#but because of that I’ve gotten good paychecks

[camscendants]

Barbie and Oppenheimer open on the same day!

Me:oh haha funny good memes to come :)

Me remembering I work at a movie theater and work that weekend:

[unholyhelbig]

request: oversight au, nat and reader run into reader’s ex or ronnie’s father who was abusive to them… how will mob nat react?

Title: Old Flames [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: When reader has an unexpected run-in with an old flame and things go less than well, Natasha takes things into her own hands.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): Talks of past domestic abuse, talks of abortion, buried alive references, broken glass, blood (always), Heights, threatening statements, non-consensual kiss, horrible grammar (aways).

[a/n: Okay, I had way too much fun with this. While I loved writing the main story, it's also super great to branch out into some more dynamics with Mob Boss Nat, because I haven't made her mean enough yet.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The apartment building on the corner of twelfth and Hawke was a large midcentury brick building that structure that stretched to the sky. A metal fire escape latticed up the side and stretched clotheslines dripping with shirts and pants connected it to the adjacent building that had long since been used for storage.

Up until this point, you had avoided this building. Luckily, the tenants were quite timely with their rent and left little need for an enforcer to knock door to door. But it was right after the holidays and things were tough. That much, you understood. But it didn’t’ change the fact that three units were more than two months behind on their rent.

Them, you could appeal to with hot chocolate and some gentle urging. But according to Clint, there was a particularly nasty group of people living on the top floor that had gotten multiple noise complaints thrown their way.

The address hadn’t seemed familiar until you stood at the entrance and got a good look at the golden door that contrasted the rest of the structure. You’d written the code to the door on your palm, and you were having trouble differentiating the last number. It was a zero, or it was an eight.

“Gross, you’re sweaty.” Kate had pulled your hand a small distance from her scrutinizing stare, trying to read the smeared purple markings. “I knew we should have used the napkin.”

The woman dropped your hand and stepped up to the small box on the side of the entryway. She hit every button known to man until the fragile voice cracked through the speaker. “Yeah, uh-huh, pizza. I have pizza. Pepperoni-“Her ramblings were cut off by the loud buzz in.

You were treated to an innocent smile as she wrenched open the door and allowed you to follow her in. She was innovative, annoyingly so. Most of the time it worked in your favor but sometimes you found her testing your temper just to prove a point. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed your hesitation.

It was coming back to you now; the large entryway that was lined with lock and key mail slots and a bolstered wooden staircase that was scarcely used compared to the elevator. Natasha kept good care of the place, had repainted and made sure every single lightbulb was humming in synch.

Some would say that she improved the neighborhood, block by block. But there were still those who liked the way things used to be; living paycheck to paycheck with an angry and withering stare being sent your way with each collection call.

“I’ve got Miss Henderson.”

“Oh, come on.” You protested “She sounds so cool.”

Miss Henderson was an older woman who lived on the fifth floor. Most of the time, her rent was late because it had simply slipped her mind. One look at Kate and she’d write a check before offering some of the sweetest cookies you’d ever tasted, often sending her back with a plateful.

From what you had heard, she used to travel with a circus as an acrobatic performer. Her act was death-defying; a performance that relied on her partners quick bladework. The Swordsman and his Enchantress. There were illustrations of their travels hung up around her unit- ones that you would kill to see.

“Too bad, next time.” Kate mock pouted at you before clapping you on the back. “Don’t make too much of a mess up on the top floor, alright? I don’t want to scrub carpets today.”

She took the stairs two at a time and left you alone in the lobby. A cool blast of wind hit your back as a tenant walked in with their dalmatian, pink tongue lolling to the side as his owner checked the mail, barely sparing you a glance.

The type of New York residents that occupied this space had changed greatly. The last time you’d been here was a walk of shame that left your feet raw and bleeding. You’d rushed from the apartment with so much fever that you never returned for your shoes, or your dignity, for that matter.

This time, you had shoes on, ones that you had scrubbed free of blood until they looked presentable. They were leaden on the stairs up to the top floor. Once you reached the fifth, you could hear Kate’s distinctive laugh behind the oak door. At least she was close.

The top floor was nearly silent. You could hear a television, a hockey game that you’d been listening to sparingly on the way over here. It sounded like Toronto was pulling through. The sound of a beer cracking pulled you away from the muffled announcers words.

A radio was resting in an upper window. You and Kate had heard it from the street below, a French Pop station that you could barely make out the words of. French was never your strong suite, one language requirement in high school was enough for you.

Silently, you prayed, that it was a coincidence. That the radio didn’t’ belong to the very men that you were meant to speak to. They were flighty, you told yourself. They weren’t ones to stay and if they chose to stick around after all these years- well, you’d be impressed.

You knocked twice on the center door, the deep forest-green paint threatening to chip under the elements. The music stopped abruptly, and while you could hear that someone was whispering quietly in French, you couldn’t make out the words.

The man that opened the door was too familiar for your liking; his pale waxy skin, his deep brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black, the tattoos that were smattered in different designs against his throat, down his collarbone. Pockmarked on his arms. His hair was longer than you remembered, greasier and tied up in a bun.

He took you in for a singular moment, shock reflecting in his stare, but before he moved to shut the door. You stopped the action with one strong hand, putting your boot between the frame and the wood for extra measure. “Don’t be like that, Kazi.”

“All these years, and now you’re coming back for child support?”

He raked his eyes up and down your body in a way that made you feel violated. You held your stance. He seemed impressed by the bout of strength.

You tsked “if I wanted child support, I would have gone after it by now. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

He scratched under the sleeve of his tank-top, considering you the same way you considered him. Eventually, he seemed to figure he had nothing to lose pulling the door back and letting you enter the apartment. Waves of memory washed over you.

Kazi still had the same futon covered in the same ratty blanket. There was a kitchen table that was stacked with different folders that he would never, in a million years, let you view. A blue funnel was drying on the dishrack, and countless liquor bottles that had been emptied and cleaned were lined up, ready to be filled with the slightest bit of homebrewed alcohol.

He was still running the same scam after all of these years. You remembered liking the danger about him, the way his stubble felt against you when you straddled him. He’d been so alluring to a good girl like you. He would street race at night with another guy you’d met a handful of times, Robbie Reyes.

God, you had been so naive back then. He was drawn in by your innocence and you were entrapped by his experience. If only you knew where you’d end up in seven years; with Kazi’s biological daughter being raised by the most powerful woman in the city.

The moment you told him you were pregnant, he told you bluntly to get rid of it. That same night, he’d thrown an empty liquor bottle at you, just barely missing your head. You’d refused outright and accepted his anger in turn. Glass shards cut into the soles of your feet, and stained the snow all the way back to your dorm room.

The way he stared at you now infuriated you. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re two months late on rent.”

“I figured you’d keep tabs. Most women do. But my rent? That’s a new one.”

You picked up a small paperweight that you remember being fond of when you returned to this apartment after a first date where Kazi was a perfect gentleman. He’d bought dinner, and walked you back to his place. The glass object was tinted yellow, a small mosquito suspended in the center. He must have gotten it in a museum gift shop.

“Truthfully, I’m shocked you still live here.” You tested the weight of the object. “Most landlords aren’t very lenient about tardiness.”

“Yeah, well. She’s not very attentive. What can I say?”

Oh, but Natasha was quite attentive in more than one aspect, at that. You couldn’t’ help the smile that spread against your lips. Kazi was growing agitated with your presence, always quick to temper.

With all the strength you could muster, you threw the paperweight at the wall directly behind him. In its innate cheapness, it shattered into a million pieces, littering the carpet and slicing little bites into his skin. Kazi flinched and covered his face with his arms.

