Billy, her eyes filling with tears. “Billy, I can’t! I’ve already messed it up.”

Crouching beside her, Billy says, “Why d’you never talk to him, honey?”

She shrugs, staring at the floor as she wipes furiously at her cheeks. “I can’t-I can’t remember how to talk around him,” she says, swallowing against a fresh urge to weep. “I forget words.”

“Yeah, baby, I know. Love can make you super dumb.” Billy says sympathetically and Steve feels sucker-punched when he realizes that he is talking about the way teenage Billy felt about teenage Steve.

Turning on his heel, Steve enters back into the group of people laughing around a game of mock D&D in Max’s living room. “Hey,” he says, smiling at Dustinas he gestures wildly with a half-empty glass of Guinness. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Um, yeah.” Dust downs the rest of his glass and hands their shoddily made up script to Erica. “Have fun. Make me proud.”

“Wow, the bar has never been lower.”

“I love you too, you little shit.” Steve begins pulling him along toward the kitchen. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over Dustin growing up to be bigger and taller than him. Bemused, he asks, “Where are we going?”

“I think that it’s time for El to apologize to you,” Steve says firmly. It was the one thing he was sure of – his realization may never have arrived if Billy hadn’t been laying in the hospital bed and apologized in that dead, traumatized monotone.

Dustin begins to resist a little. “No, Steve, c’mon. The six of us don’t really have to be attached at the hip.”

“You think she hates you.”

“No, I said she didn’t like me,” Dust replies patiently as they approach the kitchen. “That’s not the same thing.”

Billy and El are where he left them, and if he didn’t believe it before, he believes it when he actually looks at her reaction to seeing Dustin.

Eleven’s back straightens up and her eyes widen, leaning away from their approach like someone is actively holding a gun to her head. If Billy’s reaction to his own love was rage, El’s reaction seems to be terror.

“Dude, what did you guys do to her?” Dustin is just as clueless as Steve was, but it doesn’t take a genius like him to notice that she’s been crying recently. “Eleven…”

Even the simple act of hearing her name makes El tremble. Dustin can barely seem to stand looking at her and it pains him. Steve says, “If you guys ever want to get past this, then she needs to apologize to you.”

“Why the hell do you think she needs to apologize to me? I’m the asshole, you dipshits! Have the two of you seriously been telling her that was her fucking fault?!” Crouching, Dustin mutters, still without looking quite at her, “C’mon, you don’t need to do this. Go to The Party, I’ll talk to the idiots.”

“Dustin, what you talking about?” Steve demands, “What’s your fault?”

Startled, the younger man looks at him, blinks, then quickly says, “Nothing, stop harassing her about this. She doesn’t need to apologize, we don’t talk to each other, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have my back, okay?”

Billy tries to say something, but Steve cuts him off. If he knows what Dustin sounds like when he’s tired, then he also knows what Dustin looks like when he’s done something he shouldn’t have. “Why do you look guilty? Dust, what did you do? Why did you call yourself an asshole?”

Awkwardly fluffing his curly hair, like an exceptionally sad-looking poodle, Dustin grimaces and tells El, still without looking her directly in the eye, “Sorry, I thought you already told him. I should have known you wouldn’t rat me out. I’m sorry they’ve been bugging you.”

She stares at him, wide-eyed, as he turns to Steve and bluntly says “Eleven doesn’t like me because two weeks after graduation, after she broke up with Mike, I basically shoved my tongue down her throat.” Everyone in the room gapes at him in shock and he sighs heavily, “We were all at a bonfire, I was drunk, she was really drunk, She didn’t want to talk to me anymore, and I totally respect that. You guys need to stop this weird crusade to force her to like me, because it’s my fault. I earned it.”

Dustin flails his arms in a ‘so, there’ kind of gesture, and adds, “El, I��m so sorry for this whole thing, I should’ve apologized immediately, but you look so freaked out anytime I go near you, and I didn’t wanna corner you like some kind of creep. You’ve always been Mike’s girl, and it was so fucking gross and sleazy for me to…”

“I’m not a possession.” Eleven interrupts, her voice hard and cold. “I don’t belong to Mike Wheeler. Michael Wheeler doesn’t own me.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Dustin assures her. With a nervous laugh, he adds, “I don’t think anyone could if they tried.”

And El’s face fills with a helpless rage that reminds Billy painfully of himself. You idiot, he thinks, watching Dustin’s face, so full of friendly sympathy. So clueless for a kid so smart. She wants to belong to someone. She wants to belong to you.

Were his feelings that obvious?

Oh, totally, Robin’s voice answers in his head, explaining to Erica on the phone. There poor Billy-boy was, heart on his sleeve, checkin’ Steve-o out like he was on the effing menu. And Steve got so flustered every time Billy walked in, he never even noticed.

“You kissed me,” she repeats angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin repeats, miserably. “I took advantage of you, El, and it took me so fucking long to apologize, but I really am so sorry.”

“I don’t remember,” El seethes, fists clenched. “You kissed me, and I don’t remember.”

“You were really drunk,” Dustin says gently. “But I promise, I won’t ever do that again, okay?”

Oh, that is the opposite of the thing Eleven wants to hear. She’s so angry – she feels like something she so desperately wants has been taken from her, and now Dustin is telling her she doesn’t even have the chance to get it back again.

“Bastard,” she hisses, eyes beginning to shine and glitter with unshed tears. On the stove, a kettle begins to whistle sharply, even though the burner it’s sitting on isn’t even lit.

Dustin begins backing away, eyes wide, and El lunges, grabbing the front of his sweater with clawed fingers and kissing him, passionate with anger and six years of love that she’s just been choking herself on.

She pulls away just as abruptly, and Dustin’s lower lip begins to bleed sluggishly. “You bit me.”

He doesn’t sound mad, just quietly shocked.

“That’s all you can say to me?” she demands, as the tears begin to slide down her face. She has made herself into a fool, and for no good reason. She told Billy this was a mistake.

“I…yes?” He’s bewildered by the combination of passion and violence, and even more bewildered by the tear. Maybe the kiss made them even now? But then why the hell is she crying? Fuck, he’s been trying not to upset her, Dustin can’t stand it when Eleven cries, but somehow, he’s managed to do it anyway.

Swiping angrily at her eyes, El darts toward the back stairwell beside the sink. Dust, feeling like something important was slipping away from him, grabs her arm, though he knows that’s the last thing he should do with El when she’s upset. That’s how you end up suddenly knowing what the ceiling feels like on your back. “What do you want me to say?” he pleads, grabbing both of her elbows. “Just tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do it.”

LOVE ME BACK!, she wants to scream.

“Nothing,” she says dully, limbs going slack like a puppet with its strings cut. The lie crushes her. “I don’t want anything.”

“Do you just…really not like me, then?” he asks in a small voice, and the question startles her into a half turn. “Because you didn’t remember my dumb drunk kiss, but you always act like I’m a Demogorgon that’s about to…eat…you…”

Her face is a brilliant crimson, arms crossed defensively over her chest. His lower lip still stings. “Oh.”

“Don’t look at me,” she says in a mumble, shoulders hunching. She covers her eyes, tears spilling out from beneath her fingers. Chin trembling, she repeats, half-pleading, “I don’t want anything.”

Dustin swallows hard, licks his lips. He’s been less nervous presenting his actual dissertation plan. “What if I want something? Would that be okay?” He watches her chewing on her lower lip before she nods. “Can you please look at me?”

Slowly, arm trembling, she lowers her hand and stares at him, her gaze darting at him and then away, frightened and hesitant. She’s barely able to raise her voice. “...okay.”

He never had the slightest conception of the power his touch could have over her, but when his hands cup her face, all of the cupboard doors suddenly swing themselves open. His thumbs wipe at the trails of tears on her cheeks and the dishes on the shelves tremble along with her. Dustin lets her relax enough to look him straight in the eye and says, deadly serious, “Do you have any idea how fucking difficult it is, finding a girl who can measure up to you?”

Her brows pinch together.

“Because I’ve tried,” he confesses. “For twelve years, in three different states, I’ve tried to find a woman who can compete with the first girl I ever fell in love with, and it’s asking way too much of one person.”

Eleven listens, stunned, as he continues “Because that girl is the kindest person I know, and the strongest, and the bravest. She’s clever, and funny, and beautiful, and wise. She’s stubborn as a mule and she pushes anyone who’s ever loved her to be the best version of themselves. She can flip cars without breaking a sweat, and she makes a chocolate cake so delicious that after my first bite, I cried literal tears of joy.”

She’s crying again, and the bags of flour and sugar on the counter have split their seams and begin to pour their contents all over the countertops and the floor. Like Eleven’s heart is bursting, and they burst with her in sympathy.

Pressing his forehead to hers, Dustin whispers “That’s all I want. Find me your equal. I’ve tried, but every time I come home, I see you and I know it’s no use. No matter who they are, they can’t be better than an Eleven.”

“…I can’t say anything that nice,” she admits, holding his hands to her skin. “I’m-I don’t have the words…”

Karen’s tulips, half dead in their vase, are suddenly blooming in full life on the center island. Billy and Steve grin at each other.

Very quietly, Eleven says, “You carried me.” At his confused look, she continues “In the school. When we were young. You carried me. I remembered that.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t know why, because she seems to think this is very important.

“It was the first,” she tells him. “The first time I really knew what ‘safe’ felt like. It was you. It’s always been you, too.”

Dustin laughs. “We’re a pair of perfect fuck-ups, aren’t we?”

Seriously, she asks “Are we a pair?”

“We could be. If you want.”

She considers that for a moment. “Does it mean I can have a real kiss now?”

His eyes flicker down to her lips. After fully breaking, his voice has always had an almost musical quality, but it seems especially nice to her. “They both felt pretty fucking real to me.”

The back of her neck tingles. As stubborn as he accused, El insists “More?”

Dustin glances nervously at Steve and Billy.

Steve laughs and Billy rolls his eyes. “At least go upstairs, we don’t need to watch the two of you making out.”

Billy sighs as El drags Dustin up the stairs. He’s intensely familiar with dating someone who looks innocent but turns into a fucking maniac in the sack when they’re in the right mood.

Fuck, I hope the kid has a seatbelt and a fucking helmet.

#dustin x el #harringrove #dustin henderson #eleven #knock me out babe

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p---leia · 4 years ago

Conversation

Ancient Writer of dreams and nightmares: I am 71 (-one month), and have been writing (making up tales) since I was three. I can still remember my Pawpaw whittling a pencil for me, and Mawmaw tearing a piece of brown grocery bag for me to write on. They weren't 'poor', but writing paper wasn't to be wasted on a 'kid' just for fun. I carefully scripted my first short story.

Of course my 'letters' looked more like ancient Hanguel, so I had to read it to my "captured" audience. I really don't remember the story, but as my grandparents had a yard full of chickens and my dog, Mutt, liked to chase them (because of this we 'both' got into trouble -- because I always joined the chase) I most probably wrote about that.

My Pawpaw was a story-teller. For several years I thought there really was a baby found in the wilds of the African jungle and raised by the great apes. I thought he was the luckiest babe, EVER!

Then I found Pawpaw's books about three years after he died. I was eleven when he died, and felt that my best friend had abandoned me. But when I found those books I realized just where Tarzan actually came from and went to. I read everyone of those books and got the complete picture. THEN..

Well, Pawpaw also told stories of Daniel Boone and Davey Crocket...before I saw them on Disney. Then, of course, I went to school and learned what I already knew. Pawpaw was an excellent story-teller and never mixed up his facts, time-lines, or characters.

Growing up under his influence had a lot to do with how I developed as a story-teller. At family gatherings when I meet cousins I haven't seen in decades, they STILL remember me and the stories that I used to tell them. My children and grandchildren have grown up with me re-telling Pawpaw's old stories, and sharing many that I made up on the spot.

But I think what I read in my early years developed my writing style.

I was just turned eight when I read my first Shakespeare, MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. He was my first favorite author. Then I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. I was disgusted by the fact that TRAGEDY was made famous as a ROMANCE! Even at the innocent (then) age of fourteen, I was disgusted with the idea that it was considered romantic for 'anyone', let alone 'teenagers' to commit suicide over unrequited love.

My sister (now 68) and I recently discussed this play. Because she had a 'forbidden' teenage love, she said that she related to the story (even though she had never read it). GASP! It was required reading in ninth grade!

I remember our dad breaking up my sister and her boyfriend, who was really cool. He was a hard working farm boy who had saved his money to buy a motorcycle. AND his own car. But he wasn't good enough for my sister. smh

I always thought her story would make a great LifeTime movie. But I'm not touching it. She would 'skin me' for sharing with the world her broken heart. And if I added the stuff that sells today, she'd scalp me for lying. Not a win situation at all. So, I will write notes in my "Random Jottings Journal" for future decendants who might grow into writers or story-tellers.

By the way, the title "RANDOM JOTTINGS" came from a sci-fi book that I read as a kid in the fifties. I don't remember the author, although I'm pretty sure it 'might' be from a Heinlein juvenile book. But I've never found a reference to any sci-fi books using that term. SO!!! If anyone recognizes "RANDOM JOTTINGS", which was a note book that a professor/scientist/genius used to keep his 'thoughts', PLEASE share the author's name and the title of the book!!! Thank You.

In the meantime, I referenced Shakespeare. James Oliver Curwood wrote about Kazan, the Wolf Dog, and later Baree, Son of Kazan. From those two books, read when I was eleven, I searched for and found other books about Canada. Later there was Walter Farley, author of the Black Stallion, and the Island Stallion series. I think I met my FIRST friendly alien in the Island Stallion Races.

Of course, Edgar Rice Burroughs taught me much false history about the jungles of Africa, as well as the Moon and Mars. But I loved every 'read-under-the-covers-with a-flashlight' minute! I believe he was a contemporary of Zane Grey, because he wrote a few non-jungle and non-space stories, too. Which led me to Zane Grey.

Having read both of their biographies at a young age, I learned about the hardships of being a writer. I should say 'the hardships of a struggling writer'. I have never had a problem writing. Since I write for 'fun' and not 'profit', the few short stories I've had published were by local press, and a State magazine.

No, my struggles have centered around graduating high school, and completing college, stuggling to satisfy my husband, a 'Mr. Spock in the Flesh' personality, and later raising two children without benefit of parental support or child support. But we survived in the middle of laughter and many tears. And my made up stories about children lost in the woods who were rescued by a great friendly bear, or wolf. Or dog. And sometimes by a great Black Panther - a by product of one of my Pawpaw's 'local historical tales'.

I understand that publishers detest stories that begin with "It was a dark and stormy night.." But let me tell you, some of the BEST bedtime stories occur on stormy nights when the power has gone out, and it's too hot for candles or lanterns. That shadow that stands darkest in the corner and seems to be moving towards the bed is actually grandma come to check on the kids, and stands quiet so not to disturb the kids if they're already asleep. But since they are awake, and they see her 'shadow', she becomes the old crone who lives in the castle dungeon, and has slipped her chains to visit with the 'wee folk'. But there are no fairies out on such a blustery night, so the old crone comes to visit with the 'wee bairn', who fall all over themselves to get out of bed and sit around her to hear her stories of 'long ago' and other 'dark and stormy nights'. Again -- unpublished, because publishers don't like ... LOL

Of course there's always On-Line publishing. But that involves more work than actual writing.

Back to the writrs who influenced my writing:

While I enjoy a good Western, an adventurous space trek, or time travel, I also enjoy the occasional Historical Romance. Georgette Heyer was my first! I still re-read her amazing books. Of course there's Jane Austen.

There are a myriad of modern writers that I have read over the last five decades. Heinlen, Asimov, Norton, Bradley, McCaffrey, Moon, Stirling, Krentz/Castle/Quick, and Moening, just to name a few of the ones whose books I have in my personal library.

Those older authors did affect my writing style to develope as I read their stories. The later authors helped me to move into the late 20th century. But I'm not so sure that I like the 21st century so much. It's all about being politically 'correct'. If you aren't ashamed of your gender, your race, your country, your religion, your culture, your family, your history, then you are prejudiced. That's just too much guilt to have to live with.

I'm still dealing with my mom's death from ten years ago. I was her care-giver for five years. Her doctor had given her nine months. I still worry if I did enough for her in those last years.

And though my children are grown with their own families, I worry that I wasn't a good enough parent. And I worthy as a grandmother? How was I as an older sister? I was responsible as a moral guide when our parents were at work. Was I a good neighbor? A good support in our Church? And Hollywood wants me to feel guilt about something I can't change?!!

I'm an old woman who still likes being a woman and enjoys liking men. I'm not just white. I'm also mixed with a bit of Native American, and even a drop of -- OMG!!! --- Black. snicker.

That's a serious joke, because as a kid I had a recuring nightmare that I was a black man being judged by a group of people in white hoods I was hanged amidst their fiery torches. I always thought those white hoods represented the Catholic Church, because at that young age I didn't know about the Ku Klux Klan. Even though I grew up in the South, my family was not involved with that group of out-lawrey. Thank God!

Still, I'm supposed to feel shame? For something not even my family supported.

I've always believed there's a hint of Fae in my DNA. Because I love dancing in the light of the full moon, and flying with the owls who perch outside my bedroom window and call to invite me to follow the moon's shadow. If I am part Fae, I know it came from my mother's people. They were Irish mixed with Alabama Indians who believed in the Nunnehi aka Immortal, and the Yunwi Tsunsdi, aka Little People.

ALSO, while there's no DNA proof of ancestry, I've always been a 'closet Chinese'.

In the Fifties, when WW2 was still fresh, and we were involved with the 'Korean Conflict', and at odds with China, I would sneak around the radio, turn down the volume, and tune into 'that wierd channel' that sometimes played Opera, or Chinese music. Ahhh. I would close my eyes and wander through the few visuals I'd found in books, or the occasional movie. (before color tv)

A year or two ago I was totally depressed and disgusted with American TV. Hollywood has become so political, so wierd. Their programming is no longer for entertainment, but to 'educate, enlighten, or to inform'. zzzzz

Then I found KDrama!!!!! Korean TV. Japanese Tv. squeal!!! Chinese TV.

The rom/coms are sweet and 'pure'. Okay. I'm realistic. This is not a reflection of real life on any planet. But the innocence of the early 1950s programs is there. Similar to Disney's 'Summer Magic'. I'm happy with those dramas that remind me of thati nnocence. I have found a few dramas that shared more than I cared for, and I do enjoy an occasional 'romp'. But I've always preferred the Lady and Gentleman characters.

And watching these programs have reminded me of those fairy tales and legends from my childhood that had been sprinkled with the Occasional Oriental myth, legend, and children's tale.

Then I remembered my FIRST historical legend. "The White Stag" by Kate Seredy, is the tale of Atilla the Hun!

I recently found a copy of that book and am waiting for a quiet time, when the power is out and there's nothing to do. Then I will use one of the many flashlights I bought for a huge hurricane, and relax on the sofa beneath an open window and read this legend once again. I live in Florida. The odds of this happening increases as the summer progresses. I can't wait to learn if my memory of this tale of Atilla the Hun remained true, or has been distorted in the last half of a century.

Most of the tales that I write involve space adventures, the occasioanl ghost, and encounters with fairies, the evil ones, not the romantic ideal fairy. smh

I've never been very good with romance or comedy. But thanks to the recent influence of the Asian productions, I have re-formatted one of my dark adventures and turned it into a rom/com.

I love a good joke, but very seldom get the point or see the humor. And I can NEVER remember the punch line if I try to share a joke. My family have said they will write on my tombstone --

"I don't remember the punchline ... but it was funny."

But as I write humorous lines or events I find myself laughing. Or crying at sad events. And I am all 'giggly' when I write what is supposed to be innocent romance between a young and shy couple. But I have never felt that my own reactions were a true guide to how the story might come across to a 'reader'.

As it happens, I have two sisters younger than I am. My middle sister is bored easily and immediately redirects our conversation to something about 'her'. Okay. I understand. She is lonely, needy, and maybe a bit selfish? Not judging. She's the 'middle child' and that's her excuse. ROFL..

But the youngest sister is my greatest fan who declares that I am an awesome writer. "I love you, sister, dear."

So she visited me last week and patiently listened as I read the first chapter. She listened quietly, and I wondered if I had 'read her to sleep'. sigh. Boring books are often the best sleeping pill. Then I heard her laugh.

Squeals/Dancing/hooting/flying around the room in ecstasy!!

Okay! At least one person has laughed. And she's not that easily 'tickled'.

So, I will always carry on and write. But now I feel that at least I might be following a path strewn with "Black-Eyed-Susans, honeybees, butterflies, and bunnies".

I don't know if anyone will read this, or will enjoy it. I hope so. While sharing bits of my youth, my worries, and my concern about certain ones of my 'stories', I actually had ideas for developing 'new' stories.

I am always amazed when writers say they are 'blocked'. I have only to open my eyes to see a world around me that no one else can envision. I listen to a song, and I'm in a different world, time, planet. A gift from Pawpaw, and Mother's DNA.

