#i know its not an excuse for the consistent abuse she still puts me through. i know this. i know i shouldn't feel guilty for my feelings. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madnessandentropy · 6 months

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Catra's Abuse of Adora Has No Excuse

I know this is an old series. I know a lot of people don't believe in talking negatively about shows that have already ended and that it doesn't matter anymore.

But it matters to me.

Because spop has framed the abuse victim in this story as the idiot and the one in the wrong, the one who should've just stayed with her abuser and never "left" her, while the abuser gets off scott free and likely continues her actions.

Victim blaming very and real and prevalent, forgiving or defending abusers in real life is very real and prevalent.

This is an important thing to call out and discuss because what you put in your creations affects reality.

Spop IS a kids show, and kids often accept what they're exposed to as the norm or as something to copy. You can't just sweep it under the rug, saying it's just a show.

So that's why I want to talk about Catra and why all the trauma in the world does not sxcuse abusing your partner, or at the very least should not frame your partner as the one in the wrong for wanting to leave you.

Okay.

Catra is a character adored and worshipped by the fandom and defended with cult-like ferocity and obsession (death threats, gaslighting, doxxing, bullying, etc).

Many of her actions are actively ignored and excused by the fans and writiers, especially the main thing about Catra:

Her blatant abuse of Adora

I can hear the cries of outrage now

"You're just homophobic! Of course you criticise the queer couple! You just hate Catra! Catra is a victim of a abuse! They're in a war! Catra said sorry! But Catra loves Adora! You don't know what abuse is!"

And then they write an essay about Catra's sad backstory

In response to this I would like to quote one of my favourite B99 characters Jake Peralta:

Or in this case:

"Cool backstory, still abuse"

I really like Catra.

She's a cool character and an excellent villain. She has a very interesting and complicated psyche, a result of growing up in the Horde. A toxic, abusive environment that gave her attachment issues and likely ptsd and other problems. She lashes out because of her trauma, she is aggressive and rude so that she isn't vulnerable, to avoid being hurt.

There are many reasons for her actions, but it does not excuse them even if the narrative does.

Expecially her actions towards Adora, the person's she supposed to have loved all this time.

As I've said in another post, most abuse in media isn't very subtle because people still don't really take subtle abuse that seriously and often blame the victims. (Which is a whole other kettle of fish)

Not subtle abuse in media often consists of the following:

•Screaming or yelling at your partner, tearing apart their self esteem or threatening them

•Gaslighting/guiltripping them*

•Hitting them or physically assaulting them in any way

•Trying to kill them

•The victim is immensely afraid of/distressed by their abuser

*Note for this: it can depend on the depiction because its either abusive and in your face or romantic and just trying to help you depending on the story and writer

It astounds me to see Catra has done every single one of this things to Adora, and both the fandom and the writers excuse it or say "it isn't abuse, actually"

I'm gonna go through each bullet point and discuss how Catra does these things, mention excuses fans make up for it and point out their errors

Let's go

•Screaming and yelling at your partner, tearing apart their self esteem and threatening them

Catra is not someone who screams her throat raw, but she does yell when she lashes out and does so often at Adora.

She's constantly insulting her intelligence, making her doubt herself, telling her nothing she does matters, calling her weak and demeaning her.

She rips into her and treats her like trash beneath her heel when they were in the fake reality.

Again, we often see Adora repeating a similar rhetoric, believing what Catra and SW say fully or sometimes starting to believe it.

DURING her confession, Catra calla Adora an idiot. While Adora is basically dying, in this crucial moment for both of them, she resorts to insulting her intelligence.

"But her feelings were so obvious and Adora didn't notice!"

Let me tell you, spop has a massive tell don't show problem. This defence could've easily been true IF the writers bothered with evem something small like Catra hesitating to harm Adora or treating her with more care when fighting than with her other enemies, or at the very least treating her kindly.

They have done none of that. Instead they had other characters (E.g Horde Prime) talk about how much she cares for Adora and how strong her emotions are for her.

Literally the only way anyone could've known Catra loved Adora is through these characters giving exposition.

Adora is not an idiot for not realising Catra loved her, because Catra's actions do not show love or even an ounce of basic respect.

Making Adora doubt her intelligence and abilities is not love. Mocking Adora the way she does is not love. Torturing Adora is not love.

Telling Adora that she was a mistake and that "none if this would've happened if you didn't come through that portal" is not love.

Nothing she does to Adora is an act of love.

And also, not being very good at deciphering or recognising emotions that are "obvious" does not make you stupid, jfc

"Catra just says those things because she's angry, she doesn't mean them!"

It doesn't matter if she's angry and doesn't mean what she said. She says it. And there's never a scene were she regrets her words.

Her anger is a reason, not an excuse. That behaviour is not okay.

•Gaslighting/guiltripping them

Catra often likes to talk about Adora abandoned her, how Adora kept leaving her alone, and the show shifts to frame this as true and paints Adora in the wrong.

In Season 5 she's asks Adora "Please, just this once, stay?" After Catra herself being the one to run away, to make Adora feel guilty for the very much correct actions she took previously.

Adora refused to return to the Horde which was committing mass genocide and destroying everything in its path and painted as the bad guy for doing this.

Adora told Catra what they were doing. Begged Catra to come with her so they could start a new life. Throughout the series she is giving Catra chance after chance and trying her best to stay with her.

Every time, Catra has been doing the leaving.

Running away, abandoning Adora in the temple, vanishing in a blast or puff of smoke when it covers her.

She does the leaving, and she convinces Adora that it is in fact Adora leaving, and that she is bad person/friend for wanting nothing to do with the Horde.

The portal reality is the worst for me.

Adora is distressed and afraid, feeling like she's losing her mind and that something is wrong with her.

Catra, fully knowing the truth, gaslights her by saying she's crazy and just seeing things. And also is insults her intelligence yet again.

Making Adora doubt her own intelligence is also a form of manipulation and gaslighting.

Blaming Adora for everything that happened in the fake reality is gaslighting.

"But Adora DID leave Catra!"

Yeah. At the beginning after learning the Horde was committing mass genocide and after Catra tazed her twice. Refusing to go back. She was fully in the right. She apologised later and tried to get Catra to join her, so they could both continue being together. But Catra left her over and over again after that.

"The portal reality made Catra happy! It helped her cope with her trauma! She was having a mental breakdown!"

Hmm let me see isn't allowing your partner to continously be distressed and afraid and gaslighting them so you can be happy idk... selfish and abusive?

Yep she was having a break down. She was still in full control of her actions, and no trauma makes that okay in any way

•Hitting them or physically assaulting them in any way

Literally something Catra has done since they were children.

I can forgive the times they were small, because they don't know better and are abused children. But from episode one before Adora even left the Fright Zone Catra was pulling her around by the hair shoving her and over all being very aggressive.

After Adora leaves the Horde Catra: tazes her, tears at her skin with claws that can cut through metal, leaves her with scars, tortures her, kicks her and so much more.

Over and over again. Without a single sign of remorse.

"They were in a war!"

Yeah. Emphasis on the "they". Adora was in that war too. She was always worried for Catra, actively holding back, trying not to hurt too badly, treating her with respect.

Catra did none of that. She didn't even bother to show the slightest remorse or hesitate one second before clawing at her back and face.

Catra, in fact, is less violent with the sort of strangers that are Bow and Glimmer. She tackles Bow to the ground and hisses at him, that's it. Adora? Tearing at her skin, kicking her in the back, grabbing her by the face, torturing her, etc

War is not an excuse

"Catra's backstory! It's how they were raised! She's a victim of abuse copying her abuser because she doesn't know any better! She's lashing out!"

Cool backstory, still abuse.

Okay. She's lashing out. Doesn't excuse it. She is still actively harming Adora, and if she really can't control herself or see the wrong in it like some people claim, then that only supports the fact she is NOT good for Adora.

•Trying to kill them

The portal.

Catra knew what was going to happen.

She knew what she was going to cause.

She looked Adora dead in the eyes and pulled the switch anyways.

She didn't care as long as Adora lost. She is willing to let Adora die in order to win.

"But Catra wanted to die too!"

Okay. That doesn't matter. That doesn't justify anything. Being suicidal does not justify attempted murder.

"But (any excuse)!"

I honest to god do not care.

Just like Adora said:

"I didn't make you pull the switch. You made your choice. Now live with it!"

There is NO conceivable way for Catra knowingly doing what she did just so Adora didn't win to be okay.

She tried to kill the woman she supposedly loved.

That is not excusable.

That is not love.

And what's worse is after Adora begins to accept that Catra will not change and that trying to be peaceful will not work. Being together again is a dream. And the show rips that away.

•The victim is immensely afraid of/distressed by their abuser

Adora is absolutely terrified of Catra, or at the very least a bit afraid of her.

Every time Catra grabs Adora by the face or pins her down, Adora's eyes are wide with fear or at the very least immense discomfort.

In Roll With It, Adora is incredibly distressed and works herself into a complete state because nobody is considering what Catra will do.

"But Adora just wants to see Catra! She's thinking about her obsessively like this, it's a sign of her feelings!"

Adora knows what Catra is capable of. She knows what will happen to them if they aren't prepared. Planning out every possible option because of what could happen is not a sign of her feelings. It's a sign that she knows Catra will show no mercy, and she does not want the mission to fail or her friends to get hurt.

While Catra isn't directly present here, this is all because of her actions. Actions that have a reason, but not an excuse.

It is not healthy or romantic for your love interest to be afraid of you.

Moving on

At the end of the portal incident, Adora stared at Catra with cold eyes that clearly said "You've crossed a line"

It is here that many critics agrees that it's a bit late for Catra to have a redemption, because this truly was above anything else she had ever done.

This was where they could have had Adora move on from Catra and begin unlearning all the negative things Catra and others have embedded in her psyche.

If they did manage to do Catra's redemption right, whether during S5 or before it, I think it would've been best for the two of them to separate. It's made clear with how being away from the Horde and Adora made Catra happier when she was in the Crimson Waste.

I don't think either of then should've been in romantic relationships at all. Horde soldiers don't even know what proper food is, they've never heard of basic things like parties and the like.

I think it would've been better for them to slowly heal in their own time, Adora being happy with her newfound friends and learning the ways of Etheria and Catra staying in the Crimson Waste or somewhere else.

Romance should've been something to come to them when they've both matured and healed, and with different people.

Spop had the perfect opportunity to show that even if an abuser has trauma it is still abuse and it is not selfish to walk away.

It doesn't how sorry they are, it doesn't matter how much they claimed to have changed.

You are not obligated to be with them.

You are not obligated to be their punching bag just so they can be happy.

But spop didn't take that opportunity.

Instead this behaviour is excused or romanticised.

And the fact that the creator says this is based off his own relationship makes me deeply concerned.

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and that this wasn't too much of a mess! If you disagree with me, feel free to give your reasons and I will happily discuss with you. If you're just going to call me a homophobe and throw a fit and start fights, you can screw off

Tagging: @spop-romanticizes-abuse

#spop critisism #spop critical #anti spop #anti catradora

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

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Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

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

This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

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It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Masterlist 2

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phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust · 3 years

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It annoys me when people complain about Julian and call him “whiny “. The person that John hurt the most throughout his whole life is his own son! I feel like this gets glossed over because he was more attentive to Sean “At least he was a good father to one of his children”. John failed Julian massively. Having Sean should’ve motivated him to try harder with Julian but I feel like it demotivated him because he realised how much of Julian’s life he missed and that made him feel bad about himself. Even in May’s book she says that John would’ve avoided Julian for the rest of his life to avoid feeling bad about himself & the choices he made with his life. And even when he got his visa he was happy to fly to other countries but not the country containing his son! I mean c’mon that’s very shitty and inexcusable. People can’t relate to John’s callous treatment of Julian so it’s downplayed and undermined by the excuse of “Oh well, John was better with Sean”. I know John appeared more motivated towards the end but doesn’t absolve him of the damage and pain he already caused to his son.

I try to understand John’s neglect of Julian from his perspective - I don’t want to excuse or justify it, but I still want to know what was going through his head to make him treat Julian the way he did - but I just can’t really understand it in the same way I feel like I can empathise with a lot of John’s other flaws. Like I feel like I can understand Johns mistreatment of certain people, or his mood swings, or his anger etc. But when it comes to Julian I struggle to understand him, and I just think its such a shame that Julian never got the closure he deserved with John. But I guess a few things to keep in mind when discussing this are:

1. Alfs abandonment

That Johns father, Alfred, abandoned him at such a young age, this might have affected John in such a way that made connecting with children a real challenge. Of course, he ideally still would’ve made an effort to connect with Julian more - but I guess that this was 1963, and he was someone who at this point had had absolutely no therapy. John’s own father I think was placed in an orphanage around the age of 5, so this neglect and abandonment appeared to be a bit of a cycle within the Lennon family-tree. Alf didn’t develop the neurones to be able to connect with his son the way a father ideally should be able to, and therefore John had trouble forming these connections too.

A real tragic story regarding this disconnect is one that ive heard Paul tell a few times (see this interview at 6:24 to hear him tell it). He essentially compares his ability to just naturally connect with children, to John’s inability to do the same; Paul grew up in a household where children and babies alike were around all the time - and in addition to this, there seemed to have been a lot more affection involved in his early environment compared to Johns. So when Paul was able to pal around at ease with Julian, John asked “How do you do that?” - and its unfortunately just not something you can just learn. I think John did want to be able to relate to Julian, and a part of him wanted to be a real dad - but I guess he just lacked the initiative to do so, as well as not having the needed facilities provided for him to be able to function as “good” parent (< or in other words, that man needed alottttttttt of therapy omg—)

2. Aunt Mimi’s coldness

I think by now its sort of been established that im not Mimi’s no. 1 fan - I don’t hate her, and I think she genuinely loved John, but ive been pretty critical of what I perceive her parenting style to be like. One aspect of this parenting style is that I think she was cold and deprecating towards John, which I presume took a toll on his relationships in such a way that made him susceptible to cynicism and even bitter contempt towards those he loved most.

“She never hit him: her worst punishment was to ignore him…When she did, he’d plead, ‘Don’t ‘nore me, Mimi!’” - I think that this type of parenting style could have effected the way John relates to Julian, perhaps making him feel it was okay to abandon him, maybe as a result of some unrecognised childhood angst or revenge.

Theres also a story where I think John said something to Julian a long the lines of, “I hate your laugh!”. Like, Jules was just some four year old living his life and then John, his own father, had this massive fucking mood swing. I feel bad for Julian cause my parents were like this (had random fucking mood swings and said some pretty contemptuous things) so I can empathise with him. At the same time though, I feel like I can understand John getting these mood swings (although, I don’t think that showing that kind of contempt towards a child is at all acceptable, and assuming that this sort of thing was a regular occurrence, I would say he was emotionally abusive towards Julian. Maybe John got these mood swings from Mimi (check this post for more on that).

3. Yoko’s influence and isolation

I think we first have to take into account here that John had a history of neglecting and failing Julian, and from what im aware of, he only started making contact with him again during his ‘Lost Weekend’ after being encouraged to do so by May Pang. So I don’t think we can make Yoko take all the blame for Johns neglect of Julian (and certainly not his emotional abuse towards Julian). But I think we have to also account for the fact that Julian has stated Yoko would refuse to put him through when he would ring his dad. And I just don’t know how much John had to do with that - as in, I don’t if John knew Yoko was isolating him to the extent that she did, or if he was unaware that she was rejecting several important and significant figures in his life.

For what its worth, Julia Baird wrote in her memoir of John urging (or really, begging) her to go to Cynthias house and ask Julian to phone him, because he hadn’t been able to get through to Julian, and he was trying to construct a better relationship with him around this time (this was before Sean was born, like you said, he seemed to lose motivation with Julian after Sean was born). I don’t know why Julian wasn’t taking his calls around this time - John seemed to think it had something to do with Cynthia, perhaps it was an autonomous decision made by Julian, perhaps it was entirely just a misunderstanding; I don’t know.

When it comes to Yoko, im conflicted - to some extent, I think John was being manipulated by her, and she was clearly isolating (even abusing) him - but also, he’s a grown man, and so he had to take the initiative for his own life. So I don’t know, but id say she is still partly responsible for spoiling Johns relationship with Julian.

~ ~ ~

At the end of the day, all I can really say is that John was just a classic case of parents needing therapy before they start, y’know, parenting - but it was 1963, and thats just not something most people underwent back then, especially people with more complex and unrecognised traumas, as well as mental illnesses that, whilst prevalent, may not have been so apparent. To clarify that point, I think John could function well-enough in his day to day life to be able to get by, because I don’t think his traits of mental illness tended to disrupt his life to such a degree that he could not function (at least not in 1963, though in later years, id argue more so they did; but even still, I don’t think John tended to struggle with mania or psychosis etc.) But I think he was still dealing with mental illness in a way that wrecked almost all meaningful relationships for him, as well as made feeling love and functioning as an emotionally stable and consistent person, a real hardship and challenge for him. And this inability to feel loved and cared for etc. made being a parent, quite simply, impractical. He needed therapy, and its a shame he died before ever receiving real therapy because it would’ve been interesting to see how John might have come to terms with really acknowledging his failures as a parent, and because Julian might have gotten some real closure with his dad.

All in all, I think Phillip Larkin said it best

#sorry this took a minute #these aren’t all my thoughts on John and Julians relationship btw #i have MANYYY more obviously #but these are just 3 things to consider i guess #asks #anon #discussion #julian #abuse #john lennon #john #johns psyche #alfred lennon #bpd #cynthia lennon #cynthia powell #paul mccartney #julian lennon #complex relationships

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

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At the End of Your Rope (Jeff the Killer X F!Reader)

At the End of Your Rope

[Jeff the Killer X F!Reader]

[Warnings: heavy domestic abuse, violence, murder (not heavily described though), language]

[AN: This one's kinda heavy in some places. Take care of yourself first and foremost.]

It was rare that you had moments to yourself and even rarer when you found yourself enjoying those moments. Usually, you were tense, on edge, bitey and waiting to snap or invert back into yourself. That is what it does to you. It takes away, it destroys and it saps you of all your energy, your drive and your will.

No matter, that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about. You hum softly as you do the dishes, wondering how long this set of plates will last until he returns. You scrub hard at the bits still stuck to it, wondering how on earth he even managed to get this much filth plastered onto its surface - you made the meal, served it to him, you even took it back to the sink. Was he trying to key you off?

You took in a deep breath and scratched at its surface, only smiling softly when the piece finally dislodged from the blue floral design. You ran it under the sink, lukewarm water feeling alien against your skin as you continued to mindlessly rinse off the suds. As you began to stare off into space and by extension, the void, you found yourself remembering the times he used to bring you blue flowers at the beginning of every date.

A long time ago, when you were starry eyed about the world around you, he loved you deeply and truly. And it was the most strange of couplings, but they do say that opposites attract.

Last class of the day, what a relief. What wasn’t a relief was that it was chemistry. You’d never been particularly good at the subject, but you would often try your hardest and so far, throughout the year, had managed to coast by with a -B. It wasn’t perfect but it was good enough.

For the people around you who knew you better than that, they were more than surprised you hadn’t managed an A in the class just yet. You were the over achiever, the smart girl, the one who knew it all. But not in a cocky way, no, of course not. You were sweet, helpful and kind. That’s what spared you from how cruel teenagers can get - your aura was incredible and people would be absolutely dense to not like you. For the most part, you were quiet and only spoke to a few close friends.

Unfortunately for you, your last period chemistry class didn’t have any of your dear ones near. You sat in the middle of the classroom, attempting to take notes and kept your head down, honestly focused on the material when you heard laughter from the back of the classroom.

“Don't make me come back there,” your teacher said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Do I need to split you up?”

“No, sorry Mrs. Haut,” a dark haired boy piped up.

Mrs. Haut rolled her eyes slightly before going back to writing on the chalkboard. She was talking about the electron configuration of atoms or something like that when the laughter picked back up again. Mrs. Haut sighed again before continuing writing. “One of you move up here by Miss Reader, another by Miss. Rhys, and another by Mr. Clarke.”

The three boys in the back verbally voice their distaste with their teacher’s decision but ultimately went along with it. You buried yourself in your notes even deeper when you realized just who it was sitting next to you. Usually, the person sitting next to you wouldn’t bother you, but the fact that this was by far the most disruptive person in the class had you a little flustered. You couldn’t afford skipping the notes or getting sidetracked especially with midterms coming up.

“You have a pen?” He asked quietly.

That made you pause. “Excuse me?”

“A pen..?” He repeated, albeit a little slowly, as to really get the point across.

You didn’t want to disrupt your teacher any further by the idle chit chat and quietly rummaged in your bag for a pen. Once your fingers grazed the object, you plopped it back onto the desk and got back to writing.

“Thanks,” he said.

Your eyes wandered from your notes over to him - and he smiled at you. Fighting back slight heat, you began scribbling down the notes with a nod as if to say ‘no problem.’

The lesson continued on for a little bit longer until you felt him gently poking your shoulder. You pried your eyes off of the board to give him the attention he so desperately craved. With an eyebrow raised, you asked him what was on his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks - how the hell did he miss your name? You were the only consistent question asker in this class! “... Reader,” you answered, eyes narrowed slightly at the fact he’d miss your name. Though, you do suppose what else could you expect from a class clown? “And what is your name?” You asked simply out of politeness.

His eyes widened in shock, and his face followed in suit. “You seriously don’t know?”

When you shook your head he gave a quiet, but exasperated groan and then flew into a tanger about who he was. The guy who set all those frogs loose last year, the same one who orchestrated turning all the furniture upside down, the guy who did donuts on the football field and the one who covered half the auditorium on elaborate post it notes art.

And unfortunately for you, none of those rang a bell. “I knew someone did it, but I didn’t know you were the one who did it.”

And that spirited yet another tangent from the boy sitting next to you. He went into painstaking detail about how he even got some of those things done, and you pretended to care, more so interested in the passion in his eyes than the actual content of the story. He was a surprisingly good storyteller! You hadn’t even realized the both of you had been chatting more than note taking when everything went dead silent. Much too silent.

“Miss Reader, I am more than disappointed in you,” Mrs. Haut said with another frown pulling on her red lips. “Both of you, detention.”

Your eyes widened in shock as she slapped down two pink slips on your shared table.

“Again?” The boy next to you asked incredulously, taking the note into his fingertips along with his bag in the other hand. “Mrs. H, this is like the second time this month!”

Mrs. Haut only shook her head and gestured towards the door, her shoe tapping impatiently on the ground.

“There’s only thirty more minutes left of class,” you said as you began to pack up your things. “I... “ Upon seeing your teacher’s tired expression,and not being one to directly challenge authority, you relented. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled before taking the slip into your grip and exiting her classroom. You took in a deep breath and trudged out of the classroom, wondering how you would explain to your parents your record had a spot on it when you exited the classroom and closed the door softly behind you.

“Do you know where the room is?” You posed your question to the resident class clown with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re actually planning on going?” He said it like it was a surprise.

“Uh, yeah? Where else would I be going?”

“I don’t know, but we can figure it out.” He smiled widely at you and plucked the pink slip from your hand.

“Wait what-? Give that back!” You cried out as quietly as you could to not disturb the other classes.

“C’mon, Princess, come and get it,” he teased. It didn’t sound like he had malice in his tone though.

You chased him through the hall attempting to get the slip back, narrowly avoiding the watchful gaze of hall monitors and the like when you found he had led you out to the parking lot. You didn’t have a car.

“Let’s go,” he beamed, scrunching up both of your pink slips in his hand before tossing them into the trash. “I wasn’t joking about figuring it out together.”

“I… But-”

“But nothing, Princess. Live a little.” He nodded for you to follow him, and you, feeling much too awkward to challenge someone, found yourself being led by him to his car. It wasn’t a fancy car, but it wasn’t near as run down as you expected it to be. It looked like he kept it relatively decent, and the scent was that of lemon. Whatever, live a little.

You slid into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt as he became once again.

“Atta girl!” He chuckled as the car roared to life. He then flicked on the radio, turned up some music and the two of you left the school.

You can’t quite say you’ve ever had fun like that before. He took you to a diner, out bowling, you two snuck into a movie theatre then got smoothies before he dropped you off at home. And he was so sweet and kind throughout it all. He made you laugh, listened to you attentively, and over smoothies, he attempted to help you study a bit. It was moot, but it was nice that he even attempted.