“Fuck! Y/n, what the hell!” He screamed.

“You have two weeks to backdate the rent, Kazi. Another week to get us this month’s amount. That sounds reasonable to me. Attentive, even.”

He reached into the back of his sweatpants and pulled out a silver Kimber, pumping the top chamber and aiming it at you with a shaky hand. He was too lax with his hold. A pinprick of crimson was dripping from a cut on his cheek.

“Come on, Kazi. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you can push some half-rate liquor. Sell a few of your gold fillings, and come up with the money my employer is required.”

“Employer? You work for that… monster?”

“Now, there’s a big word.” You closed the distance between the two of you, not giving him a moment to react before you wrenched the gun from his hand and threw it onto that ratty old blanket that adorned the futon he’d found on the side of the road. “So much horrible implication behind it too. You shouldn’t name call.”

Your boots crunched against the shattered glass. Kazi was barefoot, he flinched as flesh was dug into by uneven shards. You could smell the rancid coffee on his breath. He had a mole just on small of his nose.

“What happened to you?” he whispered, “Where’s that girl that stormed out of my apartment because she didn’t get her way?”

“A lot can change in seven years, Kaz.” You glanced around his apartment. “Well, most people change. Some people don’t go anywhere in life.”

Kazi pressed forward, his dry lips suddenly against yours. You froze in an instant, appalled by the acrid taste of cigarettes and stale morning coffee that he had no-doubt heated up in the microwave and drank black. The kiss was strong, rushed and painful in the way that his teeth knocked against yours.

It took less than a second for you to push him away. His head hit the cabinet behind it, rattling the glasses inside. Your hand was splayed out on his chest, nails digging into the stained tank-top he wore. He grinned wolfishly at you. Your teeth had dug so hard into his lip that it drew blood.

“I like this rough version of you, sweetheart. It’s hot.”

You reeled back and slapped him across the face with as much force as you could muster in your close proximity. The radio in the window seemed to flicker out of power at that moment, or maybe they had just run out of shitty pop music to play. Either way, the two of you were engulfed in silence.

“Shit, baby, hit me again!”

He had no idea how much you wanted to abide by that, though, you were quite positive that it would do nothing but spur on his arousal. This wasn’t going to work. If he kept pushing the way he was, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from pulling your own weapon.

It suddenly became too much, standing in the middle of this time-capsule of an apartment. The memories were too strong. When the two of you were together, everything you did was for his benefit. And while this had been fun at first, testing him like this, it was too much.

You grabbed the collar of his sweat-soiled shirt, wrapping it around your fingers with enough force to tear the fabric away. “Two weeks, you fucking asshole. If you don’t have the money by then, I’m sure the city will have a fun time scrubbing your brain matter from the sidewalk.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He sneered.

You pressed your booted foot down on the top of his, listening as the glass dug deeper into the soft skin. This time, he did cry out in pain, the grinding of pieces close to bone making his eyes water. You placed your hand over his mouth, muffling his protest. “I will make your miserable existence a living hell, with or without the money, for what you did to me. Do you understand?”

“You’re so full of shit-“ you pressed your full weight down and you squirmed under your hold. “Yes! Yes, I get it. Fuck!”

You pulled yourself away from Kazi entirely, straightening his shirt. He was slumped against the counter, staring at you with pure rage in his eyes. He shifted his full weight to his other foot, grimacing at the edged stain on the wooden floor.

“You should really clean that up.” You gritted, mouth still tasting of stale smoke. “Glass can be dangerous, Kazimirez.”

By the time you got to the car the only thing on your mind was taking the hottestshower possible. You’d pawed through Kate’s glovebox rather frantically and counted it a small blessing that that there was a single unwrapped piece of gum at the very bottom.

She cringed as you popped it in your mouth and let the minty dusty taste coat your tongue. If you could, without raising suspicion, you would have dumped solvent on it, just to take the taste of Kazi out of your mouth.

“I don’t know how long that’s been in there.” Kate said, watching you warily as you picked up her water bottle and downed half of that too. It seemed to take the rest of the rancid flavor away.

“I don’t care”

“You should care, I bought this car used.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Okay, I didn’t’ buy it. I bought the license plates though, that’s my civic duty.”

Her words were enough for you to roll your window down and toss the gum from it. Despite your profession, you weren’t a very good liar. Not when it came to Natasha. She’d ask you about your day like usual and you’d crumble under her seemingly innocent gaze.

Nothing Natasha did was innocent.

“What happened up there?” Kate asked.

The two of you were well out of the city by now, and still had about a half-hour until you got to the mansion. The family liked their privacy, and after a year of living there permanently, so did you.

When you didn’t answer right away, she kept going. “Because I got cookies. Nearly choked on one when Miss Henderson insisted on a private show. It’s seriously a wonder that a woman her age can still bend like that.”

“Katie,” You warned, “Gross.”

“Impressive actually. She kept her clothes on, which I am eternally grateful for. It looks like you had a more eventful visit with the French dudes upstairs.” She scoffed, “Who the fuck is French anymore?”

You rolled your eyes and slumped further into your seat. Kazi was French. You used to crumble when he gave you the choppiest lines that he could remember. According to him, the language is harder to speak than it is to read and write. You never questioned him, just like you didn’t question a lot of things.

“I have a… history with the man who rents 807.”

“A history, or a… history?”

“The first one. The second one. Shit- I don’t know, both! He’s Ronnie’s dad.”

Kate slammed on the brakes with enough force for a layer of rubber to be peeled from the tires of her mostly stolen care. The seatbelt cut into your neck and you figured yourself lucky that you’d taken a back road that was rarely used, god forbid she cause an accident.

“Dude!” You shouted as she put the car into park.

Kate twisted her entire body in the seat, placing her hand on the back of your seat. The motor was sputtering wildly, trying to compensate for her abrupt stop. Something had to be damaged, you thought, with her force on the pedal.

“Don’t dude me. Are you really that dense? If you haven’t noticed, Natasha is possessive over her things. And you? Well, you’re one of her favorite things. She’s not going to take this well in the slightest.”

“Kate, I think I know how to handle my girlfriend.”

“No, you know how to handle Natasha, the sweet, loving woman who would die for you and your child. Admirable, really. But you don’t know how to handle Miss Romanoff, mob boss extraordinaire.”

But you had seen Natasha in action before, countless times. She’d always kept this calm coolness about her that you were in awe of. Maybe Kate was right. You’d only seen a fraction of her jealous side at the first party you had ever attended in the house. That night she ripped the dress she’d picked out specifically for you to shreds.  

“I was dating a man named Eli when I was first taken in by the Romanoff’s, He turned out to be… not so favorable despite my constant reassurances. Natasha just knows. She had him dig a grave right off I-25 and then she made him lay in it.”

Your jaw threatened to drop at the simple fact. Kate removed her hand from the back of the seat and eased off the brake before she slowly got the two of you back up to an acceptable speed.

“All Eli did was cheat on me one night in a club. It wasn’t great, but I wasn’t sure if it warranted that kind of reaction. I never knew if she was proving a point to me, or to Eli. Either way, the smallest offense against any of us is met with archaic conviction.”

You didn’t respond to Kate, instead you stared at the trees that were whizzing by in a lush green wall of color. You’d decided that she was right- any type of reaction Natasha was going to have to Kazi would be severe.

“You’ll be fine.” Kate tapped her fingers nervously on the wheel, trying to backtrack her words. “As long as he didn’t’ touch you.”