It is my oldest granddaughter's birthday this month, and I don't know what to give her for her birthday. But when she was younger, she always asked me to tell her a story. I think that I will pull out one of my OLD/ANCIENT tales that I wrote when her dad was her age and make it into a book for her.

p---leia aka Mamma KayeLee

7/19/2020

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lesbian-deadpool · 6 years ago

Text

So Much Better Than It Is Today

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

High school AU, Song fic: Paradise By The Dashboard Light

Words: 5,640

Warnings: A LOT of jump cuts, sexual themes, arguing, swearing, bad decisions, not my best work, a little angst. The ending is kinda fucking stupid. Not proof read.

Request: No. (It’s a challenge)

A/N: So this was for @flatbottomholland s challenge, but with me being, well me. I forgot about it. Cause I’m a hot ass mess. So here it is now. I hope you like it, it's not my best work, but I tried. Its 50′s themed, but with modern values. But not really, It's hard to explain. Just read it, and it should make sense... hopefully... Natasha’s a little OOC, but there's a reason for that. Originally written as FxF, but could totally be read by anyone.

Summary: You swore that you would love her until the end of time.

The cold night air streamed against the cherry red metal of the parked Chevy. Stars littered the black sky, the moon reflecting on the rippling waves.

"Sam did not do that!"

"No, he did. I was there," you said, nodding your head. "He was too busy flirting with the waiter, to notice Bucky drinking his milkshake." you chuckled the scene replaying in your head, acting it out to the best of your abilities for her. "Once he found out, he grabbed Bucky's milkshake. Y'know, to drink his instead. But, Bucky being Bucky, wouldn't let him have it. So they started this tug of war for the milkshake, ending with Sam pulling too hard, and splashing it all over the waiter he had been flirting with... and, so that's how Sam got kicked out of, Jarvis'."

Natasha laughed, "But, what about, Bucky?"

"He went home with the waiter. That's why they're not talking right now."

This caused Natasha's laughter to increase, doubling over in her seat. You following her lead.

"Hey, you know, Steve?" you asked.

"Yeah." she nodded, fully immersed in what you had to say. "The used to be skinny kid, turned jock-artist. What about him?"

"He was the waiter."

Joyous laughter poured from the lone car, parked by the vast lake. The smell of nature, and the sound of crickets leaking through the small crack of the open window.

Settling into easy conversation. You found yourself enjoying her company more than you had ever expected. No longer able to pay attention to what she was saying. Watching her face contort into many different expressions. Liking every single one of them. Thinking how lucky you were to be sat here right now.

(Nine hours ago)

You walked down the semi-crowded halls of your high school. Books in hand, backpack slung over your shoulder. Your eyes staring at your destination in front of you. To say you were nervous about what you were about to do would have been an understatement.

"Hey, Natasha." You got her attention, drawing her away from her friends. Your own watching you like halks from behind you. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." She shrugged, following you to a clear part of the hall. One where neither your friends nor hers could hear you. "What's up?"

"Umm, so, I was wondering," you started, some of your nerves coming through your voice. Much to your dismay. You coughed, regaining some of your confidence. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me? No? Okay then." you replied for her. Turning on your spot, about to walk away from her. When she reached out and grabbed your elbow stopping you, turning you around to face her once again.

"Okay."

"O- Okay?!"

"I would love too," she clarified.

You looked at her like she had just grown another head. "Are you sure? This isn't some kind of joke is it?"

"No. It's not a joke. I really do want to you out with you." She rested her hand on your arm, giving it a comforting squeeze.

You were about to voice you joy, abruptly thinking, "You know I meant it as a date right?"

"Yes. As a date. I want to go out on a date with you," she said slowly.

"Oh, great." You beamed.

"So, when?"

"When what?" you asked, still slightly dazed out. Surprise still coursing through you from her agreeing to go out on a date with you.

"When are we going out on our date?" she chuckled. Her hand, not going unnoticed by you, as it travelled down your arm, grasping onto your hand softly.

"Oh, uh, tonight?"

"What time?"

"I'll uh, pick you up at eight?"

"Perfect, I just have to be home by eleven."

"You will be home by eleven, scouts honour," you promised, giving her a mock salute. Making he laugh. You smiled bright, at the fact that you had managed to make her laugh.

"Good. You can drive me home then?" she stated more than asked. Pulling you along by your hand, towards the exit of the school.

(Now)

You still felt the envy radiating in the air around you. Like you had hours ago as you walked from the school, people glaring at you. Jealous that you had somehow managed to get a date with the Natasha Romanoff.

Your hand gripped the wheel softly. Playing with the leather sewn onto it. You drifted back into the one-sided conversation in front of you. Music playing in the background of the warm car. Gazing happily at the red-head. As she animatedly spoke. And you just knew. You would remember this day for the rest of your life.

***

All of a sudden, you were in the back seat of your car. Slowly stripping each other's clothes from your lustful bodies. The soft lull of music playing in the background. Disrupted by the heavy breathing and panting pouring from both of your mouths.

Words had stopped being spoken a long time ago. Instead replaced by heated touches. Your bodies felt like they had been burned, where your fire hot hands had grazed one another's bodies. Similar to gripping tightly onto a red-hot knife. The burning hurt. But not as much as you craved each other's bodies. The craving hurt so much; you never knew of a pain so good, a feeling so right, like this one right now. You never knew that wanting something so much could cause so much pain. It shocked you to your core how much you liked it.

You pulled against each other. Tugging at the remnants of your clothes, hands caressing skin. Gasping heavily into each other's mouths.

"No no, stop," Natasha ordered, straightening up in her seat.

"Oh?!" You shot back, sitting back in your own seat. "Did... did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, you did nothing wrong. I just have to get home."

You glanced at the clock on your dashboard, as Natasha began putting her clothes back on, beside you. The clock showing the time was 10:40. Where had the time gone? Looking back to the now almost fully dressed girl beside you, you asked, "Are you sure you can't stay out any longer?"

"I'm sure. If I did, my parents would kill me... then you."

You nodded your head in understanding. "Well, then. Let's get you home." You slowly picked your clothes up off the floor and began to pull them on.

"Won't your parents go crazy if you don't get back on time?" Natasha asked as you both hopped out of the car, and into the cold night air. Moving to the front seats. This way being easier than climbing over them like you did when you first tumbled into the back seat.

"No."

"How come?"

"Mother's dead. Farther's off fighting some war. I live with my senile grandparents, that go to bed at Five pm," you listed off.

"Oh, I'm sorry about your mother." Natasha caressed your arm, in a comforting manner.

"It's fine. I didn't know her." At this, Natasha shot you a look of confusion, silently asking you to explain. "She died giving birth to me."

Natasha took a deep breath, debating whether or not she should apologise for your loss again or not. Knowing that it wouldn't help. Watching as you began driving back to her house. Instead, she tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you must be proud of your father."

"I would be if he hadn't abandoned me when I was born and didn't blame me for my mother's death," you replied. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

"You must like me," she tried again, a hopeful smile on her face. Both optimistic that it would lighten the mood, and that you dod in fact like her.

"Must do." You smiled back.

***

"Grams, Gramps!" you called out to your sleeping grandparents. Knowing full well they were both fast asleep, and wouldn't wake up with your yelling. Throwing your key's into the bowl sat on the small table by the door, a small pile of mail stacked up next to it.

You shuffled through the few letters that were addressed to you, as you continued talking. "How was your day? My day was good. Just got back from the date." You walked into the kitchen, ready to eat some leftovers. "You know the one I told you about when I got back from school? The one with the girl I like? Yeah, it went well. Just dropped her off now. We almost had sex. Remind me not to tell you that tomorrow, when you're actually awake."

Laying in bey, belly and brain full. Leftovers filled your stomach. Thoughts crammed into your mind. A smile on your face, as you thought about the previous few hours you had spent with Natasha.

Little did you know, she was doing the exact same thing.

Natasha crept into her house, hoping not to wake her parents. A light flickered on to her side. Startling her, and making her look to her right so fast that she thought she had just given herself whiplash. Her eyes wide with shock, as she looked at her father.

"I'm back on time." She pointed a finger at him.

He chuckled, "You are. I just wanted to know how your date went."

"It went well."

"I can see that," he said, a teasing smile on his face.

She looked at him confused. "What?"

"Your shirt's buttoned up wrong." He nodded to the white shirt she wore, one side longer than the other, thanks to the missed buttons.

"We didn't do anything."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you learned how to dress yourself when you were six."

She exhaled harshly, not wanting to have this conversation with him. "We didn't have sex." She bit the bullet.

"I know. We raised you well." Walking up to Natasha, he threw his arm over her shoulder and began leading her up the stairs. "But don't tell your mother." he gestured to her dishevelled appearance. "She'll rip your heart right out. And the poor souls you spent your night with."

"Oh yeah." She nodded.

"So. Do you like them?"

"I do, dad. I really do."

"Good. Remember, don't-"

Natasha stopped, turning her back to her bedroom door. "Don't let them take advantage of me. I know dad."

He smiled. "Good night," he said placing a kiss on his daughter's forehead.

"Night, dad."

Now here she lay, in bed, her thoughts plagued by you.

Glancing over to the side of your beds, you both suddenly felt lonely. Shrugging your blankets further up your bodies. Trying to replace the warmth the other had provided. Slowly falling into a peaceful sleep. Dreaming of your previous date, illuminated by the dashboard light.

***

Over the next few months, it happened again and again. You would go out on dates, sometimes just going out for a drive around town. But you always ended up fooling around. Either in the back of your car, in one of your bedrooms, one of your living rooms. Yours mainly. And once in the school parking lot. Which made your friends, Tony, Bucky, and Sam. Whistle and hoot at you two. That had been two months into your relationship. That's how everyone found out you were actually dating.

During those months, you were barely dressed when you were alone together. But never going any further than fooling around. Which to be honest, you were getting kind of antsy about. You had both talked about having sex, agreeing to wait until the right time. But you were starting to get frustrated with the wait.

You were parked in an empty parking lot. Getting all hot and heavy with Natasha in the back seat of your car.

Your hand started you travel further up her body, aiming for her breasts.

"Alright, stop. Stop. Stop," Natasha said pushing you off of her.

You slammed back into the seat next to her, huffing out a breath. As she shrugged her discarded clothes.

"Don't be like that," she uttered.

"Don't be like what?"

"Like that," she gestured to you. "All moody cause I told you to stop."

"It's not because you told me to stop-"

"Then what is it?"

"It's not because," you started again, your voice hard, causing her to roll her eyes, "You told me to stop. I don't care that you told me to stop, I'm fine with that. I'll stop if you want me to," You sighed. "It's just that I'd like to know if it's ever gonna happen."

"Of course it is."

"Then when? Cause truthily, I'm getting a little impatient. I'm fine with waiting. I'd just like to know."

"When you love me." She pushed her hair over her shoulder, beginning to button up her shirt.

"How do you know I don't? Do you not know how I feel about you? Sometimes I think that my heart's gonna drown out the radio with how fast it's beating."

"That doesn't prove anything," she commented.

"Then how do you expect me to prove it?!"

"Say it." Natasha turned to you, face hard.

"Say what?"

"Say that you love me."

"How do I know you love me?"

"Do not turn this around on me," she scolded, pointing her finger at you.

"You leaned towards her, resting your atm on the back of the seat. "Baby, listen. We've been together for four months. I do live you. And that's why I want to sleep with you. But if you don't want to sleep with me, that's fine. I just wanna make sure we're on the same page here."

"Just take me home," she muttered.

"But, Natasha-"

"Now, Y/N," she demanded.

You huffed, "Fine."

***

Your eyes moved around, taking in Natasha's form in front of you. From your spot sat next to her, in 'Jarvis' Milkshake Emporium'. Watching her plump lips move as she spoke. Your eyes found their way to her red hair, it trailing down over her shoulders. All except for one lone strand of hair. You lifted your arm from where it rested on the back of the pink and white leather seat of your booth. Moving to brush the piece of hair back over her shoulder, your hand coming up to cup her soft cheek.

Natasha cooed, leaning into your touch, her eyes flickering shut. A small hum escaping through her closed lips.

She slowly opened her eyes. Admiration for you pouring out of them. As you rubbed your thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

"You've gotta stop doing that," she whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Doing things that make me want to kiss you."

"And what's so wrong with that?" you asked leaning in closer to her. "I thought you liked kissing me?"

"I do." She inched closer.

"Then why don't you?" She answered your question with a passionate kiss. Wrapping an arm around your neck pulling herself into you. Sliding a leg over yours, as her free hand came up lightly touching your cheek.

You wrapped your hands around her, tugging her further into you. Leaving hardily any space left between you. You pulled apart leaning your forehead against hers.

"Ahem," a cough spurred you away from your intimate moment with Natasha. Turning around to look at Tony and Rhodey, the two boys sat opposite you. Both of them smirking as you and Natasha wiped your mouths.

"Sorry about that," you cleared your throat.

"Are you sure you don't want us to leave?" Tony smiled mischievously. "Give you two some privacy?"

"You can talk."

You barked out a laugh at Natasha's response. Remembering all the times they had been less than family friendly in front of you.

"Are you folks all finished here?" You looked up to a smiling Steve Rogers. A dish bucket in his arm. Pointing to your empty plates and glasses.

"Um, yeah. Thanks, Steve," you said.

"It's cool. So, you want the bill?"

"Yeah," Rhodey replied, "We really should be heading back."

"Yeah, they need some privacy," you told Steve, who chuckled in response.

Steve hummed, "Good. We don't need Jarvis busting a blood vessel, cause you can't keep it in your pants."

"Hey!" Tony yelled, gesturing an arm towards you and Natasha. "They're the ones who just had a make-out session in front of us."

"And yet, you're so much worse. It's like your sex drive, is a permanently running motor," Steve commented. Turning to walk away with Tony screeching after him.

Three weeks later, you ended up back at the lake you shared your first date. The sun setting low over the forest that surrounded the lake. Leaving a warm glow on everything it touched.

It had never felt like this before. Your kisses were slower than usual but no less heated. If anything they were more desperate than ever before. Your hands held onto her waist, as you hovered above where she lay on the seats. Red hair sprawled out over the cherry red leather below her. Her hands fisted into your work shirt, pulling against it, keeping you as close to her as possible. One of her legs thrown over your side, calf resting on your back.

"God, I love you," you told her, speaking over the low hum of the baseball game coming from your radio. Mouth never leaving hers.

"I love you, too," she whispered back, voice lustful.

You had talked about this. Agreed on it. But you were still hesitant. Just in case it was all swept away once again. After your fight that day two weeks ago, you both had a long discussion about your feelings and what not. She told you that she did want to go all the way with you. And she knew you wanted the same. The only thing holding her back was that she wanted you to love her, which you told her you did. And she loved you too. She was just so unsure of your love for her. She knew how attractive she was, and she knew anybody could lie to her for one night in the sack. It wasn't that she didn't trust you. She did. She merely wasn't interested in setting her heart up for heartbreak. But you had reassured her that she had nothing to worry about. Telling her that you would never purposely break her heart. It meant too much to you, to do that to her. Which lead you two here. In the back seat of your car, like the many other times. This time both in full agreement, that tonight was the night.

Your deep kissing had continued, once you had uttered your love confessions.

Your hands pushed up her shirt, fingertips caressing the soft skin underneath.

"OK, here we go," the commentator spoke. You and Natasha too engulfed in one another to even register his voice. Your hand's travelling around her waist, to hold her lower back. You used your leverage and pulled the lower half of her body into yours. Making her let out a lustful moan into your open mouth.

"There's the windup, and there it is."

Braking away, you panted on each other's lips. Staring intensely into each other's eyes. Your chests rising and falling with your rapid intake of air. Her arms were now reaped around your neck, hands deep into your hair, nails grazing your scalp. Natasha's eyes were dark, so blown out that you could barely see her bright green irises. Your hands slid slowly up her back. Never breaking eye contact, as you reached her bra, swiftly unclasping it. Natasha attached your lips once again, as she pulled your work shirt from your body. Manoeuvring you onto your back so that she was now straddling you. Only breaking your kiss when she reached under her shirt and pulled her bra from her body. Throwing you a mischievous smirk, before pouncing on your lips once again.

"Turning it on now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna try for Second." Your hands slid up Natasha's soft skin, coming to a stop just under her breasts. "He's gonna slide in head first, here he comes, he's out!" She nodded to you that it was okay, unbreaking the kiss. With her nod of approval, you gingerly moved your palms up and cupped her breasts. "No, wait, safe - safe at second base, this kid really makes things happen out there."

Natasha sat up and began slowly unbuttoning her shirt. Leaving it wide open, but still obscuring the majority of her breasts. A groan erupted, from your throat, as you ogled at her. The close to animalistic sound coming from somewhere deep in your stomach. She smirked at you, eyes lustful, as she ran the pad of her thumb over your slightly parted lips. Leaning over, you attached your lips. The kiss on the verge of turning into something faster and more wanting. As Natasha gripped the chest of your T-shirt in her hands, tugging it up and over your head.

You sat up, Natasha still seated in your lap. Your lips unrelenting, as you manoeuvred, so your hand pressed gently into her body. Fingers tickling the top of her stomach. As your hand lingeringly moving down her body, gradually easing its way down to her core.

"He's trying for third, here's the throw." Further and further down your hand went. And with it, the antsier Natasha got for your touch. Her breathing quickening. Her fingers gripped the top of your shoulders, as she moves forwards and backwards slightly. Your hand slipped down the waistline of her pants, making their way into her panties. Lower and lower it went. Natasha threw her head back, letting out a low groan. Before making her way back to your lips, sucking n them with a fiery passion. Your hand inched closer and closer to her entrance. Closer. Closer. And closer still. Before... "It's in the dirt-safe at third! Holy cow, stolen base! He's taking a pretty big lead out there, almost daring him to try and pick him off."

You glanced down Natasha's shining body, as she moaned quietly. Carefully laying her back down in front of you so that you could lean over her. You started peppering kisses over her chest. Trailing them down her body, over her stomach, and to the place you knew would make her scream.

"Base line, the suicide squeeze is on!"

You kissed the only showing skin above her pants, as you began unbuttoning them. Peering up to her, you smirked into her skin. She was melting underneath you, her head thrown back, and panting. You focused again on your task at hand. "Holy cow, I think he's gonna make it!"

"Stop!" Natasha yelled, sitting up abruptly. Causing you to fly back, and into the window, your hands sprawled out, holding onto whatever of the car you could. As fear rippled inside of you, at her sudden outburst.

"What?" you asked, your voice soft, hoping to death that you didn't do something to hurt her.

"I just want to know, before we go any further. Do you love me?"

Ugh, this again. She was like a broken record. "Yes. I love you."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Will you love me forever? Will you never leave me? Will you marry me?"

"What?!" You looked at her like she had just grown an extra head. "Natasha, we've only been going out for like five months."

"I know that. I'm not asking you to marry me, you idiot. I'm asking will you marry me someday? I have to know."

"I... I don't know."

"See. That's exactly why I've been stopping you all these months."

"You can't just expect me to know if you're the one, Natasha!"

"That's why I want you to wait! So that I can experience this with someone one who wants to spend the rest of their life with me."

"Then why didn't you just say that?!"

"I don't know," she muttered quietly. Buttoning up her clothes.

"What?"

"I said, I don't know!" she yelled, shocking you with her outburst. Turning to you, she glared slightly. "I don't know. I'm just so confused, I know what I want. I want love. True and unconditional love. I'm in two minds." She held out her hands, looking at them. Showing you the two invisible separate sides of her brain. "In one of them, I want to do this with you. I want to do this with you so badly. But in the other. I want to wait. I want to make sure you'll be with me forever. That you'll never leave me. That you'll make me your wife." She looked at you. "But I don't know which to choose."

"That's a lie. You know exactly which one to choose. You can wait. And I accept that. I just wish you didn't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you! I do want this!"

"Then why don't you?!"

"Because I want you to love me!"

"I do love you!"

"Then prove it!"

"How am I supposed to do that?!"

"Figure it out. I can't give you all the answers. This one you have to find out yourself." And with that, she slammed the door of your car and began her walk back home.

You jumped out of the car, hastily grabbing your work shirt and shrugging it on. Chasing after Natasha.

"Wait, Natasha. Wait." You grabbed her elbow. Causing her to spin on her heal, facing you.

"Tell me."

"What?" you asked shaking your head confused.

"Tell me if you want to be with me for my life."

"Let me think about it."

"Tell me."

"Baby, Let me sleep on it," you practically bagged.

"Yes?! Or no?!"

"Let me sleep on it!" you were both beginning to lose your tempers now.

"I can wait here all night! So, tell me. Yes? Or no?"

"Let me sleep on it!"

"Will you love me forever?!"

"I'll tell you in the morning!" you raged at her.

***

That night you laid in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Your mind going round and round in circles. You could practically hear the words of your father, his hard voice, ringing through your head.

"Sex-crazed fool, thinks they're in love. Doesn't even know what love is." He would say. "Think of how your mother would react." If he were here right now, he would be barking it at you. Standing tall in his military uniform. Your imagination making him taller than he would be. Which makes sense, cause the last time you had seen him was when you were eight.

But, he wasn't here. And neither was your mother. The only people you had were your grandparents. Who were kind enough to let you live with them, while your father served his country. Too busy to visit you. For ten years he had been too busy.