That was what started a beautiful friendship that lasted throughout the rest of that academic year. Later, it blossomed into a relationship, and further, it transformed into marriage. The day he asked you to marry him was one of the best days of your entire life - and then, you were convinced you had met your soulmate. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a partner, and he was oh so helpful and attentive.

High school sweethearts was what you were referred to, and you both fit the image so well. You were practically glowing anytime anyone had seen you. Your marriage had happened too fast, but you were convinced he was your one and only unaware that growth comes in many forms. And in this specific case, the roots have burst the pot.

Back then, he used to give you flowers nearly every day in various shades of the rainbow. Blue seemed to be the preferred though.

“You always get these, why?” You had asked one evening, fingertips gently petting the soft petals.

“Apparently, they mean something poetic,” he replied before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That’s what the flower guy keeps telling me. And they’re kinda hard to find,” he continued, eyes looking out at the starry night sky the two of you laid under. “So, whenever they come in, I grab them tight and bring them back to my baby.”

You giggled slightly before shutting him off with a kiss.

They were damn near unattainable after the two of you had gotten married. It seemed they’d gone out of style, or perhaps they just weren’t thriving as they used to. One day, when you were lonely and missing your husband, you pulled out an old book on various flora and fauna. You must’ve spent hours upon hours learning about the area you lived in when you chanced upon a dash of blue.

Cornflowers, they were cornflowers.

The flowers on the plate you’d run under the faucet for far too long weren’t the same shade of blue, but they were just as pretty. It’s a shame that these plates would most likely be broken before the month was out.

Gods, when did he change? It was hard to pinpoint it because the two of you had been under each other’s spell for a good chunk of that time. When did he flip the switch? When did he… You shook your head and turned off the faucet, deciding you were done with the dishes for now. Accidentally, when you were placing the plate back in its place, you bumped your forearm on the counter. With a wince, you hissed and mentally reminded yourself to mind the bruises that were still fresh there. He gripped your wrist so hard that night you were sure it was going to snap right off.

He really wasn’t like this in the beginning and your mind raked constantly with reasons as to why when you laid awake at night hoping he wouldn’t go too far or burn a bridge only to find it needed to be rebuilt with supplies that no longer existed.

It was nearing the late evening and he wasn’t supposed to be home until later in the night. You could afford to relax for just a little longer. With a deep breath, you walked up the stairs dead set on drawing a bath to just let your mind go blank. Hidden away in the bathroom sink’s cabinet was a ‘mix’ of herbs and such a dear friend of yours had said would aid in relaxing your soul and maybe your wounds. You could only use the clumsy excuse for so long.

You opened the door to your bathroom, quietly shut it behind you and didn’t bother locking it. If he was here, you might have, but you weren’t expecting him back until much, much later. You could afford to breathe. You drew the faucet and let it run for a moment or two until the water got a little warmer, then you plugged the tub and let it fill. You crouched down and poked your hand around towards the back of the bathroom sink before finding the jar filled with herbs and salts. It smelled divine even when closed. Unscrewing the lid, you are able to take in the scent of lavender, chamomile, rosebuds, sweet lemongrass and vanilla. Pink sea salt for added effect made the bath look heavenly when you poured in a generous scoop. As the water heated the herbs, you notice the rosebuds blooming into large, pink and red flowers. It was nothing short of magickal and filled you with some type of serenity.

Once the water was to your liking, you stripped and got into the tub, sighing in contentment as the water heated your form up. And from there, you let your mind go blank and take in the aroma of the herbs and flowers. You feel the stress leaving your body. You wish you could feel like this forever.

You allow your brain to wander as you relax and find it going back to your husband every single time. If he wasn’t asked to sit next to you, would you have been in this awful situation now? This was no way to live - and you wondered if you had just gone to detention that day if things would be different, or perhaps better. You thought you were able to pinpoint when everything went wrong when yet another starting point would come into your mind. It was like your brain was purposely making you move the goalposts so you wouldn’t be retraumatized by anything all over again.

It started small and in little bouts. He lost his patience with you. If you accidentally burnt the pancakes? It was alright but don’t let it happen again. Over watered the petunias just once? Great, now he needed to go to the store and pick up some new ones should those suffer root rot that was relatively treatable. Couldn’t get dinner ready on time? What a mess. Said something slightly off base? Your intelligence was being actively questioned. It kept snowballing until it reached the first time he hit you. Which was a dark enough day that you rather not think about.

He said he loved you. That he would protect you and make sure you were safe from all harm. But he broke that the moment his hand slapped your face so hard you felt the air leave your lungs. That was a really dark day, but it was not the darkest yet.

You must’ve spent close to an hour in the bath when you heard the front door opening. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be back. You feel your heart pounding as you leap out of the bath, quickly drying yourself before throwing your clothes back on. In your haste, you forget to unplug the bath. But it’s too late, you hear him coming up the stairs. Seconds later, he’s in your shared bedroom.

“Reader? Where are you?” He sounds exhausted. Upon seeing the bathroom door closed, he stalks up to it. “Reader? Open up, Princess.”

It’s not the first time he’s tried to soften the blow like this.

“I-I’m still in the tub-”

“Sure, sure, sweetie,” he hums. “Can you uh, tell me why you haven’t gotten any food ready if you were going to fuck around in the tub like this then?”

Your heart constricts and your stomach twists. “I didn’t know you were gonna be home this early,” you say softly, ready to brace the door.

“Oh you forgot,” he says as if he’s speculating whether that was a decent answer or not. “You forgot,” he repeats. He stands in front of the bathroom door, swaying slightly like he’s waiting for you to come to you. “Come out of the bathroom.”

“I just drew it-”

“Did I ask for your excuses?”

“No-”

“Then come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM!” He hits the door so hard you thought you heard it splintering.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You cried out as you immediately rammed against the door, struggling to keep your husband back from breaking it down.

He didn’t answer, only continued to rattle off about everything wrong. She kicked the door harder and harder, sending you bouncing against the wood. You continued to cry out in pain but dug your shoulder into the door as you prayed it would be enough to keep him out.

“Stop, stop, STOP IT!” You felt tears pour out from your eyes as your husband pounded the door. “You’re being crazy right now, stop it!” Your throat felt raw with anguish as you continued to screech, head coming dangerously close to bouncing against the door as your husband began kicking it.

Eventually, he succeeded. He backed up, reared his leg up and took three hard hits, successfully kicking the door down. You went flying down with it and tumbled down the tile floor with a yelp of pain, landing sharply on your hip. You looked up through your pain and saw he was standing before you, fists balled and nothing but rage in his eyes.

“I told you to fucking let me in,” he seethes as he narrows in on you. Before he can touch you, his eyes travel to the tub. “And now you’re clogging up my fucking pipes?” He asks in an exasperated tone as he feels his blood pressure rise. “You need to learn a lesson,” he sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “When dogs are just puppies and they have an accident,” he begins as he bends down to the ground and nears you as you struggle to crawl away from him. “You take their nose and bury it into their mess.” He finishes. He straddles your waist and sloughs off your weak attempts to get him off of you.

You continue to cry and scream, beg and plead as his hands snake up your arms and to your hair. And your eyes widen as he takes a fistfull and then roughly stands up, dragging your body up with him.

“You fucking dog,” he spits as he drags you upwards. He begins to drag you towards the tub.

“No, NO!” You plead as you dig your heels into the tile, trying to grip onto the sink for dear life as he continues to drag you. You feel your strands of hair damn near get lifted from your scalp as he continues to yank you. He’ll kill you if you don’t put up a fight. “I’m sorry! Gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Whatever I did to piss you off I promise that it won’t happen again!” You attempt to reason as he finally pries your hands off the sink.

“You should’ve known that to begin with,” he replies as he pulls your hair harder. He then brings you to the tub and roughly shoves you to its lip. You catch yourself and try to get away when he pushes at the back of your head. You still continue to fight him, crying and pleading even harder as your husband kicks in the back of your legs, attempting to cripple you further to get you to bend. You continue to push back, staring into the now cold bath like it’s a watery grave.

A scream rips through your throat as he hits the back of your skull, having you gasping for air and consciousness. He takes that moment as your weakness and finally overpowers you. Your head is thrust below the waters, and you find yourself screeching all the while. From above the water’s surface, you can hear your once beloved husband muttering about you and the faults of your character as he holds you under the water. Before you can even register that air is in your lungs again, you’re plunged back into the water, coughing and hacking all the while as he does so.

When he grows tired of continually plunging your head into the water, he picks up your lower half and tosses you in, sending the water and herbs flying everywhere as your clothed body enters the freezing tub. Your tears mix with the remnants of the bathwater as he holds you under, nothing but rage in his eyes as he does.

When you feel like it’s too much, you begin to let go. Perhaps darkness would be a nicer sight than the sunrise of tomorrow.

You open your eyes slowly to see that you’re still in the tub and laying in a small pool of water that isn’t enough to harm you regardless of how you were laid. You feel aches all over and you feel like water is weighing down your lungs. Slowly, you get to your bearings as you prop yourself up. Step by step and painstaking muscle movement by muscle movement, you stand and grip the edge of the tub, realizing you need to change out of your clothes. You pause momentarily to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Gods,” you whisper to yourself. You look like you were in a car accident. There’s bruises on your throat and your face from where he tried to slam you into the bathtub, and your face is puffy and discolored from crying. Your hair is knotted and you feel like no amount of conditioner on earth can get that out - to even think about detangling it is a nightmare. Your clothes are ripped and waterlogged. Everything about you screams pathetic. When you turn your head and look at the door, you see it’s broken beyond repair. He kicked it out of its latches and the wood itself is splintered in two.

You quietly step out of the bathroom, ready to change into drier clothes when you see your husband sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You feel yourself begin to shiver, momentarily feeling your mind drift elsewhere to protect your brain from further trauma.

“You’re finally up,” he says, a blank expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

You feel disgust come up in the back of your throat but swallow it back down in favor of not angering him further. “I’m fine,” you lie, not bothering to plaster on a smile.

“Good.” He slowly stands up. “I’m heading out. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He holds his arms out to you.

Shivering and absolutely terrified, you find yourself bending to his will. Quietly, you pad across the carpet to him and allow yourself to be wrapped up in his arms. His arms feel like a metal cage as they wrap around your quivering form.

“I’m sorry,” he says emptily as he buries his nose into your hair. “It won’t happen again.” He sways the two of you side to side as he holds you a little tighter, not bothering to mind the bumps and bruises he inflicted on your body.

You internally sigh and hollowly nod, allowing him to hold you.

He said that the last time.

It’s been a few days since your husband flew off the handle like that. Your husband stayed in the house, but like every time before, he pretended nothing had happened and instead vied for avoiding you. In a day or so, he’d be back to pretending he still loved you. But, your mind wasn’t entirely on him coming back to you and acting sweet - it was on everything in between.

See, this isn’t the first time that something of this caliber has happened to you. Convenience was something that seemed to pop up in your life more often than not, and you’d just accepted it. The first time you could remember it was when you were in your garage, trying to have a moment alone after your husband had shoved you into a wall for not making the potatoes the way he wanted (what a stupid thing to be upset over). As you sat at the workbench, sobbing quietly, your attention was pulled towards a thing of antifreeze. It was just propped up there. You don’t remember buying it, nor did you remember your husband buying it either. Neither of you regularly did car maintenance, nor did it seem like the kind used for a pool (which neither of you had). What on earth was it even doing here?

You quietly picked up the bottle and tossed it before your husband came calling for you to redo the potatoes.

The second time you noticed something much too conveniently placed was when the coffee in front of you was decaf. Your husband was terrible at waking up in the mornings, and the only thing that kept him up was his morning coffee on the drive to work. Well, one morning it was decaf in the keurig- and you almost didn’t notice it. The last time that happened, he’d almost swerved off the road. In a panic, you switched it to the right one before he noticed. If neither of you did, it could have claimed his life as the drive from your neck of the woods to the city was kind of dodgy in general.

The third most prominent time was semi-recently. You were cooking and once you finished, carried about your day. When you stopped by the kitchen to grab your keys and head to town for some shopping, you noticed that the gas was left on. Your husband was due to come home soon - if it stayed on for any longer, it might have killed him. Of course, you turned it off, but your hand lingered on the dial just a moment longer, wondering what would have happened if you didn’t turn it off. Feeling monstrous for even letting that thought pop into your head, you pulled back your hand like you had thrown it into the fire.

Those were just some of the most prominent things that happened. There were also little things that occurred as well, such as the TV always being clicked onto certain types of true crime documentaries entailing warring spouses, or the reading material being a tad too detailed in how to get away with things that obviously weren't legal. It started with petty theft, or piracy, and then moved onto other things that were much too unpleasant for you to even detail. All of these things seemed to be calling you towards something more sinister than you had ever imagined.

And until now, you’d managed to hold it all back. Sure, you entertain yourself by watching the documentaries and reading the material (which you wonder deeply who put it in your mailbox to begin with) but you never actually thought to harm him, did you?

It all came to a head a few weeks after the bathtub incident. He pushed you around plenty since then, but it hadn’t crossed the threshold like what happened back then - and that was enough to keep you at bay until this specific dinner. Apparently, your husband had missed out on a promotion given to someone younger and more ambitious than him and that killed him on the inside. He had a chip on his shoulder and he was dead set on taking it out on you.

“Gave it to that little prick,” he mumbles as he stabs at his food.

“I’m sure you’ll get it next time-”

“Next time? That’s half a fucking year away,” your husband replies as he bites down on his food. “Worthless job and can’t even move up in it. Stuck in this hellhole,” he continues to mutter as he stabs around.

Not wanting to even think about flaring him, you just drink uncomfortably at your water. “Is…” You close your mouth, not wanting to even hear his voice.

“No, no, finish your thought,” he says with a deep sigh.

“It’s not important.”

“My wife has something to say, she says it.”

“No, really I-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reader, spit it out.”

“Is the food okay?” You ask quietly as you avert your eyes to anywhere but at him. You gulp thickly, worrying that you’ve upset him further and lament even opening your mouth up to begin with.

“It’s awful,” he replies before taking another bite. “You must really be testing me, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“I know.”

Uncomfortable silence passes between the two of you as dinner goes on with that same unease. You practically exude discomfort as you sit there, picking at your food and not wanting to even stomach it as long as this monster sits across from you. You wonder if your husband is going to go on one of his tangents when he answers that useless question by opening his mouth.

He talks a lot about how much he hates work, his coworkers, his lot in life, literally anything he could complain about and everything. He has such a hatred for the world around him that you wonder if it was always hiding just below the surface when you first met him. Probably. People tend to grow into who they were always meant to be as the years go on.

“And you,” he continues, pointing his fork in an accusatory manner at you. “You are the worst part of it,” he says as he narrows his eyes. He does this to you at every meal. And by the end of it, he’s always so riled up he almost breaks the plates. “Remember that girl, Jada? From honors math?”

You quietly nod.

“I should’ve married her. Girl with some brains and a nice ass,” he muses. “Instead I settled for you. Worthless, bruised and battered, puffy faced you,” he says with absolute vitriol, getting more and more riled up as his complaints carry on. “Hell, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been thrown in detention again either.”

“That wasn’t my fault-”

“Oh so she speaks, does she?” He stands up.

You brace yourself.

“You know better than that,” he says lowly like a tiger waiting to pounce. “Than to talk back to me in my OWN GODDAMN HOUSE!” The plates and the dinner go flying off the table as he roughly shoves his arms across it.

There go the plates that reminded you of something nicer.

You immediately stand up and gasp, your chair flying back as you do so. Your hands fly up as your husband’s hands grip ar your wrists, his power taking over your frail form as he begins hurling you backwards to the countertop.

“Teach you to talk to me like that again,” he growls as he slams you down onto the counter, wrists not being jostled into his one hand. “You’ll never learn,” he mumbles, strill wrangling you down to the countertop.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him reaching towards the knife rack - and you see your very life fly before your eyes as he palms one.

You begin to repeat no like a mantra as he grips the knife and then lets go of your wrists, hsi hand going to the collar of your shirt. You cry out as your hands balled into fists and start punching, your legs being held by his body as his hand latches onto your throat and squeezes. Tears prick your eyes once again as his eyes flick down to your shirt.

“Stop!” You weakly cry out as his fingers dig into your flesh.

He raises the knife, a mad look on his faze as the steel catches the light. It shines, and then comes plunging down.

You scream as the knife is stabbed much too close to your neck, instead trapping you by snagging your shirt to the counter.

“You stay here and think about all the trouble you’ve caused,” he says in a ‘bubbling with rage’ tone as he shoves your head into the counter. “And clean up this mess.”

Once he leaves and slammed the front door shut, you pry yourself free from the knife and then fall to the floor sobbing, once again feeling your heart broken over your husband treating you so. But, once the rain fell, all that came was a ping - a spark. As you finally composed yourself and began cleaning his mess, the spark ignited to a flame that grew like wildfire in your mind’s eyes as you gingerly picked up the pieces of plates that you held such saccharine fondness over.

You couldn’t stand for this anymore.

With exhaustion sweeping over your body and the kitchen now cleaned, you allow yourself to move on autopilot and move upwards towards your bedroom. You don’t bother changing and plop down onto it. You stare at your ceiling, wondering if you should run away or - oh! Here comes a thought. With your eyes inching towards your nightstand, you finally give into the overwhelming feeling to open the drawer and you do so. Your hand gropes around before you finally touch something cold. Your mind lurches once you realize what it is.

You sit up, more than surprised to see the handle of a gun under your fingertips. On it is a sticky note with a smiley face: ‘don’t forget to turn off the safety :)’. A shiver of horror runs down your spine when you realize there’s a silencer attached to it. Gods, you knew he had a gun but a silencer? Everything about this - you knew it was wrong.

But holding it in your hand… That felt right.

You decided to stay quiet on things for now and think. Afterall, he was stronger than you. You couldn’t just confront him with the gun. He might wrestle it out of you and shoot you instead. You couldn’t take that kind of risk right now. So, you waited, looked over the gun some more, and waited.

Your husband entered back into the house at some gods awful time at night, more than pleased to see the house was back in order as it should be as he closed the door behind him. He was exhausted on all facets (though it could not hold a candle to how you were feeling) as he trudged up the stairs.

You laid in bed, pretending to be asleep. You knew what had to be done.

When your husband came in, huffed and got ready for bed, you itched for the trigger. You knew you had to act soon, but not too fast or he could hurt you again an take you out instead. Your breath hitched when you felt him sit on the bed and get comfortable, of course, turned away from you.

You took in a deep breath, closed your eyes, and held the gun in your hand once you felt him slip into sleep. The moments felt like hours as you quietly sat up and held the gun in your hands. Were you really going to do this?

Your mind flashed with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities. At one point, a long time ago, you loved him. You loved him deeply and truly.

You took aim.

You shot.

Gods, if you knew it was going to be this hard to drag his body out here, you would’ve chosen a different place to shoot him. Dragging your now dead husband through the woods behind your house was an absolutely miserable process. You were working up a sweat as you did so and it was so dark that you could hardly make heads or tails of anything.

Finally, guided by the moonlight, you came to a place that looked more than decent. It was far enough, and the growth here was so heavy that if you tumbled the earth around, it would hardly look like anyone had disturbed it to begin with.

“Always making things harder on me,” you mumble as you toss his limp body back to the earth before you juggle the shovel you’d dragged along into your hands. You let your mind go blank as you began to cut into the soil.

A plethora of thoughts entered into your head as you shoveled away, making a deep enough hole to throw your deceased husband in. In a way, you didn’t think he deserved a hole this nice, but you knew deep down you had to hide the body. You continued to shovel, and once you finally made it deep enough to your liking, rolled his body into the ground.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” a low, slightly gravelly voice chuckles, slow clapping.

“Who’s there?” You ask in a slightly panicked tone, holding the shovel up like a weapon. “I… I won’t hesitate-”

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice continues, a playful bite on every syllable. “No, no, you did good.”

Your eyes frantically look around for the voice when you hear a whistle. There, behind you, is a man. Possibly mid 20s, shoulder length black hair, pale skin that rivals the light of the moon, wearing a hoodie covered in things you’d rather not think of and taller than you by a good head or so.

“You gonna put the shovel down?” He asks with a brow raised.

Hesitantly, you lower the shovel in your grasp just to let him get a little closer. Your eyes widen when you see he’s cut a smile into his face. “Who… Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you finish your job here,” he says as he nods to the uncovered, deceased body of your husband. “And before you go through the typical ‘oh my gods, are you gonna turn me in’ bullshit so many of you seem to go through, rest assured that I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just finish your job. Can you do that for me, Bird?” He leans against the tree, looking at you with a small smark.

A mind too frazzled for anything else, you nod and get back to work. It doesn’t take near as long to fill the hole as it did to carve it out, which was a pleasant surprise. When you were done, you wiped the sweat from your brow.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you held the shovel firmly in your hands.

“Checking in on you,” he replies. “You want to go back to your house and-”

“No,” you cut him off, eyes averting down the ground. “Anywhere but there right now.” You say softly, gesturing to the disturbed earth.

The man pops off the tree and stalks over to the hole you’d covered, lightly shoving some foliage on top of it. “Okay, still sensitive. I get that,” he hums. “Follow me then. Let’s take a walk.” He nods for you to follow, blue eyes silently telling you to bring the shovel along with you.

Not wanting to be near his body anymore despite it being packed below the ground, you relent and follow.

“So, you did good, really good,” the man says as he puts his hands back in his hoodie pockets.

“Why do you keep saying that?” You ask, quickly matching pace with him. “And I never did get your name..?” You trail off slightly, taking in the deep scent of the woods around you. The scent of pine and autumn fills your nose.

“Because you did my job for me, and it’s Jeff,” he replies, his arm momentarily pushing back some low hanging pines. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while, Bird.” He chuckles softly when he sees your confused expression.

“Really? Bird?” You repeat in a dry tone, face deadpanning at the very mention of it. “Job?”

“You’re flighty, like a bird, and judging by how fast you switch topics, bird.” He smiles, continuing to lead you further and further into the woods and away from your now empty house. “Little while back, I was asked to kill your husband. But, I saw you during one of my stalking outings and well, thought I could make things interesting.” He says it like it’s nothing and common knowledge.

“You what?” You ask in a surprised tone. “You stalked us?”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff says. “Normally, I don’t take that much care in my work. I tend to gut first and never ask questions, but you posed something interesting in my wake.”

“Holy fuck,” you murmur as you continue to trot throguh the woods. “We’re both going to jail.”

“Me? Absolutely not. You? Well,” he turns his attention to the deer path laid before the two of you and smiles at the open, moonlit field. “Depends on how you’ll answer my question.”

The two of you step through the remaining brush and finally reach the field. You had no idea this place was even behind your house or even so close. Tall grass rising to your waist sways gently in the wind as you step out of the trees and into the open air. Stars dot the sky as the moon hangs overhead. This place feels nostalgic. Out in the distance is a little stone structure, and upon Jeff taking you closer to it, it’s a little stone shelter.

“Take a seat, gonna be a while,” Jeff says as he rummages around in his pocket. He pulls out a lighter, bends down and lights the pieces of wood conveniently left inside of it, and the night is no longer cold.

You get comfortable and let your exhausted body rest. “Have you been watching me for long?”

“Longer than necessary,” Jeff answers as he cracks his back before finally getting comfortable. “But, I only watched you from a distance. Tell me about yourself first, let me know it wasn’t a mistake to let you breathe.” He smirks at you and winks, sending shivers down your spine.

You take in a deep breath, not really feeling anything but exhaustion and decide to tell him. You tell him everything, about your childhood, about little intricacies and so on. You told him about high school and how you met your husband. Little stories, anecdotes, memories and feelings resurfaced as you detailed how everything was bliss. And then one day, it wasn’t.

“Something in him snapped and went rotten,” you sigh. “And he hurt me. Hurt me really bad.”

Jeff looks up from the fire to see how the light dances across your skin. It’s here that he’s finally able to see the extent of your dead husband’s power over you. Bruises darker than your natural shade line your skin like oddly erased marks on a stubborn piece of paper. Your eyes are hollow, devoid of all life. Hair from your scalp is oddly placed as if it’s still trying to grow back. Your posture conveys nothing but pure exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a tone that’s much more gruff than he originally means. It’s not that he doesn’t genuinely feel bad, it’s that he’s awful at actually verbalizing it. In truth, Jeff doesn’t like abusers. They make him feel wrong, make him feel like something’s not fair. Jeff like to fancy himself as someone who goes by the rule of ‘equality.’ If you pick on someone weaker than you with them having no chance of fighting back or at least inflicting the same damage back, you are nothing but a coward who gets off on hurting smaller people. And that in his mind is nothing short of detestable. “Guess good on me for letting you take him out, huh?”