It didn’t seem to matter how ferociously you scrubbed your skin with the honey scented soap you shared with Natasha, you swore you still smelled like smoke. It clung to your clothes, and lingered in the air after you’d shoved them to the bottom of the clothes basket.

The water was blazingly hot, filling the bathroom with a thick mist that made it slow to breathe. Natasha had chosen a dark blue tile that seemed to transport you into another world. Even without the scaring remembrance of Kazi’s lips against yours, his hands where you didn’t want them, you could stay here for hours.

Her hands were freezing cold and startling as they splayed against your naked stomach. You let out a small noise, going rigid before registering Natasha behind you. Her front was pressed against your back, and you’d know the curve of her body anywhere.

“Izvinite, moya lyubov', I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned in her arms and took in the state of her. She’d stripped down just as you had, small drops of water littering her skin like a constellation in the sky. She’d been in the sun today, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose giving her away.

There was a bruise forming against the side of her jaw, one that you ran your waterlogged fingers over. Her eyes were an intoxicating shade of green, playing off the indigo tiles. You wanted to scold her for getting the bruise in the first place, but you were so entrapped by her simple presence, the way she fit so perfectly against you.

Natasha closed the distance between you both, pressing her lips against yours in a hurried kiss. You moaned into the embrace, allowing her tongue to find purchase in your mouth. God- you had missed her in the short few hours you’d been apart.

“Did you take up smoking?” she asked, barely pulling away, the words were spoken flushed to your lips. “It’s a terrible habit, darling.”

The glovebox gum hadn’t done its job, and apparently the swish of mouthwash and subsequent teeth brushing hadn’t done anything either. Of course, Natasha noticed. Of course. You weren’t going to try to hide it, though the thought did occur to you to save some heartache. But you were hoping you could placate her in a less slippery spot of the house when you were less naked and incredibly turned on by her presence.

A groan of a different cadence than she was used to escaped you as you dropped your head to her shoulder and clenched your eyes shut. “No, I didn’t take up smoking.”

“You taste like you have,” She gently led your eyes to hers. It was tender compared to the first time she had done so. “Licking ash trays again?”

“Gross, no.”

Natasha valued honesty above all. That much had been clear from the moment you met her. She’d nearly taken your head off in the gym when you repeated your one-night-stand with the enemy. The devil incarnate who happened to only be decent in bed. You remembered her hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough for you to give her the answers she craved.

“What is it, pet? You can tell me.”

“Do you… I’ve been with men before.”

She let out a small chuckle that reverberated off the deep tile. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to make assumptions, of course, but Ronnie does have a father.”

The way you stared at her in the silence that followed the statement made the smile on her face falter until it dropped entirely. She must have seen something behind your eyes, something that weighed the situation down more than she was intending on a typical Wednesday night.

“I’d completely blacked it out and didn’t realize it until I stepped foot into the lobby, but he still lives in the same apartment on the top floor. He thought I was after child support, or something but things sort of… escalated.”

You felt like a child, spilling your secrets about a vase you had broken. This time it was a cheap paperweight with a bug in the center that you frankly felt bad for. The words came out like emotional vomit, granted, Natasha had become used to your rapid admissions.

Her grip tightened against your chin, “Escalated how?”

“He kissed me, and I hit him hard enough to break his jaw.”

That same silence enveloped you again. The scalding water had lost its effect, numb and beating against your back. The two of you were still impossibly close and there wasn’t much escape for you in a shower this size. The glass door having fogged up and only giving you a stunted view of the large bathroom.

Natasha had an immeasurable rage behind her stare, her lidded expression ran as dark as old blood. It chilled you to your core. She reached beside you and shut off the constant flow of water. You’d been in here for about an hour now and the cold air that touched your skin felt like an assault of needles. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your center to preserve warmth.

“He laid his hands on you.”

“Yeah, Nat, he did.”

“He touched you.”

“I gave him hell for it, but it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

“Without permission.”

“He’ll never do it again.”

Whatever split-second decision she made; it was done without the usual calculation behind her eyes. She threw the door to the shower open and forcefully shoved a towel into your arms. While you revered in the warmth, you watched as she sauntered in her usual way out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. She was dripping wet.

“Natty!” You stumbled over the partition and nearly slid on the bathroom floor. It was much colder outside of your cocoon of warmth and subsequent mist. She thankfully hadn’t left the room and was pawing through her side of the dresser. You nearly lost your footing once you reached hardwood. “Fuck,”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, a plain black tank top that hugged her sides and looked entirely uncomfortable to wiggle into while damp. You watched with baited breath in a sloping towel as she adorned herself with underwear and pants, before turning towards you.

“Get dressed.” She ordered in a dangerous tone.

Shit. She was going to make you dig your own grave. You’d just showered all of the grime from Kazi’s apartment off and in a matter of minutes you would have dirt up to your knees. Natasha may have let Eli live after his blunder, but maybe she’d cover you completely and let you suffocate in your own efforts.

Numbly, you put on a pair of sweatpants and the closest shirt you had. There was no need to get dressed for your own funeral, you supposed. The worms would chew through whatever you wore regardless.

Clint was stretched out on the chase in the foyer, a pair of thick-lensed glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. Regardless, he still squinted at the book in his hands. You wondered why he wasn’t in the living room, but caught a glimpse of a particularly intense game of twister between Ronnie, Yelena, and Kate.

Darcy held onto the board, flicking the small plastic needle and calling out the colors. When Kate clocked the anger in Natasha’s eyes, she dropped to her back, taking down Yelena and Ronnie with her.

She gave you a pleading look, but you were already too far gone to return anything other than a flushed expression. You followed obediently after Natasha. She opened the front door and watched you with a calculated expression before slamming the front door hard enough to shake the glass fronting.

“Get in the car.”

“Do you want me to grab a shovel?”

“What?”

She contemplated this for a minute, growling softly. The near silence was terrifying. Her arms crossed over her chest was terrifying. Your mouth with incredibly dry, and you wished that you were back under the constant stream of water.

“No. I don’t think we’ll need that. Get in the car.”

Numbly, you did as you were told, placing your hands in your lap. This was quite possibly the last time you would be sitting in any car, much less, next to Natasha. She reached across you and pulled your seatbelt into place, tugging on the upper portion until she was sure you weren’t going anywhere.

The tires picked up traction on the gravel and the drive that usually took an hour seemed to whiz by. Natasha was quiet, the route to the city more than familiar by now. She run her hands against the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. You could hear her breathing deeply, trying to ease her nerves. You didn’t dare say a word.

For a moment, you figured that she’d abandoned the idea of burying you alive and switched her ideals to something much more sinister and public. She pulled her car up to the front of the very building you had left a few hours ago, the sun just barely setting behind the skyline. You blinked at her, and then up at the very property that she owned.

“Come on.”

There was no room for discussion. The air here was clouded with the scent of smoke and the coolness of the cement structures around you. It was moments like these where you much preferred the country.

Of course, Natasha knew the code, she had recited it to you earlier as you and Kate ate lunch by the docks, stretched out on the hood of her car. It was wrong then and your nerves were too elevated to pay attention now. She got in without the theatrics.

There seemed to be more activity as the day for working folks began to wind down. Two people halted their conversation by the mail-slots, nodding solemnly at the woman. On the third floor, you caught a glimpse of a woman struggling to push her keys into the lock, juggling her gym bag. The sixth floor held a small boy who darted from one apartment to another, edging across the hall.

She kept climbing until that same irritating French pop filled your ears. He must keep it on at all hours of the day, just to drown out his own miserable thoughts. “What apartment?”

You lifted your chin slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of your sweatpants to ward off the biting chill. “807.”

“Spasibo, lyubimyy.”