"If you love her so much, why don't you just tell her?"

Sitting up, startled by the voice by your door. You turned to peer at your grandmother. Who had a small knowing smile on her face.

"Gram? What are you doing awake?"

"I could hear your thoughts. You have a restless mind," she said shuffling over to you, in her nightdress and slippers. Sitting at the edge of your bed. That's what she always said. That she could 'hear your thoughts'. Which was fairly true. She could always tell when something was on your mind.

"I've already told her."

"Then what's the problem?" She raised her hands in bewilderment.

"The problem is," you started, pausing as you tried to find the right words, "I want to take our relationship further-"

"Ahh." She threw her head back. "You want to sleep with her."

"Yeah." You nodded. You were starting to feel uncomfortable now. But you knew she would not leave until you told her what was wrong. "But, she wants proof that I love her."

She hummed at your situation, "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"Have any suggestions?"

"Nope," she said patting your shoulder, before gripping it using it to help her back onto her feet. "This you have to figure out yourself." And with that, she shuffled back out of your room.

You there your body back, head landing on the soft pillow, muttering, "Thanks for the help, Grams."

***

Here you were again, two weeks later, sitting in your regular booth in Jarvis'.

That's when it hit you. And oh boy, did it hit you. It hit you like a tidal wave. The feeling of utmost love. You were prepared to swear on heaven and hell, every God and goddess that existed, hell even your mothers grave. That you would love this laughing girl in front of you, until the end of time.

"Marry me." It had just fallen out. You shocked yourself when you had said it, mirroring the shock that covered Natasha's face.

"What?"

"Yeah," you affirmed nodding. "Marry me. Why not?"

"Because we're eighteen, and have only been dating for six months," she deadpanned.

"So? My grandparents were seventeen when they got married and they'd only known each other for two weeks. They're still happily married."

Natasha laughed, "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

You nodded. "I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise I will love you until the end of time. And you know I don't break my promises," you tried convincing her, leaning closer to her over the table. "Don't you wanna marry me?"

"Okay." She smiled, her hair moving as she nodded slowly.

"Okay?"

"Okay. Let's get married."

***

That was ten years ago. You remembered the joy it filled you with, the way you had run out of Jarvis' with her and had gotten married to her the next hour. You had both got what you waited for that night, and then started the rest of your life together.

And now here you were, ten years later, regretting everything from that stupid stupid day. If you could turn back time, you would. You had changed over time. So had she. You began slowly falling out of you teenage love. And into resentment. Natasha still loved you, however, just like she did all those years ago. You had thought about getting a divorce, many times in fact. But you had vowed and promised her that you would love her until the end of time, that you would always be there, that you would never break her heart. And you never broke your promises.

So now you were here, in your small suburban house. Waiting for the end of time. So that you could end your time with her.

Maybe things would get better.

Maybe you could try counselling.

Maybe...

(Alternative ending. Ha! Bitch you thought! I need to have happy endings.)

"And, Cut!" Phil Colson, or as everyone called him, Mr C, called out. The group of kids standing on the stage snapping out of their personas. Some walking to their friends, others beginning their descent from the stage. As Mr C continued, "Good job out there! You're gonna knock it outta the ballpark on Wednesday!"

Principle Fury walked up behind him, them starting an animated conversation.

"Hey, Mr C," Clint Barton called out, hopping from the stage. Interrupting His and Fury's conversation. "Can I talk to you about something?"

You took a deep breath and ran a hand through your 50's styled hair, glancing around, from your position on the stage. Eyes glancing at the small group of people in front of you, talking away happily, before your eyes caught the redhead walking from the stage.

"I can't believe he wrote his own play," Tony noted, stuffing his hands into his jacket.

"You gotta admit though, it's not half bad," Steve defended.

"Yeah. Mr C is good at this kinda stuff," Tony agreed.

"Plus this gives us extra credit," Bruce said.

"Yeah, Buck needs that." Steve nodded to a now insulted Bucky.

"Shut your whore mouth, Steve," he replied.

You turned to follow Natasha, hoving to have a quick chat with her, as Wanda walked up to the talking boys.

"I still can't believe Fury said yes to this."

"Said yes?!" Tony asked, "Do you know how happy he was when Mr C asked him if he could do this?"

"Well, that's unexpected," Wanda muttered.

You hopped the last few steps, calling out to Natasha as you did.

"Hey, Nat!" She turned to face you, eyebrows shooting up in a silent question, as to why you stopped her. "Are we still going out tonight?"

"Yeah." She nodded, Pick me up at seven?"

"Definitely."

"Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," you said continuing to walk with her, out of the auditorium.

Just as you were passing where Mr C, Fury, and Clint were converting excitedly. The small freshman named Peter Parker, who Mr C had recruited to be his assistant, moved from his spot standing awkwardly behind Mr C and had taken a few steps towards you.

"Hey, good job."

"Thanks, kid," You replied, smiling at the awkward boy.

As you walked down the bright hallway, you spotted the two infamous Odinson brothers, bickering by the water dispenser. Also decked out from top to bottom in 50's gear.

"Remember, Mom, said we need to clean our room when we get home," Thor said.

"If I remember correctly. It was just you, who had to clean {your} side of the room."

"Would you please just help me?!"

You snickered at the brothers quarrelling, catching Natasha's attention. She threw you a small smile, taking you by the hand and dragging you from the school.

Well, all in all, you could say that you weren't gonna end up like that play.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #black widow #marvel #MCU #original fanfiction #flatbottomhollandchallenge

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lizord-lord · 6 years ago

Text

The Invisible Language

(This is a vent fic. I was struggling with having to dump a friend yesterday and it got me dwelling on my social struggles..and so I tried my hand at actually writing a fic to project all my problems through! XD)

(For anyone who doesn’t know, I have autism-Aspergers specifically, and I totally 100% headcanon Logan as an aspie. I have this post detailing why. So..for those of you who also stan autistuc Logan (and maybe a bit of ADHD Roman) here is this, me basically throwing my entire life story on our poor nerd and I am so sorry but also not XD. Also, the book I mentioned is very real, and I actually own it. It’s really useful, if a bit dated and heteronormative)

Warnings: Descriptions of sensory overload (similar to a panic attack) social struggles, very brief mention of selfharm, mentions of fistfights and minor physical violence.

Ships: none, but you can probably see my logicality heart in there lmao

The Invisible Language.

It was all just so complicated now.

Or rather, now he knew how complicated it was.

Before, Logan had always just thought he was bad with people. That was fine. It fit, with his habit of staying inside with his nose in a book. The socially awkward, introverted nerd who wasn’t good with kids.

It was simple.

But that’s the thing. Life isn’t simple. And neither was Logan. Even as a six year old.

The socially awkward, introverted nerd, from what he’d seen on tv, would have cried or just silently tried to make due when another kid ‘accidentally’ spilled tomato juice all over his copy of Alice in Wonderland. Logan Sanders leapt from his desk, grabbed the kid’s wrist, and yanked him down so his head smashed into the wood.

The socially awkward one was laughed at. Logan was sent to the office.

Time and time again this would happen. Until he turned eight, and his parents pulled him out of school. He was homeschooled after that, and it was simultaneously like a breath of fresh air and entering a stifling hot room. He was free of the children, free to discover on his own, but he found himself itching for more, to ask questions about things his parents could answer, to do projects he’d heard about online but often ended up screaming in his attempts to recreate them because it wasn’t explained, why this, why that, how do I do that, it doesn’t make sense!!

Homeschooling was a blessing and a curse. He made due. He did well in fact, almost all of his online courses were marked complete with a neat 100 for the score. It was enough for them, but not for him. Eight year old Logan hated it. Ten year old Logan was used to it.

Eleven year old Logan dug his heels into it.

Middle school. His parents wanted to send him back. He understood their reasoning, the rational half of his brain did. Middle school was a big change, adolescence, and the middle ground before high school, which he always knew he would be going to-you can’t get college credit from online courses and library books after all, not the ones he was using. It would give him time to prepare. And yet he was a creature of habit, so used to his solitary life..

Logan has no choice however.

On the first day he stepped inside, armed with only the knowledge of American Girl books he’d skimmed through (who cared if they were meant for girls, they didn’t write helpful guides for boys!) and distant memories of elementary school. The first weeks went by as a blur, and Logan ate it up. The assignments, the grades, the smirk he always found himself wearing when he placed his assignments in the bin. That triumph didn’t even compare to the rush of pride and satisfaction he felt when the teacher told the class that he test they’d been given was apparently too hard, many kids failed and only one student actually got a perfect score, and his paper was handed back with a 100 written on the top.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t hold the paper up a bit and catch the eyes of the numerous people who stared at him with no surprise in their eyes.

Logan even found friends in those first few weeks. A darkly dressed kid who, much like him, never really knew where to go during paired projects and ended up working with him. He found that Virgil was actually very bright, a relief when he looked around the room to see people talking and not doing anything useful. The pale boy was quiet, but listened as Logan chattered away about his plans for the assignment.

Patton was next, a round-faced boy who seemed to share at least a few words with everyone he saw. Logan didn’t mind that. He wasn’t a lazy student, maybe a bit easily distracted, but when he was sat next to Logan in science his work quality was always at least a solid B, as long as he was shushed every now and again. He seemed better with people too, and Logan found himself enjoying his company.

Then there was Roman. He was introduced to their little trio by Patton, who apparently shared a drama class with the tanned boy. He was..a handful. And yet Logan found himself challenged by him. Their friendship was an unusual one, full of debates that more often than not ended in yelling, but at least they started off with intelligent points and interesting ideas-and if often Patton had to break off their passion so neither of them landed with lunch detention, well that was the price to pay.

He was enjoying himself here.

Then the second month. Logan remembered where he was when a redheaded girl told him he was wrong in that ‘you’re a moron’ tone when he told her that actually, the word for the study of space was astronomy, not astrology. When a boy in a green sweater had blatantly ignored him when he asked him to stop scooting his chair across the hard floors. When an entire group of people had continued to call him Logie even though he’d told them over and over he hated it. Many of them seemed to do it just because it annoyed him. This went on. Every day another simpleton would disrespect him. Every day he’d tell him to stop. Often he’d snap at them, or swear. That always got him snickers in return. And Logan found himself clenching his fists as his whole body burned red hot.

It happened again a week after this started. A boy with a Minecraft t-shirt cut him off in the lunch line, and when Logan told him to go to the end, the boy only scoffed and responded with “Are you in kindergarten?” in a tone that made his blood boil with how fucking snotty it was.

Logan’s hand was fisted in the back of that obnoxious t-shirt and pulling back with all its might before he could think.

The boy ended up on the floor crying, and Logan ended up suspended.

There were more incidents that year. Mostly yelling or swearing, but minor physical violence was not unheard of. It was common even.

Logan didn’t want that. He wanted to be cool, to drop the bullies and idiots with bullets of intelligence from his tongue, but everything he tried a witty comeback they’d give him either confused looks, no acknowledgement as all, or retort with ‘Your mom’ jokes, a sort of ‘insult’ that required barely a single brain cell to perform.

They never listened. They were stupid, childish, disrespectful. Logan stuck only to his three friends and the many teachers he’d grown quite friendly with, They liked him after all, he was precocious and that was something teachers always found fun. with adults, he also found he could make himself actually heard, his theories, ideas, suggestions, it was a glorious freedom he had previously only had with Patton, Roman, and Virgil.

But things didn’t get that much better.

In fact, in seventh grade Logan found his outbursts getting worse. They were farther and fewer between, but the eventual rage that would explode was far worse than before. It was like the dam that held back his rage had grown stronger, but that meant it took more water to barrel it over, and that sent far more devastating floods down the peaceful valley of his mind.

In eighth grade, he got into a fistfight with a boy who had called Roman gay as an insult, not knowing that it was true or that the word should not be used in such a manner. When the boy refused to listen to Logan’s explanation of what the word meant and instead switched tracks to scoffing every time he said it was a normal and perfectly acceptable, beautiful thing. And by the time the midget of a bigot tossed in the dreaded f-slur Logan’s mind was so crimson he only felt a rush of relief when his fist connected with the boy’s head.

It was two weeks of suspension for that. And it was during that time that Logan’s mother revealed something to him that he had never expected.

Tales of his childhood-or babyhood rather, where he had exhibited strange behaviors no other parent seemed to have seems.

“I think you might have Aspergers,” she had said.

And now, here he was. He couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to tell him of her suspicions. But now Logan was sitting on his bed, the blanket covered with constellations, staring at the cover of a book.

It was a familiar scene.

But this wasn’t a book chosen by Logan’s own hand, or by the school, or even a recommendation from his parents or a loan from his younger sister Abby.

It had been gifted to him by the man at the Autism Center.

The Asperkid’s Secret Guide to Social Rules.

He’d read the whole thing.

Before, he’d thought he was just awkward.

But no. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. It wasn’t that he just didn’t know that w to say. He was. missing an entire way of communicating that people his mind now knew as ‘neurotypicals’ spoke in without realizing it.

The secret language. Body language, facial expressions, tone, he knew that all existed yes..but he’d never seen it. At least not in the subtleties the book described. And all these double meanings of phrases? So the dark-skinned girl who had asked him what he was reading during math class didn’t want to just read the back and learn Sherlock Holmes’ latest mystery? She’ wanted to get to know him?

Why didn’t she just say so!

It was so much more complicated now. The vague, yet simple term of ‘weird’ was replaced by the vast, yet specific, confusing, and multifaceted word that was autistic. A word he’d never have expected to apply to him. Mental health went really a subject he’d looked into, feelings were too wound into it.. and feelings had always been his greatest vice.

So now, with that book in his hand, he thought.

There was a whole other world he couldn’t see..that’s what he had been missing all this time? was the specific shifts in tone in posture people made-what he’d always thought to be absently-something his parents expected him to understand and that was why he always seemed to have to be elbowed when running his mouth?

It was like….like telepathy. Yes, to Logan, the cues he now found himself putting extra effort into finding; his sister’s slightly hunched shoulders at the dinner table, his dad’s slightly turned up nose when he mentioned his history teacher, were a sort of telepathy that the ‘normal’ population all shared. But it wasn’t as if it was that simple. Of course, it was tauntingly, agonizingly complicated. You see, these people were all telepaths, sharing cues in an invisible tongue-and yet, none of them knew they were telepathic. And yet still, they all expected everyone else to be.

So that was why he was strange. Logan had looked up how much of communication was non-verbal - he felt his eyes go wide when he saw the percentage dedicated to ‘body language’.

Fifty-eight percent.

What else could he have missed?

Logan was both happy and uncomfortable with the diagnosis. He now knew terms, words, blessed reasons for his little ticks, why he felt like something was terribly wrong for at least an hour just because he’d had to take an alternate route to school (routine disruption), why was such a picky eater (finickiness caused by sensitivity to textures and certain flavors/smells), why people always responded with confusion whenever they saw him pepper the science teacher with question after question, challenge after challenge like he was trying to understand how the universe wove itself in the span of five minutes, and looked surprised when Roman asked him if he knew why Patton was being quiet. Logan had responded with a simple no, informing the other that Patton hadn’t told him-and when the slightly taller boy had suggested that he ask, Logan realized the thought had never occurred to him.

Most importantly, it explained what Roman had dubbed ‘The Fitness Fiasco’. To sum it up, Logan had thought of a new game for their groups to play in gym class—something besides basketball for once in their lives, and yet as he tried to explain, the girl who seemed to have taken charge of the group he was trying to explain the idea to kept talking over him, ignoring him, challenging what he said—and the noise. The noise, how all the chattering and the sound of balls bouncing on the floor, the rage he felt at being slighted in this way, how it had attacked him. How he’d suddenly found himself tensing, wanting to run or to yell, unsure which, how the sound turned solid and pressed in-his muscles going taut, his hands twitching with every word from the students mouths, how his arm violently jerked away as Patton tried to comfort him- And then the scream. He’d screamed at the top of his lungs for quiet, falling to the ground and sobbing in the fetal position—eyes screwed shut behind his glasses and hands clamped tight to his ears, unsure of what was even falling from his mouth aside from the fact that he was begging, begging for silence. It had only quieted a bit as people turned to stare, and then he’d felt hands on his shoulders, ones he jerked away from—but no one knew what to do. Virgil’s low whispers for him to breathe, to use the 4-7-8 method that the emo always used to calm his own panic attacks, was only met with more incoherent begging for silence. It had been Patton who rescued him, who brought the teacher over and ended up guiding the sobbing Logan to an empty classroom. There he had been met with silence. There he felt his terrified bawling turn to weeping with relief. In the silence, he’d recovered, his muscles lost the tension, and he allowed the freckled boy to wrap him in a hug.

He’d only been able to call it a panic attack before. But now he knew the term. Sensory overload, brought on my the noise and the stress.

It had been a relief just to know that. To know that in moments when he stood among too many people, feeling his muscles clench as their shoulders brushed his, that his hands should not go out to push them away, but to his ears, to block out the trigger.

It became a cue, when debates with Roman got heated—they were friends after all, if rivals as well, and it was understood that if Logan’s jaw suddenly clenched and his hands went up to cover his ears, they had to pause for at least a minute.

But of course, knowing where the holes in his social skills were led to Logan compensating, and it didn’t..always feel natural. He found himself staring at people, trying to read their faces, for a little too long on many an occasion, or overreacting to something because he’d overanalyzed the tone. He found himself having to bite his tongue on many an occasion to keep himself from simply explaining why he did what he did to his parents, who would only take it as making excuses.

It was a balance of the good, the bad, and the ugly. He understood now that his all-or-nothing attitude was why he found himself simply not doing projects if he couldn’t grasp the material—and this led to him having to more often than not, swallow his pride and ask for help when he was getting frustrated. Yet the same black-and-white philosophy got him gasps of shock from Roman when he explained that, in the story Roman had been iterating to him, the whole second half of the plot could have been avoided if Leealli had simply decapitated Sorcerer Kai while they were trapped in her dungeon. Roman had protested, saying it would make her just as terrible as they, but Logan had frowned, explaining that yes, the act was cruel, but if a single act of evil by her direct hand was all it took to stop countless others by her indirect hand, wasn’t it worth it?

But he had also been the one to convince Patton not to remain friends with Oliver, when one day, sitting on the cotton candy clouds that patterned Patton’s quilt, the smaller boy had confided in him that Oliver had vented about his habits of self-harm to the kind soul for three hours the night previous, yet refused any help Patton gave, shot down any attempt at saying he was worth more than he thought.

It was Logan who had took Patton’s hand and told him that people like that could only be helped by themselves and a therapist, that he should not take it upon himself to bear others’ problems in that way. Who had given him a hesitant hug and told him that his mental health was just as important as theirs.

His friends were his lifeline. Maybe they tripped him up—well, they definitely did, yet as much as he found himself apologizing to Virgil for seeming angry when he was simply tired and being a bit blunter and more insensitive with his words than usual (not that he usually was tactful or sensitive when it came to criticism, even constructive criticism) he found himself sighing in relief as the anxious boy shared with him his own experiences in worrying about the negative undertones in the words of others too much to be considered healthy. They would sit and talk about it, the same experience for two different reasons, one of them due to the irrational fear of people disliking him or being angry, and the other due to worrying he was doing something incorrectly that he was not aware of, failing to pick up on a crucial piece of information.

As much as Logan found himself and Roman butting heads, even shouting at each other during friendly debates gone sour, name-calling and snapping fault after fault, he reflected fondly on the time he had been ecstatic to discover that Roman’s own ADHD-riddled brain hyperfixated on Disney just as his own did on Sherlock, and they would both go on for hours about their obsessions while sadly recalling how old interests had faded.

As much as he often found himself hurting Patton unintentionally, and even worse, learning that Patton had been hiding that fact from him for weeks as to spare his feelings, as difficult as it was to convince (well, more plead with) Patton to tell him these things, as he wouldn’t be offended much and he had no other way of knowing what he was doing wrong, he found himself sitting by his side, all attention completely fixated on what to him were mindblowing truths about people and yet seemed common, boring knowledge to Patton, as the freckled boy explained cues and rules, that invisible language Logan did not speak.

Those friends stuck by him, even though others did not. With all the walls Logan had built up around his emotions, to protect himself and others, few could breach the fortifications—except for those who had already been on the inside as he built them. And he was fine with that.

Going to a therapist was...awkward at first, but it helped. Mr. Picani understood his aversion to talking of his feelings, and instead cleverly tricked him every time, asking questions about events until Logan was off on an angry rant. With that expelled, they’d talk through possible solutions.

He kept the book. And most of the other books he was given on the topic, eager to learn and understand more things about himself, knowing the reasons behind behaviors, quirks in things had always been one of his favorite things, and now he found it was possible in people.

As Logan worked through his discovery during the last semester of eighth grade and through that summer, with his Virgil, Patton, Roman, his parents, Mr. Picani, and occasionally even his rainbow-haired little sister, he found his mind shifting. He was truly calm now more often than not, able to express his rationale...well, rationally, rather than through insults. His debates grew calmer, and while he certainly had his slip-ups..he was improving. Slowly. Steadily.