You look at him with an odd mixture of confusion and absolute relief. “I guess,” you say, the sound of serenity slipping into your tone. “And what about you? What originally sent you out here?”

“Tall guy in a suit,” he stated, a small scowl pulling at his lips. “Y’know, he’s interested in you.”

“Tall guy in a suit?”

“Slender Man. I call him ‘Pale Ass’ though. He’s like… A murderous businessman. Has little drones to do his work even though he’s more than capable of doing it himself. And that’s where you come in.” Jeff shifts slightly and fixes his posture. “He’s the guy who originally wanted your husband dead. Sent me to do it.”

“Why did he want him dead?” You inquire. You knew your husband had done some dodgy things, especially with how strangely he was acting within the last few years as his abuse ran up, but you originally assumed he was cheating or something. Maybe into some other shady things. What on earth could he have done to garner the attention of some murderer kingpin?

“Saw something he shouldn’t have. My guess is Toby - maybe Theo. Both of them suck at covering up their tracks,” Jeff laughs slightly. “Probably saw one of us hiding a body, committing a murder, shit, he could’ve stumbled on some finals when he obviously shouldn’t have done that. Regardless, it got Slender’s attention, and now he’s dead because of it,” Jeff continues as he casts his eyes from you to the flickering flames. “You remember that night he fell asleep in his car in the garage?”

You nod.

“Almost took him out right there.” Jeff’s brows furrow slightly. “Something stopped me and then I saw you. The way he reacted to you asking if he wanted a certain type of potato made me giggle, and then I got a thought.”

“The antifreeze…”

“Yeah, the antifreeze. I’d noticed you were being pushed around for a while, honestly planning on taking you out to give you some rest but,” his eyes flash, “seemed more fun to get you into it too.” He sighs and leans back. “Was it cathartic?”

You find yourself uncomfortably shifting and wanting to answer with ‘no, of course not! I killed someone,’ before realizing that wouldn't be truthful. It was cathartic to put an end to his life. It was cathartic to finally bring justice for yourself in a way that no prison system would allow. “It… It was.” You admit, shyly and quietly like confessing to a bad secret.

“Feels nice to admit it, right?” He smiles.

“It does.”

“Now, imagine doing that to other pieces of shit,” he says as he sits up again. “Imagine being able to do that to every monster that’s ever hurt anyone just like you/”

You close your eyes and feel the red hot rage tingle your fingertips. Being able to unload on your dead husband was more than pleasing - in fact, it was nice, and dare you say, fun. The thought of being able to do that to other people who hurt others like that, while a far off possibility now as you were still frail, was still a possibility nonetheless.

“I mean, where else do you have to go?” Jeff continues, watching as you toss the thought around in your head. “You’d never get caught. He’d handle it all right now. You’d be free.” Jeff stands up and begins crossing the distance to meet you. His shadow walks alongside him. Dusk hangs in the air. “Or, if this isn’t to your liking, you can join him.”

“What?” You question, eyes flicking up from Jeff’s shoes to his eyes.

“You gotta understand,” he begins as he crouches in front of you. “If you say no and

decide to deal with the fallout like a normal human being, you’ll be caught and most likely killed for it. You’d be at the end of your rope.”

You feel an ocean of emotions swell up inside of you. “And if I… What would you even have me do if I followed you?”

“I’ll take you to meet him, and we’ll see what happens next. He’ll cover for you. You won’t ever have to see this place ever again.”

The sun begins to peek over the horizon. The fire is dying down. You can hear birds chirping in the early morning sky as fluffy clouds bid good morning to the dimming stars in the sky.

“Let’s get outta here, Bird.” Jeff stands up, holding out his hand.

You take in a deep breath, hand hovering over his. You thought of your husband, your life and everything that had ever happened to lead up to this moment. You’d gone this far, and there was clearly no going back. Another deep breath in and you pressed your hand down to his.

Jeff’s smile bloomed once again.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer x reader #reader insert #x reader #creepypasta jtk

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kallypsowrites · 3 years

Text

Shadow and Bones Show: What I Hope Changes and What I Hope Stays the Same

Well, we’re almost at the end of our wait, folks. Embargo lifts tomorrow. I am no doubt going to be reading a lot of the reviews because I have no self control lol. But, before that happens, I want to discuss what I hope the show changes and what I hope stays the same.

Let’s start with the changes!

1. Mal

This is kind of controversial among Darklina stans, considering that they worry fans won’t understand their dislike for book Mal. And I get that perspective, but I also don’t want to be angry at the endgame of the show (which I’m positive will stay the same). Any improvement on some of Mal’s dialogue in book one and two would be welcome. Make me at least...neutral on the ship.

2. Foreshadowing

I would love some more foreshadowing to later moments in the series. Particularly the Mal twist which I don’t think made all that much sense in book 3. It came out of nowhere, it required a huge info dump and it kinda felt like Leigh was making up the rules as she went along. And I get it. She didn’t know where she was going when she wrote book 1. BUT now they can go back and FORESHADOW a little more and make it all feel more natural.

3. The Darkling

Now I don’t want much changed about him. Keep him a villain, keep him his dark self. But I’d love to see him be a human throughout and avoid dipping into caricature. I want to see him over all more consistent and i think Ben Barnes will bring that. I also would like more exploration of his cause and why he does what he does.

4. Alina’s Agency

Jessie talked about giving Alina more agency and choices than she has in the books and I hope they deliver on this because there are many times when Alina is made a passenger in her own life and I’d like to see her get to be more active. I’d also like to see ANOTHER change to her endgame but that’s a spoiler and not until season 3 anyway, so ya know.

5. Cohesive world

Because this is visual medium there’s more room to do this very naturally. I want to see more stuff about saints which isn’t buried in the short stories. I want to see foreshadowing to later magic system evolutions. I want to see supposedly important religious symbols like the firebird actually appear before book 2 when it suddenly gets relevant. Just like...really draw me in. Six of Crows did a better job with this but the world building of the original trilogy often felt a bit skin deep/an excuse to move the plot how the author wanted.

6. More fleshed out side characters

Leigh is not always the best with side characters. They are often one note and its hard to form attachments. In particular I want to see Zoya move beyond her ‘mean girl’ persona in book 1 and I’d love to see more of David. More of Alexi maybe too. Genya is perfect though

7. More on the plight of the Grisha

Again, we are told that Grisha are hunted. That they struggle. But the major trilogy still keeps the Darkling as its bad guy for the whole time and doesn’t really show the abuses the Grisha are put through. Not until Six of Crows do we get any meaningful exploration on this. We need to see more of the war. More of the push and pull. More of what they are fighting for very early on.

What I don’t want changed

1. My Crows

Change nothing about them. I love them. My bisexual disaster son, my cane boy, my knife wife. They are wonderful and even though this is new story, I want them to feel the same

2. Darklina

At its core, I want very little of Darklina changed, except for giving Alina more agency. Keep the toxic stuff. keep the angst. The drama. Keep the dialogue as much as possible. I WANT it.

3. Genya

Love of my life. Never change. She’s the best.

4. The major story beats

Book 1 is my favorite of the trilogy, so I’d like to mostly see it stay the same but with bonus content. And when it comes to the crows, I don’t want to see any of the future content disrupted because I LOVE six of Crows with all of my heart.

5. Kanej

Please keep their dynamic, please keep their dynamic, please keep their dynamic (and don’t ignore their trauma).

6. Jesper and Nina’s bisexuality

They like both and it better be made CLEAR

7. The humor

No grimdark fantasy for me please! Give me the light hearted bits in the mix!

#shadow and bone #darklina #alina starkov #the grishaverse #the darkling #six of crows #inej gahfa #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #kanej

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catinsatintrousers · 3 years

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Question: Not sure if you'll have an answer but who was better for Pattie Boyd, George Harrison or Eric Clapton?

Oh my. You're right, I don't know if I have a real answer but I'll still attempt it. Its hard to compare, but despite George and Eric being completely different people, there were many similarities in their relationship with Pattie. Is it a coincidence that if you take the 'm' off the word muse you're left with use?

I will say that despite both George and Eric being consistently unfaithful to her, her relationship with Eric is explained to be far more tumultuous, what with his alcoholism, drug abuse, jealousy, and the birth of his son Conor with Lori del Santo while he was still married to Pattie. She touches on the differences a lot in her book.

"What I had felt for George was a great, deep love. What Eric and I had was an intoxicating, over-powering passion." - Wonderful Tonight, Pattie Boyd

Even Eric says in his autobiography that

"Rather being a mature, grounded relationship, it was built on drunken forays into the unknown" and "was not the incredibly romantic affair it has been portrayed as being." - Clapton: The Autobiography, Eric Clapton

Well yeah. Duh. I mean, jesus, it wasn't even Eric who initiated their marriage. He did it after his friend Roger put in the Daily Mail that he and Pattie were to be married as a gag, and then he proposed to her over the phone. This was immediately following his affair with Jenny McLean, which Pattie walked in on at their own home. Literally, the gall of these men, both George and Eric, to conduct affairs with other women in the homes they shared with Pattie. Wtf.

"In India George had become fascinated with the god Krishna, who was always surrounded by young maidens, and came back wanting to be some kind of Krishna figure, a spiritual being with lots of concubines. He actually said so. And no woman was out of bounds." - Wonderful Tonight, Pattie Boyd

George was unfaithful to Pattie on many occasions. Not only did he have an affair with Maureen, Ringo's wife, he got it on with Krissie Wood (Ronnie Wood's wife) as well as a French woman (name unknown to me) who had dated Clapton prior and came to stay with George and Pattie at Kinfauns. What irks me most is that when Pattie questioned George about it, he told her she was paranoid. At least Eric was honest about his many affairs, screaming at her that he was in love with Jenny McLean and to "just fuck off" and then openly gushing about Lori del Santo and their expecting baby to Pattie. "I really think, in a funny way, he expected me to be pleased."

Pattie was subject to many of the unfortunate side-effects of rock-star wifedom in a time where women were viewed as side-pieces to their men. Her professional career was stunted during both of her marriages, as she was expected to 'be the wife' and let the men do the work. But neither George nor Eric even brought her along on their extended music tours. Although George along with the other Beatles were subject to the same no-wife rule encouraged by Brian, Eric placed a ban on all women coming on tour himself, preferring an environment of excess and access to girls whom they would take home after the shows.

"Although I found touring difficult, Eric's ban meant I didn't see him for weeks on end... He didn't phone or write as George had done when he was away. While I was still with George, Eric had written passionate and compelling letters that arrived most daily, but now that I was installed in his home and life, he didn't bother." - Wonderful Tonight, Pattie Boyd.

That's the thing! Once these men had her, they gave up trying! George's obsessive preoccupation with meditation along with his intense depressive states following his spiritual awakening surely didn't help in his relationship with Pattie. While Pattie felt alone and neglected by George, Eric played to her romanticism, seducing her (and guilt-tripping her) into leaving George for him. The fact that Eric threatened heroin-use if she did not come away with him and then followed through with it when she didn't is just sickening to me. Eric's constant struggle with addiction throughout his marriage to Pattie was just bad news from the start, although it probably had a lot to do with his shitty actions towards her throughout. (This does not excuse it though!)

"However much I might have thought I loved Pattie at the time, the truth is that the only thing that I couldn't live without was alcohol." - Clapton: The Autobiography, Eric Clapton

I don't want to say that either of her marriages were 'better' than the other but I have to admit I am partial to her relationship with George. She does mention many times in her book about how she should have fought harder for her marriage with George. I'll leave off with this excerpt from her epilogue.

"I regret allowing myself to be seduced by Eric and wish I had been stronger. I believed that marriage is forever, and when things were going wrong between George and me I should have gritted my teeth and resolved that we could come out smiling in the end. And I wish I'd known I didn't have to be a doormat and allow both husbands to be so flagrantly faithless. But if I had resisted Eric, I would never have known that incredible passion, and such intensity is rare. I accept that I paid a high price, but it was in proportion to the depth of the love that he and I shared. I loved George very deeply, too, but we were younger and it was a softer, gentler love." - Wonderful Tonight, Pattie Boyd

Its hard to think about these things, especially regarding our beloved Beatle George, but no idol is perfect, and can at times be pretty shitty, especially to their wives. There are many other factors that made her marriages less than ideal, but there were many good things as well, even though I didn't touch on them here. (Wow, maybe I should have gone a more optimistic route with this 🤔 Next time.)

I'm glad she got out of both relationships. They just weren't right for her. And both George and Eric were able to grow tf up and learn from their experiences and find happiness after Pattie as well. (Shout out to Olivia and Melia!) As for Pattie, I hope she's found peace and happiness in her marriage with Rod Weston. She really truly deserves it.

#this only scratches the surface #sorry for the long response #actually not sorry #its good info #it took me a while to answer as well but I wanted to be thorough #god it hurts me how bad they treated her #especially george wtf george come on #pattie boyd #george and pattie #el and nell #eric clapton #wonderful tonight #george harrison #the beatles #infidelity tw #strong language tw

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galli-writes · 3 years

Photo

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello everyone! I am finally back--though in a way I guess I never really left. I've been working on this fic on an off since I last posted, but things have been so busy that it's been rather slow going. I'm going to try REALLY hard to keep to a more consistent schedule going forward. The fic is entirely written, but needs some pretty heavy editing. I'm going to shoot for an upload every other Friday from here on out. Thank you all so much for being patient!

Chapter 5: A Helping Hand (words 6,264)

It wasn’t often that Beast Boy played hooky. At least, not when he thought there was a good chance Robin would catch him. Skipping practice was a serious no-go, outside of a few exceptions. Beast Boy knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to feign sickness. The ‘family emergency’ excuse existed strictly as a formality for obvious reasons. Reasons that were starting to seem less obvious now.

The letter in his drawer was already old news--at least to him. Beast Boy knew the contents of the note by heart. The memorization wasn’t intentional, but the words swam around in his head constantly nonetheless. A symptom of a much larger disease, as Raven might have put it. So he’d moved on to obsessively deconstructing and reconstructing the many packages that still littered their living room. Not that doing so had given him any more insight into who Nicholas Galtry was. Or why he had had possession of all of his parents’ things. Or why they were here now. Among the many disjointed thoughts that rattled in his brain, one consistently nudged its way to the top of the pool. That one was also tucked neatly away in a drawer in his room. Though he hadn’t dared to look at the picture since first putting it there.

Beast Boy glanced behind him at the clock in the kitchen. He’d been here an hour already--someone was probably already out looking for him, Robin’s orders. He quickly shut the box he was currently sorting through. It had been the same as all the boxes before it--filled with priceless, nameless items from another place and another time. He felt like a thief, searching his own belongings, not knowing what exactly he hoped to find among them. Each time carefully packing the boxes back as he’d found them. Like a thief, hoping to cover his tracks.

“There you are.”

Beast Boy flinched, instantly shrinking back from the box in front of him. He turned around to face Cyborg looming over him.

“Man, I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere ,” Cyborg said, a twinge of frustration in his voice. “What the hell are you doin’ up here?”

“Nothing,” Beast Boy said, anxiously getting to his feet. “Just...hanging out.”

Cyborg frowned. “Well maybe you should come ‘hang out’ at training.”

“Training?” Beast Boy repeated automatically.

“Yeah, you know...the thing we have scheduled every single afternoon? At the exact same time? Every day?” Cyborg said, cocking an eyebrow at him. Now he seemed more confused than frustrated—a switch that was very typically Cyborg.

“Right. Training. I was wondering where everyone else was,” Beast Boy answered. It was a poor excuse, but it wasn’t actually a lie.

Cyborg sighed, but there was a hint of a joking smile on his face when he spoke next. “Let’s just get down there before Robin kicks both our asses, okay?”

Beast Boy nodded, and for a moment it was as if the boxes behind him ceased to exist. It currently felt like there were two worlds jammed under one roof, and now that he’d been pulled out of the one behind him, he saw just how much he preferred the one in front of him. Even if it meant getting his ass kicked.

The training field had come a long way from the public school playground it resembled when they’d first settled into the Tower. It was Robin’s ongoing project--adding another ropes course, integrating fully automated sparring dummies...there were even obstacles designed with each of their abilities in mind. Beast Boy was sure that Robin had a Pinterest board dedicated to the fiasco for all of the crazy things he was constantly adding to it.

Which is why Beast Boy was confused to find that none of it was being used.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me--”

“Yep,” Cyborg said, walking the opposite direction of Robin’s martial arts art display.

“Dude, I suck at hand to hand.”

“Probably why Robin thinks you ditched,” Cyborg shrugged.

In the distance, their three remaining teammates were gathered in a clearing at the opposite end of the field. Starfire stood leaning against a tree on the sidelines, water bottle in hand. In the center of a well-worn patch of grass, Robin and Raven circled each other in what seemed to be a never-ending dance.

“So when you said Robin was gonna kick my ass...you meant that literally, didn’t you?” Beast Boy said with a frown.

“Well it might not be Robin who kicks your ass,” Cyborg smiled. “It could be Star, or Raven, or yours truly.”

“Wow, thanks,” Beast Boy grumbled. He knew Cyborg was only teasing, and Beast Boy had been the first to admit that the skillset wasn’t exactly his strong suit. But the remark lingered in his mind a second longer than he knew it should have.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not really your thing, but hey,” Cyborg said, placing a hand on Beast Boy’s shoulder. “Practice makes perfect. You’ll get there.”

“Dude. I turn into animals for a living. Most of which don’t even have opposable thumbs,” Beast Boy said, flexing his own in front of his friend. “I don’t need to be good at something I’m never gonna use.”

Cyborg merely shook his head dismissively. “Never say never, man.”

“Okay, Robin ,” Beast Boy replied with a smirk.

As if on cue, Robin and Raven’s dance came to a halt as soon as the words left Beast Boy’s mouth. He had figured they were still out of earshot, but maybe he’d been wrong.

“There you two are,” Robin said as the two of them stepped into the loosely defined dirt ring. He glanced down at his watch and then directly at Beast Boy. “Beast Boy, you’re twenty minutes late. Practice starts at four. You know that.”

Any trace of teasing Cyborg had expressed instantly evaporated when Robin spoke.

“Uh...four-twenty blaze it?” Beast Boy said with a shrug and a terribly awkward smile. The one that always appeared on his face whenever he didn’t know what else to say--which was more often than he would have liked to admit.

Robin closed his eyes, raising a hand to his temples.

Raven’s facepalm was much less subtle.

“Starfire are you ready to go?” Robin asked, shaking his head slightly.

“Mmm hmm!” Starfire hummed in response.

“Great. Then I’m gonna have you and Beast Boy up next.”

“Uh…” Beast boy shot a glance at Starfire, who was practically the living portrait of an Instagram athlete. “Shouldn’t I warm up first or something?”

“In a real fight, you won’t always get the chance to ‘warm up’ beforehand,” Robin said, crossing his arms over his chest. Which was definitely his way of saying ‘that’s what you get for showing up late’.

“Don’t worry, Beast Boy,” Starfire smiled. “I will try not to injure you too terribly.”

Beast Boy certainly began to feel warm now, to the point where he was sure his face was turning red.

In his peripheral, he saw that Cyborg had cleared the training ring and was now standing beside Raven on the sidelines. She leaned in slightly to her left, whispering something into Cyborg’s ear with a devious smirk.

Beast Boy felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know what was worse. Starfire’s complete sincerity or Raven’s total lack thereof.

But he didn’t have much time to dwell on the thought before it was overtaken completely by a harrowing sense of panic. He had been posed for a fight, staring head on at his partner. But it was only now that his vision snapped back into focus, just in time to catch a whirling ball of green energy headed directly toward him.

He quickly swerved out of the way, trying to regain his balance. But before he could find his footing, another blaze shone at his feet, knocking him straight to the ground. He squinted, eyes beginning to water from the dust cloud that now surrounded him. He wanted to open his mouth to say something--make some complaint that he hadn’t been ready, that there had been no signal to start. But he knew that wouldn’t buy him any sympathy in Robin’s eyes.

Of course, vying for Robin’s attention was even less of a no-go once the sirens started blaring.

Without so much as a nod from the leader in question, everyone took off in the same direction. Everyone except Beast Boy, who was still on the ground.

He pushed himself to his feet, the palms of his hands stinging against the soil. He knew it wasn’t personal. None of this was personal. Kind of like how the sense of isolation and strangeness he’d felt around his friends since the reading that letter certainly wasn’t personal .

But as he watched them disappearing now--not one of them looking back to see if he had followed--it sure felt that way.

So what if calling shotgun was more important than helping him up? He shook his head, now unable to hold back a self-satisfied smirk. No matter how much of a head start they had, no one was going to outrun a cheetah.

Within seconds, the ground flew under his feet like a treadmill set on max speed. When the garage came into view, Beast Boy was relieved to find that it was already open--and more importantly empty. In a flash, he transformed back, and with the same proud smile lingering on his face sauntered over to crack open the passenger door.

His smile instantly disappeared when he saw who was behind it.

“ Raven ?”

Even at her name, she didn’t so much as shoot him a glance. Raven just sat there, comfortably nestled in the passenger seat with her feet kicked up on the dashboard. She scrolled through her phone with a bored expression--like she’d been there for hours.

“How the hell did you beat me?” Beast Boy blurted out, feeling irrationally annoyed as Raven continued to sit there, chewing a piece of gum in silence.

“Want a piece?” she said absentmindedly, materializing a pack of DoubleMint from the locked glove box. There were dozens of other flavors inside--so many packs that they filled almost half the compartment. “It’s Cyborg’s secret stash--but I won’t tell.”

Beast Boy ignored her. “There’s no way you could have beaten me here. I took a shortcut even you don’t know about,” he said curtly.

“Weird, huh?” she said, turning her attention back to her phone. “It’s almost like magic. ”

Beast Boy frowned. “That’s cheating.”

“And you turning into a cheetah clearly isn’t,” she said plainly. Then another sly smile crept onto her face. “Get it? A cheetah ?”

Beast Boy’s face scrunched up in even further annoyance. Without a word, he shut the passenger door, opening the one behind it. He already knew which seat he’d be directed to sit in. Though even calling it a seat was a bit generous. Nevertheless, he’d occupied it since day one because, of course, ‘he was the shortest and it just made sense for him to ride in the middle because if they were ever in a crash the height of the headrest wouldn’t do anyone else any good blah blah blah’. As if something as normal as a car crash would really be enough to injure a bunch of superheroes.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Cyborg said, swinging open the door to the driver’s seat and hopping inside.

As the doors on either side of him opened and closed in perfect sync, Beast Boy was struck with another harrowing consequence of his seating arrangement.

It was true that Robin and Starfire were relatively tame as far as couples went--at least in terms of explicit PDA. It was only once in a blue moon that you actually caught them exchanging so much as a kiss on the cheek. But there was no denying the magnetic force between them. And it was times like these that Beast Boy felt less like a person and more like a glitch jamming the radio signal.

“Okay,” Robin said, flicking open the communication device on his wrist. A small holographic map appeared above it, marking several heat signatures as they traversed the grid on the screen. In an instant, an identical image appeared on a screen in the center console of the car.

“Looks like they’ve already hit Gorman street,” Cyborg said, glancing at the center console.

“They’re moving fast,” Robin added, adjusting something on the device. “But only because they’ve sacrificed numbers for speed”.

“Well let’s just see if they can outrun this, ” Cyborg replied, revving the engine in response. Within moments, the Tower was far behind them.

Beast Boy leaned forward slightly to look out the window on his left. They hadn’t been driving long at all, but he had no idea where they were. Left and right, worn down warehouse buildings lined the streets as far as he could see. Overhead, a thick gray fog swallowed the entire sky.

“Starfire, I want you and Cy to go after the group of three heading west,” Robin continued, pointing to several figures on the map as he spoke. “I’ll go after the solo. Raven, Beast Boy—you two track the pair heading in the opposite direction.”

Raven didn’t outwardly protest, but her agitated sigh was enough to send its intended message.

After what seemed like only a second later, the car skidded to a halt at the edge of a narrow alley. And without missing a beat, everyone else took off in their respective directions at full speed. This time Beast Boy could confidently blame the middle seat for keeping him a step behind.