Natasha’s booted foot connected with the center of the very door you had politely knocked on earlier in the day. You flinched, covering your face with a guarded arm. The wood of the doorframe seemed to splinter, slivers reigning across both sides of the entrance.

“What the fuck!”

Kazi was hunched over the kitchen table, the funnel that had been drying by the sink was positioned perfectly in the mouth of a soaked and peeled liquor bottle. He had a stack of his own labels ready to place evenly on the finished product. Both of his feet were haphazardly wrapped with gauze, small sprouts of blood worming through the soft material.

He’d taken care to clean up the glass, but with the way Natasha headed straight towards him, that didn’t matter much. More of it fell to the floor and shattered upon impact. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and started walking him backwards across the living room. Kazi seemed too stunned to speak, his words caught in his throat.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it! Please!”

“When you speak to me, you’ll do it clearly.” She gritted, shoving him towards the window. Somewhere in the scuffle, the radio had fallen from its perch on the cracked windowsill, crashing to the alleyway below with one last fizzled cry. “You had no trouble saying whatever you wanted earlier, did you?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I told that bitch I would have the rent!”

“Yeah? Was that before or after you shoved your tongue down her throat?”

Natasha bent Kazi’s torso fully over the screenless window. He grasped frantically at her hands, clawing at them as the balanced him over the long drop to the pavement below. His bare feet kicked, trying to throw her off her equilibrium, but he was much too weak for any type of damage.

“You walked out on them.”

“What? Oh, my god, what?! I told her to get rid of it- I didn’t walk out on anyone! You’re batshit lady!”

To you, it didn’t’ seem very wise to throw insults at the woman holding you above an eight-story drop, but Kazi never was known for his intelligence. His bravado, maybe, but never anything more. He looked so small compared to Natasha’s anger.

“She didn’t get rid of it, Kazi. She kept the kid that you couldn’t have bothered to give another thought to. She made a life for both of them. She fucking loves that kid enough to fill the absence you left.” Natasha let her hand slip, letting him waver in his height for a moment before pulling him back up. He was crying, sobbing for his life. “And you have the nerve, to touch her, to break her and then come rushing back when she was strong enough to pick up the pieces?”

“I wasn’t ready,” he moaned out “I couldn’t be a dad.”

“It seems like there are a lot of things you can’t do, doesn’t it? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man. A pathetic excuse for a human being and once we leave here- I never want to see your face in my city again. Am I clear?”

Kazi let out another course of intelligible, wet, words. His back was nearly breaking under the force of Natasha’s hold, her knee directly up against his crotch, pushing down with all the strength she could muster.

“Y/n, I think this is a teaching moment, don’t you?”

The softness of her words as she addressed you caught you off guard. There was no malice. In fact, she beckoned to you as if she was calling you into the living room to join her under the blankets for a movie. Your heart raced fast enough for your chest to ache as you closed the distance between you both.

“See, the trick is making them think that you’re going to let them go.”

She said this to you as if Kazi wasn’t a slobbering mess under her touch. He’d carved little half-moon marks against the tops of her hand, some of them starting to leak blood with the sheer force of his struggle.

“You have to get creative with the fear aspect. If they think they’re going to die, it tends to work in our favor. Doesn’t it, Kazi?”

“Please,” He whimpered, “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, y/n, I’m sorry.”

Natasha did the seemingly impossible, she pushed him further out the window, his calves struggling for purchase against the drywall. “Oh, now that simply won’t do. You must keep her name out of your mouth.”

“In situations like these, darling, it’s best to keep full control. If he was anything other than wretched, then maybe you’d have to worry about him fighting back. You’ll get some people like that, but that trick is having leverage, literal and physical in cases like this.”

“I see,” You let the words escape you in a single breath “and how long do we play this game?”

“Until they know it’s not one.”

It took little effort for Natasha to push Kazi the rest of the way out the window. In spite of his clinging grip, the force of gravity was enough to do the work for her. His cry stunted in his throat and it only took a few seconds for a dull thud to echo through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable sound of a car alarm going off.

With a small gasp, you leaned over the window yourself, staring down at the white Toyota that now had a sizeable dent in the top, the windshield spiderwebbing. Kazi let out a groan that you could hear from up here, blinking up at the sky with malice and shock in his eyes.

“Nat,” You breathed.

“Please, eight stories is survivable. Some people need to be taught a lesson.” She shrugged, pulling you back into the apartment by the sleeve of your shirt. “I’ll pay for the car repairs, if that makes you feel better, detka.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I did.” She reached forward and cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look at her. It was impossible to ignore the gesture, the words that she had said with so much blind passion. Tears threatened to overtake your waterline. “moya lyubov', he put his hands on you without permission and before that… before that he hurt you in ways unimaginable. I meant every word I said.”

You could hear sirens in the distance, a hazard of living in the city. They could be for Kazi, you supposed, something to take care of the surely broken ribs and the bruised ego. But, they could be for something more important.

You pushed forward and kissed Natasha delicately. You wanted to be impossibly close to her. Most gestures you had received in the past had come in the form of flowers, maybe the occasional box of chocolate from the drug store. Once again- Natasha had proved something to you.

Her chuckle vibrated into the kiss, “Mm, we should probably leave.”

You couldn’t agree more. You wanted to get out of this stupid apartment that was teeming with memories of your time with Kazi. The way he claimed his love for you, and forced you to make a horrible decision all in one exhale.

As the two of you walked down the long and winding steps, Natasha asked, “What was with the shovel thing?”

You laughed, suddenly feeling foolish for fearing Natasha in the first place. Her silence caused waves, and somehow, that was worse than if she’d threatened you outright, something that she never did with much heat.

“Kate, she told me about her ex-boyfriend, Eli, I think she said his name was.”

“Ah, Eli.” She frowned, “He cheated on her, and I only made him dig for an hour.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, as long as you never make me dig my own grave.”

 “I would never do that. There is no punishment in things you can’t control.” Natasha gave your hand a squeeze, her solemn words punctuated with a slowly creeping smile. “Besides, detka, that’s simply not my style. It was much too messy.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[dannys-dream]

Invisible String - Jake Kiszka x f! Reader - Chaper One - Series

You’re just a small town girl who always had big dreams of living in Nashville. You hoped your music would get you out of your hometown, and your dreams were finally coming true. You knew you had your best friend, your music, and a new guitar to take you through the new life ahead of you. What you didn’t know was what and who this new adventure would bring you. Used to beach town life, could you adjust to the big city and the big names attached to it? 

Warnings : None this chapter :)

Authors Note : This is something I’ve had in the works for a little while now. I hope you enjoy this series. Please let me know if you have any suggestions, or if you’d like to be added to a tag list! <3

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・

You couldn’t believe it was actually happening. After years of coffee shop shows, bar performances, and the occasional birthday party or wedding, you were finally moving to Nashville. A dream since you were just a kid, stuck in a small beach town tucked away in the outskirts of Washington. You’d saved every penny from your gigs, giving guitar lessons to the neighborhood kids, and everything you could spare from your 9-5 paychecks. You checked your bank account religiously, waiting for the day you’d finally saved enough. All you needed was a few months rent, and the money to put gas in the U-Haul, yours and Cam’s home for the 36 hour drive. 

Cam had been your best friend since middle school. An absolute force to be reckoned with at your dodgy little public schools. You trusted her with your life, and believe me when I say there were plenty of times you’d gotten in enough trouble to prove you could. The day you told her you’d started saving to move, she started saving too. She told you that you'd have a piece of home with you down in the south, and she couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing you all the time. You thanked God every day since. You couldn’t imagine not living side by side with her either. So the two of you packed everything you owned into a little U-Haul, and drove away from the only place you’d ever known. Away from your families and friends who all waved and cheered you on as you pulled out of the driveway. 