His viewpoint of the world was unusual, like an outsider, and while that could be isolating, if he explained it well, people were often interested to hear it. It was different, his own; the metaphor Logan found himself using was that everyone else was a Macintosh computer, and he and his fellow spectrumites were PCs, capable of all the same things, though in ways the world was not wired to accommodate. Also, clearly superior in many a way.

His core programming was different, even if his exterior seemed the same, and Logan was okay with that. He’d never know the invisible language, not as a native would, but he could learn it—the same way he learned slang, through help, a lot of online research, his friends, and some study notes here and there.

It was complicated, they way he figured things out, the systems he’d devised. But complicated problems would never be solved with simple solutions.

And he still had plenty of time left to learn.

(Thanks to @poisonedapples for betaing this and basically screaming RELATABLE every two second, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear!)

(...I don’t really have a general fic taglist so imma just- y e a here)

Tags: @royallyanxious @whatwashernameagain @sandersmarvel @the-incedible-sulk @supremestoverlord @hanramz-the-fander @childhood-wishes-and-dreams @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @madly-handsome @galaxy-warping @extremist-water-agenda @ierindoodles @princeanxious

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poppyknitt · 6 years ago

Text

Payback, part two- A Darkness and Desperation tale

Summary: JJ is still in and out of the hospital for the injuries he received back in the fall of the previous year, and since it’s now Boy Scouting season, Marvin plans to enact his revenge as soon as the bullies are separated from everyone else.

TWs: GORE, VIOLENCE, YANDERE, BLOOD, KNIFE

———

Marvin clutched his knife tightly in hand, his teeth gritted and eyes narrowed as he waited for the scout master of the troop those damned brats were in to leave the troop alone for a bit. He knew where the boy scout camp was, since Jack used to be one as well, so getting there wasn’t an issue.

The leaves swirled in the trees and bushes, making hypnotic patterns, as though trying to draw in anyone who watched so their commander, hidden away somewhere in the sky, could devour them alive without being seen.

He knew that, when they saw him, the boys would probably underestimate him greatly. They’d gotten into fights before, and he usually lost, likely because of how skinny he was. However, what they didn’t know, was that Marvin had been practicing something new, ever since he first found out about their treatment of his baby brother. Something... they didn’t believe in.

Finally, at long last, the final remaining adult had left, and he could get to work. His hand twitched absently for a moment, but he didn’t seem to notice. He rehearsed the spells he’d practiced and prepared heavily for this day one last time in his head, and stepped out into the open.

Barrier. Sound entrapment. Illusion. Cloaking. Paralysis.

Those were the spells he’d learned. Those were the spells he’d need. He had to go to the darkest sides of town just to get the necessary books for some, because most who sold and used books on magic spells avoided dark magic at all costs. Not him, though. Dark magic was the only magic that could help him here. Who cares if it corrupts him? He’d already been plotting to brutally slaughter eight of the nine kids there in cold blood, and leave one alive, but with horrible, horrible mental traumas for eleven months. Not to mention that he had another spell in the back of his mind that would ensure that no one ever believed the poor kid when he screamed and cried, begging them to convict Marvin Peter Reid, the true killer, no matter how hard or how much he begged. He doubted he could get any worse.

“Well, well, well! Look who it is, boys! It’s little baby Marvvy Petes!” Charley Sanders, the one who brought the bat, taunted, grinning evilly at him. He smiled back, and delighted mentally as Charley was visibly confused by his reaction.

“Hello, darlings...” His voice was light, but laced with a faint, toxic bitterness and hatred.

”What do you want, you moron?” Samuel Thompson, the kid who used steel-toed boots on Jamie, scowled, looking supremely pissed.

“I’m only here to play a little game with you boys! Nothing too serious~! After all, you really seem to like it when people get hurt, right?” His voice was chillingly sweet, as if he were trying to comfort a two-week old kitten that had been crying in despair for the past hour.

”What the hell are you talking about, creep?” Luke Wells, the one who used the textbook, looked both scared and annoyed. Marvin’s head jerked a small bit, and his grin widened.

”I’m talking about my little brother. Jameson. You boys sure took a lot out of him back in August, when you beat him so hard he nearly died!” He still sounded kind. Too kind. Several of the lessers in the group were starting to look scared already.

“D-Died-?!” Thomas Kendall, one of the ones who liked to watch and laugh as the others kicked and beat the shit out of 5 year olds, whimpered.

Charley interrupted him, “Shut up, Tommy. I wanna hear him out. Little kitty boy’s actually got my attention for once.”

“A wise choice, Charley-Darling~” His grin turned sour and twisted as he spoke. “I’m going to play a little game with you boys... A game I like to call... Hide and Go Reap.”

“... What...’s the goal..?” Sammy asked.

“For you? Hide, and hope you don’t get found. For me? Well... I get to murder whoever I find.”

The boys all went quiet for a moment, all nine of them looking somewhere between screaming and pissing their pants, until Charley finally spoke, clearly trying to sound brave. “Oh yeah? A-And what if we don’t play, or r-run off?!”

“Then I will hunt you down, and torture you so much, you die a slow, horrible, and painful death.”

Charley froze. He honestly looked like he was going to piss himself, and it was taking most of whatever resilience Marvin had to not start laughing maniacally at the stupid look on that idiot brat’s face.

“You have sixty seconds to hide. Choose your places wisely~!” He sung, and cast the Sound entrapment, barrier, illusion, and cloaking spells, much to the absolute terror of the bullies.

”Where’d he go?!” Luke yelped. Charley said something under his breath to Luke, and yanked him away, as all the boys scattered. Marvin grinned sadistically, standing in place for a full minute, as he’d promised.

When time was up, he yelled to them, “Time’s up, boys~! Be ready to die!” in a much too cheery manner, and skipped off in a random direction. He knew they couldn’t have gone anywhere or run off; he’d put the barrier in a circular shape, with about a 125-meter radius all around. They couldn’t see it, nor could they escape. If any of them tried, he would immediately know.

Sure enough, one of the boys was trying to get out. He could hear him crying and yelling in hopeless terror to be let out. He skipped to the source, and, smiling wickedly, revealed himself again.

”Georgieeee~ It’s time to play~” He sang, his voice unnaturally high pitched and bone-chillingly melodious, as his head tilted over to the side. George Edison, the kid in question, turned around and sobbed hysterically at him, begging him to spare him, saying that he didn’t do anything to his little brother. Marvin already knew that, though.

He used another kind of illusion spell, this time using one that would force the others to watch as he killed their friends one by one, and tackled the smaller boy, stabbing him a numerous number of times in the chest once it was done, watching as the blood sprayed and seeped out of the 7-year-old’s wounds with glee. Some of the fresh, warm blood spattered onto his clothes, and he didn’t even flinch back from it. He could hear another kid distantly shriek Georgie’s name out, which he assumed was Micheal Jay, given the pitch. He grinned sadistically, knowing at least one of the boys was going to break eventually.

He continued on his way, a twisted grin painted on his face as he searched the circle for his next victim, his newfound total enjoyment of murdering another person driving his mind further and further to entirely merciless relentlessness. After a few moments, he found Kaden Foster cowering in a bush like he actually thought it would protect him. Once he spotted him, though, Kaden bolted, screaming and crying for help. Unbeknownst to him, however, this only delighted Marvin, and he gave chase, laughing in total derangement as he gained on the terrified 9-year-old. He tackled once again, stabbing the kid twice as much as he’d done to the youngest of the group, and making each one hurt more than the previous. Kaden’s shrieks and screams of pain and terror brought absolute joy to him, the adrenaline of the two consecutive, chaotic murders rushing through him and making him more and more deranged as he laughed maniacally as though he had heard the funniest joke ever after having never heard even a single funny thing for his entire life. He continued stabbing until every movement and sign of life had faded from the kid’s body, not even feeling a single drop of remorse or disgust for what he’d done or for the bloody mess he’d caused. The faint smell of iron was already rising from the blood he’d spilled, but he didn’t care. The only reaction it got was a small twitch of the head, but once more, it went unnoticed by him.

He imagined some of the boys would be crying by now, as he watched the blood pooling around and on top of his now dead, and horribly mutilated victim. It seemed that, with each minute that passed, his grin got more and more twisted, more and more disturbed.

He got up, and left the scene, unsure who he’d find next. He didn’t care, though; he just wanted to kill all of them but whoever he found last. After all, what better way to ruin a person than to force them to watch you mercilessly slaughtering all 8 of their friends in brutal ways, and then leave them alive with the knowledge that this never would’ve happened had they decided to be a good person?

He heard Connor sobbing in the distance, and grinned more, picking up the pace, and following the sounds. Connor screamed for Micheal to run, and the older boy got up, not even hesitating for a moment to disappear into the foliage. Connor jumped out of the tree, shaking heavily as he gripped a slightly sharpened stick as though his life depended on it never leaving his hands. Marvin paused, and laughed at him.

”Aw, how adorable! You really think you can hurt me with a measly ol’ stick?” He taunted sweetly, a deranged look on his face. Connor was still trembling, terror written all over his face. The poor boy was having trouble breathing, too, probably because of his asthma. He’d be merciful on this one. Besides, it wasn’t like Connor was worth the effort; he probably was never destined for success anyways.

He disappeared with the cloaking spell, and climbed into the treetops, purposefully rustling the leaves around him to give the kid a bit of extreme paranoia in his last moments. He stopped making noise at random intervals and circling, now silently heading to a place he could drop down behind the kid and catch him off guard.

He undid the cloaking spell, and not a single second passed before his knife was skidding through the back of his prey, as Connor let out a scream of pain. The older boy collided with the ground, palpitating forward a foot or so, as a faint trail of blood followed him. He hoisted himself a few inches from the ground with one hand, coughing up a few drops of the thick, glistening, red juice of life that kept him going, and then turned his head and body to better look at his attacker, eyes glittering in terror. The sadistic joy from before returned to Marvin’s twisted grin, like a loyal dog returning to its owner. Oh, this was so fun! He should do it again some time...

Connor whimpered fearfully, probably thinking he knew exactly what was going to happen to him. Marvin did initially plan it, however... He had remembered something that one of the bookkeepers told him about magic- “If you find yourself able to use the magic, you may want to explore with finding out more about your abilities. In my experience, most true magicians have their own special abilities.” He grinned to himself at the thought, already knowing full well what his was.

He raised his empty hand, delighting as Connor recoiled a little in fear, confusion mixing in with all the other apprehensive emotions littering his expression. Purple, glowing strings spun and twirled around the tips of his fingers for a moment, before settling so that he could control them.

“I’ve decided to give you a purpose, sweetie... After all, no one else believes in you, right? So, who better to prove them wrong than little old me~?” He trilled, his grin softening to a cruelly sweet smile. He walked to the boy, and knelt down in front of him. The strings seemed to disappear, as he cupped his hand around Connor’s chin, and took control of part of his mind. “... From now on, you’re going to work as my puppet, and my puppet alone... Or else.”

Connor’s expression went blank, and, after he healed his new toy, he helped him up, still smiling. He gave him a knife, and winked at him, whispering the name of who he wanted him to kill into his ear.

Marvin lead the way, somewhat dragging Connor by the wrist, as they searched for MJ. His twisted grin returned, as he thought about all the ways Connor might kill his friend. Ooh, but what a twist that would be! He could barely begin to imagine how horrified that would leave the others... Especially because MJ was supposedly Connor’s best friend.

They found Micheal standing in front of the barrier, probably confused and definitely feeling hopeless. Marvin’s grin became even more twisted, as he beckoned his new pet forwards. Connor’s eyes were dark and empty, showing that even if he was even slightly autonomous, he likely wasn’t in control of his actions just yet.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you, MJ?” He asked, his eyes empty, and smile filled with twisted joy. Micheal turned around, his eyes wide as they flicked between Connor and Marvin for a second, only resting on Connor as he calmed himself enough to process what was happening.

”...C-...Connor? Connie, bro, c-can you hear me..?”

“Sorry, Mikey~. He doesn’t answer to you anymore, sweets~” The strings around Connor’s limbs and neck revealed themselves briefly as he spoke. Panic set in all over MJ’s face, as he stumbled over his words.

“Y-You- Wha-What-? H-How did-?! W-Wh-What di-did you d-do to him, y-y-you freak?!”

Marvin paused, his smile fading for a second at the insult, and then returning as an even more twisted grin, “How rude! Didn’t your mama ever teach you any manners, dearie~?”

“D-Don’t-! S-Stop calling me by those st-stupid pet names!” Micheal was hyperventilating anxiously, which amused the aspiring magician to no measurable extent.

”Hm.” His grin fell a small bit, and he gestured for Connor to start, “As you wish, Micheal~”

“W-Wh’did you-?! W-W-What was that-?!” Micheal started, but Connor attacked him mid-sentence, much to his despair and horror. Marvin grinned sadistically as he watched Connor throw attack after attack at his ‘best friend’, who was trying his hardest to dodge as many attacks as he could.

I suppose I... Ought to help... He thought, still grinning. He waited a few moments, until MJ’s back was to him, and then grabbed him from behind, yanking him down to his level and driving his knife into the bully’s shoulder and tearing it back out, delighting in the screams of pain that resulted.

MJ stumbled away from them, clutching his limp, nearly severed shoulder in his hand. His eyes were glimmering with tears of either pain or fear, as he continued to try and back away from the approaching duo out for his blood. Connor was the first to attack once again, running at MJ and attempting to cut a diagonal slash wound into his chest, but barely skimming the other’s arm as he jumped back. Marvin followed up from the other side, stabbing into his gut with a big grin on his face as he made eye contact, relishing in the pure terror that covered the older kid’s face.

MJ fell to the ground, still hyperventilating, though, his breathing was more desperate and broken now that he was losing too much blood. Marvin’s face was almost entirely blank, aside from the huge, psychotic grin that had been plastered on it since he joined in, as he and his puppet loomed above the slowly dying kid. He raised his free hand a little, and Connor stepped on his lifelong best friend’s chest, pinning him down, slit his throat, and let him go. MJ started choking on his own blood, eyes wide and face draining of color as the blood rushed out of his veins and arteries, spilling into his throat, windpipe, and onto his neck and chest. He started coughing and gasping for breath, tears spilling down his face and mixing with the blood as they spilled onto his throat, only quickening the suffocation. Marvin made sure Connor didn’t have to hear his friend suffocating, knowing he would only be traumatized by the memory of the sound once his mind regained a little awareness of what happened.

Once MJ was dead, Marvin stepped lazily over his limp, broken, blood-bathed corpse, and dragged Connor along as they went to look for one of the others. Connor stumbled over the other kid’s body, but Marvin didn’t care to stop. He had things to do, and brats to kill.

Thomas Kendall and Jordan Smith were quick kills, and thankfully close enough to each other that Marvin and Connor could split up the task of killing them. Marvin wound up playing a fun game of chase with Tommy, obviously winning in the end by stabbing into the skull of his victim after taking his sweet-ass time to torture him. The kid’s body was nearly unrecognizable by the time he decided he was done with him, though, he left the face mostly alone, so his family could properly identify their son when they found his cold, dead body discarded uselessly on the forest floor. Marvin let Connor stay wherever for the last three kills, wanting to kill the ones who hurt his brother the most that day with his own hands.

Sammy was an easy find, having wound up standing alone and confused in a clearing, his back turned to Marvin and vulnerable to any attacks. He ran at the taller kid from behind, his target only managing to turn around and look before he gutted him viciously. He landed on top of Sammy, once again finding himself mutilating his body, but this time, he used his magic to keep Sammy alive until the very end, so he would feel any and every stab, regardless of how much blood he lost. Once he was done, and a fresh, deep crimson color stained his clothes almost unrecognizably, he stood up, and left, searching for his final two victims.

He found them together, when he heard Charley scream “no” from somewhere beyond a cluster of bushes and trees, and looked past them to see the two huddled against each other. His grin grew, as he walked through the plant life, and stood before them, knife still held in his hand. Charley began sobbing hysterically, clearly having a panic attack, and Marvin had another idea.

PTSD. He knew he could leave Charley alive, and have him eternally stuck living with crippling fears of human contact and other things he would associate with this day. That would be much, much worse on him than anything else he could possibly do to the boy. He made a small, unnoticeable gesture with his hand, and Connor walked through some other bushes. He looked at his puppet, and ever so slightly tilted his head to tell him to hold Charley back while he murdered Luke.

Connor did as commanded, and Marvin walked towards Luke, as the boy scrambled back, hit a tree, and began to cry as well. Marvin kicked him in the gut, and then pulled him up by his shirt, briefly narrowing his eyes at the kid, and then throwing him into a tree that was a few meters away. Charley screamed hysterically for him to stop as he violently stabbed, beat, and occasionally slammed his friend into things, but it was no use. Within a few minutes, the entire back of Luke’s head and almost his whole face were drenched in his blood, as well as the tree and his clothes. Marvin‘s grin became a bit less psychotic and a bit more normal, as he was proud of himself for the good job he’d done on punishing all of the boys who tormented his brother.

He turned to Charley, and walked to him, as Connor released the older kid. He gave the boy a sweet, sickeningly sympathetic look, the insanity still lacing the edges of his expression. Charley started begging him not to kill him, which only made his smile grow more twisted. “Aw, don’t worry, Charley-Darling~! I’m not going to kill you! After all, you’ve won! You’re the last one I found! So, as your reward, you get to live!” He paused, “However... You will be the only one who knows that I did this. I will make sure that, should you ever try to tell even a single soul that it was me, they will never, ever believe you, no matter how solid or fool-proof your evidence is. So, don’t even try it, because it’s not gonna work.”

Charley nodded desperately, and Marvin smiled triumphantly. “Come on, Connor, sweetheart, let’s go clean ourselves up and blow this joint! I’m excited to bring you home! But remember, you gotta act spooked, okay? That Charley kid’ll probably be off to tattle as soon as the barrier goes down, so if you’re acting unfazed by it, they might think you did it!”

...

....

.....

Marvin watched the news, subtly delighting in the fact that for the past few days, all anyone could talk about was the murders of those seven boys, and the mental states of the two survivors. He’d let Connor resume autonomy, but made sure he knew that if Marvin detected him even thinking about telling someone, he would snatch it away quicker than you could say “Psychopath”. Charley had gone almost catatonic, and had to be pulled out of boy scouts for extensive therapies that just weren’t working anymore. Most likely, he would never be back in the public school system again, because of his severe traumas involving that fateful day preventing him from setting foot outside his home without having a severe panic attack within the next five minutes.

Charley had been constantly begging everyone to believe him as he sobbed and cried that Marvin was the killer, but as he’d promised, no one believed him, even with all the evidence presented against him in comparison to the slim amount of evidence for him. So far, Jamie hadn’t seen the news, so thankfully, he wouldn’t have to lie to him just yet.

He heard a knock at the door, and smiled to himself, as he knew who it was. He got up, playfully skipping to the door, and opening it.

“Aw, hiya, Connor~! I knew you’d come today!” He sung happily, a subtle, twisted glint sneaking its way into his eyes as he spoke to his new toy.

——————————————————

Congratulations, now everyone has as much about Marv to fear as I do. Please, join my suffering, because I’m terrified of my son, just like you should be.

not tagging anyone because this shit is highkey fucked up so i don’t wanna spoop my normal taglist peeps

#WritersofJack #jse writing community #marvin the magnificent #marvin the magician #Darkness and Desperation #DaD!Marvin #Puppet Connor #tw: gore #tw: yandere #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: knife #fanfic 2

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daemominus · 6 years ago

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Pocket Monsters AU: party Pokémon in depth

The following details each Pokémon’s personality, plus provides some backstory on how they met Vergil and became a part of his party. Exclusively regards my primary Pokémon crossover AU (though there are similarities shared with my secondary Pokémon AU).

Additionally, his Pokémon’s moves, abilities, and natures are detailed here.

Froslass

— Backstory

Met as a Snorunt. Vergil was under the age of ten—say eight years old. During winter, his adoptive father took him out into the nearest woodland as a means of helping one another bond. Vergil had only recently been adopted and so was continuing to adjust to his new family and lifestyle. Closed off and wary, he was naturally a little difficult to get through. However, as his father attempted to entertain him with the pictures he was taking, they'd both heard a commotion nearby. It was amid downed branches, a deeper walk into the woods, that they spied a Pokémon Vergil had never seen before, and one having gained the attention of a small flock of irritable Murkrow. They descended upon the Snorunt, pecking and cawing, overwhelming the poor thing. Vergil felt deep sympathy toward the Pokémon and he'd made an honest plea for his father's intervention. His Vivillon sent them all away at once, and with that done Vergil raced over without a moment's hesitation to look over the Snorunt left frightened and bruised. Vergil's approach was gentle, himself still insecure and shy. But a side of him unseen before had emerged when he beheld the Pokémon for the first time. Now he'd taken the initiative to act for it, and he openly asked his adoptive father to help the Snorunt further.