“I’ll race ya,” Beast Boy said, throwing a competitive smile at Raven, who had surprisingly seemed to be waiting for him.

“Just hurry up,” she said plainly, looking to the sky.

The streets seemed even more bleak from above.

Every other street light flickered as if choking out its dying breath. Cracks ran down the sidewalks like jagged scars, and chipped paint and graffiti adorned the walls of the decrepit buildings. Beast Boy found himself wondering where everyone was--there were barely even any cars on the streets.

“Ow!” Raven exclaimed suddenly.

Simultaneously, Beast Boy felt his wings crumple under him as he crashed into her from behind. He screeched involuntarily, trying to regain his balance.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked--or rather squawked--momentarily forgetting he was still very much a bird.

Luckily, Raven seemed to get the idea. Without a word, she pointed to two shadowy figures slipping around the corner of a nearby building. She started to open her mouth to say something then, but Beast Boy was already locking in on the figures below.

Without a second thought, he dove sharply down toward one of the shadows in his sight. Talons poised, he only managed to graze the top of his target’s head. Or at least what he could think of as being the thing’s head, as the action felt more like skimming a silhouette than an actual person.

At the very least, the surprise of his attack was enough to knock the figure off balance and trip on some debris below.

Beast Boy landed nearby, skidding onto the asphalt. Back on two legs, he whipped around and morphed once more. A rhino was always a solid play when you didn’t quite know what you were dealing with. He kicked up the rubble under his front foot and ducked his head, preparing for a running start. Then he let his momentum carry him forward--feeling the power of an entire stampede in his muscles--which turned out to be much more than he bargained for.

It was like the wall came out of nowhere. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked before leaping. Though his horn mdulled the impact slightly, Beast Boy felt every shard of cement as the crash sent a shocking ripple through his entire body. When he opened his eyes, he was back to his usual self again. But unlike a moment ago, his head was spinning, and he was on his back watching the dark clouds rolling above. His vision had doubled, even tripled, and he shook his head wearily in an attempt to focus on anything at all. Instead, he saw the shaking image of someone approaching him. And his gut told him it wasn’t one of the people they were after. It was something much worse.

“What the fuck was that?” Raven said, leaning over him with a disapproving pout on her face.

“Rhino,” was all Beast Boy could manage, his head still spinning.

Raven scowled, but extended a hand out to him regardless. When she yanked him to his feet in one swift motion, the gesture suddenly felt less sympathetic.

“We’re supposed to be working together , moron,” she said, her tone biting. “How the hell are we supposed to do that if you knock yourself out before we even catch up to the bad guys?”

Beast Boy didn’t have an answer for that. So he didn’t give one, which probably didn’t help his case any more.

“God, you’re useless,” Raven said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him behind him. “Come on.”

They continued down the natural path of the alleyway uneventfully. And that was what worried Beast Boy most. If he wasn’t going to die at the hands of their enemies, he was sure he’d die of embarrassment knowing he’d let them get away. Again.

Luckily for him, if Raven had any more thoughts on the matter she kept them to herself.

When they reached what seemed to be the end of the narrow street, Beast Boy was somewhat relieved to find that it wasn’t the dead end he had been expecting. Rather, the space before them now opened dramatically into something resembling a large courtyard. The entire perimeter was lined by walls of surrounding brick buildings--the only other entrances and exits to the pavilion being opposing alleyways much like the one they’d just emerged from.

But the courtyard’s strange location certainly wasn’t the most interesting thing about it.

In the very center, shrouded by a cloud of steam trickling through a nearby grate, two figures turned abruptly to meet their gaze. Even though Beast Boy could hardly make out the eyes looking back at them, he knew their stare was a threat.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Raven said quietly, lingering in the shadows for a moment longer.

The words echoed in Beast Boy’s head, this time in his own voice. Then a wave of panic suddenly passed over him. He wasn’t actually sure he knew the difference between what was considered brave and what Raven would consider stupid. And he didn’t exactly have the time to mull it over.

Raven stood next to him, arms outstretched, as a flurry of flying rubble began to swirl around the two figures like a vicious tornado. Everything pulled toward them like scrap metal to a magnetic core--everything from the pebbles on the ground to full sized wooden beams and crates that littered the edges of the arena.

Beast Boy searched desperately through this mind for something to do--something to be. A mouse? Small enough to go unnoticed, but way too slow to bridge the gap between the opposing sides in such a short time. He thought to the opposite end of the spectrum. A gorilla or a bear could give him a boost of much needed strength if he cut back on speed. But maybe that was too on the nose. Just like the rhino.

He bit his lip nervously, catching Raven in his peripheral again. They were supposed to be working together after all--and she had clearly taken the lead. But he had no idea how she expected him to follow.

And suddenly, it occurred to Beast Boy that that was the secret to the riddle. The one way he could truly and certainly ‘not do something stupid’ was by not doing anything at all.

For a moment, he was almost proud of himself for finally cracking the code. But the false sense of pride evaporated as soon as he realized what it implied. Maybe his only use was...being completely useless? And just like that, he felt his stomach twist in a knot again as a familiar sense of embarrassment washed over him.

“Hellooo?” Raven’s voice rang out suddenly, snapping Beast Boy out of his daze.

He turned to look at her, finding her in the same position, teeth clenched and arms shaking ever so slightly as she held her pose.

“I said not to do anything stupid ,” she snarled. “Not ‘don’t do anything at all’!”

Beast Boy blinked hard, absorbing her words--the hint of need in her voice, however faint. And suddenly, miraculously, his feeling of uncertainty disappeared as quickly as it had come.

In a flash he was a mighty T-Rex, half as tall as the building behind him. Charging forward, he reached down and fished out one of the criminals from the fading cyclone. Grabbing the figure by the arm, he swung them into the adjacent wall with ease, a cloud of dust gathering upon the point of contact. A hit that would probably kill the average person; but Beast Boy knew that right now he was just buying time.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the second figure starting to pull out a small radio, shielding it from the winds as they spoke into the device.

But before they could utter more than a sentence or two, Beast Boy spun around, sweeping them off their feet completely with his enormous tail. The person went flying at a ninety degree angle from the last, and he watched as the body hit the crumbling wall with a ‘definitely unconscious’ crash.

Morphing back, Beast Boy stood tall, admiring his work.

Raven appeared beside him a moment later, surveying the scene.

“Not bad, huh?”

“I warmed them up for you,” Raven said matter-of-factly. But Beast Boy couldn’t stop himself from brandishing another self-satisfied smirk.

Raven automatically went over to the first fallen figure, pushing directly past him as she went. Beast Boy took the hint and headed the opposite direction, preparing to inspect the second wreckage site hound dog style.

Bombarded by a multitude of different scents, he realized that he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. He hoped he would know it when he came across it. And he did--when something cold and metallic brushed up against his nose.

With an obnoxious sneeze that sent his floppy ears soaring, Beast Boy took a step back from the dust cloud he had created in front of him. He squinted, coming back up on the area after the dust had settled to find a small coin-like silver disc buried in the ground. But it looked incomplete somehow, like it was only one half of a whole, given several small divots on the surface of the disc. And there was something else mixed in with the scent of the cool metal. Something thick and tangy. He followed the scent further until he found its source.

“Uh...Raven?” He hesitated, instinctively pulling back from the spot it had led him to.

Directly at his feet, the second figure lay face down in the rubble. Their clothing made it difficult to tell what kind of injuries they sustained, but there was blood. Lots of blood.

At the top of the neck, just under their hairline, a perfect silver circle was embedded in the skin--a corresponding piece almost identical to the one on the ground a few yards away. Except this one was covered in miniature circuits and drenched in the dark red liquid oozing from underneath it.

Beast Boy quickly turned back to pick up the first piece and compare the two. He was certain they had once made a single whole. But the half he inspected in his hand seemed to be no more than the covering to the blood caked battery beneath. There was some writing on it though--and maybe that could tell him something .

In a moment, Raven was beside him again, abandoning her less interesting finds at the other end of the courtyard.

“What is it?” She asked, leaning over to try and get a better look at the item in Beast Boy’s hand.

“I don’t know,” he replied, squinting at the object as he tried to make out the markings engraved on its surface. “A...R...S…,” he read slowly. “It looks like there’s more but I can’t make it out.”

Raven extended her hand, and Beast Boy automatically dropped it into her palm for a second opinion.

“Whoever these people are, they must have something to do with that break in,” she said, flipping the silver piece over in her hand. “I guess Robin was right.”

Beast Boy looked down at the body again with a frown.

“Okay, but we still don’t have any more of an idea what they’re after.”

Raven didn’t say anything. She just stood over the body, staring at it intently--in a way that suggested more than just superficial intrigue.

Suddenly, the small metal badge embedded in the figure’s skin was enveloped in a purple haze, and Beast Boy watched in horror as it began to peel away from the flesh underneath like a perfect silver scab. Leaving behind a gruesome red ring of skin, it slowly floated up and over into Raven’s open pocket.

Beast Boy swallowed hard at the sight, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. For a split second, he was worried he was about to revisit breakfast in the worst way.

“Dude...what the fuck ?” he said, eyes darting between the site of the impromptu surgery and Raven’s slightly blood stained pocket. “That’s nasty.”

Raven didn’t even blink. “Yeah, well so are you and Robin still keeps you around so...”

Beast Boy took a step back from the scene, the scent still of blood still lingering a little too strongly for his liking. And after watching Raven pull off something like that without so much as a moan or a grunt from the disc’s owner, he wasn’t so certain the victims were just napping anymore. He tried not to think too much about the potential fate of the person at his feet. He hated the possibility of pushing that boundary--even if they were ‘the bad guys’.

“You know, that actually wasn’t too bad,” Beast Boy said suddenly. His laugh was stifled and unconvincing, but he knew Raven wouldn’t likely acknowledge his discomfort, which was a bit of a relief in its own right. Regardless, he turned on his heel and made a purposeful decision to start walking away from the scene in hopes that she would naturally follow. Luckily, she did.

“The fight? Or having to be alone with you for more than five minutes?” She said, overtaking him by a step or two. “Because if you’re referring to the latter I’m gonna have to disagree.”

“I mean, but it works. We work. Sometimes,” Beast Boy said, though he was unsure why he was still talking. “It’s like...you know,” he droned on as they walked. “Like oil and vinegar.”

Raven noticeably began to slow her pace. “Like what ?”

“Oil and vinegar. You know. It’s like our flavor ,” Beast Boy said, making some attempt to clarify with a hand gesture.

It was here Raven stopped completely, turning to face him.

“ This ,” she said gesturing between them in return, “is not a flavor .”

Beast Boy shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well I still think it’s a good metaphor.”

“Why? Raven replied, mimicking his pose. “Because we can’t stand being together and naturally repel each other?”

“Buuuuut,” Beast Boy added pointedly, “sometimes when you put us together you get an affordable and delicious salad dressing.”

Raven paused. She closed her eyes, raising her hand to her temple in a deep, meditative stillness before opening her mouth to speak. “You know, sometimes I really wonder how I haven’t killed you by now. Even accidentally.”

Beast Boy frowned. “Just to be clear, you’re the vinegar in this situation.”

The two began to walk again, but Beast Boy only made it a few steps before Raven thrust a hand out in front of him, stopping him mid-stride. And this time it didn’t seem to be because of anything he’d said.

“What?” he blurted out stupidly. At least this time Raven would be able to understand him.

Raven was completely still for a moment longer, her eyes slowly scanning the area around them. “You didn’t hear that?” she said quietly.

“Hear what?” Beast Boy said, again the words feeling stupid and redundant the moment he uttered them.

“Something other than the sound of your own voice,” Raven said under her breath.

Beast Boy looked all around them, just as Raven had. But he didn’t see anything. Let alone hear anything out of the ordinary.

“You’re just being paranoid,” he said, lightly pushing her arm back down to her side. “There were only two of them. You saw on Robin’s map.”

Raven didn’t seem too comforted by the reminder.

Beast Boy moved slightly to meet her gaze, which was focused somewhere far off in the distance. “I’m tellin’ ya. Oil and vinegar.”

Then, with a little more force than he expected, Raven pushed pushed past him and began to walk again.

“Where are you going?” Beast Boy said, somewhat startled.

“Home.”

“Didn’t you wanna sweep the area first?”

“Not if it means twenty more minutes of this,” Raven said, waving her hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m just being ‘paranoid’.”

“Okay, well so much for working together then I guess,” Beast Boy said, rolling his eyes.

Raven shot him a look over her shoulder. Then, in an instant, she froze, eyes growing wide as she opened her mouth to say something.

But Beast Boy beat her to it.

He wasn’t sure the noise he made was completely human, even if the small blade twirling in the dirt just past him hadn’t completely hit its mark. He bit his lip to keep himself from another outburst. It had only grazed the side of his calf, but that was enough to bring him to one knee. He knew that if it had hit him the way it had been intended, he’d be on the ground.

Suddenly, everything around him was engulfed in shadow--and Beast Boy wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about ‘blacking out’. He really hoped that wasn’t what was happening. Not in front of Raven of all people. And not over a glorified paper cut .

A moment later, finding he was still very much conscious, Beast Boy was relieved to find that Raven was the source of the shadowy dome that now surrounded them on all sides. But the relief didn’t last long.

Beyond the opaque screen of darkness, there was a ceaseless blur of motion. Hundreds of tiny silver sparks rebounded off the outer edge, like hail raining down in a terrible storm.

Beast Boy glanced up at Raven from where he knelt on the ground. She was gritting her teeth, brow furrowed and eyes aglow. She didn’t so much as blink when he looked at her, which wasn’t a good sign.

He looked around frantically. Every direction depicted the same terrible scene. Every direction—except for one. It was only now that he noticed how soft the earth was underneath him. How the asphalt of the alleyways seemed to melt away as they worked their way toward the center of the courtyard. And that gave him an idea. An idea Beast Boy didn’t allow himself to think through.

There was something reassuring about being so close to the ground. But the transformation into a badger probably hadn’t been the best for his wound. His leg was starting to ache even more now, and he realized that would probably make digging all the more difficult.

But before he could test his hypothesis, a voice rang out over the crackling of bullets, clear and strong and demanding to be heard.

“Do you have a death wish?,” Raven yelled, her voice cutting above the static.

“What do you think?” Beast Boy said, instantly morphing back. The words came out as sharp as the blades whirling around them.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing gophers are bulletproof ,” Raven said with a laugh dripping with anything but humor.

“ Badgers . It’s a badger .” Beast Boy could feel the adrenaline pulsing in his veins like wildfire--even though he knew the reaction was unwarranted, especially given the more concerning matters at hand.

“Really bad time for an argument, Beast Boy. Really bad time,” Raven bit back.

For a split second, Beast Boy thought of going ahead with his plan anyway. Then it occurred to him that he’d probably already used up what little luck he had for the day.

“Okay, so what’s your bright idea?” he said, struggling to hide the growing annoyance in his voice. But all things considered, he really hoped she had one.

“Not dying. That’s my plan,” she said, shutting her eyes tightly.

Beast Boy looked around nervously--though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“Can’t you just...teleport us out or something?” he said, biting his lip.

“Teleportation or force field. You get one .”

The second Raven spoke though, she was interrupted by a noise that overtook even the hammering of the bullets around them. The short metallic pings were swapped for one firework-like explosion, the ground beneath them trembling just enough to make Beast Boy second guess his balance. From the looks of it, their attackers hadn’t been so lucky.

The bullets raining down on them slowed to a drizzle--then seemed to stop completely after a few stray shots. But not because the remaining gunmen had ceased fire. Rather, the firing now seemed to be directed somewhere else entirely.

Before Beast Boy could figure out where everyone else had turned their attention, his own focus was redirected again as he felt something cold on his wrist. A hand, gripping onto him with what felt like an unnecessary amount of force.

Beast Boy felt the ground sway beneath him again uneasily until it disappeared completely, the hard dirt and asphalt replaced by rough gray concrete. When the scene before him came into a clear focus, his stomach lurched. With a primal desperation, he reached out, searching for the hand that had just let go of him. Now he was the one holding on like his life depended on it.

In front of him now was a perfect aerial snapshot of the pavilion. They had to be at least ten stories up, given the size of the figures below them.

“Um…”

Beast Boy looked up, heart still pounding, though he wasn’t sure the vertigo was responsible for the anxiety he felt now.

Raven was staring at him--or rather their hands intertwined--with a clear level of discomfort. What kind, Beast Boy couldn’t tell.

“You can let go of my hand now,” she said slowly.

Beast Boy flinched, releasing her hand from his own as quickly as he had grabbed it. His knuckles were stiff, flushed by the strain of his grip.

An awkward beat of silence passed between them, broken only when Raven turned to grab something from her pocket.

“What are you doing?” Beast Boy asked, terribly conscious of the slight crack in his voice.

“Calling Robin,” Raven replied, an audible ring echoing from the blood-spotted comms device now resting in her hand.

The two waited for another excruciatingly long moment until the ringing came to an abrupt, unanswered halt.

“I guess he’s busy,” Beast Boy shrugged. But something snagged in his stomach at the thought. Robin probably was very busy. But Beast Boy wasn’t sure he really believed that was why he hadn’t picked up. He took out his own pager anxiously, already flipping through the contacts on the main screen. “Lemme try Cyborg.”

The dial tone cut off after the first ring.

Raven paused for a moment then looked up at him. “I don’t even have a signal.”

Beast Boy looked down at the device in his own hand. Neither did he. “Huh. Well that’s...weird.”

“Yeah,” Raven said, a definitive frown forming on her lips. “And that’s not the only thing that’s a little weird.”

As she spoke, Raven stared down at the pavilion below them, unblinking. She seemed intently focused on...something. But Beast Boy wasn’t entirely sure that it was the fight happening on the ground. A fight that was becoming increasingly hard to follow, even for someone who was trying to keep up with it.

Beast Boy scanned the turf once, then again through the eyes of a hawk, hoping for a better view. Squinting beyond the cloud of dust, he finally was able to hone in on the action--and more importantly, their attackers’ new target.

The man stood out like a current rolling on a still sea. Rather than trying to dodge the attacks of his pursuers, he danced through the waves with an impossible accuracy, almost as if he were intentionally trying to attract their shots. And he did--like hungry flies to a show horse. Only he never seemed to get bitten. The flies bit themselves. They bit each other. Falling one after the other around him as they continued to follow him further and further away from the center of the pavilion.

Just before the man disappeared into the shadows of the opposite alleyway, Beast Boy finally caught a glimpse of his face amongst the swarming insects--his shiny black hair and toothless grin glistening in the artificial night.

#bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #beast boy teen titans #raven teen titans #dc #i still don't know how to properly use tags lol

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faelapis · 5 years

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Help, 2 of my best friends think Spinel going with the Diamonds at the end throws away her character arc because she goes from her toxic dependant relationship with Pink to the Diamond's codependant adoration. They know that the show is likely to go into their dinamic in season 6, but they don't care since they think the movie should stand on it's own. I think their relationship will give them all a chance to grow, but I can't help seeing their point.

so… here’s the thing. i think the movie intentionally leaves room for feeling like spinel and the diamonds rushed into things because they’re both quite early in their growing process, but i would hesitate to call it toxic codependence (it’s more of an intentionally flawed starting point), or in any way a break from their character growth or the film’s themes as a standalone piece. i’d like to point out three things:

point one: most familial relationships start out on the basis of knowing someone else related to the person. like. your grandparents wouldn’t take an interest in getting to know you if you weren’t their child’s child. that’s just how it works.

and this is kind of similar - if “daughter-coded” is a thing, then pink diamond is that in relation to the other diamonds. and the diamonds have always loved gemkind *in relation to their diamond* - like, in a “we take care of our people because they’re Ours” kind of way. all gems are made by the diamonds, and if that’s the case, then the ‘daughter diamond’s’ gems may be perceived as a kind of grandchild or psuedochild it’s important to preserve and protect.

so that’s a very benign, “we’re gonna take care of what our child made” read on it. which is pretty hard to say is inherently abusive or codependent, i think.

point two: the movie’s point is not to entirely undo spinel’s and the diamond’s issues. so to read it as a failed attempt to do so is, i think, incorrect.

by contrast, the movie really stresses how you SHOULDN’T think there’s an endpoint to your growth. you have to keep trying to become better. you may have to keep struggling your entire life. that is very much compatible with the characters still being somewhat flawed by the end of it. it reinforces the movie’s message, rather than working against it. it’s thematically consistent.

if the movie has a thesis statement, it’s this: “there’s no such thing as happily ever after. i’ll always have more work to do”.

this is reinforced by the finale song in a number of more subtle ways:

“happily ever after, there we were - and here we are” implies we are now somewhere else. “i’ll be ready every day, for as long as (…) i’m in the future with my friends - that’s why happily ever after never ends” carries that through. here, instead of meaning “complacent happiness without growth”, steven transforms the “happily ever after” concept into his own, more accurate version. the meaning he gives it is “i’ll keep growing with my friends by my side, and i’ll be ready to change & work on myself for the rest of my life”.

this is also reinforced by spinel herself. she admits that friendship isn’t going to be easy for her. she has to work on herself. that’s a blatant reminder to the audience that she’s ready to keep growing instead of becoming complacent - and it’s a reminder placed right before the diamonds arrive. that’s not subtle.

so the intent here isn’t to give spinel a perfectly happy ending - it’s sweet, but its primary purpose is acknowledging the possibility of healing by giving her a new beginning. a chance to have a relationship with people she hasn’t hurt. “i’ve already messed things up with you”. this was the same thing blocking steven & the diamonds’ relationship. they’d already hurt him. so he was uncomfortable spending all his time with them.

“you guys have really gotten better at showing affection” has two meanings.

1. i’m proud of your progress.

2. there was a time you guys were awful at this. towards me. i remember that.

and one does not erase the other. steven is genuinely happy for the diamonds! he’s not about to downplay their growth or abandon their cooperative partnership - but he’s not gonna let them smother him either. he wants his own life.

point three: the diamonds and spinel have genuinely grown.

no, not in the way where they are no longer flawed. that would be weird. the diamonds still primarily relate to others through a “diamond’s creation” lens, even if they are making the effort to see those creations as equal.

spinel, on her side, is not too trusting as much as she’s still trying to find a puzzle piece to fit a void inside of her. but that’s kinda normal, at this point in her development. everyone needs reasons to keep going in life when everything falls apart, and those reasons need not be perfectly fulfilling - they just have to be enough for the person in question (for now).

so okay, how have they grown?

spinel is growing past her toxicity. her issue was not so much codependence as it was an inability to handle rejection and abandonment. those things are connected, sure, but there’s nothing inherently wrong with latching onto someone. even someone you have a familial connection with. the problem is when that becomes so all-consuming - as it did with pink, albeit understandably - that one lashes out in its absence.

and the first step towards dealing with that is acknowledging one’s flawed behavior. which spinel does, finally, when she realizes she can’t hurt steven anymore and trying isn’t making her happy. she understands that she’s being ridiculous, toxic, and the antithesis to a good friend.

also, spinel accepted that she’s not entitled to anyone’s friendship. heck, she thought she may be alone for a while, and still thinks that working on herself is a prerequisite for keeping friends. that cannot be undone by finding someone else willing to give friendship a try. this, along with the understanding of “no happily ever afters”, shows that she is self-aware and won’t let herself get complacent in this new relationship. she’s gonna keep trying every day, just like steven.

so in summary, for spinel - she’s unlearning her toxic behavior patterns, trying to undo her damage, self-aware about her flaws, and wants to start over with new friendships. none of which is undone by the diamonds.

as for how the diamonds have grown - firstly, in actually listening to people.

communication on equal grounds is the first step towards better relationships. this is perhaps obvious, but their flaw was never exactly codependence, either. it was a power imbalance where they ignored, tormented and condescended their “daughter” into running away. steven has helped them realize how they were wrong to do so, how their perfectionism didn’t justify what they did to pink. or to anyone else. or to themselves.

so now, they’ve come face-to-face with their self-justification and found it invalid. they have to start over from there. they have no excuse not to listen to people anymore, and are still figuring out how to do right by others.

this is something they’re actively trying to correct - firstly, with steven, who they Very Much listen to. to the point of putting him on a pedestal. this is perhaps an overcorrection, along the lines of how rebecca sugar described peridot’s turn as, at least at her “new recruit” stage, overzealousness towards a form of caring that had never been on her radar before.

this, of course, steven partially rejects (albeit gently) and tries to distance himself from. it’s not untrue that they’re not entirely over pink, either. for him, that’s still a sore point. but they are trying to grow & listen to others, however slowly.

like spinel, they understand they have flaws. they are earnestly trying to correct them. what both sides “need” is a chance to put these lessons into practice, forming new relationships instead of insisting on clinging to someone you’ve hurt (like they both tried with steven).

now, they will attempt with each other. perhaps successfully, perhaps not, but nevertheless, it’s a chance to grow together, with a newfound understanding of how they, themselves, can screw it up. that, in itself, is a good thing.

it’s a flawed starting point, because the characters themselves are supposed to still be flawed, yes. but to say that this undoes their growth, i think, is quite… heartless. like. they don’t need to be alone and in pain until they’re Perfectly Emotionally Mature, and only Then do they get to have relationships again. that’s not how people heal. they should be allowed to try, fail, explore, try again. that’s certainly in line with the movie’s core message.