“I can’t stop laughing, oh my god y/n. I can’t breathe. Why were they waving us off like it’s the ancient times and we’re setting sail on the Titanic or something?” She was cackling in the passenger seat, resting one hand on her stomach as she fanned herself with the other.

“Camille, be nice. They just love us.” A chuckle leaving your mouth as you merge onto the highway. You slide your phone to Cam across the bench seat and tell her your passcode. “Put our playlist on. I’m not driving all day without music, you freak.” You roll the windows down and step on the gas as Journey begins to spill from the speakers. 

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Day three of driving, your last day. The two of you had fought about pretty much everything, music, who was driving, what hotel or motel you’d sleep in, what was for lunch or dinner. There were good times too, though. Sightseeing, weird rest stops, having to pull over on the highway so Cam could pee because she absolutely couldn’t hold it in until the next bathroom (something you’d be sure to tease her about for the rest of your lives). None of that seemed to matter when the U-Haul was finally parked in your new driveway. A small 2 bedroom brick home stared back at you as you started unloading your things, the emerald green door waiting for your keys. 

“Hey C, I think we should unpack everything and then I can go return the U-Haul. I wanna get it over with sooner rather than later.” Yelling across the lawn, she agreed. You quickly passed boxes to her, not that there were too many in the truck. Finally empty, you and Camille headed inside to start unpacking boxes. You got your room set up enough to sleep in tonight, and told Cam you were headed out to return the U-Haul. You pulled out of the driveway, your favorite song playing as you turned out of the neighborhood, that is until your phone started ringing. Oh great, it’s your mother. 

“Hi momma, we just got to the house! We’re finally home.” Your mother was so excited for you to get out of Washington, even if it meant being almost across the country from her. 

“Hi baby! I’m so glad you girls made it safe. I just wanted to call because I have a gift for you.” Your mom couldn’t help but let out a choked sob. “You worked so hard to get out there, you saved so much money. Your dad and I wanted to get you something special.” 

“Mom, you’ve got me worried. Why’re you crying?” 

“Nothing wrong, y/n. We saved up some money for you to get a new guitar. A special one for your new life, in your new town. I just transferred you the money, my love.” 

“We’ve never been more proud to be your parents.” Your dad chimed in, the pride and sadness of your move evident in his voice.

Tears streamed down your face as you thanked them, and promised to send pictures when you picked out your new guitar. You wrapped up the phone call, thanking her once more, right as you pulled into the U-Haul parking lot. You paid for your rental, and called an Uber, deciding to have it take you to a small local guitar shop. Ramblr’s Music. Repairs, sales, lessons. On top of getting a new guitar, who knows. Maybe you could score a job there. 

A silver Honda pulled up next to you, and confirmed they were your Uber. As you slid into the backseat, you heard the music. A major guitar solo was playing, and it was stunning . Leaning forward and squinting your eyes you could see what it was. Greta Van Fleet. You made a mental note to check them out later, and made small talk with the Uber driver until you found yourself walking up to the little music shop. You’d barely been in Nashville five hours, and your life would already never be the same.

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You’d been perusing the guitars for over an hour, but none of them felt right. You knew they were fine instruments, they just weren’t your dream guitar. They weren’t a vintage Les Paul SG. You’d wanted one for years, since you’d taken your music seriously. The shape, the sound. Something so classic and beautiful that the modern re-releases just couldn’t quite compare to. Fully knowing it was out of your budget, you decided to ask someone anyway. You found yourself walking toward the desk, a short kid maybe 17 standing there on his phone. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking around and I don’t see what I was hoping to find. Do you maybe have any Les Paul SG’s?  Maybe one in the back, or do you know where I could find one? I’m new in town and don’t really know where to look.” You let out a small laugh, immediately feeling out of your element. 

“Actually, yeah. We’ve got one in the back that I guess has been on hold or something but it’s been weeks and the guy never came to get it. It’s in a case and everything, too. Let me go get it.” Popping his gum as he walked away, your heart was pounding. Were you actually about to buy your dream guitar? Something about Nashville was proving to be magical. 

He came back, a busted black leather hard case in hand. “Here, look it over. I think it's a ‘61 but I could be wrong. Just started working here last week.” The clasps clanked as you pulled them up and off, finally lifting the lid to the case. There she was. A beautiful cherry stain on the wood, new strings and a crack down the bottom half of the guitar, only adding personality and proof the instrument was well loved prior to you.  You carried the guitar over to an amp, plugging it in and sitting on the stool. You wrestled to figure out what song to play, finally deciding on one of the songs you’d put time into learning. Nothing Else Matters, your fathers favorite Metallica song. You’d spent hours learning to play it for him, and could remember the tears in his eyes when you finally showed him. A fond memory you now shared with your dream guitar. God, it played like perfection. You knew there was no way you’d walk out of this store without the cherry red beast. 

You walked back to the counter and safely secured the guitar into the case after taking a photo. The new kid checked you out, enabling a purchase you probably shouldn’t have made. You ordered an Uber, and slipped into the backseat with your new baby. 

・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭・・✫・゜・。・。・゜✭

Jakes POV

Tour had been beyond exhausting. You loved playing, you loved the fans, you loved seeing the different states and countries. The only thing you loved more? Being at home, in bed with some popcorn and whiskey, watching a documentary on pirates. Especially on a fine Wednesday night such as this. Finally rolling out of bed for the first time in hours, your slippers pull you down the stairs and into the kitchen in search of food more filling than the snacks upstairs. Regrettably, you hadn’t gone grocery shopping in some time, simply surviving on what was left in your pantry before you left on tour. A groan leaves your chest as you trudge back upstairs. Slipping on your favorite blue jeans and a button up, you find your car keys and make your way to the jeep sitting in your garage. You decided that while you were out, you might as well run the rest of the errands you’d been neglecting in lieu of alone time. 

Your favorite playlist queued, and sunglasses pressed to your face, you pulled out of the garage and headed off to Ramblr’s. Your beloved guitar had taken far too much of a beating this last leg, and a crack appeared down the body. You had held her together for the last few shows using some electrical tape, the best thing you could get your hands on while on the road. On the way home from the airport, you dropped your guitar off to be repaired, only trusting Scott, the store owner, to repair your precious cargo. You rolled your car windows up, and hit your vape one last time before getting out and heading to the building. The second the shop doors opened, an uneasy feeling washed over you as the sounds of Scott screaming at some teenager filled your ears. 

“Are you fucking stupid, or are you dumb Jeremy? No, you know what you are? Fucking fired. Get out of my shop!” Scott pushed over a small display of guitar straps and stomped off, leaving who you assumed was Jeremy in a crumpled sobbing mess on the floor. You walked over to him, and crouched down. 

“Hey, Jeremy. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. I’m Jake, and I’ve known Scott a real long time. I’m sure he’s just having a rough day. Let me go talk to him.” 

Jeremy looked back at you in horror, and pushed himself away. “I’m so sorry sir. I’m so sorry.” He picked himself off of the floor, and bolted outside, not even bothering to collect his personal items or clock off. You weren’t sure what happened, but you knew it couldn’t be good. 

You made your way to the back, where Scott’s office was and tried your best to mentally prepare yourself for whatever shit storm he was about to drop on you. You cleared your throat, and Scott’s eyes shot up to meet yours. His appearance disheveled, and tears of frustration threatened to fall down his face. 