Vergil asked for a Potion to use on Snorunt. He was told how to spray and he carefully applied one spritz on the Pokémon's bruises. After some stinging it instantly recovered, and it grinned at Vergil. The Pokémon wasn't at all fearful or distrustful; once it felt all better, it showed its appreciation jovially at the boy. While it seemed to disregard the adult's role, it totally admired Vergil with a great reverent gleam in its eyes. He was satisfied with Snorunt looking well, and so he (hesitantly) and his father took their leave, but Snorunt trailed them closely. It was reluctant to let them go, calling after Vergil with evident disappointment on its face. With every step they took it would follow, even when Vergil's adoptive parent instructed him to tell it to stay. Snorunt would cozy itself right up to him, tugging on his jacket, all smiles at whom it now thought highly of. The two youngsters were attached already, neither of them willing to part ways.

It was then that Vergil had made another plea, but one unmistakably genuine and heartfelt, with his father to let Snorunt go home with him. He wanted its friendship, he wanted it at home the way his new parents had their Pokémon at home. And, really, what could have been the harm? Nothing worked itself out more perfectly: Vergil and Snorunt became fast friends, and the little Pokémon was welcomed warmly into the household. During their earliest months together, Vergil had been happiest, he talked to the Pokémon more than he'd spoken with his new parents—he was drawn out of his shell by some amazingly fortunate chance, and it helped to improve his own familial relations. Having a Pokémon of his own was a great benefit to him at so crucial a time in his childhood, right when he needed the company, the encouragement and the comfort.

Some time after their bond had formed, Vergil was given a Poké Ball with which to catch Snorunt and cement their partnership. A year or so later, he'd switched the standard Poké Ball for a Great Ball and went on to use only those with every other Pokémon he'd befriend. His first catch at so young an age would be his most significant; the two were inseparable, even through the process of growth and all of life's complications. And when it came to Snorunt's evolution—though the process of deciding on an evolved form and the prospect of such a change alone had been completely new and, therefore, a cause of uncertainty and hesitation—nothing between them had suffered. They merely went on, their loyalty hardened.

— Personality

Doting, motherly. Froslass has adopted quite a gentle personality in contrast to the way it behaved as a Snorunt. It grew alongside Vergil, maturing at around the same rate as he. Upon evolving, it's immediately reminded of Vergil as a young boy when it looks at him, and so feels compelled to show him a motherly kind of affection. Namely by cupping his cheeks, pinching them. It can't help but coo at him in its own way. While it is mild, quiet, and easily manageable, it also tends to be a little nitpicky. It shows great respect for Vergil's things, and so makes sure that everything is in its place, or just the way he may have left it. Froslass will tidy up, even pick up after its trainer should he have been careless.

There is no doubt about its loyalty. Froslass will even go as far as to physically defend Vergil, or the other Pokémon. It’s something of a powerhouse in battle, having learned highly damaging, exclusively offensive attacks. But Froslass’ speed affords it great flexibility, offering many more opportunities to wrap up battles quickly. Intuitive and sharp, it often has a clear idea of what it should do next (in battle or out) without Vergil’s input. It's willing to get into just about any situation when called upon—or out of its own volition when necessary. Though Froslass is remarkably obedient, it may, at times, let itself out of its Ball. There is no apparent cause for this; however, on these occasions the Pokémon turns specifically to Vergil. There is a good chance Froslass is nostalgic, missing the days the two had spent more time together as youngsters. Nevertheless, it's good-humored, cheerful. It will rarely display any discontent, unless there is concern to be had.

Froslass isn't shy, and is quite friendly with other people and Pokémon. While it's somewhat reserved, patient, and keeps itself out of the way, it shows no aversion toward individuals outside its tight-knit circle of comrades, its “family.” Because the bond it shares with Vergil is stronger than that he has with any other, it's well aware of his feelings. It understands him in a way that is intrinsic to Pokémon, but that in itself is strengthened due to their mutual compassion. Of course, with Vergil being as enigmatic as he is, even Froslass will fail to figure him out. His corruption would put some strain on their relationship as well, and the same is true with his other Pokémon. Regardless, Froslass will always be his partner, his “signature” Pokémon.

Empoleon

— Backstory

Met as a Prinplup. Vergil was eleven years old. Abandoned by its former trainer as a Piplup, but trained enough to have evolved. Just days after evolving, it was let go much to its alarm. Prinplup did not press its trainer to change their mind, but stayed behind as its former trainer intended it to. Always dependable, and loyal even at so early a stage, Prinplup did not act against the decision made for it. Suddenly the Pokémon found itself without purpose. It wandered as a result, inclined to avoid both humans and other Pokémon. Understandably, Prinplup had become dejected, and spent a handful of days in aimlessness.

Vergil had first sighted Prinplup within his neighborhood, swarmed by a group of children eager to get their hands on the Pokémon. He'd just arrived from school, greeted by his Snorunt, and out on the front yard of his house they'd spent some time playing lightly before a commotion was heard from a distant playground. Children gathered excitedly and he knew not why; normally he wouldn't care, he would keep to himself, but he saw a Pokémon among them that didn't appear to appreciate the attention, and it was only through a pang of concern that he, along with and encouraged by Snorunt, approached the group. As sympathetic as he was, he'd retained some shyness, and for a moment he lacked the heart to intervene. Of course, the kids were in his age group, and he'd Snorunt by his side—why should he be hesitant? So, the courage was gathered to call their attention, to tell them to leave Prinplup alone, but they responded sourly and instantly labeled him a spoilsport.

One boy bragged that he would catch the Pokémon, and he'd brandished a Poké Ball to enforce his point. He, and the others, argued that any wild Pokémon was fair game for catching, and that was technically true; but Vergil went to Prinplup's defense regardless of the facts. Prinplup could have fled amid their distraction, but it stayed behind out of fear for renewed harassment. It didn't take much goading for Vergil to be dragged into his first Pokémon battle, of course he found he had little choice in the matter. The challenger would catch Prinplup if he defeated Vergil, or else he'd forfeit the right if he lost.

Prinplup found it surprisingly noble that someone would defend it, unselfishly take its side and consider its own good. Where its own trainer had abandoned it without reason, breaking their loyalty and their trust, an unknown child showed qualities that it could admire, and such were qualities that would have matched its own. The other boy, a brash young trainer without humility, sent out a Shellder to battle Snorunt. Without prior experience, Vergil found himself outmatched. While Snorunt kept pace, Shellder showed impressive defense, and it landed a Tackle attack that floored the inexperienced Snorunt. The battle was just about up and Shellder was poised to land the final blow. However, as Shellder fired a Water Gun, the Pokémon which was at the heart of the debate rushed headlong to defend Snorunt, saving it from fainting and immediately making clear where it stood in the argument. Prinplup had decided to battle for Vergil, and together they successfully fought back. Thanks to Prinplup's previous battling experience, it claimed an impressive win for both Vergil and itself. The challenger was discouraged, and he retreated home with his Shellder.

Having done what he thought was right, Vergil thanked Prinplup for defending Snorunt and made it plain that it could go on its way without fear of being bothered any further. He'd have gone directly home with his weary Snorunt if not for a gentle tug on his arm and admiring eyes peering into his. Prinplup had silently requested to follow Vergil home, and by good fortune it hadn't ever thought to leave him.

— Personality

Gentle, quiet, out of the way. Empoleon very much resembles the patient older figure of the bunch. While having a serious character, it doesn't lack a sense of humor, or warmth or affection for those it's close to. It likes to learn from what it observes, and in this way it's become very familiar with Vergil and his other Pokémon. From their mannerisms to their facial expressions (if applicable), even down to how their instincts would move them, Empoleon has each one of its friends in mind. While Vergil might be a tougher nut to crack, Empoleon has a good overall understanding of him. It will try to anticipate, to the best of its ability, how someone might react to any given situation or stimulus. In that event, it's attempting to stop something from spiraling out of control; or, at least, to stop an unpleasant ball from beginning to roll. Empoleon often tries to maintain harmony among its friends, to offer them comfort if need be as well as encouragement. It is by no means disciplinary or critical. Empoleon's presence is calming and reassuring, and this affects Vergil to some degree too. He appreciates level heads and steady hands, and he finds that Empoleon has these traits.

Empoleon is greatly dependable, reliable, trustworthy, and loyal. It will dauntlessly stand by its trainer and its fellow Pokémon. It has a clear sense of justice, of right and wrong, and it isn't afraid of disagreeing or disobeying if it's aware of something that shouldn't be. In fact, Empoleon hardly shows apprehension. It's quite courageous, but not fearless. While it will try to always put up a strong front for itself and others, there will be situations in which its strength may falter. It's only natural. That being said, Empoleon has taken a number of cues from Vergil. Having been beside him since his childhood, Empoleon has watched him mature. As he hardens himself against the hardships that come, Empoleon learns from this to become stalwart itself, and sturdy for others to lean upon it. It tries to emulate Vergil's cool to some level. However, by some coincidence, it has also developed a sense of pride. This could simply be a result of its evolution, as Empoleon are generally more prideful than their pre-evolved forms.

In battle, Empoleon is confident in its experience and physical strength. It trusts in its trainer's commands, never hesitating to obey. Every battle is treated seriously, and its focus never strays from one. It puts all of its effort into battling, wanting to take the most out of each experience regardless of defeat or victory. It primarily seeks to gain experience so that it may grow continuously. Empoleon finds itself learning from every battle, honing its skills and making itself a formidable ally—truly a Pokémon Vergil can depend on, both during and outside of battle.

Starmie

— Backstory

Met as a Staryu. Vergil was thirteen years old. Just across the street opposite his school, a vacant lot would welcome a concessionaire, only the man behind the small business used Water-type Pokémon, confined to a medium-sized glass tank, to advertise and attract patrons by showing off tricks and attacks, entertaining anyone who would pass by all throughout the day. It was exhaustive work and consequently cruel on the part of the man to put them to it. Vergil had suspected such when he swung by the tank when Staryu had recently been put on the job. It, along with a Horsea and Goldeen, entertained him with more dedication as he'd drawn incredibly close to watch them. Staryu, however, gave its best effort, and it caught most of Vergil's attention. It seemed a very proud, energetic, and hard-working Pokémon, and that must have appealed to the boy above all else.

Vergil would stop by again, one day after another, and made himself a frequent visitor this way. For almost a full three weeks, he'd grown quite fond of the Pokémon in the tank while he cared nothing for the reason they were there. Staryu had taken as much a shine to him as Vergil had to it. It would vocalize in response to anything he had to say, often holding a conversation with him (as best a Pokémon could speak with a person). It hadn't failed to make him smile, and when Vergil had praise to give, Staryu would beam. However, throughout this time, Vergil progressively grew concerned as he'd seen, with his own eyes, the lack of care the Pokémon were given. They were overworked, and he'd seen their spunk waning each day. In fact, the man behind the operation had been loud and demanding, even reluctant to have one harmless boy stop to look at the Pokémon as often as he did. He'd often shoo Vergil away. Quite the observant little one, Vergil could tell the Pokémon were performing less and less. He'd noticed this in all of them, but Staryu had put on the strongest front—such a reality impressed him, serving as both a cause for admiration for the Staryu, and cause for the deepest sympathy. Into the second week, the Pokémon had lost much of their vitality, and he'd noticed them going missing from the tank, one by one—no doubt removed as they were deemed useless by the concessionaire. Staryu was all that remained of the original group (fresh Pokémon were placed in the tank once it was largely empty), perking when it saw Vergil. It would always want to catch his attention and impress him when he came by. The one Pokémon that toughed it out the longest, worked the hardest. Vergil feared Staryu's likely disappearance and whatever mysterious fate awaited it when it would cease to do its job.

A surprising turn of events unfolded when Vergil stopped by another day, just into the third week of work. He had a mind to confront the concessionaire about the way he treated his Pokémon, and he indeed approached him to share his concerns. But in the coarse way adults tended to speak, the man in none too kind words told Vergil to mind his own and leave the Pokémon alone. With a sharp tongue he barked Vergil away (made some kind of threat that involved his parents, too), even went as far as to attempt to grab a hold of him, and he'd have been rid of the child altogether if not for the Staryu's attachment to him. It understood all, and it leaped out of the tank in spite of its fatigue to tackle the man aside. The adult fumed and had every intention of dragging Staryu back inside the tank, but the Pokémon fired off a Water Gun to discourage him altogether, and it was then that it renounced its position and chose instead to side with the boy. The concessionaire had had it with the trouble and gave Staryu up, preferring that it go its own way so that Vergil would finally stop coming around. As it happened, Staryu was elated, and… fortunately, some weeks later, word went around that the business had gone under over ethical matters, thus the businessman had left the neighborhood and was very likely ruined over his inhumane practices. It need not be said that his adoptive parents were astonished when Vergil brought home yet another Pokémon. They'd suggested he was a magnet to them.

— Personality

Persistent, determined, works hard. Quite a vibrant personality, Starmie attempts to give everything its all. It meets challenges and tasks resolutely; it's rarely reluctant or hesitant to try. Its spirit is something to admire. It's bright, brimming with pep, its enthusiasm is infectious; it motivates the other Pokémon, encourages them, and it tries to do the same for Vergil despite differences in communication. However, quite enough can be determined from its body language alone. Starmie is incredibly obedient, quick to do what's asked of it. Its loyalty never wavers, and it doesn't dare question its trainer unless it had a legitimate reason to hesitate or to doubt him.

Starmie is surprisingly social, always curious in other Pokémon and wanting to meet them. The same is true toward humans (or humanoids) it meets, but to a slightly lesser degree. It seems to think so highly of Vergil that others like him pale in comparison, and are thus undeserving of the same attention it gives the nephilim—plus, its loyalty to him is a factor in that. Still, Starmie is not rude nor cold toward strangers, and still very friendly and easily approachable. It's mindful and respectful of others, and while it wishes never to get in anyone's way, it inadvertently makes itself a handful for Vergil simply from its dutifulness and its enthusiasm. This Pokémon will never stray from his side, ensuring that the others are respectful of him and don't cause trouble. If there's a quarrel between them, Starmie will wedge itself right in the middle of it to referee, to put a stop to the fuss. Whether or not it succeeds greatly varies, and Starmie might cause more trouble just because of its involvement. Sometimes it does overstep its boundaries. If Starmie is to be reprimanded, then it accepts it humbly.

As far as battling goes, Starmie is of strong mind, body, and soul. It really gets into a battle and only ever does its very best, even going further to push beyond its limits. If it should lose, it doesn't take it to heart, but takes it as a motivator. While it's confident in its abilities, it doesn't make the mistake of overestimating itself and is actually quite careful to make the most of its moves and of the instructions it's given. All in all, Starmie is a resourceful, sturdy and reliable Pokémon, and it has long proven its invaluable worth to its trainer.

Rotom

— Backstory

Met within The Order. Vergil was twenty-one years old, having recently set up his base of operations. It was as he settled in that complaints of power failures, electrical surges, changes in current, and other unusual phenomena came to him directly. Then came reports of a Pokémon sighted: a Rotom popping in and out of electrical outlets, making a nuisance of itself, very obviously entering appliances, devices, even cables. The sudden influx, and surplus, of electricity attracted the Rotom to the headquarters, and it had decided to make itself to home there in spite of what that meant to the people inside. It was concluded that Rotom had been stealing The Order's electricity, messing with the power supply, and, as consequence, hindered their work. Attempts to subdue the Pokémon on the part of the workers were met with failure, and so it came down to Vergil to put an end to the Rotom's antics. He'd set up a clever little trap; simply, the goal was to draw the Rotom out into the open toward a highly concentrated source of electricity, whereupon he would confront it by surprise and drag it into battle. The Octagon served as the best place, and his plan was put perfectly into action. It was all too easy to dupe the Rotom, and once Vergil had it in his sights, he'd taken advantage of its panic to pit his own Pokémon, Froslass, against it. It'd been exhausted, just as he'd predicted, but what followed was more out of necessity than anything else. With no immediate means to expel the Pokémon from where it wasn't wanted, Vergil had little option left to him but to capture it with a Great Ball (one of his own as he had nothing else on hand).

While he had originally intended to release it back into the wild, he had come to realize that such a Pokémon with so great an affinity toward electricity would prove itself a great asset in his hands. While he'd had some harsh words for it, he'd also shown his benevolence by offering Rotom the opportunity to be his Pokémon, also enticing it by suggesting he'd allow it to feed off of the surplus electricity running throughout The Order—but no more than that. Rotom was more thrilled with the latter half of the proposal than anything, but it agreed to join him anyway. At the risk of the trainer, however, for Rotom proved itself a challenge to tame and train. There were difficulties at first, what with Rotom's boundless energy and insatiable appetite, and its inclination toward making mischief at the expense of everyone and everything around it. In spite of it all, Rotom proved its worth, Vergil grew to like it, and an attachment had naturally come to form between them. As a result, Rotom was ultimately fully trained and its more problematic behaviors curbed. Vergil wouldn't dream of letting go of his little friend.

— Personality

Hyperactive, excitable, resembling the youngest child among a group of siblings. Rotom is, by far, Vergil's silliest and most impetuous Pokémon. It approaches life haphazardly, driven by impulses and immediate desires. It's somewhat careless toward others in this way, with its thoughts running at an immeasurable speed. It zips around everywhere, perpetually, a fast Pokémon by nature. It's constantly running on the electricity it eats, so it really doesn't ever get tired on its own. Rotom is always grinning, seemingly impossible to upset. When faced with responsibility, it tackles its tasks enthusiastically. While it may appear scatter-brained and unable to be relied upon for much of anything, the truth is quite the contrary for the most part. Rotom is loyal, it understands Vergil, and it always wants to perform well no matter what it's doing for him. Rotom is very effective at what it does, and it can snap into action the very instant it's told what to do. However, it frequently doesn't pay attention outside of battle, so Vergil needs to repeat himself. His patience is at times tested by it, but it follows through ultimately. It's obedient and dependable, though it may not look like it; but Vergil has formed a strong enough bond with Rotom to understand it in turn, and so he knows what to expect from it. Of course, there are times when he'll worry, show some insecurity, and there tends to be cause for it.

Rotom is capable of pausing, contemplating, changing its mind. If it finds itself in a spot of trouble, it will react accordingly. It's definitely the kind of Pokémon that lets itself out of its Ball. Not quite fond of isolation, it will often seek company if it's not already preoccupied, or if there aren't enough distractions around to keep it entertained. Rotom may stray unwittingly, and quite a distance, and once it realizes it's away from anything or anyone familiar, it will become distressed like a child lost without its parent. Rotom very much resembles one in need of adult supervision—namely from Vergil, although the other Pokémon play a fair enough part in ensuring Rotom behaves itself. Rotom is capable of changing form, as long as the necessary appliances are available to it.

Absol

— Backstory

Met some time after Vergil returned from Hell, when he was twenty-three years old. Absol wandered into Limbo City after the chaos quieted down some. It sensed an upheaval to come prior to the destructive surge of demonic force Mundus had set upon the city, and since then Absol had kept itself abreast of the supernatural developments. Normally a Pokémon that stays far from human populations, Absol relied upon the changes in the air, the forces of the world around it, from the safe distance at which it remained, to learn of the bad turn that the world had ultimately taken. When Mundus' power was no longer felt, and the nephilim's flaring passions had died, Absol then dared to venture into the city. It kept itself alert, avoiding falling prey to the demons that roamed free. Few humans were there to really disturb it, and Absol had primarily taken to higher vantage points both out of security and of familiarity—its species is known to inhabit mountainous regions. Beforehand, Vergil had been dead numerous days, but when he had finally returned to life, the Absol had only begun to assess the destruction, it having arrived at Limbo City only a day, maybe not even that long, prior to Vergil's revival. The power to emerge with him was striking; his life force had been both tainted and enhanced, and it was easily sensed by Absol. It sought the source of this new disruption, successfully finding Vergil not too arduous a search some time later. However, it never neared him, and he hadn't taken notice. The Pokémon watched him, the nephilim went about his life. It kept its eyes on him, in fact, in judgment and in wait, perhaps thinking it may intervene if he should threaten the human lives still lingering within the environment. It was a striking thing, too, for Absol to discover that he had Pokémon of his own; companions, partners, friends that he had shown he'd cared for. Absol watched all this, and studied him, and went on to observe him unobtrusively for some time—days, weeks. Absol had been there, saw no malice from him (though he had still given off an unsettling essence), and determined to meet him, face-to-face, to test him and his bond with his Pokémon. There was an eager curiosity in Absol as it desired to study him more directly, through interaction now. It definitely had become interested in him, and perhaps believed him to be an exceptional (in his uniqueness) person worthy of the Pokémon's contact.

Absol was not hesitant when it approached him right outside Paradise, and had wasted no time in deciding on its actions. By no means was it aggressive nor confrontational toward him, but it showed clear assertiveness and confidence in its appearance before him. It made its intentions plain: it sought a battle, and Vergil held no real qualms against the challenge. While he did not understand the need for it, nor where this Pokémon had come from or why it appeared at all, he was contented to oblige, and with Froslass beside him he allowed the Absol a proper workout. Both Pokémon appeared to be evenly matched, although Froslass hadn't the benefit of a type advantage as Absol did. As it happened, Froslass was defeated, and the result of the battle had understandably frustrated a nephilim exceedingly prideful. However, Absol did not leave, but stood before him with intent in its eyes. Despite his loss, Vergil had taken note of the Absol's merits. There was a connection then, a spiritual click. They seemed to understand one another in the briefest moment. When asked if it wanted to go along with him, Absol stepped forward. Vergil caught his final Pokémon with a Great Ball.