#steven universe #spinel #the diamonds #su theory #su movie #gif /#white diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #shizukateal

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monsieur-hadrien · 3 years

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Test of My Patience (The Only Way of Knowing You) - Drarry Oneshot

Inspired by Fine Line by Harry Styles

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 2.2k word count, crossposted on AO3, 7 November 2020

After the end of fifth year, Harry can't help but notice that something is terrifying Draco.

I recommend reading this while listening to Fine Line slowed and reverbed (linked above) I’m telling you it makes the experience a little more painful.

***

Harry knew something was off with Draco. Ever since the end of fifth year and the whole debacle at the Ministry, his partner had been worryingly silent.

It wasn’t like Draco to be so curt in his letters. He claimed that it’s so Harry had something to keep his spirits up while he was with the Dursleys, and, to be honest, when they spent their first summer apart while being, you know, together, that was probably true. Even though Harry sometimes didn’t have the time to write as detailed responses as his partner’s (who knew if his Uncle Vernon would decide to snoop through his things just to find out that his delinquent nephew was not only a wizard but, heaven forbid, a homosexual. Granted, Harry was bi, not gay, but it’s not like his bigoted family would ever care to know the difference), Draco would always send him lengthy accounts of his time away.

Draco’s letters consisted of retellings of the everyday life at the Malfoy Manor, whether it be the balls that he attended or the fascinating old books he found while perusing the ancient shelves of the manor library. Occasionally he would send Harry some wizarding treats or a book that he thought he would like, usually pertaining to defense spells or warding. Throughout the whole research-paper-long letter, Draco made sure to berate Harry’s decision to stay at the Dursleys’. Not that Harry detested him for it, it was quite the opposite, actually. It felt nice to know that his boyfriend cared about him, even if he showed it through half-hearted insults.

I don’t understand how you could still be this daft, Draco would write. After all of the quality time you spend with me, one would assume that you’d have taken a lesson in self-preservation. That is not the case, however. It seems that it is truly impossible to take the courageous self-sacrifice out of the Gryffindor.

He’d go on to write later, Although in this situation absolutely detest your asinine Gryffindorish tendencies, I not only love you despite them but because of them, you barmy git.

A boyish grin would always make its way to Harry’s lips whenever Draco said “the l-word” as he used to call it. Despite whatever Harry may claim out loud, he adored words of affirmation, especially from Draco, directly contradicting the cold, formal exterior he put on for the masses. In turn, Harry always made an effort to compliment Draco or tell Draco he loved him. Especially while cuddling, Harry liked to break out “the l-word,” just to see Draco get all flustered and grumbly before melting into Harry’s arms. They both sopped up all the hugs and cuddles they could get while they were alone, using the Room of Requirement they found at the beginning of second term to their full advantage. Apparently, touch-starved childhoods make for lots of cuddle sessions with your significant other later on.

The two were very open with each other. For Harry, it was a lot about the Tri-Wizard Tournament and his family, whereas Draco would vent not only about his family pressures but his father’s shady deals with Death Eaters he didn’t want anything to do with. He believed in the preservation of pureblood tradition, of course; he wasn’t going to leave behind centuries of information and culture. He didn’t think that mass genocide was the answer, no matter what garbage he spouted in their earlier years.

Draco trusted Harry with this information, information that could very well get him disowned and outcast, and Harry vice versa. This was why Harry was so worried when Draco wouldn’t tell him the details of his summer. Harry told Draco that he saw his father in the Department of Mysteries with the Dark Lord that night. That it was his fault that he was sent to Azkaban. Draco constantly reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, that it was his father’s actions that caused his own undoing, especially for attacking his boyfriend. He was hurt though. Harry could tell, and maybe it wasn’t anger towards him, but it would be hard not to feel some sort of emotion toward the imprisonment of the man who raised you. Even if they were disgustingly racist and cold to their own child.

Instead of Draco’s usual letters, Harry had been receiving short paragraphs about how the gardens look gorgeous this time of year, and that he wished he was there to see it. The letter was addressed to “Bambi” (after mentioning to Draco that that’s what Sirius and Remus would call him sometimes, he had a right laugh before kissing a sulking Harry on the cheek and telling him that it was adorable), and closing it with Best Regards, Dragon. Draco didn’t ever use pet names with Harry, that just wasn’t something he did. And while Harry would be the first to admit that he could be oblivious sometimes, it didn’t take long for him to piece together that Draco had reason to believe that something, or someone, would try to intercept and read their correspondence.

Yes, it was safe to say that Harry was worried. Very worried.

Harry couldn’t address his worry until next term. He didn’t want Draco to stop writing to him completely. If Harry knew anything at all about his boyfriend, it’s that he couldn’t force his feelings out of him. The minute anyone tried to get Draco to talk about something he’d rather not, he would shut them out completely. It happened at the beginning of fifth year when Harry tried to talk to him about Voldemort and what he and his family thought about the whole situation. Draco wouldn’t tell him anything and remained impassive the first time Harry asked, but as Harry kept asking, Draco pushed him farther and farther away. At first, Harry thought that it was because Draco didn’t believe him about Voldemort, but the sheer degree of avoidance was far too great for that to be Draco’s only reason.

The two almost broke up because of it, and Harry wouldn’t risk that again.

Finally, after the blood quill detentions became too extreme for Draco to not notice, he came clean. He came clean about his father’s alignment with the Dark Lord and his meddling in the Ministry, how the Minister had given Umbridge the go-ahead to hurt students and that he was complicit in the rise of Voldemort. He didn’t want Harry to think that he was anything like his father or that he subscribed to any of the views that his family or the Dark Lord pushed. It wasn’t just that, though. Draco had decided to blame himself for Harry’s abuse at the hands of Umbridge, that he could have stopped her from becoming a professor if he had just used his name and political clout. Harry reassured him time and time again after that it was never his fault and that it’s all the Ministry’s. It didn’t change Harry’s opinion of his partner. In fact, Harry had said, I could never blame you for such a thing. I love you too much to ever do that.

That was the first time Harry had ever said he “l-worded” Draco. That was also the first time Draco had ever cried in front of him.

As much as Harry feared for Draco, all he could do was wait.

***

Draco wouldn’t look at Harry. Not on the platform or the train. Not even during the feast in the Great Hall. Sure, their relationship wasn’t open knowledge, especially among Draco’s Slytherin companions and Harry’s Gryffindor friend group, but the two of them have always made time to see each other. Draco wasn’t just being curt with him, he was actively avoiding him.

Now, that would just not do.

Harry made it his mission to try to catch Draco’s eye while the students filed out of the hall. In his worried state, Harry forgot that Draco is a prefect and probably wouldn’t be able to see him tonight. He tried anyway, though.

After addressing the Slytherin first years, he looked to Harry who, with pleading eyes, mouthed, Meet me later.

It would have been invisible to anybody else, but Harry knew Draco’s body language like the back of his hand. Draco inclined his head slightly in agreement before turning on his heels to lead his younger years to their common room, his right hand fiddling with his cuticles, his sole nervous giveaway.

Harry made an excuse to Hermione and Ron about going to speak to Dumbledore to get away. Ron was too far into his food coma to protest, but Hermione, just as Harry knew Draco, could tell something was off with her best friend. She let him go, though, without any questions. She knew that if Harry wanted to share, he would.

Harry had never been more thankful for Hermione’s understanding than in that moment as he separated from his best friends and headed in the direction of the Room of Requirement.

***

When Harry and Draco had stumbled upon the Room of Requirement in their fourth year, they were in desperate need of alone time. With Harry being hounded by Hermione to prepare for the final task and with Draco’s building family troubles, their time together became a little escape from reality.

The Room of Requirement was a place where there were no Hogwarts houses or childish rivalries, no purebloods, or half-bloods, or muggle-borns. For the first time, there were no labels that stood in between them or expectations to uphold. There was no Malfoy and Potter. They were just Draco and Harry. Draco was more warm and loving than Malfoy, just as Harry was more open and cool-tempered than Potter. While Malfoy and Potter were like ice and fire, Draco and Harry were like water and sunlight, perfectly complimenting each other. The Room of Requirement always knows what its users need, and what Draco and Harry needed was a safe space.

So a safe space is what they got.

The room hadn’t changed since the first time they had used it, as if it had known what they’d need in the future, even before the boys had known they’d be together for nearly two years. The simplistic wood furniture and fully-stocked kitchen along with their leather sofa facing a roaring fireplace and queen-size bed in the corner were cozy and familiar. The two had spent many nights, weekends, and free periods in their little apartment, enough time to where they knew whose dent in the cushions was whose and whose socks belonged in whose drawer. For a couple of teenage boys, they were quite domestic. Harry, who always wanted a family and home of his own, loved every second of it, and, although he would never admit it, Draco loved it too. He loved to see Harry as in his element as he was when they were alone together. If Harry loved it, Draco loved it by default.

It felt odd for Harry to wait there on his own. More often than not, they would meet each other there after curfew, but because Harry tended to be chronically late to most functions, Draco was almost always there waiting for him. But not only that, it just didn’t feel the same without Draco there with him.

For such a small space, it felt suffocatingly large without his other half.

Harry waited for Draco to arrive for what felt like ages, bouncing his leg anxiously while sitting on the sofa. The second he heard the door open he sprung up to face it. There stood Draco, looking as dashing and closed-off as ever. Harry hadn’t seen that coldness in his eyes in quite some time, at least not within the walls of their room. He decided not to dwell on it, however, and proceeded to dart toward Draco with a renewed purpose, drawing him into a tight embrace.

Draco’s eyes widened with concealed panic ever so slightly, and Harry could feel him begin to tense in his arms. Before he could pull away, the shorter boy buried his head into the nape of Draco’s neck and clung onto his shirt for dear life, clenching the loose fabric tight in his fists.

“I missed you, you annoying git,” Harry grumbled with no bite.

Harry felt Draco soften in his arms at the words. He looked up at him, only to see his cold front melting into fear, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. “I missed you too, Haz,” Draco whispered, nearly inaudible. “So, so much.”

Something happened. Something very bad had happened. It was written all over Draco’s face, his body language, hell, even in his greeting. Harry was worried. Scratch that, he was absolutely fucking terrified for Draco. His confident, loving, stubborn Draco. Whatever had scared him enough to break him down into tears was enough for Harry. He almost didn’t want to know, but the look on Draco’s face made Harry want to burn all of London to the ground in revenge. The only feeling Harry felt for those who hurt his loved ones was untameable, unbridled rage. Whoever did this would pay.

But not then. That would all be in due time. At that moment, however, what Draco wanted, no needed, was a shoulder to cry on and a long cuddle session.

Harry could do that too.

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missmentelle · 4 years

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Hi! I stumbled into your blog and it's amazing! I have so many questions. I will apologize now for it. Husband and wife of 20 years. All of a sudden keeps money and doesn't share it with his wife after they agreed that she wouldn't work. And because he has ADHD (diagnosed and doesn't like taking his meds) she has to remind him to pay the same bills EVERY month? Now she has a car payment because her car broke down, he asks her every month if he needs to pay her car payment. What to tell her?

Same "question" anon. They have 4 children, she does all the house work cooking and parenting. All appointments, school stuff and homework. She did that even when she had the job. He's inconsistent with helping her with ANYTHING so she just got tired of begging and nagging.He spends more time on his phone than he does sleeping. You can tell its taking a tole on her mental state. The problem is he genuinely seems to love her and the kids. They have gone to therapy a few times. Is this abuse?

Well, it’s certainly not a good situation, I can tell you that.

Whether the financial stuff qualifies as abuse really depends on the specifics of their situation. Withholding access to finances can definitely be a form of abuse, but not every couple where one person manages the finances is abusive. Sometimes one person in a relationship handles the money out of convenience, or because dealing with money makes the other person anxious - things start to become abusive when one partner is not able to access money for essentials if they need them, if one partner feels their spending is excessively monitored and tracked by the other partner, or if money is being used to trap one person in the relationship. Does does your friend have access to any money or spending at all? Does she have a credit card? Can she withdraw money from a joint account at a bank branch? If there was some sort of emergency and she needed to leave him, would she be able to finance that herself - for instance, could she afford to put gas in her car and drive to her parents’ house or spend the night at a hotel? Does she have access to spending money or money for basic necessities like groceries? And most importantly, does her husband managing the household finances make her feel trapped and afraid? Or is she mostly just annoyed that bills aren’t being paid without reminders? If her husband was reliable about paying all the bills on time, would this be an issue for her? Again, I don’t know the specifics of their situation, but if the money situation is making her feel like she’s helpless and unable to leave the relationship or like she has to beg for money for basic necessities, I’d be concerned about financial abuse. If she’s got her own credit card for emergencies and is mostly just exasperated that he’s paying the mortgage late every month, I wouldn’t necessarily call this abuse - but again, I wouldn’t call it a good situation either.

In general, though, it seems like the core issue in this relationship is that the husband is refusing to take responsibility for managing his own mental health, even when it’s taking a toll on his wife. And that is super, super not okay. As someone who has ADHD myself, I understand how difficult it can be to manage basic life expectations when you have this condition. Things like remembering to pay bills or file taxes on time, being on time for work, meeting deadlines, and keeping up with household chores are more difficult for me than they are for other people - this is a common experience for people with ADHD. I am sympathetic to the struggle. But the fact that these tasks are more difficult for me does not mean that I have an excuse to just... not do them, especially if other people are counting on me to get these things done. It is not my partner’s responsibility to clean up after me or manage the household by himself because I find things more difficult than he does - it’s up to me to communicate with him and find strategies that let me consistently take on half of the workload without my partner having to chase me to get it done. I set numerous reminders, do housework in short bursts, prioritize tasks, listen to audiobooks while I work and hold myself accountable for getting important tasks done. Yes, it sucks sometimes that this stuff just doesn’t come easily to me, but I still don’t have the right to run my partner ragged and automatically expect him to pick up my slack. My ADHD is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. And the same is true for the husband in this situation. I’m not a huge fan of ultimatums in relationships, but I think it’s time for a come-to-Jesus moment here. The wife needs to sit down with her husband and lay out how this situation is affecting her, what her boundaries are, and what her expectations are going forward. She needs to make it abundantly clear that the relationship cannot continue the way it’s been going, and that something needs to change. What that change looks like is up to them - maybe he needs to go back on his medication. Maybe he needs to hand over control of the finances. Maybe he needs to take on more chores and childcare. Maybe it’s all of the above. Either way, this is not an issue that will resolve on its own - a difficult conversation needs to happen, and there needs to be real, concrete efforts to change. If the husband refuses to change or doesn’t follow through, it’s really up to the wife to decide where her limits are. If the situation never improves, how much more of this is she willing to put up with? Is she prepared to spend the rest of her life constantly nagging a grown man to make the car payment on time and hang up his wet towels? How long is she willing to wait for things to improve? At what point does the stress of this relationship outweigh the positives? She’s the only one who can decide the answers to those questions. The best you can do is to be there for her while she tries to make up her mind. Best of luck to all of you! MM

#Anonymous

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babypinkstyles94 · 5 years

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V is for Vendetta

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warnings: Mention of abuse, smut, unprotected sex, fingering

Word count: 1.8k

Requested: Hi hi, I was wondering (its okay if not I just can't write my own shit and wanted to know if you could help me out a lil) if you could write a billy H fic where you two are fucking and his dad walked in (its based on the episode in s2 where max sneaked out and billy has a 'date' and we figure out he's getting abused) and you didn't know he was getting abused so when you see his dad punch him in the face you loose your shit and drag billy out and just some good old smut and fluff please?

Notes: I hope you enjoy this yee!! Thank you for the request anon I hope I did it justice :D I had fun writing this one and thank you for giving it a read

Friday nights in Hawkins were everyone’s favorite day because the long week was coming to an end and everyone looked forward to going out. For you and Billy they usually consisted of a movie, a party, or dinner and then the two of you would either go back to your place or drive to the field by the end of town to fuck. You’d only been to his house a handful of times, only spending the night once and sneaking out early in the morning. Billy always pressed hard about you not being at his house when his dad was home, he never gave you a full reason for it but you knew his dad wasn’t a person you wanted to be around.

Billy had planned this Friday night out perfectly because he knew his dad and Susan would be out the majority of the night. You were going to meet him at his house and hang out for a little while before the two of you were going to go to the movies. It was about five when you drove up to his house and could hear the loud music blasting from his room. Laughing quietly to yourself you made your way up to the front door and gave a few loud knocks, it only took a few seconds before Billy was yanking the door open with an annoyed expression that quickly changed when he saw it was you.

“Hi there pretty lady.” His signature smirk came over his lips and he shot you a wink. “Working out?” You questioned as you walked past him into the living room, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against his hard chest. “Nah I’ve been saving my work out for you.” He placed a kiss against your sweet spot on your neck and another on your cheek. “That was awful Hargrove…doesn’t the movie start soon anyway?” You questioned and went into his bedroom, lying down on his bed.

He came to sit next to you on his bed, admiring the dress you had chosen to wear and how the top made your breasts look amazing. You knew it drove him crazy and the chances of him not staring where slim to none. “Was kind of hoping we could skip it tonight…have other things in mind to be honest.” Billy stood up quickly and pushed his door shut with the heel of his boot, coming back over and hovering over you.

“Oh really and what would that be hmm?”

That signature smirk popped back up on his lips and one of his hands went to grip your waist, the other resting by your head. His blue eyes flicked down the length of your body before meeting back with yours and he leaned in, his lips covering yours. Your hands met his chest, his red button down having been open, and ran them up his shoulders and into his curly hair giving a pull to the locks. A groan rumbled through his throat and you felt his hand squeeze at your hip, his legs slotting between yours.

So caught up in the feel of his mouth against yours, you gasped when his hand swiped across your stomach and the front of your panties snapped against your skin. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and push his tongue passed your lips. Small moans were sneaking past your lips as his fingers teased you through your panties. Billy separated his mouth from yours and moved them to your neck, sucking a few bruises into your skin. “Sounds like you’re ok with my plan sweetheart…” He whispered into your skin.

You nodded your head and gripped at the back of his neck, wanting his mouth back on yours. “Billy please! Touch me please!” You whimpered. Billy was never one to deny you of what you wanted when you sounded so desperate, your chest rising and falling quickly. He took great pride in how overwhelmed he could get you without even touching you. “Such a good girl…I bet you’re already soaked through those cute little panties of yours.” You felt his fingers trace the top of them, never fully giving you what you wanted. “Let’s see if I’m right.” He whispered in your ear, taking your lobe in between his teeth and suddenly cupping your pussy.

A gasp left you and your back arched off of his bed, his sinister laugh against the side of your neck giving you goosebumps. His fingers pushed your panties to the side and he swiped two through your folds before rubbing small circles on your clit. If there was one thing to know about Billy’s sex life, it was that he was dangerously good with his hands and had brought you to tears before from how good they worked you.

He rubbed at your clit for a little bit before giving you a small warning he was going to insert his fingers, your arms tightening around his shoulders as he thrust them in and out. One of your hands ran down this arm and to the front of his tight jeans, squeezing the very obvious bulge that had popped up. A deep groan escaped Billy and his hips thrust against your waist, the friction feeling amazing against his hard cock.

“Fuck! I need to be inside you baby, can I do that?” His eyes met yours and you squeaked out a ‘yes’ before gripped at his belt, unbuckling his jeans and pushing them halfway down his thighs. Billy took his length in his hand and ran the tip through your folds, teasing you before he finally pushed inside of you. Both of you moaned out and Billy pressed his lips back onto yours in a heated kiss. “Billy! Oh please baby harder…mmm yes!” Your hand took a fist full of his shirt and tightened with every thrust he gave. His thrusts were hard and fast, the bed rocking ever so slightly with his movements.

You could feel the familiar knot tightening in your stomach and could tell Billy was getting close with how his grunts got deeper and his thrusts became sloppy. “I’m gonna cum baby oh! Don’t stop just like that…” Your eyes snapped closed as he took one of your legs and shifted it up higher around his waist. “Come for me baby girl. Fuck yes! Just like that I can feel you squeezing my cock.” It took everything in you not to let out a scream once the knot in your stomach snapped. You were sure your nails would leave marks on Billy’s back and bicep from how hard you had held onto him.

“Fuck me!” Billy moaned out and stilled as he came, his hand gripping tightly to your waist. He placed a sweet kiss to your lips before he pulled out and tucked himself back into his jeans. You felt yourself blush at the wink he sent you as you got up to use the bathroom. When you came back out he was sat back on his bed with a cigarette between his lips, you climbed in next to him and stole the stick from him taking a good puff of it.

There was the sound of the front door opening and Billy didn’t think twice about it, thinking it was Max. A knock came to his door and he rolled his eyes. “Max what did I tell you when my door is closed-“ a deep voice interrupted him and Billy visually tensed up. “Billy open the door.” He smashed the cigarette out in the bowl by his window and opened his door to see his dad and Susan standing there.

“What’s wrong?” Billy questioned to his father, his posture very tense. “Why don’t you tell us.” You watched as his father very harshly glared at his son. “Because I don’t know!” Billy was trying to get whatever his father wanted over with as quickly as possible, hoping that you wouldn’t have to see the bullshit he had to put up with. Susan chimed in and explained that Max wasn’t in her room and Neil loudly said that her window was open. Billy looked to the side and ran a hand through his hair as his father continued to question him.

It was like you were completely invisible to his father as he stepped into the room after Billy. Susan gave you a small sad smile as Billy tried to explain that Max was fine and probably at the arcade, that she didn’t need a full time babysitter. “So you’re telling me, you were in here with some whore and now your sister is missing?” Your head shot up at how Neil had mentioned you for the first time and watched as Billy clenched his fists tightly, his jaw setting firmly. “Don’t fucking call her that.”

“Excuse me? What was that.”

“I said don’t fucking call her that.” Neil was on Billy in an instant, harshly grabbing his shoulders and throwing him against the bookshelf at the end of the room. You let out a gasp as you watched Billy look down at his father, breathing heavily and his face stone cold. “What did we talk about hmm?” Neil questioned with his face close to Billy’s. Suddenly his hand was up and a hard slap was delivered across Billy’s face. A small scream escaped you and tears pricked to your eyes at what had just happened.

Billy held his head up as his father’s hand came close to the expanse of his neck, but it never fully gripped him. “Respect and responsibly.” His voice was quiet but firm and Neil nodded his head. He made Billy apologize to Susan and looked back to his son before telling him to find his sister. When Billy didn’t respond fast enough Neil stepped closer and yelled in his face. You could see the broken look in your boyfriends eyes but not one ounce of emotion was showed to his father.

“Yes sir.” Neil pleased with his answer turned on his heel and glared at you on his sons bed, your hands slightly shaking.

When the two adults left the room you looked to Billy and a tear feel from his eyes. “Billy baby…” You quietly said and got off the bed walking to him. He stared blankly at you before you wrapped your arms around him and a small sob broke through his chest. You kissed his cheek and cupped his face in your hands, inspecting the small amount of blood on his nose and gently whipped his tears away. “I’m sorry you had to see that asshole, I never wanted you to have to see that.” He said, his voice a little rough.

“Let’s get out of here, go find Max and you can sleep at my house tonight.” His teary eyes met yours and he paused before nodding. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him to you tightly, before whispering you loved him in his ear. “I love you too baby…”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargove x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #dacre montgomery #stranger things fanfic #dacre montgomery imagine

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candyshua · 4 years

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It’s A Long Way Home | Chapter 1

Pairing: Joshua x Minghao x Reader

Synopsis: It was dark, and then it was light. You're finally lucid. After 15 years of not being conscious, you wake up in a desolate and post-apocalyptic earth where infected flesh-eating beings roam the streets. Soon enveloped into a mysterious group of survivors, you consistently wonder who they are. But most importantly, who are you?