“Ah, shit. Hey kid. Come in, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk. You shuffled over, and pulled the chair out before sinking into the plush cushion. He avoided eye contact with you, which was very unusual. You also noted him picking at his nails, something he did when stressed. 

After a few minutes of silence, you decided to bite the bullet. “Give it to me straight, Scotty. What the hell is going on?” 

His head dropped in shame, and he took a deep breath before shakily answering you. “Jake, that stupid new kid. He sold your guitar.”

Your blood ran cold, and suddenly all you saw was red. “Scott you’re fucking joking, right? Don’t fuck with me. Bring me my guitar.” 

He shoved the paperwork towards you, all of it showing the colossal fuckup Jeremy had made. “I wish it was a joke, Jake. But the kid sold her off to some girl who came in a few hours ago. I don't even know how he screwed this up so bad.”

You ran a hand through your hair, and sighed. “Make me a copy of this. I’m gonna go find her.”

”I already tried the number Jake. She wont pick up.”

You stood from the chair and looked down at him. “Scott, just make me a damn copy.”

He left the room, and came back with the papers for you and continued to apologize profusely as you walked out of the store. The rain soaked your clothes as you walked to the car, your breath visible in the cold weather. 

The paperwork told you basically nothing. Just her name, and an out of state phone number. The kid didn’t even fully fill out the sale paperwork, leaving the address and email slots bare. You got in the car, phone number in hand and hoped and prayed that she hadn’t left town. That guitar was your prized possession, the best gift you’d ever received. You’d been beyond floored when the Chicago Music Exchange let you have it, free of charge. And now, you had no idea where she was. 

You took a shaky breath, and dialed the number. It didn’t even ring. You’d immediately been sent to voicemail, and the default one at that. You brought your hands to your face, and rubbed your eyes. How could Scott let this happen?

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End of first chapter <3

TAGLIST : @hollyco @literal-dead-leaf @anythingforjtk @do-it-jakey-baby

[jtl-fics]

Math Nerd AU

I’ve got quite a few time travel AFTG fics banging around in my head but by far the funniest one is this:

Neil dies in 40s to a drunk driver after a respectable professional Exy career, two olympic golds, a very successful and healthy relationship, a steady post-injury career as Ichirou Moriyama’s preferred accountant (kept himself squeaky clean) and years to get his shit together. He wakes up back early on into his runaway life with his mom and is immediately like “oh no I’m NOT doing this shit again.”

He makes a lot of changes, mostly for Andrew’s benefit but also gets Mary to the Hatfords, and gets himself set up in Ichirou’s confidence again because man he’s gonna play Exy again but Ichirou was actually a very solid boss if you’re competent and Neil is very good at managing finances.

Ichirou had plans for Neil. He’s waiting for his father to pass before he brings Neil fully out in the open as one of his since his father is still demanding that the Wesninski heir be given over to his brother and Ichirou is not about to let the only accountant who has ever gotten him a completely legal tax refund go to the NEST. He’s also not about to let the Butcher near Neil so he puts Neil off in the middle of nowhere with a steady paycheck and orders to graduate highschool. Neil picks Millport.

Hernandez still notices that no one ever comes to Neil’s games and that the kid is driven but doesn’t make any real attachments with his teammates despite Millport becoming the Arizona State Champs the year Neil leads the team. So he sends tapes to Wymack and Kevin. Neil is surprised to see them since he’d planned on never getting anywhere near Andrew after he set things up for the blond. (Killed Drake, paid some people to legally adopt and look after Andrew, got CPS to investigate Tilda properly, paid off the right people so that the couple who took in Andrew took in Aaron too, and paid for them to move out to SC (it’s close to the twins remaining family) and then Tilda managed to die on her own from an OD and the twins got the money without Andrew needing to have any part in it.)

Neil ends up signing for the Foxes despite Ichirou having plans for Neil to start attending University of Texas (Great Accounting Program) in the fall. Neil of course completely fails to tell Ichirou this since Ichirou hadn’t said anything beyond finishing highschool and if he had plans for Neil then he should have told him.

Neil, the utterly self-sufficient adult that he is, proceeds to just be the most bizarre stabilizing force the foxes have ever encountered. He knows all about their shit, their issues, their triggers, and how to help them. The Foxes all kind of crave that stability and Neil can take whatever they say unflinchingly. He’ll give as good as he gets but he also makes team breakfast pretty much every morning after he finishes his absurdly early run. Kevin is in heaven with his Striker pick (Neil in this thing is so incredibly boring and well-adjusted that Andrew just cannot believe that he’s a spy so Kevin and Neil start night practices almost immediately & Neil shows Kevin drills that he and Future!Kevin had made and Kevin is just like “I am so good at picking talent. I am a god.”)

The 3 things that make this so funny (at least to me) is:

1. All the Foxes just like not understanding why the hell Neil is a Fox (They’re glad he’s there but it feels like a clerical error that such a nice well-adjusted guy is on the team) until they see him without a shirt and until immediately after the Kathy Ferdinand show where Ichirou shows up and is like “Palmetto doesn’t even have a nationally ranked accounting program!? Also what if this sport gives you a TBI and you can’t do my taxes anymore????”

2. Andrew is just inexplicably and infuriatingly smitten, enamored, crushing, heart-eyes for this BORING ASS MATH NERD. Neil’s sense of humor was honed against Andrew so he’s got like a direct line to Andrew’s funny bone. He never has never once for even a second confused Aaron and Andrew (and they’re a lot closer in this fic because there’s no Tilda angst and the ‘parents’ handled getting Aaron’s rehabilitation handled off the books so he could have a future in medicine.) Even after the whole mob accountant reveal Andrew is seething because even with that Neil is just incredibly well-adjusted and normal despite all the insane shit going on with him. He propositions Neil when Neil mentions having a past male significant other but Neil has the AUDACITY to get all sad-eyed and say that he can’t be with Andrew because his heart still belongs to some CHUMP in his past. (Cue Current!Andrew having an unknowing bitter hatred / rivalry of Future!Andrew and swearing that he’ll woo Neil away from a guy who’s probably in the mob or shitty because Andrew hasn’t seen any evidence of Neil’s SO reaching out to him but he knows Neil isn’t lying)

3. One of the reasons that Andrew is inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted / smitten to Neil is that Future!Andrew did not really spend a lot of time in the future after Neil died and he’s slowly seeping through until Neil’s confrontation with his dad and then Future!Andrew fully wakes up and he’s PISSED because at least in the original timeline Andrew was inexplicably and infuriatingly attracted to the mysterious freshmen who was hiding his appearance, looked like he was seconds away from running across the country at all times, and had a whole aura of danger around him. Now he’s revealed that he’d have fallen for Neil no matter what because he fell for Neil when he was just a BORING ASS MATH NERD and WORST OF ALL Neil went and made him jealous of HIMSELF because Neil didn’t want to cheat on Andrew with ANDREW. What an asshole. He’s gotta kiss his entire face off and tell him that he’s never allowed to cross a street without Andrew again because if a drunk driver is going to take one of them out then it’s going to take BOTH of them out.

[lost-girl-2021]

Maybe you could describe Quaritch's pov of seeing Spider for the first time after so many years?

Warning: I’m terrible at writing POV’s from parents. Like, the closest I’ve come to a parental experience is when I was a babysitter (and that did not last long). So, I’ve done my best. Also, since it’s from his POV, I’m calling him Miles instead of Quaritch, since it’s his first name.

Miles Junior— or did he just go by Miles? MJ? Junior? —was more of a goal than a person over the years. He’d been so fucking tiny when he’d gone to prison.