He'd known about Mega Evolution and was aware that Absol's species could achieve it. When he proposed Mega Evolution some time later, both he and Absol approached it in the same way. They both worked hard at it, both equally dedicated to achieving it. That implied strengthening their bond, and that was something that took added time to nurture. However, as Absol is now able to Mega Evolve with ease, during any battle, that in itself serves as testament to a goal accomplished. Initially, Vergil owned none of the items necessary to carry out Mega Evolution; he had to go through the added trouble of acquiring both a Key Stone for himself and an Absolite for his Pokémon. This he did with Absol too in order to grow closer to one another. However, even after coming into the possession of said items, they were still faced with the inability to join their hearts, so to speak. The training that followed was a challenge more often than not, often resulting in frustration on both their parts (which didn't help matters as Vergil was, more or less, impatient in his desire to achieve the same that he'd witnessed his brother do). A good amount of time was taken into achieving Mega Evolution, and it's something that was worth the effort.

— Personality

Solemn, stubborn, yet keeps out of the way. Having a strong spirit and a strong body to match, Absol prides itself on its fighting ability. It enjoys battling and is seemingly always up for it, just as it likes the idea of gaining strength, speed, and stamina. By contrast, it isn't fond at all of defeat. If it's down, it will fight to the very last until it simply can't push its body any longer. Absol will hold temporary grudges against those that defeat it, including itself: it'll be disappointed in itself, thinking its abilities subpar. But over time it simply gets over the fact that it lost. If Absol can strengthen itself for a rematch and come out the victor, then all the better. However, it isn't fixated on battling and winning. Absol is quite easy-going, agreeable, not at all a nuisance—at least when it's having a good day. It's adequately patient, respectful of its trainer, dependable and loyal. It doesn't stray from Vergil's side, but if it should, it won't go far nor delay in returning. Absol is obedient, but to a point. When said point is crossed, the Pokémon's adamant, stubborn traits are put on display. If it simply doesn't feel like it, Absol will not obey, or behave in whichever way is expected of it.

It's a confident Pokémon, sure-footed, quick to act. Even if it were to make a mistake, it wouldn't hesitate in making it. There is no shyness in Absol. It's neither introverted or extroverted. It's active by nature, but it's also known to settle down and lie in the corner, or sit at attention, in wait, if Vergil has an instruction for it. When he's seated, preoccupied, Absol may choose to lie at his feet. Otherwise, it would wander, seeking to entertain itself even if through exploration (of the same rooms, halls, streets, etc. which tend to bore). When all else fails, a nap helps to pass the time. Absol's excitement may flare up when there's reason, and in such an event, it becomes pushy, difficult to quiet down, and difficult to deal with on the whole. Some aggression may slip through. If Absol were to sense an impending disaster, or an unfavorable turn taken within the environment, it will doubtlessly bring it to the attention of its trainer and fellow Pokémon.

#[ .ᴏᴏᴄ ]#[ .ᴜsᴇʀ ᴍᴀɴᴜᴀʟ ]#[ .ᴀᴜ: ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀs ]

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hvlfseelie-blog · 7 years ago

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hello it’s me...again. if you’re unaware, i’m sam, she / her, twenty - one, est timezone, and i also play ben the sourwolf, quill the brute and auden who has Had Enough™! i’m reposting / rewriting hal’s intro because i decided to revamp him a little, so that’s what’s gonna be under the cut! as always, please feel free to message me here or @mcrdices if you’d like to plot!

➰ ( DYLAN O’BRIEN, CISMALE, HE/HIM ) *✧.:°░｡ —- is that HAL CARPENTER ?! you know them, right? they are the 26 year old HALF SEELIE & HALF HUMAN !! they’re known for being PENSIVE & SOLICITOUS - but i’d be careful if i were you because they’re also DIFFIDENT & MOROSE.

nathan harold “hal” carpenter is a half - seelie / half - mundane from minnesota. his mother is a two - hundred year old seelie who left the seelie realm and pretty much everything else about the shadow world behind when she met and fell in love with a mundane man aka hal’s father.

( btw, the only people who would ever call him nathan are people who are very close to him and even then they would only do it to let them know that whatever they’re talking about is v serious )

so hal’s parents get married and he’s one of their nine kids, all boys. yeah, he’s got eight brothers and he’s one of the seven middle children

had a pretty typical mundane childhood out there in the middle of frozen minnesota. his dad worked as a used car salesman, his mother stayed home raising the kids and taking care of her v v beloved garden. they always had everything they needed but were still pretty poor. with only one parent working and eleven mouths to feed in total, things could be rough always sometimes. but, they managed! this is the rl weasley family okay. hand me down clothes, home cooked meals, brotherly teasing, lots of love!

hal knows the very basics of seelie magic & the shadow world thanks to his mother who taught him and all of his siblings how to control their abilities and the general basics of surviving out in a world filled with every kind of supernatural creature available

( also yes as a half - seelie he does have the ability to lie aaaand his pointed ears are visible at all times because he can’t be bothered with glamour magic and prefers to just pass it off as a “cool family trait” even though he doesn’t even like his ears but anYWAY )

he was just not that interested in learning about the shadow world as a kid. his mom being a seelie and & everything that went with that was never a secret in the carpenter household soooo...he just didn’t care that much

his hobbies of photography, hockey, and playing the drums were always much more interesting to him.

he honestly just?? wanted to be normal?? he wanted to be mundane?? wanted absolutely /n o t h i n g/ to do with the shadow world at all ever??

tbh he was genuinely spectacular at staying out of shadow world business until about five years ago aka the moment a feral werewolf crashed into his life on a motorcycle and convinced him to run away with her

he was twenty - one years old, in his final year of studies at a small community college in minnesota where he took photography classes and worked a boring job he didn’t like just to be able to do that bc remember, the family is poor af

he met raven calanoc, a wandering werewolf who happened to stumble upon his hometown and long story short, she convinced him to use the money he’d been saving for his last semester of college to buy a motorcycle and run away with her. they’ve been inseparable ever since.

for the past five years, he and raven have been traveling around on their motorcycles, hanging out in the woods and getting kicked out of bars after raven starts a fight aaaand that’s pretty much it. that’s all they’ve been doing for five years now and hal wouldn’t have it any other way.

he’s been in wilshire for a few months now and while big cities are definitely not one of his favorite things, he’s just been trying to enjoy his time in california!

so, i think that’s all for backstory which means we’re moving on to personality and other extra stuff!

he’s friendly but quiet & timid, modest but a little ~out there~ in an artsy way, a super loyal friend with a short temper that he got after spending sm time around raven

literally always has little cuts and bruises on his face & knuckles, a split lip, a black eye...all the typical i got in a fight at the bar last night type of injuries because that’s literally always true. raven starts fights and he helps her finish them, always.

tbh he’s basically raven’s ( mostly ) human familiar?? like she spends so much time in wolf form that she often forgets how to Human so hal helps her out when needed

he’s open to making other friends though and honestly he’s a pretty good friend to have if you can deal with his shyness, random picture taking, tendency to just sit around by himself and think...like if you can get over all of his annoying habits you have a great super loyal friend, the realest ride or die ever

hal is bisexual but doesn’t date much. tbh a lot of people see him and raven together and think that they’re dating and they actually do pretend to date sometimes just to get people to leave them alone lmao but nah

really really misses minnesota sometimes?? like, it was his only home for most of his life and he’s really close with his family so he’s very likely to randomly start reminiscing about how much he misses playing hockey on the frozen lake with his brothers during christmas break and being around for family dinners. he’s sentimental ig

so, like i said before, he knows the basics of seelie magic but he’s pretty rusty because he doesn’t like using it for the most part. outside of his family and raven he’s not even really comfortable with anyone seeing him practice magic

looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you but would most likely just punch you in the face at worst

has a biiiit of a short temper but not like...Ben Level Bad ™. he can just snap and be a little snarky sometimes which might surprise people because he’s usually pretty quiet

fr though....he could stand alone in the corner of the room completely quiet for hours and startle tf outta everyone when he randomly decides to say smth because nobody even noticed he was there??

loves to take pictures and that’s most likely what he’s doing if he’s not hanging out with raven or playing the drums

lemme just stop now because the length of this is officially absurd. lmk if you’d like to plot!

#wilshire:intro #you know what to do~#it's really me again wow

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theroguesrandom · 7 years ago

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Stranger Things s2 Reaction

So I just finished the second season and I have to say..... overall I was really pleased with it?? It wasn’t quite as strong as the first season, but it would have been hard to be after the sheer newness of the world wore off. I was dreading season two since I heard about it, simply because I loved season one so much and didn’t want to see it all fall apart (and so many shows fall apart hard after a strong start) but this season managed to hold its own, keeping the characters (for the most part) engaging, the story heartfelt and organic, and failing to tread over the same tropes and plots as the first season, while still paying homage and throwing in cute shout-outs throughout (from Eleven’s “mouthbreather” to things as subtle as Steve picking up last year’s Christmas lights while sorting through shed remnants).

The plotting was a little weaker overall, less cohesive, with some threads hanging looser by sheer value of the world just getting bigger... and, in my opinion, a few unnecessary side quests. But overall i was not disappointed. This was a successful addition to the Stranger Things universe and I was really happy with it.

Let’s talk characters

Season MVP: Dustin The show has really struck gold with Gaten Matarazzo and they used it this year, giving him a dynamic arc, great one liners, and every opportunity to shine. All the kids had their own storylines and pulled them off admirably, but Dustin’s bond with Dart, his slightly lopsided triangle with Max and Lucas, his surprising sibling-esque relationship with Steve, and his great sense of humor made every moment he was onscreen totally engaging. If Mike was the “main kid” of the group in season one, Dustin really took the spotlight this year.

(He was also the absolute star of that finale dance scene, despite two main couples kissing. Seriously, that was some last second heartache and triumph I didn’t see coming, that was hard to watch and then had me throwing my arms up excitedly in all the best ways. I love the full circle back to season one, with Dustin getting a sweet moment with Nancy.)

Runner up: Steve. Because Steve. Do I even have to say anything else? Last season’s last-second hero, this season’s group dad, total sweetheart and totally engaging. I love everything about this man, right down to his Farrah Fawcett hairspray. (And I’d also like to throw out: he was absolutely not a bad boyfriend, and I’m pretty pissed that Nancy let him think that he was.)

Most unnecessary character: Jonathan. I hate to say this because I adored him in season one... but he really did absolutely nothing this season. While every other character had some kind of independent arc, contributed something, set something in motion, poor Jonathan was stuck tagging along on other people’s arcs the entire season. Driving with Nancy to help her expose the facility (don’t tell me she wouldn’t have done this alone). Assisting his mom and Mike in interrogating Will (yes he contributed but, again, this would have gone the same exact way without his specific memories added in). Standing there while his mom burned the monster out of Will... even their reunion hug seemed sadly indicative of his role this season –– the two of them hugging and Jonathan kind of latching awkwardly on afterward. He didn’t change anything. Not one plot point of season two would have been affected if he hadn’t been there. (And obviously it would have raised a lot of questions if he wasn’t there, I’m not saying he shouldn’t have been... but the story really let him down this season.)

Runner up: Eight. Your mileage may vary on this one I guess. She did add a bit of backstory for Eleven (whether you think it was necessary or not is really a matter of opinion; I lean toward no, and lean toward it opening more plot holes and raising more questions than it answers) and acted as a bit of a foil for El, giving her a chance to choose the kind of person she wanted to be: vengeful or forgiving. But... was this really necessary for the story? Did it ultimately lead anywhere? Couldn’t El’s “runaway and return home” plot have been satisfied by seeking out her mother and visiting her aunt, without the additional side quest?

To be honest, it felt like a wasted episode.

Season’s Unexpected Hero: Bob CAN WE TALK ABOUT BOB?? I’ve loved Sean Astin since his days as LOTR’s “unexpected hero,” and I was looking forward to seeing him this season. But... we all knew from second one that he was monster fodder, right? He was the new guy. He was dating Joyce, who we all know will end the season standing with Hopper. It was obvious. ...Except then it really wasn’t? Because, like with so many things, Stranger Things turned all the possible tropes associated with a character like this (good natured, bumbling, and ultimately useless) on its head, making him useful and clever, and strangely capable of dealing with and adapting to all the impossible horrors suddenly being thrown at him. The show made us root for him, made us bond with him, made us think no maybe he could actually make it... and then tore our hearts out and fed them to the demodogs.

But at least he got to live on as Will’s superhero.

Relationships

Best relationship: Eleven and Hopper Even after those waffles in the woods at the end of last season and the parallel to his lost daughter, I didn’t expect this relationship to hit me the way it did. They were so... imperfect and sweet and painful and adorable and real. I ached for them both, knew exactly where they both were coming from in every second... and that’s a hard thing to achieve. The way they cared about each other and the way Hopper looked out for El made their little fractured found family such a joy to watch and had you rooting for them to reunite the whole season.

Runner up: Steve and Dustin This one crept up on me but wow. Who would have guessed these two would bond the way they did? Right down to Steve driving Dustin to the Snow Ball and giving him last second encouragements based on his own failed dating experience? I would watch a whole show about these two hanging out and looking out for each other, could we please have that spinoff? They were the MVPs of the season for a reason.

I also want to give a shout out to both “kid couples.” Lucas and Max were adorable throughout with really great chemistry. And even though Mike and Eleven weren’t given much chance to interact this year, their moments of missing and pining for each other were really poignant this year.

Weakest Relationship: Nancy and Jonathan Jonathan’s arc continued to disappoint here. Arguably his only plot point of the season was finally getting together with Nancy, but I just... didn’t see the chemistry. It felt very much like a plot point they forced in because they implied it was heading in that direction last year and felt like they needed to. These two getting together, along with Eleven’s side trip to Chicago, were easily the weak point of the season.

Other Things

Billy –– I have to say this right now... I really wish they hadn’t taken the time to make Billy sympathetic. Without that insight, without having seen his dad’s abusive nature, Max’s victory over her brother in the finale would have been hugely cathartic. She took him down, intimidated him, and made sure he wouldn’t torment her anymore. Standing up to her tormenter is huge and I don’t want to dismiss the significance of that for her... but knowing that Billy’s entire home life is ruled by fear and abuse makes her victory –– and her later moment preparing for the dance, where her mother dotes on her and shows her kind attention, something Billy clearly never gets –– a bitter one. If the show had taken it further, gotten them to understand each other somehow, gotten them to team up against some demodogs and then come home united against their dad? That could have been amazing.

That said--

Max –– was such a great addition to the kids’ group!! I don’t have much else to say except that it’s hard to fit a new character so seamlessly into an established group like that, but I ended up loving her pretty much immediately. The Zoomer is more than welcome in the party in my book.

Dart –– Demodogs are so freaking cute as babies, what the hell?? I kept waiting for him to come back, for that relationship to pay off, and I wasn’t disappointed. I was hoping he’d managed to find a way back to his dimension before the Gate closed, though. That made the end just a little bit heartbreaking.

Will’s Rainbow Ship –– I’m just curious about what the internet’s going to do with that, honestly.

Barb –– I’m so glad the show didn’t forget her or downplay the significance of her death. Ultimately, her loss was what brought the facility down and I think that was just such a perfect tribute to her, and her friendship with Nancy.

And I’m sure I’ll come up with other things the second I post this, but I think I’ll just leave it there for now. Great season overall, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it!

#stranger things #trr reviews #st spoilers #dustin henderson #steve harrington #eleven #jim hopper

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zmediaoutlet · 7 years ago

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You've mentioned it in a few tags, but if you have the chance/inclination, I would love to hear more of your thoughts about the final scene of 13x03 -- as someone who was, er, less than pleased with the ep, I'm trying to get a more positive angle on it, and I love your insights (and agree with them more often than not) so...help? ^^;

I don’t know what insights I have, but I can talk about my thoughts. This ended up being super long, so the thoughts are under the cut:

First of all, I think all analysis should start with a very close reading of the text. Let’s look at the dialogue in the episode in two key scenes.

First, a snippet from the third scene. We start off fine—Samtired, Dean neutral. (He’s clearly also tired, but he comes in more surprisedabout the Missouri thing than angry, depressed, etc.) Then, Sam says that he’ssending Jody to take care of Missouri’s case, so that they can stay to workwith Jack.

SAM: We need to help Jack learn how to control his powers.Jody can handle this.DEAN: Yeah, maybe she can. Or, maybe she ends up dead because you wanted to skipout on her to babysit the Antichrist.

As soon as Jack is mentioned, Dean immediately moves to anger. It’s quiet, but obviously accusatory,and obviously that’s aimed at Sam. He’s upset that Sam is putting Jack abovetheir friends. Sam responds with confusion, for a second—he’s staring at Dean,wrinkled forehead (so much forehead), wide eyes and parted mouth of shock. Theystare at each other, with Dean clearly fishing for a response. Then,

SAM: Dean, we need him.DEAN: No, don’t.SAM: Mom—DEAN: Don’t. You— If you want to stay here and Mr. Miyagi this kid, knockyourself out. I didn’t sign up for that, so I’m gonna go to work.

So, Dean leaves. Sam sighs, and groans, but he’s not angry.Dean wasn’t even particularly angry in that last line, but he reacted sharplyto we need him, and doesn’t even wantto hear Sam’s theory. Note how quickly he interrupts on Mom.

Okay, now we can skip over a lot of the boring Patiencebusiness (though, it is interesting that Dean tells a smiling Jody [?? What wasthat, as a directing choice?] that he’s fine, and then is CLEARLY NOT FINE ATALL). We come back to the bunker with Dean having seen yet another of theirfriends (or good acquaintances, at least) die, in a world which he is nowtelling people is crapsack and shitty. Now:

We enter the penultimate scene on Sam’s clearly upset face. He looks like a wife who’s been sitting in thedim kitchen waiting for her deadbeat husband to get home from the bar so shecan scold him. He won’t even turn around to face Dean when he greets him—thoughhe does greet him, asking about the case and acknowledging Missouri’s death.Dean is grim, and even more obviously exhausted than he was at the beginning.He immediately starts with a mean-spirited joke, and we watch Sam’s face whilehe says it:

DEAN: How’s the kid? He go dark side yet?

Sam squeezes his eyes closed in suppressed anger.

SAM: Nope.

He finally turns around, ready to confront Dean. He’sfidgeting with one of the target-markers on the war table, which is relativelyunusual body language for Sam. He also has an interesting slouch, and openposture. He’s not shamefaced, or apologetic—he’s ready to fight.

SAM: He is pretty messed up, though.

Dean responds neutrally. This isn’t a fight, he doesn’tthink, just a statement of fact.

DEAN: You’re telling me.

Sam looks down, and then responds in a tone which is—less antagonisticthan his posture had been, and after he speaks he meets Dean’s eyes directly.His expression isn’t angry, but rather… disappointed.

SAM: No, Dean, he’s messed up because of you.

When Dean looks back, and looks genuinely confused by this,Sam smiles (humorlessly) and his mood shifts closer to anger again. How couldDean not get it, he seems to be thinking, and he slaps the target-marker downon the war table in another slightly aggressive posture.

SAM: Dean… You said you’d kill him.

Dean looks away, understanding where Sam’s upset is comingfrom (perhaps) now. It’s not quite an eye-roll, but that wasn’t quite how thatmoment between him and Jack went. We can guess now that Dean didn’t tell Samthat Jack was stabbing himself and trying to die, because Sam would have askedhow that conversation went. (Of course, it’s possible that Dean did barereporting, but the tone of this next line implies that the conversation betweenDean and Sam about this moment didn’t happen.)

DEAN: It wasn’t exactly like that.

There’s a slight emphasis Dean puts on that, and he’s not angry yet either. He looks back to Sam, andmaybe he was going to explain more, but Sam jumps in with:

SAM: Then how exactly was it?

A line which, while ostensibly calm in tone, is said a) as abit of an interruption, and b) Sam’s sighing through it and giving Dean a look, putting himself on Jack’s siderather than Dean’s. Dean is having a rough… week, let’s put it that way, and hedoesn’t respond well to this. We see immediately that Dean is thinking aboutthat moment from earlier, and he hasn’t had the benefit (unlike the audience)of seeing the patient, slow way Sam is working with Jack, and learning abouthis feelings and personality.

DEAN: I told him the truth. See, you think you can use thisfreak, but I know how this ends, and it ends bad.

The camera here cuts to Jack, listening in, and we’reclearly immediately meant to feel bad for the poor sweetheart. (By the way,thank god they’ve complicated him with a touch of brattiness—if it were allsyrup all the time he’d be unbearable.) That being said—Dean has a long, long history of being right about this stuff, and as theaudience we know that, too. But then—we cut to a different locus of the argument.Sam moves from talking specifically about usinga supernatural power to bring a loved one back to life (something we’veseen them do multiple times and which they tend to agree is a bad idea… exceptwhere their brother is concerned), and changes the conversation to be about this:

SAM: I didn’t.DEAN: What?SAM: I didn’t end bad. When I was the “freak.” When I was drinking demon blood.