Genre: Heavy angst, some fluff here and there

Warnings: Gore, bad language, physical & verbal abuse

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: This is almost two years old, so it’s not amazing--but I really need to post a completed fic on here! Crossposted from AFF (my username on there is vernonie).

The first thing you can process is the overwhelming ache in your head. It's a high pressured pain, slightly blurring your hearing into a fuzzy calamity. Your eyes flutter open to a desolate planet, in the middle of a convenience store to be exact. Soon attacked by the blinding force of confusion, you wondered where you were. And then, the questions came flooding in at an alarming rate. You look down at your hands, and then your body. You were in a camouflage jacket, a pair of comfortable and stretchy jeans, along with combat boots. You had a plain black t-shirt on, and a necklace with various rings on it. You try to picture what you looked like in your head, until you realized that you couldn't.

You get up slowly, and stretch out your back for what feels like the first time in years. It rumbles with an unsettling crack, as you search the store for a mirror. You reasoned that the bathroom had a mirror, so you opened the door quietly, knowing that it was best to keep quiet. It was a small room, with a toilet that looked old and rusty, with walls covered in moss and vines. The floor was covered in dirt and dried up blood. The mirror was dirty, but you could still make out your reflection. Your face was plain, only your neck and face showing through the mess of clothes you bore. Your ears were hidden behind your shoulder length hair, your eyes innocent and wide. You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned toward the mirror more, trying to study every single feature you encapsulated.

Once you had a clear image of you in your head, you walked out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. Soon, your stomach rumbled with an unfamiliar emptiness in it. You felt the desire to consume something, which only further baffled you. Who were you? The question stumped you incredulously. You remembered absolutely nothing, except your name, age, sex, and how to think and speak. You knew how to act like a civilized human being, you knew how to speak and think in the English language, but any recollection of what your personality or past consisted of faltered.

Not knowing how to react, you merely look around the store for some food and water. You knew that other people should be around, and that you'd go and pay for your items after you've collected them. But, the lack of humans made that seem quite odd, so you took whatever food and water you could find, and stuffed it into grocery bags you found behind the counter. But then, you found a backpack behind the counter as well, with a water bottle in its pocket and fresh supplies stacked in it. It seemed very convenient, but you didn't think twice of it. You stuffed the food and water in whatever vacant slots there were in the bag, until your hand fell on something cold.

Your fingers clasped around the metal object, and you pulled it out only to look at a gun. You knew what a gun was, and what it could do, but how to use it completely stumped you. There were so many things you didn't know, which only frustrated you. You had no idea what to do or where to go, hell, you didn't know who you were. An anxious pit settled deep in your stomach, as you were coated in a thick worry. Soon, you saw a male human walking outside. He walked quite oddly, with a limp in each step. Your face lit up at the sign of another living thing. You put your backpack on (with your gun tucked in the bag, of course) and run outside. "Excuse me," You say, taking in the sound of your voice for what seemed like the first time, "can you help me?"

The creature turned around, and you were presented with a monster. Its flesh was rotting, rotten brown teeth uncovered by any form of lips. You soon thought of him as an it, while confusion only further kidnapped you from reality. It wore torn clothes, and its eyes were sunken, sullen in, and completely devoid of any color. The eyes were white, with little blood red lines at the edges. The thing started stumbling its way towards you, while you merely cocked your head to the side. Soon, it reached out at you and almost clawed your covered arm, until you backed away swiftly. You looked around for something to fight it with, but the city sidewalks and streets were lacking any form of protection. Now out of options, you decided to turn around and run. But then, you were faced with a pack of more of the flesh rotting species.

They were slow, and they walked oddly. Each step was a stumble, but their feet picked up pace when their eyes met yours. You knew that you couldn't take on 15 of these things, much less 1, so you bolted. You walked down the street of the city only to an intersection, making a left hand turn. You could hear a certain growl emit from the creatures, a throaty gargle which only chilled you to the bone. You needed to get out of the city, but to where? You didn't worry about that now. You just worried about leaving, perhaps hiding, so these creatures would no longer be a threat.

Your stamina surprised you, along with your speed. You knew what to do, but you never learned where to do it. Out of nowhere, you heard a scream. Gunshots soon rang out and reverberated through the city. You decided to follow the noise, feeling the instinct to help out the distressed. Soon, you were face to face with a group of humans, actual breathing humans, with guns and knives, fighting off these sick looking monsters. Yet, they were cornered, and the group of 7 (5 men and 2 women) fought the creatures relentlessly.

Suddenly, an urge overtook you. As if you were taught to do this, you ran up to one of those ugly gargling bastards and kicked its knee in, hearing a loud crunch when its bone broke. It fell to the ground, sliding on the road trying to reach you. You looked down, and then noticed you had a carrier around your waist, with a knife being held snugly in it.

You pulled the silver weapon out, and out of pure instinct, you stabbed the thing in the head. You then looked up to a pair of upturned brown eyes, and black hair that was tucked into a snug mullet. He was definitely a human. Yet, you got back up and fought off more of those creatures, relying purely on what your brain told you to do. You fought like an expert, you looked elegant while killing the monsters so speedily.

Each time you would stab their soft skulls, the punctured rotting flesh would overflow with ugly. brownish red blood. Your speed and intelligence sincerely outmatched those pathetic beings, but you did not know the root of your skills. Soon, the group joined you in killing the gargling things, until the crowd of them thinned out so they could escape. They started running, until the man you made eye contact with before looked behind at you, and uttered the words, "Come on!" So, you ran with them. And then you were stuffed in a large four row van, as a brown haired driver with soft doe eyes drove away, expertly maneuvering through the thickening crowd of monsters.

The first person to break the silence was a short and curvaceous woman, who eyed you suspiciously. "Who are you?" She asked, her eyes glaring at you intrusively.

"I'm Y/N." You said, surprised that you remembered your name. The word felt foreign on your tongue, like everything you said did. You felt like an alien, a pariah, and soon everybody in the van eyed you dangerously. "I am no threat, I promise." You continued, only speaking the truth. To be fair, you meant no harm to them.

"How do we know that? Where's your group?" Another woman piped up, who was taller and skinnier than the last one. She had remarkable green eyes, a small nose, and short, black hair. She was tan, and the woman folded her arms trying to be intimidating. You, however, did not feel an ounce of fear towards these humans.

"I-I don't have one. I don't know what happened, to be completely honest." You explained feebly.

"What do you mean by, 'what happened'?" The driver questioned, making eye contact with you through the mirror. You soon noticed you were out of the city, and driving much more slowly on the abandoned highway.

"As in, where the hell am I? I don't remember anything." You muttered, the confusion thick in your tone. The group looked to themselves exasperatedly, but the man with the mullet (who was tall and skinny, but his muscles were prominent) stared at you.

"Elaborate." Is all he said, and you didn't need to be told twice. He looked like the leader of these people, despite his young looking exterior.

"I woke up in a convenience store, and I swear on my life that I did not remember anything that happened. I had supplies, but I was relying on my instincts back there. Hell, I'm relying on them right now." You explained, the confusion you endured frustrating the hell out of you.

"That sounds like a load of bullshit." A tall man piped up. He had dark brown hair, and wide brown eyes. His nose was pointed, and his gaze was petrifying.

"Listen, I just saved your asses. Not only that, I am really fucking confused because I have no idea where I am! What the hell is this place?" You shouted, the man looking slightly taken aback.

"Then where'd you learn how to fight like that?" A different man asked. He looked young, and had brown shaggy hair. His innocent looking eyes bore right into yours, and although his question was threatening, his tone was soft.

"I have no fucking idea," You explained, "I have no clue what those things we just fought were, or where the hell all the people are. Could somebody help me out here?"

"Those things you just fought were the infected. They bite you, you're done for. You turn into one of them. This sickness broke out, and turned people into flesh eating monsters. About 95% of the population was wiped out. Got it?" The man who you presumed to be the leader explained.

"Can you just stop the car? Let me get out, and leave you alone now. Sorry for being a burden to you, but I do not plan on hurting any of you." You plead.

"No can do. We have no idea if you're lying or not, and if your group is coming to find you. So, we're going to wait a while and see." The driver rasped, and you bit your lip. You felt the urge to...cry? You wanted to cry because you were so angry and confused, and you didn't like or trust these people. Not even that, you just saved their lives!

Everybody looked at you, expecting you to scream or cry. Instead, you merely asked, "What are your guys' names, then?"

The skinny man with the mullet stated, "Minghao."

"Hansol." Said the soft boy with the soft eyes.

"Junhui." The tall, big eyed man who previously yelled at you mumbled.

"Cleo." The curvy woman pipped.

"Margo." The taller girl said.

"Joshua." The driver finally said, and you sighed, sinking into the seat of your car, fatigue finding its way to you.

"Get up." Minghao ordered, as your droopy eyelids ripped open to the cloudy day. You unbuckled your seat belt, and looked up to their "territory". It was a street in the suburbs, with a huge wall making the minuscule town submit to its large presence. Large watch towers where men and women with guns looked down at everybody, especially you, while they begrudgingly opened the gates.

They made you give them all of your weapons, coaxing you into submission. You hated that, especially around these folks whom you didn't trust. They led you to a garage of a rugged looking house, and merely shoved you into the cement room while you had time to yourself. You sighed profusely, running your fingers through your short hair. You tried desperately to remember something that happened to you before today, but nothing came to your avail. You were pissed beyond belief, and you wanted to cry, but you refused to let these people see you shed a tear.

As you spent more time by yourself, you got to know who you were. You were a stubborn, strong woman. You knew you were twenty, but that was about it. Soon, the door of the garage opened. You came face to face with Minghao, and you rolled your eyes without even thinking. Expecting to get yelled at, you hear a light scoff from his end. You furrow an eyebrow suspiciously, as he notions for you to go and sit. While walking over, he attempts to trip you and pin you down, but you respond instantaneously and swing your arm towards his face, finding your balance. He dodges you quickly, and a smug smile soon appears on his face. "I knew you could fight." He playfully plighted, which resulted in you crossing your arms and rolling your eyes again.

"I believe you." He said, observing that you weren't in the mood to play around. Soon, your face lit up. He bit his lip, sustaining a smile that wanted to creep onto his face.

"Really?" You asked exasperatedly, a look of relief settling on your face.

"No. I just wanted to see the look on your face when I said that. But, it was less devilish than I expected." He explained, which resulted in you throwing your head back in frustration.

"Oh my fucking god." You whispered to yourself, and Minghao couldn't contain his laughter. You glared at him heavily, and his smile soon halted.

"Sorry, there isn't much comedy these days. I'm here to just interview you, get to know you, and see where you could help in our little community." Minghao explained, and you just shut your eyes in pure frustration and confusion. But then, something flashed in your mind, something you've never seen before. And then, you were on the floor hyperventilating, holding your head which echoed with furious pain, as something came to your head. A powerful image.

A memory.

52 notes · View notes

jostens-pitch · 4 years

Text

the shuffling of cards

summary- non exy/mafia au where all andrew had known all his life was disappointments and despondency. he'd never wanted anything because he was always given nothing, but somehow neil had managed to become a something. told through unproductive therapy sessions and late night rooftop talks.

can be found on ao3 as well !

Andrew’s life consisted of disappointments and despondency. He didn’t believe in a god, but it was clear he had been dealt a bad hand of cards in this lifetime. There was no point sugarcoating it. His life amounted to nothing more than stifled cries for help and scars; late night terrors weighed down heavily on him.

Disappointments and despondency, that’s all Andrew knew; he was content with it.

He had to be content with the cards he was dealt, otherwise he’d drive himself insane trying to level the playing field. So on nights where his bed covers felt too similar to a body pressing against him, when the wind outside his window sounded too much like whispered threats, when his nightmares were hard to distinguish from reality, Andrew simply shut his eyes and imagined himself with a deck of cards. He shuffled them in his mind, forcing himself to focus on the reds and blacks that flashed each shuffle. It never calmed him, but it was enough for him.

Betsy was the only one who knew of the way Andrew viewed his life. It was obvious that she didn’t approve, often saying that by replacing himself with inanimate objects he was just repressing trauma. He didn’t care, but he had tried to reassure Betsy of her concerns during a particular session.

“I don’t even know how to play cards.” Andrew said.

“That’s not funny,” Betsy sighed. “You’re hurting.”

Andrew stared blankly at her, he had already begun to imagine shuffling a deck of cards. “I’m content.”

“‘Content’ and ‘lonely’ are closely related, Andrew.”

Reds, blacks, aces, diamonds, spades, clubs. They all flipped wildly through Andrew’s head, taunting him. He didn’t need anything or anyone. The cards had made sure of that the moment he was born. Only fools plagued by disappointment wished on stars for their wants. Andrew knew better than them, he knew the stars laughed at the fools; he knew they spit their wishes back at them. Andrew knew better, but he was human and he was weak.

The stars had spit Neil Josten back at Andrew.

It was the only explanation for the way the boy was thrown so suddenly into his life. Andrew had been content, he had his deck of cards and he had his disappointments. He didn’t want anything, he hadn’t looked to the stars for anyone. He was fine.

Yet Neil came crashing into Andrew’s life, bringing his secrets and his scars with him. He left burns where he landed long after the fire had been put out. He had become a shadow that loomed over Andrew, never getting too close or appearing too threatening. It was nauseating, so he avoided Neil at all costs.

Andrew could handle it though. The stars could go fuck themselves. Neil was nothing, and it would stay that way. The hand he had been dealt was all the guidance Andrew needed, its spades and diamonds becoming knives and bullets. As long as he had his knives and cards, there was nothing he needed. It had been that way for nineteen years.

“Neil seems to have become a permanent fixture in your life.” Betsy noted one session.

“What gave you that impression?” Andrew’s voice remained flat as usual.

“His name pops up frequently during my sessions with Aaron and Kevin.”

“Patient confidentiality, Doc.” He had reminded her.

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Maybe the cards have switched hands.”

“Ha,” Andrew huffed. “I forget you have a sense of humor.”

She had smiled at him, writing something down on her notepad. Andrew caught a glimpse of the words she had written, seeing “Neil”, “friends”, and “lonely”. He remembers frowning, not liking the connections Betsy had been drawing.

If she thought Neil was the answer to his problems, then Andrew had sorely mistaken Betsy’s abilities. There wasn’t an “answer” to anything relating to him. His mother hadn’t wanted him, he had been sexually abused for years, he went to juvie, he killed his mother, and he had survived it all by envisioning shuffling a deck of cards. Those weren’t problems that had solutions, it was just how his life was; disappointments and despondency.

During his freshman year at Palmetto, Andrew had discovered the rooftop of his dormitory building. He hated heights, but the air so high up was crisp and burned his lungs the same way a cigarette did. The view wasn’t anything impressive, but it made Andrew feel as if he was finally away from the men who had hurt him. He had spent a lot of nights sitting on the edge of the rooftop, shuffling cards in his mind and burning his lungs with smoke and cold air.

This year was no different; on the first night of sophomore year, Andrew made the journey up to the rooftop for a smoke and to clear his mind. His session with Betsy that day had rattled him more than it should have. She had decided today that they should discuss Andrew opening up more, maybe making friends this year. He ignored everything Betsy was saying, already knowing that what she wanted wasn’t realistic. Most wants weren’t. Andrew was perfectly fine with what he had, but the session had cast a shadow of doubt in his mind. He hated it.

He pushed the door to the rooftop open with unnecessary force and in his angry rush he almost didn’t see Neil slouched over the edge. Andrew froze, unsure of what to do. While Neil had been at Palmetto for the summer, Andrew had made sure he was never alone with him. It worked out, seeing as how Neil was always with Kevin and Aaron studying or with Matthew Boyd, who didn’t like Andrew. Thinking over his options, he was tempted to walk up behind the boy and thrust his arms out to push him off. He almost did, but when Neil turned to face him, he saw blue eyes that should’ve been brown. For a moment he thought it was a trick of the light, but-

“I don’t like surprises.” Andrew said.

Neil raised a brow. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

Andrew ignored the remark and walked over to where he usually sat on the edge. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with practiced ease. He knew he was stalling, but for once in his life Andrew didn’t know what to say. The implications behind Neil’s words were dangerous.

The cigarette smoke burned Andrew’s throat as he spoke. “Shouldn’t Boyd be babysitting you?”

“He’s with Dan.” Neil said with a shrug.

Andrew hated how Neil let his taunts roll off of him so easily. He brought his cigarette to his lips again and inhaled, watching Neil out of his peripheral vision. The thought of pushing him off the edge still seemed amusing to Andrew.

“You know,” Andrew said, turning to face Neil, “I could push you and make it look like an accident.” He blew smoke in the boy’s face.

To Andrew’s surprise, Neil breathed in the smoke with a smile on his face. The damn stars and fools he thought bitterly.

Neil took a moment to respond, still inhaling all the cigarette smoke he could. “Matt told me you’d threaten me eventually. It’s good to know you think so highly of me.”

Andrew huffed and took another drag from his cigarette, choosing not to dignify Neil’s words with a response. He’d let him think whatever he wanted. At the end of the day, all Andrew wanted was nothing. There was nothing on his mind, no one on his mind. Not even boys with pretty faces and eyes so blue they seemed to glow in the dark.

Silence settled upon them as Andrew finished the last of his smoke. He cursed at himself for leaving his pack back in his dorm. For once, he wished he had more than his deck of cards in his head to distract him. Neil’s presence, even sitting three feet away, was too much for Andrew. Just as he was about to get up and leave, Neil spoke.

“I wear colored contacts to stand out less, in case you were wondering.”

Andrew’s shoulders tensed. Why was he offering up a truth so willingly? Was he expecting something in return? No one offered themselves up without the reward of transparency.

“I don’t remember asking.” Andrew said.

Neil turned to him again, offering a small smile and a nod. “I know.”

They allowed silence to settle over them again, not moving until it was late and they had to go inside. Later that night, as the reds and blacks shuffled through Andrew’s mind, he thought he saw a flash of bright blue as well. He didn’t sleep that night.

Neil said things that made Andrew want to slit his throat and sew it back together again.

That’s all Andrew had come to learn during their nightly rooftop sessions. He hadn’t meant to make them more than a one time thing, but Neil kept showing up and Andrew couldn’t bring himself to tell him to fuck off. During the day they ignored each other, but when night fell they’d come together on the rooftop. Andrew had to remind himself often of the disappointments and despondency he’d come to rely on over the years.

Tonight, Neil turned to Andrew and said, “I know there’s more to you than cigarette smoke and knives.”

Andrew’s hand froze on its way to taking another drag from his cigarette. Once he noticed, he let his hand drop quickly next to him. Andrew knew Neil saw the way he reacted to the statement, and it made him want to push the cigarette into Neil’s lips and burn them. Maybe that would stop the boy from speaking.

The two stared at each other for several long minutes, Neil’s eyes expectant and curious while Andrew’s were cold and unbothered. Andrew could hear thunder rumbling, a storm brewing above them. He was tempted to just let the storm be an excuse to leave without answering, but before he knew it he was speaking.

“There’s also a deck of cards and being dealt a shitty hand.” Was all he said.

Neil, though visibly confused, seemed to accept the answer and turned back to face the lights of the buildings before them. They sat in silence as usual before the storm brought its rain and forced them inside.

Andrew was glad the storm came so quickly since Neil’s words were floating through his mind. He noted how he said “I know” instead of “I think”. Andrew spent the night in bed agitated at himself for allowing a runaway to read him so easily. Fuck whatever Neil thought he knew, fuck himself for giving more away more information, fuck everything.

Disappointments and despondency. That was it. That was all Andrew would allow himself to know. His deck of cards were all he needed. There was nothing more to him than that.

Nothing.

“You look more tired than usual.” Betsy observed during their session the next day.

Andrew glared at her, not feeling up to their usual banter today. Neil’s words had clung to his brain all night and no matter how many times he shuffled his deck of cards in his head, he hadn’t been able to calm down. It was infuriating being so weak.

Sensing his annoyance, Betsy set her notepad aside and leaned in closer to him. “Andrew, I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Do you now?” Andrew said.

“Yes. It’s my job to know and it’s your job to tell me.” She pressed on.

Andrew looked down at his nails and began to pick at a piece of dry skin. “It’s not a job if I’m not getting paid for it, Doc.”

Betsy laughed, “Well I’m getting paid, so either you tell me what kept you up all night or we sit here for the next forty-five minutes. Either way, I’ll make money.”

It’s sessions like this that remind Andrew why Betsy has been the only psychiatrist to ever hold his attention longer than one visit. He knew that she was more than willing to sit and stare at him until their session ended, and normally Andrew would stare right back, but after last night he just felt raw.

Letting out a deep sigh, Andrew gave in. “I took your advice and befriended Neil Josten.”

“Andrew, that’s great-”

“Your advice was shitty.”

Betsy paused, startled by the quick change in Andrew’s demeanor. “May I ask how?”

“Little Neil seems to think he knows all about me.” He explained, making sure to keep any emotion out of his voice.

“Is there something wrong with him thinking that?” Betsy asked.

Andrew looked her in the eye. “You know about my deck of cards, don’t ask stupid questions.”

“My apologies, but maybe it’s a good thing. He seems to have taken an interest in you.”

“All he does is say things that make me want to cut into his face and rearrange it.”

Betsy grimaced at the visual and opened her mouth to respond, but a frantic knock on her office door cut her off.

“Ms. Dobson?” Andrew’s eyes widened slightly. He knew that voice almost too well. That voice asked him questions that made him want to peel his skin off and burn it.

Neil’s head popped up from behind the door before Betsy could stop him. He looked sweaty and out of breath, his eyes slightly panicked as he saw Andrew sitting in the chair. He clearly hadn’t known that Betsy would be in a session right now. Andrew couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed to be in such a rush to see her.

“Neil! I thought we had an appointment at three?” Betsy asked, getting up from behind her desk and meeting Neil at the door. Andrew curiously watched how they interacted.

“I- uh,” Neil opened the door fully and stepped inside, standing on the tips of his toes as if he was getting ready to run. He casted a weary glance at Andrew before speaking. “It's the FBI. They, uh, contacted me this morning and told me my dad is in custody.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. The FBI? Interesting.

Betsy’s eyes widened, looking between Andrew and Neil for a few seconds before sighing.

“Andrew-” She started.

“I know,” He cut her off. “I’m not getting paid to be here anyways.”

Betsy smiled at the subtle joke, watching as Andrew collected his things and got up. He made sure to not look Neil’s way as he was scared his eyes would give away everything he wanted to ask the boy. He knew he’d have time tonight. There was no way Andrew was letting Neil skip out on their rooftop session. Tonight, he’d be the one asking questions.

For once Andrew was the first to arrive at the rooftop, so he sat at the edge and pulled out a cigarette to light. For the first time in a long time, he was alone on the roof. He thought he’d be relieved to be alone, but for some reason he felt like something was missing.

Disappointments, Andrew reminded himself, despondency.

"Content" and "lonely" are closely related, Betsy’s voice replied as a black spade shuffled after a red ace. Andrew scoffed at himself; even his mind was arguing with him now. Pathetic.

Andrew waited for nearly an hour for Neil to show. Once the hour had passed, he began to think that maybe the runaway had finally escaped. It wouldn’t have surprised him, it had been clear the day they met that Neil was a runner. It was one of the reasons why he avoided him for so long.

“My real hair color is this awful red-orange thing.”

Andrew couldn’t help but jump at the sound of Neil’s voice. He hadn’t heard the boy walk up behind him, which in itself made him uneasy. Andrew had come to survive on his hearing abilities warning him of threats approaching.

Turning around to face Neil, Andrew allowed his heartbeat to slow down before speaking. “Thank god for the brown, then.”

Neil let out an uneasy laugh. This was the first time Andrew had ever seen him so nervous around him. Normally he was teasing and unperturbed, always using his quick wit and cocky mouth to annoy Andrew. This quiet, insecure Neil was something he didn’t think he liked.

“Why did the FBI tell you that your dad is in custody? Normally a person is told by their frantic mother.” Andrew squared his shoulders and raised his chin, daring the boy standing in front of him to lie.

“My mother is dead.” Neil said, looking into his eyes.