It had been over a decade since he’d seen the boy. The first thing he wanted to do when he got out was go find him. And then, he’d find that bastard Sully and get payback for the years he’d spent locked up. He hadn’t really made a decision on how to do it— make an anonymous report to CPS? Maybe he’d find a way to make his wife think he was cheating? He couldn’t do anything too risky, but he’d fully intended on getting revenge for all the time he’d missed out on.

But, Junior came first. He’d done all the tedious work— parenting classes, a steady paycheck. The apartment he’d gotten in the city was looked over what felt like a half-dozen times. But, he’d done it all. He’d gotten a job as soon as he was out, working with half of his old squad as overglorified mall cops for this big company called the RDA. The pay was good, even if wasn’t allowed a weapon and most of it involved driving around scientists and vans full of equipment. It took an entire year, but his restrictions dropped the longer he was out of prison and every day felt like a step closer to Junior.

The day he finally got to see the kid? He was a fucking wreck. Sweaty, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole drive over. He lived with a foster family right outside the city. The neighborhood was nice, but the house itself was plain. The grass overgrown, flowers dried out. Neglected. Miles kept drifting back to the tiny apartment Paz and him had in the city. All of it was boxed up and collecting dust in a storage locker, like it had been for years. And his kid had moved on without any of it.

He was trying to shake his nerves as he waited outside the door, taking in a deep breath. Miles, Miles, Miles— the kid was all he could think about. And then—

Jake fucking Sully stood in the doorway. Miles wanted to scream, to tackle him. He wanted to punch his way inside, see what the fuck was going on. Some kind of set up?

But, no, because halfway hidden behind a couch, there he was. Blond hair messier and longer than Miles had ever let his own grow, darker than it was when he was a baby. He was tiny— maybe it was the baggy clothes or the sheer amount of hair that made him seem so small.

Miles had been preparing for this day for years.

And then, as soon as he saw his kid?

He couldn’t even move. It was . . . it was indescribable. He could barely believe that this— this teenager was his baby. Miles had been staring at a picture of one-year-old Miles Junior (perfect, light curls, cheeks chubby and red) for over a decade.

His eyes were the same. Wide and brown and filled with curiosity.

His boy. His son.

[charmingpplincardigans]

How’s everyone doing? I’ll go first, I’m bad!

I have been ~*~struggling~*~ since mid-September and in the last two weeks it has just gotten unbearable. I feel like I’m drowning all the time. I’m having trouble keeping up with and reaching out to people I want to talk to. And that’s like, on top of always having been bad at getting back to people. *stares forlornly at the ask Chaz sent me like, literally two years ago that I think about daily but just. haven’t. RESPONDED TO.*

Things are just. Closing in on all sides unfortunately. I’ve been sick several times. I bounced this month’s rent check. A thing I had NEVER DONE BEFORE IN MY LIFE before this last move. My job is literally never going to pay me what I’m worth. Or anyone what they’re worth, frankly. I broke down in front of my boss the other day and just sobbed for an hour because after I pay my bills every paycheck I have just enough left over to buy groceries for two weeks, if I’m careful, and little else. Which means I’m putting stuff like gas on credit cards, which isn’t helping the debt that makes me feel like drowning in the first place.  I’ve been at this job SEVENTEEN YEARS. A steady, corporate job. And I’ve never once in my entire time there made an actual cost of living raise!! The cost of living just keeps raising without me! (And also everyone else, I know!)

I’m super overdue on getting people the art they commissioned from me, but my brain just hasn’t been in a good enough place to create much of anything, and I keep thinking I have to get this done and then thinking they deserve better than this, around and around on a loop ad finitum. And there are a couple of other things going on personally that just fucking blow that I don’t know how to fix and I’m just gonna choke on it.

I haven’t done any fandom stuff since NYCC. I haven’t written on my WIP. I haven’t read fic. I don’t check in on the madness happening on twitter. I’ve barely popped my head into my favorite pirate group chat over the last five months or so. I miss doing all of that so much and my stupid brain is so broken that even when I try I can’t enjoy it.

Shit. I’m having a hard time getting work work done. I just sit down at my desk every day, answer emails, and then spend five or so hours frozen with anxiety because there’s too much to do and doing nothing is only making it worse every day.

I need to be back in therapy ASAP, but unfortunately you can’t eat therapy so I can’t pay for it!!

And I feel guilty saying any of this to almost everyone I would usually talk to. (Congrats and condolences to the rest of you!) Because they’re having a harder time than me. Or because they’d just want to give me a bit of money about it, which would fuck me up even more. Or because it’s just tedious and boring and no one wants to listen to me talk about this over and over again, even though it’s all my brain does every hour of every day. It’s a wonder I’m ever able to talk about anything else.

My boss is pretty great, in spite of it all. She’s constantly supportive (to the extent she can be), and she just. She tells me all the time how creative and wonderful and smart and cool to know I am. And every time I just like, tear up, because none of it feels true. But I also tear up when my friends and my partner say those things too. Because to me, a full grown adult without a savings or a 401K or the ability to like, go get drinks just because I want to, I feel like a complete and utter failure.  So like. Whatever I guess!!

I need to find a new job that pays me way more. Then I can get a therapist to fix my brain and save money to pay down my debts and have money to have fun with my friends and not feel like a constant financial burden on everyone. Then I can have the brain power back to maybe work on my fic or complete that art or like, I don’t know, talk to the people who actively want to talk to me. You wouldn't think that part would be so hard, but it really, really is.

I’m working on it. I’ll keep working on it. I have LinkedIn open right now. I’m gonna fucking sob through it, but that doesn’t mean none of it will get done.

In the meantime, if anyone knows of a good way to make a quick $30 grand, I’m all ears.

[violetsandfluff]

Tidy Little Secrets (introduction)

This is something new I’ve breathed into existence over the past 48 hours. So PLEASE give me feedback, as I haven’t had a lot of time to proofread this because I’m too damn impatient. Think of this as a trailer, an incomplete part one, a sneak peek, I don’t care. Just know that it’s here and I would really appreciate your support. This will be around five to eight parts.

Trigger warnings include: sex (in different parts), sexual tension, age gap, drugs, alcohol, mentions of shootings and abuse, abusive households and many other triggering matters.

Being an adult was hard.

Those were the sole words of wisdom your parents had bestowed upon you as a child. Enjoy your time under our roof, they’d said, because once you leave, life will be more difficult than you could ever imagine.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe them. Quite the contrary, really. The adults you were raised among seemed like purposeless puppets. They woke up on weekdays and went to work just to party on the weekends and cough up enough money for rent at the end of the month before repeating the cycle. And even this “reckless” lifestyle seemed rigorous to maintain.

It was exasperating to be a child in the midst of this, much less an adult responsible for a child. The sixteen full years that you spent surrounded by alcohol, drugs, smoke, assault, gunshots, and toxic love had you gasping for air. You dropped out of school the moment you were old enough and your parents never knew.

You experimented with different types of jobs for the duration of your time at home. None of them felt right, but you accepted that as your future. If you weren’t finishing high school, gas stations, and fast-food restaurants it was.

When you were eighteen, you moved out and got a small apartment using the funds you’d been diligently collecting for the past two years. All of the jobs you worked were hierarchies, stratified into challenging levels someone like you could never conquer. Your future was only as bright as your resume, and your resume wasn’t promising.

You weren’t in contact with your family, except your sister, Nataly, though even that was limited to a singular call or text every few months. Both calls and texts were usually initiated by you. That’s why it was strange when she called you one Thursday evening in March.

“Guess what?” she had asked, voice radiant with excitement, carrying on before you got a word in. “I got a job working for this rich man uptown and he gave me my first paycheck. He’s paying me so well!” She went on to describe the job in vivid detail, and you had to admit, it was more than convincing.