Sam says it aggressively, strongly, sharply. Puts obviouspauses between the phrases. Dean immediately discards this, and he’s doing ittruly—it’s not him making a point, he really honestly does not believe thatthese situations are remotely similar.

DEAN: Come on, man, that’s totally different.

Sam is keeping the argument here, though; he’s drawing avery close parallel between himself and Jack.

SAM: Was it? Because you could’ve put a bullet in me. Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but youdidn’t. You saved me. So help me savehim.

We see Dean rejecting this line of argument even as Sam’shalfway through it, though. He doesn’t like this parallel at all and disagreeswith it. Superficially, of course it’s true, but Dean doesn’t buy it, andclearly doesn’t like the implications.

DEAN: You deservedto be saved. He doesn’t.

We cut here to Jack again, looking sad, while Sam insists—

SAM: Yes, he does, Dean, of course he does.

But then we cut back to Dean, and the camerawork here isinteresting. Finally, Dean is making this into a real argument, moving close. Sam is gigantic in the foregroundhere, and Dean is small and looking up and bleeding hurt, and he’s absolutelyrejecting Sam’s parallel-drawing. He remembers where the argument started, andhe’s still having none of it:

DEAN: Look, I know you think that you can use him as somesort of an interdimensional can opener, and that’s fine.

Note: it’s clearly not fine. Sam doesn’t like theaccusation, either, though he did start the day with ‘use’ rather than ‘hugsand kisses’. Anyway—

DEAN: But don’t act like you care about him, because you onlycare about what he can do for you. So, if you want to pretend, that’s fine, butme? I can hardly look at the kid, ‘cause when I do, all I see is everybody we’velost.

Now Dean is raising his voice, reacting from strong hurt.This is still the core of the problem. It’s not hating Jack-as-a-person, it’shating Jack as a function. A subtledifference, but key, I think. Sam responds to the accusation of Jack as responsiblefor the various losses—

SAM: Mom chose totake that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack.

Dean doesn’t disagree, but moves directly to the issue ofactual (possible) culpability, as far as he understands it.

DEAN: And what about Cas? SAM: What about Cas?DEAN: He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said, “paradise on earth,” andCas bought it. And you know what that got him? It got him dead!

Dean’s voice is raised again and there’s a shiver of emotionrunning through it; when we cut to Sam’s coverage (and again, the camera is lowbehind Dean’s shoulder and Sam is massivelooming over him), Sam is grimacing and looking down, not exactly pushing backagainst Dean’s feelings or his point.

DEAN: Now, you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

And then we cut, quickly,between Dean’s wide-open pain, and Sam’s more shuttered expression. Then there’squiet, and we cut to Jack, who seems to be having real feelings about Castielper Kelly’s cheerful inculcation, earlier, and we cut there to the final scene.

…So. A lot is going on, there.You know that, for me, the Sam & Dean relationship is the actual main plotof the show. A lot of crap happens that they have to react against, but italways comes down to these two, for me. As we’ve also discussed, the latterseasons have this general shape: seasons six, seven, and eight are aboutfiguring out where they stand with each other, post-Apocalypse, whichculminates in the ‘marriage’ scene in Sacrifice (even platonically, that was areal promise of devotion); seasons nine and ten are about working through theconsequences of betrayal, and working out how devoted they truly are to this ‘marriage’;seasons eleven and twelve were about the close, mature, real work of making the‘marriage’ function. In seasons eleven and twelve they were honest with eachother, worked through their problems by talking; when there was a secret, theyapologized quickly and forgave quicker, and they had each other’s backs throughthick and thin. It’s remarkable, the level of maturity they’ve reached.

Season thirteen has opened on avery dark time for the Winchester boys, and they’re starting from verydifferent places in dealing with it. Dean is heartbroken; Sam has hope. Sam’shope is pinned to Jack’s power. He wasn’t positive that Castiel was ultimatelydead, as we saw with him questioning Dean twice about that in 13.01; he hasalso mentioned repeatedly that he doesn’t think their mother is dead, thatLucifer might have kept her alive for some reason. (Which he’s right about—really,if anyone knows what Lucifer might do, it’s Sam Winchester.) Dean, in contrast,refuses to believe that Mary is alive and he’s certain that there’s no comingback for Cas. He has clung to that defeat almost as a comfort, a way to keepwalking—getting his hopes up, just to have them dashed, would be even morepainful. He gave up, and we saw it, the second God didn’t answer his prayer.

Sam and Dean disagree a lot, butit’s rare that we get to see a profound disagreement like this which isn’tlocated in a personal place. We sawreal anger between them in season four and season nine. We saw personalbetrayal, dismissal—we’ve even seen them try not to be family, though of coursethat never lasts long. (Might be impossible, considering the soulmate aspect.)This disagreement about Jack is bad, and that was a real fight they had, thereat the end. But the disagreement is still located on Jack, and I think that’s a very important distinction. Sam ismad at Dean for causing Jack pain, but he clearly understands why it’shappening and where it’s coming from. Dean is mad at Sam for trying to keep(what he thinks is) false hope alive and trying to use the supernatural forces,when that always ends bad. But thisisn’t fury. This isn’t personal betrayal. Dean lashed out in a cruel way withthe ‘oh, I guess you just forgot about Cas’ line, but that’s… frankly, veryDean. He lashes out when he’s upset. Sam knows that, and he doesn’t lash back,he’s just… frustrated. A punch isn’t going to be thrown, here.

Put it a different way. In aphysicalized incest world, where they might share a bedroom in the bunker? Noone would be getting any tonight, and there probably wouldn’t even be cuddles.(The horror.) But after this argument, I can still see them going to bedtogether. Sam’s shoulders might be held high and tight, and Dean might have tohave a few beers after his shower before he slips quietly into bed, but they’restill on the same team. They still love each other, and there’s no doubt aboutthat. They’re just mad. They’ll get better. This argument doesn’t make me doubtthat’s true, for a second, and the Winchesters don’t doubt it either—not in theAU where their love is more obvious, and not canonically.

There is an argument to be madethat Dean is coming off poorly, here, specifically because they keep focusingon the woobified aspects of Jack. “Jack is such a sweetie, and Dean is just abig meanie-head.” I can see why people are thinking that. However, I don’tthink it’s true. This episode particularly, with Jack acting a tiny bit bratty,we’re starting to get a more complex view of him. A lot of the work with Jackin the episode focused on choice. Kelly’s little video insists that Jack can bewhatever he chooses to be; that’s contrasted against Sam’s insistence to Jackthat he can be both powerful and good, and Dean’s insistence that the situationwill go wrong and that Jack was always going to be evil. That duality was a strongtheme throughout. Jack threw a tiny bratty tantrum; Jack was surpassingly sweetwhen Sam offered him a helping hand. He doesn’t know what side he’ll fall on,and neither do we, and neither do the Winchesters. They have their opinions,and the fans are developing their own, but it is being left ambiguous which wayit will go—and I love that. The turn comes when Jack thinks about Cas, who maytheoretically be a neutral party—and then the episode’s focus immediately flipsto Cas waking up in the Empty, upon Jack literallyonly vocalizing his name. What kind of fucking power is that, holy cow.

Anyway. Dean’s anger and hurtare real, and we’re shown repeatedly how deeply it’s felt. Is it pretty? No. Isit heroic? No. But it feels real, and it’s why this show is worth watching. Meanwhile,Sam is truly, really trying to help Jack… and he’s also not pretending like hedoesn’t want to use him, which is so deeply in character for Sam that it makesme want to do a little dance. These complexities are why I still come back, andI’m so glad we’re getting them. It’s looking right now like 13.04 will continuethis argument, and this complexity, and I can’t wait. I love that I can loveDean Winchester, and see every tiny bit of where he’s coming from, and stillthink he’s wrong, and still be interested in how the story is unfolding. In alot of ways, this is reminding me of mid-season nine—when we knew that Dean haddone wrong, and we knew exactly whyhe had. I was completely neutral, there, and I’m neutral now. I just want tosee how the story unfolds.

#spn #spn meta #13.03 #in defense of nuance #(only sorta)#(but i do fuckin' love the nuance)#xparrot

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reviewsbyracine · 5 years ago

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I SAW AN EPISODE OF LAW AND ORDER: SVU: “Babes”

With everything crazy happening in the world, it is important that we still depend on the little things that make everything feel right. For me, I know that I can always depend on classic episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit to help me feel at home. There's something strangely soothing about Benson and Stabler working together to solve a sex crime. (And yes, I know that Christopher Meloni left the show nine years ago - as far as I'm concerned, the Stabler episodes are the only episodes that matter.) When it comes to rewatchable episodes of SVU, I always come back to “Babes," a season ten episode. So with nothing better to do, let me tell you why it is possibly the best episode of SVU ever created.

"Babes" starts with our usual fake-out cold open: characters just trying to enjoy a night out before stumbling on a gruesome crime scene and then we never see them again. This time, it's the last diners at a restaurant. Despite holding holding up the kitchen staff from going home, the gentleman on the date asks to order desserts (despite the fact that they seem to be eating salads) and suggests flambé because it's "exciting." The irate waiter tells them that "the only thing that's flaming is the maître d'."

Just then, a man on fire can be seen screaming and waving around just outside the restaurant. Yes, that's right: SVU set a man on fire and made a visual gag out of it. A poor bus boy throws pitchers of water on the man as he collapses dead into the restaurant.

Stabler and Munch arrive at the scene (Benson is at a conference for… some reason) and meet up with M.E. Warner, who shows them that our John Doe is not only charred to a crisp but is also missing his private parts. When Munch asks where the victim came from, Warner tells them with a straight face to "Follow the bloody brick road."

Someone give SVU's joke writer a raise because John Doe's not the only one who's on fire tonight.

Back at the station, Warner rehydrates his fingerprints (what?) and discovers his identity is that of a homeless man named John Galli. They visit Galli's father, played by Michael Badalucco, a man who hates cows more than coppers. Mr. Galli informs them that his son had been targeted by "Street Cleaners," a vigilante group that runs around beating up homeless people and posting videos of their exploits online. Planning a sting to catch the Street Cleaners in action, Tutuola suggests they "introduce them to the laziest, filthiest bum they've ever seen."

Smash cut to: Munch pretending to be a homeless wacko screaming conspiracy theories into the night. No joke, this edit is hilarious.

Anyway, the Street Cleaners run out to beat up Munch and are quickly arrested. The detectives take off the perps' ski masks and one of them is a girl. The music treats this reveal like it is the most shocking thing that could ever happen. Obviously, they didn't kill Galli - SVU always throws a red herring at you in the first ten minutes and this episode is no different.

Returning to the station, Stabler and Munch find a blowtorch that was found at the scene and can be traced back to the science lab at Blessed Heart High School. Their guide at the school is Max, the president of the school's chastity club (remember this for later), who informs them that the only student who has access to the lab after hours is senior Alec Bernardi. Stabler and Munch spot Alec, who immediately looks guilty and tries to escape the cafeteria. Munch tells Alec that he looks like someone lit a fire under his ass.

"Fire?" Alec asks, sweating. "I don't know anything about a fire."

Smooth, Alec, real smooth.

He's got a burn on his hand so it's obviously him. They bring him to the station for interrogation, where Benson returns from her conference just in time for Alec's mother Peggy to burst in. Peggy is played by the incredible Debi Mazar, so even though the episode was cruising along at a comfortable seven or eight, the energy level has now been dialed up to eleven. Alec is proud of mutilating and immolating Galli and reveals that he did it because Galli raped his little sister Tina and got her pregnant.

Benson speaks with Tina, who vehemently denies being raped. However, she is pregnant. Turns out, she seduced Galli to get pregnant on purpose because she and her friends are in… you guessed it… a pregnancy pact! That's right, this episode's ripped-from-the-headlines story is the Gloucester High School pregnancy pact, where a bunch of teenaged girls got pregnant on purpose.

Benson tells the girls that they are stupid. "What's the big deal?" one girl asks. "That vice president lady's daughter is gonna have a baby. Why can't we?"

The pact's ringleader is Fidelia Vidal, who is excited that she and her friends are "totally gonna be the hottest MILFs on the block." Her father, Not-Bobby Canavale, wants Benson to leave because she is scaring Fidelia with some truth talk. Suddenly, her boyfriend bursts in, having just heard the news of her pregnancy - and it's Max, the chastity club president. Oops. Fidelia's baby daddy is not Max but is instead a twenty-two-year-old rapper named Dizzer.

Let's talk about Dizzer. In an otherwise perfect episode of SVU, Dizzer is a straight-up garbage character. Dizzer is a white rapper who works at a place called Skribble Skratch Records. His motto, airbrushed on his shirt, is "reckin' decks 'n' gettin' sex" and he attempts to get a fist bump from Tutuola, calling him a "brother." Again, this guy is white and he is trying way too hard.

Stabler hands him a court order for a DNA test and the detectives leave to let Not-Bobby Canavale know that they're actually getting stuff done this episode and everything's going to be alright. Not-Bobby Canavale goes to Fidelia's room so they can go get the amniocentesis done and make a DNA match, but her door is locked. Stabler shoulders the door open because he's an animal and the parents and detectives are met with a disturbing sight:

Fidelia, dead, having hanged herself on her ceiling fan.

Obviously everyone is distraught and it's a genuinely shocking moment. Not-Bobby Canavale comforts Max, and Michael Badalucco is spotted moping in the crowd to remind us that he is still in this episode. Fidelia's mother lets the detectives know that someone online was calling Felida names like "slut" and "whore." The email address leads them back to Dizzer, but he denies having sent the harassing emails. His alibi is that he was taking part in a threesome in Brooklyn and reminds the detectives of his motto/airbrushed shirt. Tutuola looks ready to punch this man. The detectives take his phone into evidence and thankfully we don't have to deal with Dizzer ever again.

Tech agent Morales proves that the IP address actually came from an internet cafe and holy shit the culprit turns out to be none other than Peggy Bernardi, seen in some seriously unflattering ATM camera angles. Peggy proudly shows off a onesie for her new grandbaby that says "My grandma is a GILF" and high-fives Tina. When Stabler and Munch confront her about her harassing emails, Peggy goes off on a warpath about how Fidelia ruined her kids' lives and kicks the detectives out of her house. ADA Greylek suggests that they hit Peggy with criminal impersonation and reckless endangerment, among other charges, and Munch reminds the group that Peggy only used words against Fidelia and to arrest her would go against the first amendment. Good ol’ Munch, always a voice of reason. Before they have time to commit to what exactly they're arresting Peggy for, word comes in that a mob has formed outside Peggy's apartment, led by Not-Bobby Canavale. Stabler and Munch arrive to rescue-arrest Peggy.

On the stand, Peggy says that sending harassing emails to a hormonal teenaged girl was "just a goof." A large television is presented so that Peggy can awkwardly read her fake-teenage bibble-babble to the courtroom. We get to learn what "OMFG" and "STFU" mean. In her last message to Peggy, Fidelia writes that her "fath is knocking," implying that their conversation was ended because Not-Bobby Canavale was at the door. However, Tina suddenly comes to a realization and informs the courtroom that "FATH" actually stands for "first and true husband" in some dumb chastity club lingo.

Stabler and Munch realize that Fidelia's "FATH" was Max, who comes clean: when he realized that Fidelia had cheated on him and didn't love him, he killed her and faked her suicide. Case closed.

Max and Alec are put away for their crimes and Peggy is let go. ADA Greylick gives Peggy some unnecessary attitude and Peggy goes fully ballistic, strangling Greylek and screaming "I'm a good mother!" Greylek tells Stabler to "collar that bitch for assault" but Stabler sees poor Tina in tears, having witnessed everyone she knows and loves fall apart in front of her. Mr. Galli offers to take Tina in, given that she is pregnant with his grandchild, and promises to help her raise the baby. The episode ends on a rare moment of kindness.

So what makes "Babes" the best episode of Law and Order: SVU? The episode features a lot of "ripped-from-the-headlines" moments, from the Gloucester pregnancy pact to the the suicide of Megan Meier. There are some genuinely funny moments in the episode and the performances are pretty great, especially Debi Mazar. And while Benson isn't featured all that much, it's a pretty heavy Munch episode, and he's always great. The episode starts with a homeless man on fire with his penis chopped off and still somehow finds a way to get more crazy by the end. "Babes" is a season ten episode, which means it's SVU in their bonkers prime, a few seasons before Stabler left but long enough into the show's run for them to feel blindly confident in what they were doing. If you are able to stream this episode, I highly recommend checking it out - it will almost definitely improve your day.

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clevernewdimension · 7 years ago

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Exhaulted Part Seventeen

Parts: Prologue, One, Two, Three (M), Four, Five, Six (M), Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen (Coming Soon!)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Violence, etc.

Pairing: SehunxReaderxMinseok

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: Been kind of hard to write lately with all that’s going on here in the US. So if it seems more rushed/lacking, I’m sorry. Just be kind to others a bit more lately. (Also added a reference to one of exosexo’s vines because they’re fucking GOLD.)

I stand there for a moment, my eyes wide as I remember what I just saw. I didn’t listen in on their conversation because I respect their privacy. I couldn’t help but feel my heart breaking. A lot more than I expected. Minseok told me Sehun loves me though… I know he wouldn’t play a cruel joke like that. I couldn’t help feeling bad about being upset, too, because they both looked really happy.

Sending me to get candy made total sense. How long has this been going on? Did anyone know but me? It’s not my business, truthfully, but I wanted answers. My hands started to shake, the pure intensity of my feelings lately and the stress of it all taking a toll.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, making me jump in terror. I let out a little scream before turning, seeing Yixing standing there.

“I’m so sorry,” He says, holding his hands up. He looked apologetic, a frown on his face. A folder in one of his, probably the paperwork he had to give to Minseok. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At the sound of Yixing and my little scream, Sehun peeked his head out, “Everything ok,” He asks, glancing from Yixing to me. I nod, feeling my face heat up.

“Just… you know… thinking,” I mutter, handing him Minseok’s candy. “Just a lot of shit, you know? I-I should really tell Lina that I’m alright.”

Sehun gives me a curious look. He steps out, crossing his arms with a doubtful expression, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine just, you know, worried and I should really get to Lina and… um, food! Yeah, dinner! I should actually eat some dinner! Glad Minseok is fine and stuff,” I mutter quickly, waving a bit awkwardly before I turn on my heels.

Sehun’s eyes widen, the realization he just had was obvious. He reaches out, “Y/N-”

“Bye, I’m fine, see you later,” I say, quickly walking off as I get to the elevator. The doors open fast, thankfully, and I smash the close door button repeatedly as I hear footsteps follow me. “Come on,” I say, my heart beating fast. I see Sehun just as the doors close, starting its descent. I let out a sigh of relief, happy to know that this conversation wasn’t one I’d have to have right away.

I couldn’t stop the tears that came to my eyes as I was walking out the front door of the hospital. People passing by gave me looks of pity, probably thinking I lost someone. In a way, I suppose I had, but you can’t really lose something you never had. I tried to keep them from falling but to no avail. I put my candy in my back pocket, just walking off from the hospital. The sun was setting, soon the night would come and I’d be somewhere, alone and all by myself. I didn’t want to go back to Sehun’s tonight. I didn’t want to have to live through that conversation right now. I’ll figure it out later, as my feet carry me further. I get bumped into, sometimes getting awful looks, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. Just like they always do when I’m feeling too many feelings at once, my feet carry me. I end up by The Sugared Flower, where I decided to go in, ready to blow all my money on sweets. Sugar can mend a heart, right?

Standing there, talking with Cera was Lina. Cera was in her usual uniform, a bright pink apron over it. Lina was in a nice, black cocktail dress. Her hair up, probably having to go to another one of her family dinners. Cera sees me first, the smile on her face going to a frown. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Lina turns, seeing me. She immediately walks over, taking me into a hug. It was comforting, so much so that the sobbing I’ve been holding back just came out. It’s just too much. Seeing my father yesterday, Daejung today, watching Minseok get hurt and then having my stupid fucking heart broken like that was just too much.

Lina gets me over to one of the cafe tables. I sit down, holding my face in my hands as I just continue crying. “I can’t do this Lin, God, I’m a fucking idiot!”

“Honey no,” Lina says, taking my hands in hers. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t,” I mutter.

This throws Lina for a loop. Her eyes wide, “Why?”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” I say, nodding thanks as Cera places some tissues in front of me. I watch as she smiles before moving and flipping the sign on the door to closed. “The mountain of shit just keeps getting higher and higher. First all this fucking stalking and Daejung shit, then I find out that my father is fucking Song of all people, and now this!”

Cera gasps, but then awkwardly goes back behind the counter.

“And that secret I wasn't supposed to tell,” I say before I blow my nose, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I can’t… Seeing Minseok get beaten like that was awful. And then what happened, and all of that added onto the rest of this shit, and Daejung hit me-”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Lin growls as I clutch her hands as she gets angry.