Hiding his shock, Andrew carried on. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s a long story and I’ll tell you whatever you want, but,” Neil stood up straighter, “I think it’s time you expose your truths as well.”

Andrew blinked at him. “I told you last night-”

“No, if I have to answer all your questions, then you have to answer mine.” Neil said.

Of course Neil wanted something in return, Andrew had known that from the start. He had known that no sane being would offer to expose their soul without some consolation. It was human nature, and Andrew knew human nature more than anyone. Still, it didn’t lessen the blow of disappointment he felt in his chest, but he figured it was only fair. An eye for an eye; a truth for a truth.

“Fair enough.” He replied, lighting another cigarette.

Neil nodded, shuffling over to where he normally sat during their rooftop sessions. He took a few moments to collect himself, inhaling the smoke that Andrew blew out and slowly returning to the Neil that Andrew had come to tolerate.

“My mother wasn’t a good person, and my dad sure as hell isn’t one either.” Neil began. Andrew turned his attention to him, his deck of cards had been put away. “My dad is a big time crime boss back in Baltimore. Everyone calls him the Butcher. He… he was awful.”

Neil leaned back from the edge and lifted his shirt up, and Andrew surveyed the scars that were just barely visible in the moonlight. “All the big scars are from him. He tormented my childhood until I was ten. That’s when my mother stole some money from him and we became runaways; that’s where my smaller scars are from.

“My mother did everything she could to keep me safe from him. Her methods were… extreme, but they kept us alive. She’d beat me if I looked too suspicious or if I complained. I remember this one time when she repeatedly kicked me in the stomach for not finishing a meal.” Neil’s hands went to his stomach, touching it gently as if he could still feel her kicks.

“Every few months I had a new name, a new face, a new home; we were constantly on the move since my dad had his men searching for us. Whenever they found us, we would just barely manage to make it out alive. It was exhausting living in fear of being caught and tortured to death. We managed to outlast them for eight years, but eventually they won. My mother died a few days after they had ambushed us. I-I thought she was fine, but I guess she had internal bleeding.”

Neil took a shaky breath and Andrew noticed with alarm that he was crying. He had never been good at comforting someone given the fact that no one had ever comforted him. Neil’s tears shined against his face and made Andrew want to reach out and brush them away. Instead, he took the cowardly way out and pretended he hadn’t seen the tears.

“Still wondering how the FBI is involved.” Andrew said, glancing at Neil.

Neil snorted at him. “You have no patience, do you?”

Andrew shrugged. “I’ve been told it’s something I need to work on.”

Shaking his head, Neil continued. “When my mom died, I freaked out. We were in the middle of nowhere somewhere on the east coast. All that was around us was the beach and a forest. I had parked our car and pried her bloody body out of the passenger seat; I knew I had to bury her, so I did. Once I was done, I went back to the car and set it on fire so no one would know what had happened and walked away. I walked aimlessly for a few hours before the cop cars pulled up next to me. Apparently a woman had seen me burying my mother’s body and burning the car, so she called the police.

“I had been too emotionally drained to protest as they put me in handcuffs and drove me away. All that I was aware of was the fact that I was getting further and further away from her body. Once they had me in custody, all the years of hiding and running had caught up to me. I told them everything, from who my dad is to how my mother died. They didn’t believe me, but once the FBI took over it was clear that I was telling the truth.”

“And I’m assuming the FBI just dropped you off here at Palmetto for safekeeping?” Andrew interrupted.

Shrugging, Neil nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of how it went. They told me that I could come here if I changed my name and promised to never contact my dad or his men. They said that if I gave them all the information I knew, they’d keep me safe here while they went after him. It wasn’t a hard deal to accept.”

Andrew processed everything he had been told. As barbaric as the story had been, he knew Neil couldn’t have been lying. It was too elaborate to make up, and judging the way he reacted in Betsy’s office that day he had seemed genuinely alarmed. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired.

“Alright.” He said.

“Any more questions?” Neil teased, not really expecting a response.

“Actually, yes. What’s your real name?”

Neil’s smile vanished and he turned away. “You really don’t hold back, huh?”

Andrew stared at him, waited for an answer. Really, he was just stalling in hopes of Neil forgetting to ask questions himself. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to tell anyone anything. Not even Betsy knew the full story.

“Fine,” Neil huffed. “It’s Nathaniel Wesninski.”

“Quite a mouthful.” Andrew said.

It was quiet for the next half hour as both of them let Neil’s words sink in. Andrew could tell it had taken a lot to tell his story, though that didn’t mean he’d pity him. Life had been cruel to them both, dealing them the worst hands it could.

“It’s your turn.” Neil said softly after a while.

Andrew felt his breath escape him, refusing to face Neil. If he was going to tell his story, he would pretend that he was by himself on the rooftop, speaking to the stars as they fooled poor souls.

“My mother hadn’t wanted twins, so she kept my brother and threw me out. It was a poor choice, really. I’m far better than Aaron. Went into the foster care system, got tossed around by a bunch of old men who liked to touch little kids, found a really good foster mom whose son liked it when I stifled my cries into my pillow. Stayed there until I found out I had a brother and he threatened to hurt him as well. Moved in with Aaron and his mom, found out she beat him regularly, killed her for it and made him hate me. I ended up in juvie for a few years, got released, and then lived with Nicky and Aaron until we came here. The end.” Andrew took a deep breath once he was done.

It took several heartbeats for Andrew to gain the courage to look at Neil, who had been silent the moment the story was finished. He couldn’t tell whether or not the boy was alarmed, but Andrew doubted Neil was in a position to judge him. Some people killed their moms, others buried them.

“I didn’t even get to ask a question. This hardly seems fair.” Neil finally said.

Andrew allowed a ghost of a smile to grace his face. Disappointments and despondency had been all he had known for nineteen years, his cards had been his security blanket. Now, here was a boy with fake brown hair and ridiculously oversized clothes who seemed to be doing everything right. Andrew had never needed anything, but maybe this nothing could stay.

After they traded their stories that night, nothing had really changed between Andrew and Neil. They still did their nightly rooftop meetups, they still avoided each other during the day, and they still sat in silence until Neil managed to say something that made Andrew’s heart stop. The only change had been Andrew now wanting to kiss Neil’s lips instead of burning them with a cigarette.

The change had been terrifying for Andrew once he realized it. He had never wanted anything in his life before. He’d never wanted Christmas gifts or a lock on his bedroom door. He’d never wanted a family who loved him back or hands that protected him instead of violating him. All he had needed were his cards and its knives and bullets. Yet Andrew wanted Neil Josten, a runaway with a past that rivaled his own traumas. He told Betsy this during one of their sessions.

“That’s great, Andrew!” She had exclaimed. The smile she flashed him had been one filled with pride. Andrew looked away from it.

“He’s still nothing to me.” He had deflected.

Betsy shook her head. “I think he’s something.”

“Maybe,” Andrew glanced up at her, “but I’m sure you know me well enough to know I won’t do anything about it.”

Betsy’s smile had been a sad one.

Andrew replayed their conversation continuously in his head after their session had ended. He wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, but a part of him knew that Betsy was right. Somehow, in between their late night smokes and unwilling truth sharing, Neil had become something to Andrew. Something that he wanted to kiss, maybe even hold close if he could.

It was almost as if life had spared him another chance, shuffling the cards on its own and dealing a new hand to him. Maybe the stars hadn’t spit Neil Josten back at Andrew in spite, but rather as an apology. If this something was worth his time, he thought that perhaps he had a right to find out.

Fuck disappointments and despondency, Andrew could feel that the new hand he had been dealt was a good one.

“I know you hate wants, but I know you want something.” Neil said a few nights later.

He had come up onto the rooftop a few minutes after Andrew, bouncing around the area and swinging himself in circles like a little kid. It was the most carefree he’d ever been on the roof, and it was then that Andrew noticed that his hair was now auburn.

“I want you to go back to brown.” Andrew replied, watching as he finally sat down on the edge.

Neil flashed him a smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Something tells me you actually like redheads.”

Andrew felt his face flush at the wink sent his way. He flipped Neil off and took a drag from his cigarette. The fucker was right, but he’d be damned if he let him know it.

“All I want is nothing.” A cloud of smoke escaped Andrew’s mouth as he spoke.

Leaning close to him, Neil whispered, “I’m nothing.”

He was especially bold tonight, something that made Andrew’s skin burn pleasantly. It was a weird sensation he’d never felt before, actually wanting the attention he was receiving. Tonight was full of firsts, it seemed.

“How are you so sure of my feelings for you?” Andrew asked, allowing himself to lean in closer as well. For once, not knowing what might happen next didn’t scare him.

“You hate being vulnerable. That’s how I know.”

All the air was knocked out of Andrew’s lungs. He searched Neil’s face, looking for any indication that this was just a game to him. When he found nothing, his heartbeat sped up. Neil was staring just as intensely back at him, his face raw and readable.

Andrew inhaled shakily, moving his hand up to hover a few inches in front of Neil’s cheek. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.” Neil nodded. Andrew’s hand pressed carefully against his cheek, he gently smoothed the tender skin underneath his thumb.

“Can I kiss you?”

Neil looked into Andrew’s eyes, and it was then he was sure that he had finally been dealt a perfect hand. “Yes.”

Andrew pressed their lips together as soon as he knew he could. He hadn’t known just how much had wanted this until now. The feeling of Neil’s rough and chapped lips against his felt like sinning in heaven. It felt right yet tasted dangerous. It was maddening and it was addicting. For just a second, Andrew felt like the giddy little kid he never got to be.

Neil was the first to break the kiss, pressing his forehead against Andrew’s. “Woah.”

Andrew didn’t say anything, but he allowed his thumb to graze against Neil’s cheek once more. This close, he noticed freckles scattered along his face and Andrew resisted the urge to kiss every last one of them. Somehow, he knew that this is what coming home felt like.

“Oh, fuck.” Neil threw his head back with a groan.

Andrew frowned, pulling away slightly. “I was told I’m a good kisser.”

Rolling his eyes, Neil dug through his pants and pulled out his wallet. He counted the bills inside and groaned once more. “I owe Kevin twenty bucks.”

“Care to lend me five dollars? I think Bee was secretly betting on this too.”

“Fuck you.”

Andrew smiled, covering it with his hand. He was used to disappointments and despondency, so this was a nice change of pace. He was finally done shuffling his cards.

#neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #aftg #tfc #aftg fic #andreil fic #my writing #mine #hope yall enjoy

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batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Chapter Ten: Ready Aim Fire by Imagine Dragons

once more I will state that I have no OC’. s everyone is either a youtuber or a character from 2017′s dream daddy. I will ask that you check out Jenna Marbles’ video ‘making corn on the cob but instead of the corn bone it’s a hotdog’ it’s not nessarry, but it is funny.

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand as he looked around the room. It was nice, it looked like every kid’s dream room. But the idea of being evaluated was crushing the air out of his lungs. Granted, E. S. had suggested a psych evaluation for them to boost their chances in court, and he did want some parenting advice. So, there they were in Picani’s office, waiting.

He stole a glance at Logan. His husband’s once stoic expression now a thin veil to mask resentment. Patton could almost see every memory of every doctor he was dragged to so his parents could cure him. Logan squeezed the arm rest until his knuckles were white and the bones threatened to pop out.

“It’s ok.” Patton rubbed his shoulder gently. “This time is going to be different. No one wants to cure you. We’re just gonna talk to him. There’s nothing wrong with you. Remember that.”

Logan silently slid his arm around Patton and held him close. Patton rested his head on Logan’s shoulder and listened to his heartbeat. It was slowing down and his own heart started mimicking the calmer rhythm.

The door opened and a cheerful man with curly blond hair and a tan cardigan danced in vocalizing the Loony Toon’s theme song. Ok, so Picani was definitely not a stuffed shirt. This would be nice.

“So, you’re Patton and Logan.” Emile smiled. “We met a few times before.”

“Virgil’s doing a lot better.” Patton chirped. “They’re taking the bandages off soon.”

“That’s good. Has he adjusted any since last week?”

“A little. He’s not as skittish.” Patton smiled. “I’ve been taking him to work with me since I had to go back to the library.”

“That should be a good way to keep his mind off things.” Emile pondered. “Maybe they’ll let him volunteer there. It’s good to keep busy.”

“Today, he read to the kids.” Logan added. “I think some interaction with people closer to his peer group is doing him good.”

“That is awesome news.” Emile smiled and put his hands together. “But now I think it’s time to talk about you two. ‘Sup?’”

“Our lawyer said that it would help us if we had psychological evaluations.” Logan responded. “We all suspect that Payton might try to use certain things against us.”

“Such as…” Emile led.

“For starters I have Asperger’s syndrome. One might argue that it would make me unfit to raise a child.”

“The usual ‘they can’t feel empathy’ song and dance?”

“No, there hasn’t been any singing.”

“It’s a metaphor sweetie.” Patton rubbed his hand.

“Oh.” Logan looked away. “Right.”

“So, where on the spectrum are you?” Emile asked. “You seem really high functioning.”

“I am high functioning. Mainly, I can’t read emotions, I don’t understand metaphors or sarcasm, flashing lights give me migraines, I have a noise sensitivity and I get intensely nervous around people. And I don’t like most sweet foods. They hurt my mouth.”

“How about routines?” Emile continued.

“I have routines, but I don’t impose them on other people. I like to stick to a schedule; to do things in a certain order. But I don’t have an episode if the schedule is disrupted.”

“What normally triggers one?”

“Usually things build up. My most recent episode was a two weeks ago when Roman and I were trying to build a futon without instructions.”

“Why without instructions?”

“They were lost long ago. It was maddening.”

“That.” Emile pointed at them. “Would drive anyone crazy. So, I don’t really see any reason why you can’t adopt Virgil with Patton. Asperger’s isn’t exactly the life ruining hinderance that everyone thinks it is.”

Patton nuzzled up to Logan.

“See. It’s fine.”

Emile smiled at them.

“It’s nice to see a happy couple in here.” He sighed. “I do a lot of couple’s therapy.”

“Logan and I are happy.” Patton confirmed. “We’re almost to out ten-year anniversary.”

“That’s quite the milestone. How’d you two meet?” he leaned forward.

“I had to go to him for tutoring, and we just clicked. Logan proposed while we were in college and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“We were more or less inseparable before that.” Logan interjected. “I just decided to make it official.”

“You’re a Garnet.” Emile clasped his hands to his heart.

“Like from Steven Universe?” Patton asked excitedly.

“Exactly, you two have found your balance and have a solid relationship.”

“That is fair.” Logan looked up. “Most of our arguments did consist of the fact that I can be stoic, and Patton can be over passionate. Exactly like Ruby and Sapphire.”

“That is awesome.” Emile smiled. “And having a stable marriage is usually important if you want to adopt.”

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand and beamed up at him from his shoulder. Logan returned a smile.

“So, what other things are on your minds?” Emile pointed his folded hands at them. “We’re in the judgement free zone here.”

“Well,” Patton rubbed his arm and looked at Logan. “I was on antidepressants for a while after my mom died. And I kind of still am on the medication. I was really out of it.”

“How old were you when she passed away?”

“I had to be about nineteen or twenty.”

“What happened to her?” He asked gently.

“She had ALS.” Patton looked at the floor to hide his tears, why was he still crying after all these years? “She lasted eight months.”

Eight months? That was it? He could have sworn that it was longer.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” He handed them a box of tissues.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I still did this.” Patton dabbed his eyes. “It’s been twelve years.”

“If they put you on antidepressants that means that it must have hit you pretty hard. Watching family die, especially from something that awful can really take its toll. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, or how long you feel it. And moms are important, losing one is a blow no matter how old they are.”

“It hit me really hard.” Patton pressed himself into Logan, who started petting his hair. “I was sleepwalking, one night I woke up in the parking lot of the hospital because I thought I was taking mom to the doctor. I used to do the dishes in my sleep.”

“Was it just you, taking care of her?” Emile squinted. “What about your brother?”

“Payton was in college too. He didn’t want anything to do with it.” Logan answered, still petting Patton.

“I told you I get why he didn’t want to be there.”

“Don’t make excuses for him, you know that’s not why he avoided the house.”

“Hey, don’t unfuse over this.” Emile offered hesitantly.

“Logan and Roman helped a lot during all that. With Mom and Virgil.”

“Virgil was with you?”

“He was just a baby. Mom was diagnosed a few months before his first birthday.”

“And Payton left him with you? Just like that? Just like Pink leaving Spinel in the garden?”

“If Payton was a good father, we wouldn’t be here.” Patton pulled out another tissue. “I don’t wanna talk about my brother.”

“Alright, we’ll just zap those thoughts with the memory eraser.” Emile pretended to zap himself with a ray gun. “Go on with your story.”

“Well, I still walked in my sleep even after mom died. And I lost my appetite and I lost interest in my job and all my classes. It was like I was dead. I went numb.”

“Do you know why?”

“I…” Patton clenched his fists against his knees. “I was relieved when she died, and I couldn’t handle feeling like that. Am I a terrible person?”

“That’s a normal reaction.” Emile said plainly. He said it as if it were a fact that he just knew. Like there was no doubt about its validity.

“What?” Patton looked up at him reeling from the whiplash that comment gave him.

“Your mother, someone you loved died in front of you. And you already said that it took a long time. Anyone would be relieved for that to be over. Like when they bubbled the cluster, they were relieved that the shards weren’t suffering anymore. And that’s normal. That, and the stress it was putting on you was over, and I know you think that sounds awful but it’s natural to be relieved. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“No?”

“No.”

Patton nestled closer to Logan. Logan hid it well, but Patton knew that he had just been vindicated and was thrilled. Patton accepted defeat contentedly and with guilt free relief.

“Logan was there the whole time.” Patton sighed. “All through it. He even got me to go to therapy.”

“Was Logan living with you at the time?” Emile asked. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Ruby and Sapphire were fused for a few thousand years before they got married. I was just wondering if he moved in to help with your mom.”

“My parents threw me out of the house after they found out I was gay.” Logan said blankly, but he was squeezing the couch arm again. His bones turned back up to say hello. “After they.” He sighed. “After they beat me severely.”

“Oh.” Emile said sadly. “I’m so sorry. Were they always like that?”

“The statistics of autistic children who are abused by their parents would break you.” Logan looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes then?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever get help after you left your parents?”

“Yes, I’ve worked through my issues with them. And I don’t plan on letting them back into my life any time soon.”

“That’s fair.” Emile nodded. “They sound like a toxic influence.”

“I will consider forgiving them if they apologize.” Logan still looked at the ceiling. “And on no other conditions do I hold them any loyalty.”

“Well, last thing you need is your own abusive parents showing up when you’re trying to adopt.” Emile agreed. “And you shouldn’t forgive people who are going to continue to be a bad influence on your life.”

“I thought there was going to be more, I don’t know,” Logan looked back down. “More appeals for us to change our ways. Some form of judgement or a quote unquote cure.”

“Nah, you guys are good.” Emile smiled. “You can keep up therapy if you just wanna talk, but I don’t really have anything new to tell you.”

“This is it?” Logan gestured vaguely at the room.

“You’ve been on that couch before, haven’t you?”

“My parents wanted a cure. I’ve seen psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, holistic physicians, herb peddlers, and a neurosurgeon.”

“Wow,” Emile nodded. “That is one expensive wild goose chase. How do you feel about your Asperger’s now?”

“It’s a part of who I am. It took me a long time to realize it wasn’t a horrible disease. And my parents dragging me to a new doctor every week didn’t help. They didn’t help.”

Patton put his arms around him and just hung there silently.

“Is any of this going to keep us from getting custody of Virgil?” Logan sighed.

“Well, your parents being abusive could bring up a ‘cycle of abuse’ argument, but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. Aside from that, Asperger’s and situational depression shouldn’t stop you. Neither of you are violent or incapable of taking care of yourselves or a child. And you’ve already done a great job with Virgil so far. You’re made of love, and it’s stronger than him.”

“I wanna introduce you to our roommate sometime.” Patton said happily. “I think you’d be friends.”

# # #

The day of the barbeque rolled around and Patton, Logan and Roman were eagerly getting ready.

“Let’s see him one-up this.” Roman said sternly, holding up a watermelon sculpture.

The rind had been picked clean and gently sculpted into a frog with melon balls filling up his body and coming out of his mouth. Impressive was an understatement.

“Right.” Logan sighed. “Remember what I said about competing with Brian. Leave Virgil out of it. He’s had enough pressure in his life as it is.”

“I would never do anything to hurt our emo nightmare.” Roman was dead serious. “From now on Brian has to step to me. And anyone who wants our emo has to step to me as well.”

“And me.” Patton clenched his fist.

“We’re doing Lord of The Rings now?” Logan was not amused. “And me.”

With that said a loud thud came from upstairs. All three of them had the same thought and ran upstairs. Reaching the door first, Logan knocked. But Patton had different ideas and burst into the room like a firefighter. Virgil was pulling himself off the floor with his jeans tangled up around his ankles and his cast shoved through one of the holes in the knee. The shock of Patton and Co’s sudden arrival knocked him back down.

“Can I help you?” Virgil asked flatly, pulling his t-shirt down over his boxers.

“Sorry,” Patton backed out of the room quickly. “We heard you fall and wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m ok. My stupid cast got stuck is all.”

“Do you need help?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Ok, we’re ready as soon as you are.”

“Cool, just let me get my pants on.”

“Ok.” Patton closed the door and turned to the other two. “Am I a helicopter parent?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Logan squinted as he thought. “Just be sure of boundaries. Don’t make a habit of bursting into his room. That is his space, and we want him to know we won’t violate it.”

“And I want you to know that it isn’t soundproof.” Virgil opened the door and walked out, smiling at his own joke.

# # #

Patton had his arm around Virgil the entire walk over. Admittedly, Virgil was happy both for the attention and the extra help walking. He wasn’t quite used to this walking cast, and he was still upset that he couldn’t keep the painted one. Sure, it smelled like an old band aid that crawled out of a sewer full of dead possums, but it was still cool on the outside. Maybe they could paint this one.

Patton led him over to the food table and gingerly set down a tray of peanut blossoms. He pulled two off the plate with a flourish, handed one to Virgil and kept the other.

“Clinkies.” He beamed, holding his cookie to Virgil’s.

“Clinkies.” Virgil agreed, tapping the cookies together and shoving his entire cookie in his mouth.

Roman set his melon frog down on the table and whispered to it.

“Ok melon frog, this is what you trained for. This is your time. You don’t be scared. I trained you better than that. I love you, melon frog.”

“You two need a moment alone?” Virgil smiled.

“No.” Roman turned quickly, holding his forearm to his forehead. “it’s better this way. Long goodbyes would only make me weep.”

“Dude, extra is a word they made up just so they could describe you.”

“It is.” Roman ruffled his hair. Were they all just going to do that from now on?

“Jenna!” Patton yipped, holding out his arms.

A short woman with blond hair that showed dark brown at the roots ran over and hugged him. Two Italian grey hounds were at her heels keeping up surprisingly well. Virgil lost all interest in people and sat down to play with the dogs. They immediately started licking him and climbing him for food.

“Where were you, beech?” Jenna asked. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Family stuff.” Patton smiled and tiled his head towards Virgil. He turned his attention. “Virgil, this is our friend Jenna.”

“Hi, I love your dogs.” Virgil chirped, strangely comforted by the mini dogs who were stomping the hell out of his every lower extremity.

In response the grey dog started whining as if he were being tortured.

“I didn’t do anything!” Virgil panicked.

“Kermit, shut up.” Jenna scolded her dog, “He just does that.” She dismissed.

Patton looked around with a look of concerned horror.

“No Marble?” He said fearfully.

“What? Beech am I mourning?” Jenna pointed to herself. “No, Marble is inside. He didn’t want to come out and mingle.”

“What’s this one’s name?” Virgil asked, giving the tan doggo vigorous scratches as she wagged her tail at a mile a minute.

“That one’s Peach-y girl.” Jenna baby talked at the dog, who somehow wagged her tail faster.

Peach bolted off his lap, ran in a wide, happy circle and trampled back onto him.

“So, how do you like the neighborhood so far?” Jenna asked.

“It’s nice.” Virgil moved his head to keep Peach from licking the inside of his mouth. “I haven’t met too many people though.”

“Well.” She gestured at the crowded yard. “That’s gonna change.”

Jenna darted off to greet more guests and the dogs followed her. Darn. Virgil looked around tensely. There were a lot of people. Did they know? Were they going to bring it up? Were they going to ask? Were they going to take sides? Whose side would they be on?

Slowly it became reality that he couldn’t just sit here until someone needed a prop and then just go back to his seat. What was he supposed to do? How did people act at things like this? He’d never been to anything so casual. Was he supposed to play with the other kids? Talk to the adults? Eat? Was he supposed to eat? Was it time to eat? Where were the dogs? Where was Patton? Where was he?

“Ok kiddo,” Patton, it was really Patton, he was back. “Jenna and Julian are vegans, so there’s a lot of vegetables. But they’re good. Both of them are awesome cooks.”

Patton set a paper plate full of food on his lap and sat down next to him.

“She didn’t say she was a vegan while I was talking to her.” Virgil looked for Jenna in the crowd.

“They’re not preachy about it.”

“Cool.”

“And plenty of other people brought meat.”

Virgil took a bite of what he thought was pulled pork and spit it out immediately.

“Is this?” He rubbed the seasoning off and saw that it was yellow. “This is a banana peel!”

“What?” Patton took a taste and grimaced. “That is! Barbra must have brought it.”

“Is she a raccoon?”

“Wait here.” Patton stood up and walked over to the ‘pulled pork’ dish.

He looked around and quickly set the dish on the grass. He made a few beckoning gestures and a mastiff ran at him and started inhaling the banana abomination. He pet the bear sized creature contentedly and strolled back to their spot.

Having run out of food, Bear Dog lumbered over to them. Virgil tried to react in time but before he could, Bear Dog had his entire plate in its mouth. Plate and all, it ate everything.

“Countess, no.” Patton ordered. “That wasn’t for you!”

Countess smacked her lips and started licking Virgil’s face. He silently accepted that he would die by dog smothering and decided that was indeed how he wanted to go.

“No.” Logan showed up out of nowhere and tried to nervously shoo the dog away. “No, shoo. Get away from him.”

“I’m ok Uncle Logan.” Virgil wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck.

Logan stared anxiously. His every muscle was tensed at the dog’s presence.

So, Uncle Logan is afraid of dogs. I wonder why.

“OK friend.” Virgil ruffled the dog’s fur. “Go play with someone else! Go play!”

Countess zoomed away, no doubt measuring on the Richter scale. She would cause tidal waves in her wake. Tidal waves of drool.

“I’ll get you a new plate.” Patton pushed himself off the ground. He paused and suddenly lit up. “Dodie!” He waved happily in someone’s direction. “Come meet the baby!”

“Does he mean me?” Virgil looked to Logan for help.

“I believe you’re about to experience an equivalent to women passing a newborn around for everyone to hold.” Logan raised an eyebrow. “Patton is very excited.”

Patton scampered over with the tiniest morsel of a woman. This girl, who Virgil assumed was an adult had long brown hair and a young face. She could probably fit in a backpack.

“This is Virgil.” Patton gestured eagerly. “Virgil, this is our friend, Dodie.”

“Hello.” She chirped with an equally tiny voice nestled in an English accent.

“Hi.” Virgil looked between the three adults.

“I trust you’re adjusting to all the Patton hugs?” Dodie smiled. “It’s sometimes hard if you don’t like cuddles.”

“I’m getting used to it.” Virgil smiled back. There was no way she’d hurt him, right?

“Who doesn’t like cuddles?” Patton asked in surprise. “Cuddles are the best!”

Dodie and Logan both laughed.

“Virgil, they’re laughing at me.” Patton protested. “They’re making fun of my Patton-ted hugs.”

“Did you just make a pun with your name?” Logan sighed.

“Yeppers. You deserve a Patton the back for guessing that one.”

“This is what my life has become.” Logan rubbed his temples.

“Your name is a pun, Logan.” Patton put a hand on his shoulder.

“Falsehood.” Logan snapped quickly.

“It’s true honey, your name is Logan Berry. Like loganberries.”

“I may scream.”

“But can’t.” Patton added. “Your volume is too low-gun.”

“You’re dead to me.”

“I love you.” Patton wrapped his arms around him.

Logan sighed and grabbed one of Patton’s hands.

“Why are you like this?” Logan looked back at him.

“God owed me a favor.” Patton pressed his cheek to Logan’s.

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh at that. The sheer amount of confidence in that phrase was a power move for the ages. No one could top that.

“You call yourself a catholic.” Logan said harshly.

“No, I call myself Patton.”

“That one’s on me.”

“Uncle Patton never said he was catholic.” Virgil looked up at them.

Could this be it? The explanation. Could a stern religious upbringing have warped his father into a cruel person? And could that same life have also turned Patton into a soft puppy dog of a person?

“Yeah, we were raised catholic.” Patton shrugged. “But mom was never too strict with it. She even ended up getting divorced, so, I guess we weren’t that religious. We didn’t even eat fish that often.”

Virgil deflated. The explanation that he wanted, that he needed. The explanation that he deserved! Once again, it had slipped through his fingers. He saw red for a second. What made a monster? What made his father? Had a loving, supportive home really churned out that bastard? What the hell happened? It didn’t fit!

He looked up at his uncles. Logan had come from the sort of home that Payton described to his voters, and he was a stand-up guy. Happily married despite his homophobic parents and willing to pull some strange kid off the streets and let him live in his house. And all in all, Logan would be a great dad. Were Logan and Payton just products of their environments in a different way? Did each of them just choose to defy their own upbringing? What made Payton decide to turn the other way? Hell, for that matter what made Logan?

“Virgil, we can get you a chair if you don’t want to sit on the grass.” Logan shattered his concentration.

“I’m good.” Virgil answered once the shock wore off.

This! This is exactly what I am talking about!

“Here you go.” Patton put another paper plate in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. “And this is for you, not the puppers.”

“I tried to keep it away from her.” Virgil took the plate. “She was just too fast.”

“I know.” Patton ruffled his hair. “Once you’ve eaten why don’t you go introduce yourself to the other kiddos? Maybe you can make some friends.”

“Sure.” Virgil shoved an entire brownie in his mouth. For some ungodly reason it was spicy.

Now beginning to think that no one in this cul-de-sac could cook, and not wanting to look rude Virgil swallowed the brownie. His eyes watered and his mouth tasted like a used napkin from an Italian restaurant. He ran his tongue across his teeth and found what was left of dried leaves stuck to his gums. He spat them out on the grass.

Virgil glanced up at Patton, who also had a brownie. Maybe it was just him, maybe he just didn’t like sweets. He observed Patton intensely. Patton took a bite out of his pastry and a look of confused disappointment swept over his face. He reluctantly swallowed and set the remaining brownie on the grass.

“I think someone put oregano in those.” Patton coughed.

“Barbra again?” Logan questioned.

“No, she doesn’t use sugar.” Patton rubbed his chin. “Let’s search out the culprit.”

“Sure, why not?” Logan shrugged.

“Ok, Virgil, if you need us, we’ll be nearby.” Patton patted him on the head.

“I didn’t think you were gonna abandon me.”

“Ok, just yell for us or Roman if you need us.”

“Cool.” Virgil chanced a corncob. Surely plain vegetables couldn’t surprise him.

There was a hotdog in it.

As soon as his uncles were out of sight Virgil set his plate on the ground. The dogs could have it. Desperately confused, he lay down on his side and thought. The pork was a banana peel, the brownies were made with oregano and the corn, which he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how, had a hotdog in the center instead of a corn cob.

“If this is weird, I swear to god…” Virgil picked up one of Roman’s watermelon balls.

Sweet rapture, it was just watermelon. He all but wept tears of relief. And had his foot not been in a cast he would have danced.

“So,” A disinterested voice interrupted him. “You’re the new kid.”

Virgil looked up and saw the single coolest person in the known universe. There before him was a man of about thirteen clad in baggy jeans that were held up by one belt and adorned with two more. A chain hung from one belt that trailed down into his pocket. He wore a legion of black rubber and leather bracelets that accented his MSI t-shirt. His judgmental look was emphasized by two eyebrow piercings and three small hoop earrings in his ear cartilage. He tilted his head to show off the half-shaved half long look his dyed grey hair had been styled in. It was notably uneven, he must have done it himself. What a legend.

“Maybe.” Virgil tried to play it cool as he wiped watermelon juice off his chin. “I’m new here, but in other places I’ve live many lifetimes.”

“Cool.” The legend accepted him. This was a glorious day. “My dad wanted me to introduce myself to you.”

Man, doesn’t that just figure? I should’ve known that this icon wouldn’t just talk to me for the hell of it.

“Cool, I’m Virgil.” He tried to sound like he wasn’t drooling over this guy’s look. “I’m named after hell’s tour guide.”

“I’m Lucian.” He bested him with a way cooler name. “So, you’re living with Patton and Logan?”

Wait, I can just call adults by their first names?

“Yeah, they’re cool.”

I think.

Lucian scoffed. Evidently Patton and Logan weren’t cool. Virgil looked around a single idea was creeping up on him. And that was the idea that this dude may be here to torture him. He looked around for Patton, maybe he was within earshot. But if he yelled for Patton he’d be ‘that kid’ and so far, that was one of the few things he hadn’t been yet.

No, mostly he was just that idiot who still wet the bed, and wasn’t that so fucking funny? He had also had a few panic attacks, one on stage. There weren’t many people in his corner.

“Anyway…” Virgil said awkwardly, still trying to gauge if this guy wanted to attack him or not. “Are there any other cool guys here or is it just you?”

“I’m pretty much the only cool guy in the neighborhood. And, like the only other dude.”

At that Virgil looked around the yard. Lucian was right, most of the people had daughters. From the looks of things, they were they only guys there. Another observation was that a lot of the parents seemed to be single. That or they were all in gay relationships like his uncles were. Was this a gay community? A gay-borhood?

“Wanna see my scars?” Virgil offered blankly.

“Sure.” Lucian seemed taken aback.

Virgil’s hands weren’t in as bad shape as before. But they were still messed up. The skin had stiffened up, making it difficult to open and close his hands still. And his palms currently looked like melted plastic with massive blisters jutting up out of them. He had band aids on both thumbs and his left index finger to cover up the missing nails. And finally, there was a very faint ribbing pattern in the center of his palms. Left over from the desk lamp he had tried to bust his window with.

Lucian stared at his hands with a dismayed look of revolution and terror.

“Geeze dude.” He gagged. “How long were you trapped in there?”

“I don’t know. I left my stopwatch behind.” Virgil shrugged.

Lucian gave a respectful scoff at the joke.

“So, do a lot of people know about the…” Virgil struggled to do air quotes. “Fire?”

“Yeah, my dad told me. Then he told me not to bring it up. I mean, like, why tell me if I have to act like I don’t know?”

Virgil chewed on one of his bandages, he was debating running away from this conversation. The god of coolness knew that he used to be his dad’s punching bag and that wasn’t exactly ideal. He’d prefer for that not to have happened. Fight or flight was kicking in, but he couldn’t exactly fight a topic.

“Whatever.” He tried to play it off. “So, do you go to school nearby?”

“Yeah.”

Ok, let’s try something that will get me a better answer.

“Did you eat any of the food yet?”

“No.”

“Ok, because it’s all not what it’s supposed to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucian squinted.

“It means I ate corn of the cob and found a hotdog in it.” Virgil held up the offending vegetable as proof. “Exhibit A.”

“What the fuck?” Lucian snatched it away and looked at it closely. “What the hell? There’s a hot dog in here! How? Why? The fuck?”

“I know right? And there was pulled pork that turned out to be a banana peel, and someone made brownies with oregano in them.”

“Geeze, these cookouts get weirder every time.” Lucian sneered.

“Do you have a lot of these around here?”

“Sure, Jenna and Julian love to do weird things like this. And Brain is always ready to show off. And my dad likes to throw dinner parties.” He made a face and did air quotes. “Like the Victorians.”

“Well, I guess I have to socialize now.” Virgil sighed.

Speaking of that particular hell, Roman emerged out of nowhere with a tall, dark woman in tow. Roman’s friend had waist length hair that flowed down her back like liquid ebony and walked with an air of confidence that almost rivaled him.

“Hi Virgil.” Roman greeted happily. “I see you’ve met Lucian.”

“I have.” Virgil nodded. In his past life this would be the point where he was forbidden to talk to this guy under whatever pretext.

“That’s nice. We all figured you two would get along.” Roman beamed and gestured towards his guest. “This is our friend Lily.”

“What’s up?” Lily asked excitedly.

“Uhh… we were talking about food?” Virgil looked at the grass, intimidated by this massive presence.

“You shouldn’t talk about the food behind its back like that.” Lily answered. “You have to insult it to its face.”

Virgil looked at Roman for help. Roman just smiled at him. But Lily saw him and laughed.

“I’m just teasing.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m just here to observe how deep Patton and Logan’s betrayal runs.”

“What?” Virgil sunk into himself.

“Now that they’re adopting, every single person and childless couple is gonna get twice the flack about…” She did a higher voice. “Settling down and starting a family.” She returned to her normal voice. “When ya girl wants to do that, she will. And it is none of your business. I’m a brown woman, so I already get nagged about that by my family. I don’t need my neighbors to start.”

“Yes mam.” Virgil uttered in awestruck terror.

“Anyway.” She ruffled his hair, like Patton had done hundreds of times already. “It was nice meeting you. I won’t cramp your style anymore.”

With that she left, and Virgil was convinced he had just met the god of yore or some other deity.

“She’s fun, isn’t she?” Roman smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I came over to make sure Barbra doesn’t get a chance to talk to you.” He continued. “She probably wishes you were dead as well.”

“I’ll keep Karen away from him.” Lucian said disinterestedly.

“Good. Don’t even let her look over here.” Roman said backing away.

Roman tripped over a sprinkler but recovered himself with surprising grace and walked away. As he left a new figure emerged. A dude roughly the same age as them wearing an orange hoodie with the hood up. The hood half concealed dark curly hair and cast a shadow on his sort of mustache that he was trying to grow. You know the kind, it’s like six hairs and they’re all different lengths.

“My dad told me to introduce myself to you.” Hood man sneered at him.

I wonder if anyone can talk to me without being told first. But I’m two for two in pity friends.

“Cool.” Virgil said blankly. “I’m Virgil.”

“I’m Ernest.” Hood man returned.

Virgil tried to think of anything he would have in common with people his own age. And unless these two were chess club members, which they obviously weren’t because they weren’t losers, he was going to come up short. His dad was in prison and he was still screwing him over. He really was all powerful.

“Did either of you eat any of the brownies?” Ernest asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, there was oregano in them for some ungodly reason.” Virgil answered.

“What?” Ernest looked confused. “They’re pot brownies, they’re not made with Italian spices.”

“I don’t feel high.” Virgil shrugged. “You sure you didn’t get ripped off?”

“Lucian.” Ernest glared daggers at their third member. “What did you sell me?”

“Oregano leaves.” Lucian scoffed. “And apparently that’s a good thing, because you were planning on drugging the entire neighborhood!”

“You scammed me! I want my ten bucks back!”

“No way! You paid me ten bucks to learn a valuable lesson.”

Virgil pulled the draw strings on his hoodie and started chewing on them.

“What lesson?!”

“Not to be an idiot! What would have happened if one of the little kids ate your roofied crap?”

“Weed is less unhealthy than chocolate!”

“Not if you don’t know you’re getting high! What if someone gave River a brownie?! You would have drugged a baby!”

“So, you just threw whole ass leaves in some brownie mix?” Virgil interrupted. “And what, hoped that no one would notice?”

“What?” Lucian walked over to the table and came back with a brownie. “You idiot! You’re supposed to make it into butter first!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that!” Ernest threw his hands up. “I can’t just google how to make pot brownies!”

Virgil limped over to the table and came back with a lemonade. He drank it contentedly as the scene unfolded.

“What if someone ate one of them and went in the pool you jackass?!”

“You can’t swim after eating! No one would have!”

“Ok, but they were whole leaves.” Virgil said probably to himself. “Even if it was real drugs anyone would have just spat them out after one bite.”

“You can’t just drug people! You’re describing the thought process of a rapist!” Lucian crescendo-ed.

“Ok. I’m calling my dog over, so your head explodes.” Ernest said sternly.

“Careful not to drug her!”

Virgil left and came back with a plate of chips. The argument was going great. Clearly Lucian was winning, but Ernest whistled, and bear dog came bounding over. Bear dog gave Lucian a quick lick on the hand before he could react and then she went for Virgil’s chips.

“This isn’t over you dick.” Lucian said before storming off.

Ernest stood victorious. Bear dog ate Virgil’s entire plate, plate and all.

“The brownie thing was stupid though.” Virgil commented, petting the massive dog. “Like, that was poorly planned at best.”

“I know that now.” Ernest rolled his eyes. “But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit that to Lucian.”

“I admire your resolve.”

Virgil counted that event as a success. No one died, nothing caught on fire and no one got arrested. He even made a couple of friends. Granted they were pity friends, but he would take what he could get. And they made hamburgers towards the end that didn’t have any weird stuff in them. Great success.

#sanders sides #sanders sides human au #logicallity #parental moxiety #parental anological #platonic lamp #pattonsanders #logansanders #romansanders #virgilsanders #famILY

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malachi-walker · 4 years

Text

Some Really Heavy Thoughts on the Relationship Between Scorpia and Catra

Fair warning, guys: I'm gonna get into some deeply personal stuff involving abuse recovery and past mistakes here. I will not be making excuses for Catra or her treatment of Scorpia, but well... Let's just say there's a reason why their relationship has always me wince. Because it touches on some stuff that is likely relevant to a lot of ex-abuse victims.

This entire meta stems from an epiphany I had while discussing with @johannas-motivational-insults how I have a really hard time writing Scorpia, and me trying to pinpoint what exactly makes me so uncomfortable working with her or looking at her relationship with Catra in detail.

Let me back up a bit. We all love Scorpia. She's a big cuddly sweetheart without a mean bone in her body. She's fantastic, a bright point in the overall suckage that is the Horde, and she gives GREAT hugs. So why does their relationship bother me so much?

Well... It's because I've been there once before in my own life. And it's one of my deepest regrets, so seeing that play out on screen and instinctively knowing where this is going fucking sucks.

Personal stuff under the cut.

We've already covered Scorpia being a good kid. That said, I feel like a lot of people just flanderize her into being this perfect wonderful friend who wholly accepts Catra (and conversely either woobify Catra or make her a horrible monster who doesn't appreciate a good thing) but... the truth is a lot more nuanced than that.

Scorpia doesn't wholly accept Catra because in order to truly accept someone you have to see them for who they really are, warts and all, and Scorpia doesn't. She idealizes Catra and either ignores or downplays her very real flaws and problems, and tries to excuse any actions she commits that don't live up to that constructed image, which is of course what she confronts in s4 (and I’m proud of her for that.) It's not done with any ill intent, but it's still not a good thing in any relationship; romantic, platonic, familial, any kind.

Here's where things get real personal. Also, I wanna specify that I am not forcing myself to talk about this, even though it still hurts in a lot of ways. Though I am probably gonna bring this up with my therapist when I next see her.

I've mentioned before in previous meta that I am an ex-child abuse victim who followed a very similar trajectory to Catra once I got out of that situation. I was angry, I was hurt, and I was ADAMANT that nobody get close to me again and fully prepared to lash out as much as I needed in order to make that happen. Occasionally people would slip through my guard anyway, but on the whole I was very successful at that goal and torpedoed a lot of bridges back in those days.

And as much as it kills me to admit it... I had my own Scorpia too.

Her name was Amy, and I met her in my freshman year of high school after I ended up in a private school for the “gifted and talented” (which ended up being its own mistake, but that's a story for another day.)

To put this entire situation into perspective: at the time I was struggling to process and cope with my abuse, I had just been misdiagnosed with major depression after an entire year of contemplating suicide, and I had been put on a ridiculously high dosage of the antidepressant Wellbutrin--literally the highest dosage they could legally give an adolescent without the risk of seizures--which cranked my rage up to a constant underlying simmer and also gave me horrific fucking nightmares, to the point that for about a year and a half I was consistently only getting two hours of sleep because I was waking up screaming nearly every night. This is not me making excuses for being such a dick, but I do try to keep in mind that younger me was dealing with an absolute shitshow when passing judgment on myself. I was trying to survive a situation that absolutely no one was equipped to handle at all of 14 years old.

And then here comes Amy.

Amy was one of those people who was relentlessly optimistic to an almost suspicious degree (more on that later.) The kind of person who will reply to any statement of "I'm having a bad [x]" with generic look-on-the-bright-side platitudes and a big smile without actually addressing anything you said. She was also one of those people who was aggressively Christian, not in a mean way, but in an "it was her answer for literally everything" way, which given that I was struggling with my own faith at the time was practically a recipe for disaster.

But for whatever reason, this girl latched onto me, no matter how much I tried to get her to do otherwise.

I wanna note that I wasn't wholly devoid of friends at the time; my best friend, Michael (who is still my best friend/bro to this day) had also gotten into the school along with me, but the rest of our friend group hadn't and those relationships drifted apart in the ensuing years, which only served to compound the underlying issues. And I will always be thankful that the guy was able to roll with the punches and stick by me even through my absolute worst, but it was also pretty irritating having to switch between my bro who understands me even if he didn’t always agree to my much tenser interactions with Amy. So back to her.

Basically, this girl just kinda inserts herself into my life, refuses to take a hint or back off, and any time I try to talk about my issues or get her to understand a little and make an actual connection, I'm met with the overwhelming feeling of "You're not really seeing me. You're not listening." So I responded by being a fucking bitch. I would ignore her, make fun of her, treat her like a third wheel, etc. In hindsight, it was a dick move, but at the time it made sense to me. I genuinely felt like it was her fault for never listening to me in the first place, so I justified it by telling myself I was just paying her back in kind.

I lost touch with Amy after I was kicked out of school at the tail end of freshman year due to a Wellbutrin-induced rage episode (nobody got hurt, but my attitude at the time was so consistently extreme that the school administration literally had an inch thick dossier on my behavior and what the other kids thought of me, so that incident was just what they needed to justify kicking me out.) Afterwards, my parents made the decision to relocate to another town since my expulsion meant I would be banned from going back into school for a full year unless we changed systems--and even then I was required to go into a continuation school to prove I had been rehabilitated, but I digress. Point is that I was uprooted from that environment and I didn't bother keeping in touch.

I actually found out years later from a friend who went to that same high school--though we didn't actually become friends until after my expulsion--that the reason why Amy was the way she was is that in the year prior to meeting me, her mother had committed suicide and she had been the one to discover her body. So in hindsight, her entire deal made sense: she was trying to survive in the only way she knew how and cope with a situation no one should ever have to, same as me.

But that didn't mean we were able to connect. The great tragedy of that situation, and the thing I regret the most about it, is that we were just two horribly damaged kids that were utterly incapable of actually seeing each other as we were at the time. And it ultimately wasn't anybody's fault, which ironically makes it even harder to accept.

I regret the way I treated her. I wish I could have made her life a little better, and I still hope and pray she got the help she needed elsewhere.

That's what makes Scorptra so incredibly tragic to me as well. Scorpia is a good-hearted person who does genuinely care for Catra, but she also willfully blinds herself to the things Catra is dealing with and her relentless optimism often just ends up rubbing salt in the wounds. Catra is wrong to treat Scorpia so badly, but I also fully understand those feelings of resentment and anger you develop towards someone when they consistently refuse to see you as you are, because I've been there. And that's also why I've always had a hard time with Scorptra romantically (though if you ship it, good for you! I honestly wish I could), because those issues have always been present in their relationship and made it unsustainable from the very beginning.

Something was always destined to break between them. And that's what makes it so damn hard for me to write Scorpia as a character, because in many ways she reminds me of one of the things I regret the most in my life: how I treated someone else who had the best intentions horribly when I was at my absolute worst. These days I try to be kind to my past self as part of the healing process, but when I think of my actions in that year it is really fucking hard. I don't like to think about it, even though I know I feel like I need to (which is also why this meta exists.)

Neither Scorpia or Catra were at fault for the fact that they couldn't see each other properly: it was just a really bad case of wrong place, wrong time. And that's what makes it hurt.

Also, if you made it this far, I'm sorry this was so depressing. Please have a happy cat and scorpion to hopefully feel a little better. Also huge shoutout to @yesbpdcatra for encouraging me to get this out there. You're the best, fam.

#hoo boy #tw: child abuse #mention of suicide #the sometimes ugly messiness of the recovery process #hard personal truths #scorptra #spop meta #my meta

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