“But that’s all just small shit! Distraction from him, from my dad! He left me for some bullshit reasons to fend for myself! So many nights I thought about him and hated him as I went hungry! Watching my mother die slowly I thoughts surely he’d have to see her, right? He did! It was just ME he didn’t really want.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me,” Lin asks, looking in my eyes with heartbreak now as she shoves her anger to the side.

“Because more pity is what I want,” I say, laughing ironically. “But he went and saw her and he avoided me like I was a fucking plague! Guess I wasn’t good enough, huh?! Just some poor kid that’s more trouble than they're worth,” I say, tears falling from my eyes nonstop still. “Why did he leave me behind? Why am I not good enough for anyone, Lin?”

Lina scoffs at that question, “More like no one in this fucking town is good enough for you.” She touches my face, smiling sweetly at me, “You’re strong and brave, no one in this fucking world could have gone through what you have. You’re smart, in the top three in the best university in this hemisphere! And somehow, besides all that, you’re still so fucking kind and amazing somehow.” She sighs, “I’m sorry I can’t help, but I respect you a lot for holding the secret. You’ve got integrity, kid! But seriously, your father can go fuck himself! I don’t care if I’m saying that about the acting King!”

I see a large slab of fudge appear in front of me as I glance to Cera. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Darling, I do not mind closing ten minutes early for a friend,” Cera says with a smile.

Lina rubs my shoulder, a frown on her face. “I wish I could help,” She says, her phone chiming as I start to pick off a piece of the fudge, tossing it into my mouth. She takes a glance, before giving me a look.

“What,” I ask, wiping away my tears before turning to blow my nose, trying to get my emotions in order.

“Sehun’s texting me,” She says, as I try to act normally after hearing that. “He’s worried about you. Said you left in a huge hurry and spoke really fast and incoherently.”

“Lin,” I say, trying to hide my face, “It’s been a really shit day. Well, the latter half, anyways… The first part was great.” I was trying to distract from it, not showing how the mention of him made me feel uncomfortable. After having a few moments to let it out, I can collect myself and just lock away things for now. “I’m sorry, you’ve probably been worried about me… my phone was dead.”

“Jongin let me know how you’ve been, and Jongdae before that, since he was there with you before Jongin,” She says with a smile, noticing how I was changing the subject, but let it happen anyway. Lina is very understanding and willing to let something go for a little while until someone is ready to talk about it. I eat a bit more of my fudge, listening to Lina, and later Cera, tell me how their days have been in attempts to distract me.

Lina pats me again, “Come on. I’ll take you back to Sehun’s-”

“I’d rather go to my apartment, so I’ll walk” I cut in, thanking Cera as I go to pay for the fudge.

She shoves me back, to the door, “Nope. You needed a pick me up, sweetie. Besides, all your friend buying you gifts from here has made my business boom!”

I smile at her, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, “I’m happy for that.”

I give Lina a huge hug, “don’t worry about me, ok? I’m just going to get something for dinner, watch some dumb movies and book my tattoo appointment that I’ve been meaning to get when my phone is charged enough.”

She hugs me back, the look on her face shows she’s not entirely convinced, “Listen, Sehun is worried about you, and I can tell for some reason you don’t want to speak with him, but he’s worried about you. Minseok is too, both of them blowing up my phone. So for tonight,” She says, pausing to tap me lightly on the nose. “I’ll tell them to give you space. But you’re going to have to see them. If you need company, I’m sure there’s someone who can be there.”

“I know, Lin, I’m fine-”

She gives me a fairly sharp look, “No. You’re not. I can see through the bullshit this time, Y/N. You’ve never broken down like that in front of me. Ever. And tomorrow, you and I are going to talk. You don’t have to say the secret, but I just want you to let it all out for once.”

I was stunned as she gives my cheek a kiss like she normally does when she’s worried about me. She smiles, “Go get the junkiest food ever tonight and watch just the trashiest, dumbest movies. Or go get laid or something, just something to help with the tension, ok?”

I couldn't help but laugh at the last bit of advice, given that I’ve already done that before the whole shitshow in the courtroom happened. I didn’t feel like doing that again, I’d rather just relax for a while and let my mind sort out some shit.

The walk was quick, and I even stepped into the tattoo place to book the appointment since it was on the way. I got a huge pile of fries and a double bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles, ready to go and watch whatever I could.

When I entered my apartment, the place was clean. Someone had a cleaner come over, and I looked around. A note on the bar in front of the kitchen, along with the photo album.

‘Fairly certain Minsu would have killed me if I knew you lived like this and did nothing. - J.S.’

Holding the card in my hands, I tap it to the counter. I could tell he feels guilty, about abandoning me. He feels guilty, knowing that he could have helped and that I would have kept the secret about who I am. It feels nice for him to be trying, though part of me wants to just roll my eyes. Gifts don’t really make things better. Emotional conversations and working on a relationship does.

Where I once only had a bean bag chair, now was a full living room. Coffee table, couch, reclining chair and the bean bag. The kitchen was stocked again as I open my fridge, food all in it. I go to my bedroom, seeing a new mattress and bed. I smile, nodding. This was going to make moving back here much easier. So maybe a new bed helps thing to get going after all. Helps my back, anyway.

The T.V. in my room was large, and when I turned it on it was 4K, with deluxe cable and even a subscription to a streaming service. I’ve only seen things like this in my friend’s places, so seeing it here was a bit of a mindfuck for a moment.

So, needless to say, I ate in my bed, watching stupid comedy movies without a care in the world. At eleven, there was a knock on my door. I figured Lina sent someone to come and check on me. I open the door, peeking out.

The door then bursts open, making me stumble as Chanyeol and Baekhyun shuffle in. Chanyeol holding a variety of thing, while Baekhyun held a big stuffed animal. It was the cutest otter, as he shoves it in my hands.

“Um,” I mutter, looking at them, “Why?”

“We’re the ‘Turn That Frown Upside Down Squad’,” Baekhyun says with a smile as Chanyeol sets the basket of things on the bar.

“T.T. FUDS!,” Chanyeol yells, loudly as he grins.

Baekhyun goes to the basket, “We got face masks, we have manicure things, we have ice cream-”

“Popcorn, candy, and games,” Chanyeol cuts in, grinning wildly as he pulls me into a hug.

“We’re here for all your happiness needs,” Baekhyun says, hugging me too. “We have everything,” He says, rather loudly in my ear, “Drinks for if you’re thirsty-”

“We can also help with the other kind of thirsty if you want,” Chanyeol says, winking as he pulled away. “Here with T.T. FUDS, we’re here to help you in any way we can!”

I stand there, looking at them both as they hold out their arms in a grand display. I couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out, starting to laugh hysterically. I rested against the bar, giggling so hard that I was crying. So, this is who Lina sends when someone is sad, hm?”

Through my giggling, they pull me into my room, as we sit there and finish the movie I was watching. It was nice. I sat there, watching a movie as they both got out the stuff for a manicure and a face mask. Baekhyun places a mask on me, putting one on himself too.

“What color you want,” Chanyeol asks, smiling and eating a few of my leftover fries.

“Purple,” I mutter, feeling kind of weird being pampered. They paint in silence for a bit, letting me relax and think.

Baekhyun got out the multitude of purples, making me pick one out. I picked the dark one and they both got to work. I sigh, laying back and looking at the ceiling. The memory of Sehun and Minseok kissing couldn’t leave my mind.

“Do you think you can love more than one person,” I ask, throwing caution to the wind. Might as well see what they had to say.

Baekhyun just smiles, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Y/N, we’re flattered, really-”

I hit him lightly with my other hand, making sure not to mess with the wet polish.

Chanyeol doesn’t even stop painting my toes for a second as if it was the most usual question someone has ever asked him. “Yes,” He says, smiling brightly.

“Do you love two people, Y/N,” Baekhyun asks, smirking. “Because you know if you do I’d love to know who has stolen your heart!”

“You don’t think it's weird,” I ask, thinking. Perhaps Sehun does love me, like Minseok says, but also likes Sehun too? “I’m not talking about me-”

“If you say so,” Baekhyun mutters, shaking his head.

“What’s with that? The ‘If you say so’ bullshit,” I ask as Baekhyun finishes my fingers.

Baekhyun and Chanyeol sharing a look. Chanyeol gestures to Baekhyun, who sighs. “It’s no secret that Sehun loves you, and it’s also no secret that Minseok is feeling the same for you,” Baekhyun says, nodding.

I sigh, hearing that, looking away.

“But we know… other things,” Chanyeol says. A glance from Baekhyun makes him turn back to painting the last two toes.

“You care for them both, very deeply,” Baekhyun says, “Now. Are you asking because you think one or both of them love someone else, or because you feel the same about them both?”

The night with Chanyeol and Baekhyun was nice, after the conversations. More junk food, bad movies and just overall a lot of laughs. They left after a bit, hugging me and telling me not to worry. I, finally, was alone with myself and my thoughts. I couldn’t sleep because of it. Anytime my eyes closed, I see Daejung, felt like I was in the courtroom and heard Minseok’s screams. I spent most of the night looking at pictures of my mom, just trying to keep my mind off of things.

I’ve never been good at that, honestly. When I feel overloaded I just overthink things. My mind is just a beehive that won’t stop going around and around in circles. My mind, while my greatest weapon, was also a curse a lot of the time. At least I’m not doing that and going hungry at the same time anymore.

At four in the morning, I couldn’t stand being alone with myself cooped up in my apartment anymore. I grabbed my keys and my phone, not bothering to put on any other clothes other than a bra and a hoodie. Slipping on shoes, I leave my home. At four in the morning, there was barely anyone out. A few people leaving for their home after a night out, some starting early preparations for work.

It was quiet as I walked down the street. In a way it was nice, being awake before the city woke up. Peaceful, even. Some people up getting ready for the morning rush, but overall there was really no one. Some food stalls and trucks selling food, mostly too drunk and exhausted party or club goers.

Soon enough, I found myself at the beach. I sit on a bench right before the sand starts and I just stare out at the water. People fishing already out and leaving for the sea. This time alone giving me time to think some more. My thoughts know nothing except circles and the constant spinning of them lately.

How do I feel about Minseok? He protects me, cares for me and is kind. He was so hurt when he thought he took advantage of me. The time I spent with him at his place was lovely, and I could honestly have felt like I could have stayed there forever. The way he reacted to when I was in the courtroom, too. He begged me to not be there, to leave and look away. I stood up to Daejung without any fear for him. Most importantly, I admire his want and need to help others. He just wants justice to be just.

But there’s a way Sehun understands me that no one else does or likely ever will. He let me see him at his most vulnerable, and I did the same. I know the truth that no one does, not yet, anyway. If the relationship between him and Minseok has been going on, that means he hasn’t even told him. When he said he wouldn’t tell anyone, I believe him. He trusts me deeply, and I trust him too. He’s been there when I needed someone. Sehun always protects me first, standing immediately and ready to do anything.

Being next to Sehun makes me feel like I’m not broken. That just because those things happened to me doesn’t make me worse or like I’m beneath anyone. Being next to Minseok makes me feel stronger. His belief in my strength showed when it mattered most.

Today was oddly cold, even as the sun started to peek out from the horizon. The sky turning brilliants purples, pinks and oranges. The city behind me started to wake up, the sounds of cars and traffic echoing all around.

As the sun fully comes above the sea, my feelings became clear. Baekhyun’s words made much more sense. I love them both. For different reasons, but over all, because they are both good and kind.

I don’t want to hurt them, though. I’m not worried about them hurting me in the slightest really. Pain is familiar. It hard, sure, but I'm used to it and can even sort of thrive in it like I’ve done for years. It’ll hurt and I’ll cry, but that’s just what happens. I know pain and moving on and forward past it. Despite it.

Happiness and love are what I don’t know. I know the love of family from my mother, but romantic love is something I thought didn’t really exist after Daejung. He never really loved me, and I don’t think I loved him either. I was just surprised that someone like him was taking an interest in me. I’ve been ignored for ages and, besides Lina, no man ever cared about me because I don’t offer power or money.

A lot of relationships here in the capital are not from love but about what they can gain. What can be gained from this union? Just a few months ago a CEO’s son married the daughter of the police captain. In return for taking his daughter away, he promised to cease all investigations into his company. He hated his daughter because she dared to have her own thoughts. Lina told me about it since her family went. Thankfully it seems like the daughter and the son are great friends, so it isn’t the worst thing to happen.

Marrying for love was mostly a notion for the lower classes. We don’t have anything to gain, really, from marriage. The only notable people who married for love were the Queen, Acting King Song, and, in the future, the princes. Everyone else sees it as a business deal, like centuries ago. Technology advances so far and yet people can be often stuck in the past.

My stomach lurches, growling loudly. The sun was up and the city was bustling with life now. I feel something touch my shoulder. I jump at the touch before whipping my head quickly to see what it was. I turn just in time to see Jongdae hopping over the back of the chair. I feel some else sit down at my right, and I turn to see Jongin.

Jongin frowns, touching my chin lightly, “You have a small bruise.”

I shrug, “Well, Daejung did slap the hell out of me.”

Jongdae hands me a paper bag, “Breakfast. We saw you sitting here after getting a bite ourselves and figured we’d see if you’re alright.”

I smile, “Thanks.” I quickly open the bag, getting the breakfast burrito out and starting to eat it quickly.

Jongdae laughs, “Someone was hungry!”

I just nod, eating more as I look out at the ocean again. “How did you know I was here,” I ask between bites.

“We didn-” Jongdae starts.

“Lina told us,” Jongin says, cutting his cousin off. Jongdae reaches back, lightly slapping the back of Jongin’s head. “What was that for?”

“For telling her that, idiot,” Jongdae yells, making me wince and over my ear. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine. And I’m not mad, Lina knows me very well.”

“Good thing too, because you weren’t answering your phone,” Jongin says as I finish off the first burrito.

With my mouth still full, I say, “I probably should have taken it off of silent.”

Jongdae laughs, putting an arm around my shoulders, “Yes, that would help, you know! We’ve been trying to find you since five! Minseok needs proof of what Daejung did to you. He needs permission for your medical records and anything else.”

I bite my lips, pausing for a moment. “Alright.”

“He would have told you himself, but apparently he thought it was best to leave you be for a while,” Jongin says, picking off a bit of the tortilla and eating it. “I asked Sehun to come with me, since, you know, you and him kind of get one another, but he said no.”

“Strange,” Jongdae mutters, “Since, you know, normally he has no problem helping people with things like this.”

“ESPECIALLY since it’s you,” Jongin adds, as they both give me a look of curiosity.

“Perhaps he was helping Minseok at the hospital,” I say, eating the last of the breakfast they bought for me.

Jongin shakes his head, “Minseok went from the hospital straight back to the courthouse to start working. Junmyeon just pulled him away from his work so he can go shower. Have to get dressed to the nines so the announcement can be made and let the country know that Kim Minseok is now the royal lawyer. Or look as good as you can with a black eye, really.”

“I swear,” Jongdae says, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “He’s determined to overwork himself to an early grave.”

I just smile a little, “Minseok is very serious about promises, you both know that. He promised Sehun and me something. He doesn’t back down from promises.” I stand stretching a bit, “Alright, let me go back and take a shower and get dressed really quickly.”

Jongdae pulls his keys out from his pocket, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

The ride to my place was quick. I bid them goodbye before I got dressed as quick as possible. My usual shorts and shirt with no sleeves combo, with a hoodie on for comfort. Minseok complained a bit in a huge group text that the courthouse is ‘the coldest place on the planet, both physically and metaphorically’.

In the kitchen is a loose floorboard. I hid all the pictures and videos that Daejung took of himself hurting me and hid it there. If you didn’t know it was there, you would never have known. The black bag felt heavier than it was as I took it with me. I placed it in a backpack before heading to the courthouse. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk until I was there, opening the door. The receptionist there greeted me and said I was expected and that I could go right into the Royal Lawyer’s office.

Now, Minseok’s office.

With one hand on the knob, I take a deep break before knocking. A moment to collect myself before I heard his voice.

“Come in.”

I open the door, seeing Yixing there alongside Minseok and Junmyeon. Minseok was at the computer, working while the other two were taking everything of the previous Royal Lawyer’s things and placing them in boxes.

Minseok looks up from the top of his glasses. He smiles, at first, before the expression shifts. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Hello, Y.N.”

“Hi,” I say, before walking over and sitting on the chair in front of the desk. I slip the backpack off, taking the black bag out of it. I sign, placing in on the table in front of him.

Minseok grabs a clipboard, handing it to me. “This is to give us permission to have it and to say we didn’t take it from you. Also, the paper to give us access to your medical records is there, it’s the top one.”

I sign the paper, taking it and handing it to Minseok, who simply just slides it to Yixing. “Can you file this at the hospital for me when you leave? Tell them that it’s urgent, and I’d request it be sent to me as soon as it possibly can.”

Junmyeon tosses a picture of the Royal Lawyer in the box. It was him and Daejung’s family at a vineyard. The sound of glass crashing was loud and piercing. “Oops,” He mutters sarcastically, a smile on his face.

“Minseok, please decorate this place better than a wannabe villain lair,” Yixing says taking the paper and folding it neatly into thirds. “It’s so dark and gloomy…”

“Going to be a bit busy for a bit,” Minseok mutters, pushing his bangs out the way as he keeps typing.

I quickly finish the paperwork, setting the clipboard down. “There you go,” I say, biting my lip, “Um… yeah.”

Minseok slides to the left with his chair, looking at me. His hand takes the bag, before nodding. “Some people will have to see these. A jury, his lawyer, some other people. You’re fine with this, right? I want him in jail badly for what he did, but it has to be done the right way.”

I nod, “Yeah. I’m fine with that. Just… when it’s all done and it get’s locked up with other evidence, make sure I never have to see this bag again.”

Minseok smiles, “I swear, Y/N. Never again.” His eyes kind as he takes my hand, giving it small pats. I nod, knowing he’s a man of his word.

The door bursts open, revealing Jihae’s lawyer. His hair slicked back and an expensive suit on, the same one from yesterday.

“There is a thing called knocking,” Junmyeon says, giving him a glare. “Next time, I expect you remember. Royal Lawyers should be respected.” His tone of voice was harsh and cold, in a way I’ve never heard him speak before. His body tense as he glares at the man.

His eyes meet Junmyeon’s, the smile faltering for a second at the presence of the crown prince. Looking away, he takes a moment to collect himself. He then turns and smiles, placing a paper on Minseok’s desk. “My client agrees to turn on Daejung and the previous Royal Lawyer, Park Jungil. She also is willing to tell you every corrupt person she’s ever had contact with within the government, but she wants certain terms met.”

Minseok’s kind glances he’s been giving me turn to stone as he stands, taking the paper, “I suppose we couldn’t expect her to do anything out the kindness of her cold, black heart, hm? She’s willing to turn on them as well as other people she knows and has proof that has taken bribes and have blackmailed others,” He says, summarizing the paper. “I’ll bite. How many are we talking?”

“Over three hundred,” The lawyer says. Yixing lets out a small gasp, and I realize I did the same. That’s a large number of people. “And she’s willing to turn them all in for probation and… well… the special demand of outing Y/N as officially a princess.”

Minseok glares at him. Junmyeon stops what he’s doing, looking back at the lawyer. Yixing places a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. “Forget that!”

“She won’t budge on it, trust me, I tried,” The lawyer mutters. He looked tired, stressed and like he’s wanted to rip out his hair arguing with her on this.

“I can’t just let her blackmail someone,” Minseok says, shaking his head.

I bite my lip before looking at Minseok, “Minnie, it’s three hundred people. It could lead to more! You want to get the traitors out, this is the best chance you have.”

He looks at me, “But you don’t want to be a princess.”

I nod. I don’t. I don’t want to have to be a certain way, prim and proper. A doll to be paraded and used for political gain. I was willing to, though, if it leads to cutting out a large portion of the rotten core of this country. I nod. “I can be one officially for a little while until the trial is over and then I can renounce the title,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re sacrificing so much to help me, it is the least I can do.”

Minseok looks at me, his eyes full of worry. He tries to keep a professional look about him, but he was struggling. “Are you sure,” He asks quietly. “You’re just giving her what she wants. She wants to ruin you and she knows that the best way to do that is to force you to be what you’re not.”

I nod, “Minseok… I can’t just sit here and live with myself if I knew there was something I could do to help the people like me who have suffered because of people like them and I didn’t.”

Junmyeon looks at me, “Royalty isn’t as cracked up as everyone thinks.”

“I know, but I have to do something, right?” I smile, patting Yixing’s hand that was on my shoulder lightly, “Besides, I have friends who will help me if I need it, who will make sure I don’t completely fall apart.”

Minseok sighs, setting the paperwork down. “Then I’m going to make this and anyone connected to its top priority. That way, you don’t have to suffer for very long.” He gives me a sad look, “That means your’s and Sehun’s cases will need to be put on hold unless they’re connected to all of this somehow.”

I nod, “Don’t worry about that. You worry about getting those assholes and making them fucking pay.”

A genuine laugh leaves his mouth, and for a moment I forget all of the weight that was going to be put on my shoulders. “Cursing isn’t princess like,” He jokes, a sad smile on his face. “Alright. Let’s get started, then.”

#exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #exo imagine #exo fanfic #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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