“That's unbelievable, Nat,” you replied, feigning happiness. “Well, I don’t doubt that someone like you could land a good job, but... You know what I mean. Do you think that I would enjoy a job like that?”

“Oh, Y/N,” she gushed. “Of course! Especially if your client is as gorgeous as mine.”

The concept of attractive men had you sold instantly and she knew it. Within an hour, you added yourself to a hiring website where you put an ad out for a housekeeper. Now, all you had to do was wait. Fortunately, your offer was accepted within minutes by a wealthy man who lived uptown. He was in touch instantly, helping you plan out your tentative work schedule.

You couldn’t believe how well things were going. The dots were practically connecting themselves.

That night, you lay in bed, eyes aglow as you revised every detail of your evening. You had gotten a call from your sister, quit your job, and gotten a new job working as a maid. From now on, you would spend your days cooking and cleaning for a strange man in a mansion i rather than ringing up bottles of water and packets of trail mix for begrudging truckers. This kind of change was nearly unfathomable, a one-eighty capable of giving you whiplash.

~~~

Monday morning rolled around, dragging you with it. You were grossly unprepared. Your client supposedly had everything you needed, but that didn’t assuage your feelings of anxiety. You hadn’t cleaned anyone’s house but your own, much less wealthy old men in good neighborhoods. Hopefully, he would be kind and well-compensating like Nataly’s.

Clothed in loose, simple garments, you examined your appearance hesitantly. Your hair was pulled back into a low bun and your face was covered in a cheap layer of hastily-done makeup. You had to keep reminding yourself that you weren’t aiming to seduce the old geezer, rather earn money.

Once in your car, you punched his address into your GPS and followed it attentively, trying to pry your brain from the intruding thoughts of inadequacy. The farther you went, the nicer the homes and neighborhoods became. You assumed that none of the children that lived around here didn’t get to watch shoot-offs from their bedroom window every other weekend.

The GPS continued directing you up the street, and the houses got remarkably bigger, presumably costing a fortune. After driving for forty-five minutes, the GPS directed you to stop in front of the biggest, most beautiful house you’d ever seen. It was three stories tall and the most elegant building you’d ever seen.

It was made of a welcoming tan stone with regal white pillars framing the front door. There were windows everywhere, and even they looked expensive.

Eyes wide with amazement, you remained in your car, unable to move. You absorbed your surroundings as if you had never opened your eyes before. They scanned everything around you, eventually landing on the massive garage built into the side of the house. It was presumably filled with all kinds of luxury vehicles.

Once your wits returned to you, you made your way up the front walk and onto the stoop. A moment after you’d rung the doorbell, a voice called from somewhere inside, instructing you to enter. You opened the door cautiously and found yourself standing in the doorway, taking in the crystal chandelier and gleaming marble floors, jaw agape.

Just then, a tall man strode briskly in through the hallway beside you, flashing you a grand smile. He was much younger than you imagined, but dilf material nonetheless. He was dressed in a smart navy blue suit and his hair was tousled immaculately. He gave you a cocky smile, noticing the awe on your face. He was definitely proud of all that he had, but who wouldn’t be? You were surely blessed to be in his presence.

“Y/N, right?” he inquired,

He held out his hand for a shake and you broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of touching him. As he raised his hand, his sleeve fell just enough to reveal the tattoos that lay beneath.

You immediately forgot about his arms and focused on his voice. His accent made your name seem beautiful and exotic. This was too much. His grasp was firm and his hand was veiny and warm.

You took his hand and shook it properly. “Yes,” you stuttered, straightening yourself, busying yourself by fixing your waistband to avoid eye contact. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Beautiful.” He let out a breathy chuckle.

He was so suave and articulate, speaking smoothly and making confident eye contact; a right businessman. And here you were, tripping over your words like the lower-class person you were.

He directed you toward a closet built into the side of his double staircase. “Everything you’ll need is in here and if you’re missing something, don’t hesitate to let me know. I don’t have anything f’you to do today. Take the to look around, I understand it’s pretty overwhelming.”

You smiled gratefully, deciding to ignore his implication to your income and upbringing.

“I only have to work until one today, so I’ll be back to answer any of your questions. Sound good?”

You nodded, trying your best to keep your act together until he left.

“I just have one rule. Whatever you do, don’t touch the door at the end of the hallway on the third story. Okay?”

You nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Harry,” he corrected with a cocky smile. “Call me Harry.”

His words echoed in your ears as he exited the door, briefcase in clutch. You locked the door behind him, sinking to the ground with your back to the wall, heart racing.

I’m gonna tag some people here just to get the ball rolling. (Taglist people, some mutuals, or people who liked this post.) Thank you in advance to anyone who interacts because it means the whole wide world to me. ⬇️⬇️⬇️ @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @sortingharryshairclip @fishingirl12 @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @lukesaprince @babygirl-jj @shroombloomm @chocochipcookie305 @pamelagramm @harrysonlylover

[hayscodings]

what were your thoughts on ethel?

I really liked Ethel. She was a sweet girl with a good heart and I wish her story hadn’t been wrapped up so quickly.

Ethel actually reminds me a lot of Svetlana in the sense that they both have some of the most horrific backgrounds on the show but don’t fully realize the extent of what they’ve been through, or how fucked up it is, because they’ve never known anything else. Ethel defends her rapist and insists that he’s a good man, just like Svetlana defends her father and insists that he had good qualities too. They’re also two of the best parents on the show despite being young and traumatized with very little resources. I’ve often thought about how interesting it is that they both wind up having storylines with Kev and V.

Kev’s heart was in the right place when they were fostering Ethel, and I do think that he did the best that he could under the circumstances, but at the end of the day the truth is is that neither he nor V were equipped to deal with that kind of trauma. It was their first time fostering a kid, and they really bit off more than they could chew. I don’t know that it ever would have worked out long-term, even if they had wanted it to. Ethel was severely brainwashed.

The one thing I didn’t like about the Ethel storyline was how V treated her. I’ve mentioned before that when I first watched the show V was my favorite, but it made me really uncomfortable hearing her talk about Ethel like she was just a paycheck. And I really hated the way that she exploited Ethel’s trauma in order to get her chores around the house done. Ethel deserved better than to be treated like a personal servant. She was a vulnerable, traumatized child thrown into a situation where one foster parent didn’t care for her, only what she could do for her, and the other had no idea how to approach her. It was hard to watch at times.

I never know what to think about the way that she was written out because, on the one hand, she managed to escape the cult that she was in, but on the other she’s a kid who ran off with another kid. And I don’t know how sustainable that would be. I wish we would have gotten to see what became of her.

[zooophagous]

hey, i’m currently at school to become a graphic designer but your rant has recently put down on paper all of my concerns and fears over this industry! i don’t think i can quit now considering how far i’ve gotten so i think what i’m asking is: how do you deal with it? i already despised the idea of working for giant corporations/ more capitalists but i found ways to cope with that and idk! i’m really just trudging along rn lol

I'm not sure I'm the right guy to ask, just because I'm actively switching fields as we speak and shortly I should be working full time as a tattoo artist lol.

However, to cope with it in the mean time the best advice I have is this: Do a job you don't hate. If you believe in something it's easier. Maybe you'll manage social media for a nonprofit you think does really good work. Maybe you'll do logos and signs for small local businesses that actually do need your help. Maybe you can cross train into a field like journalism and make layouts for national news, which is a noble goal despite the ads that go into it. (I worked about half my years as a designer at a news agency and it was by far the least soul sucking of all of my design jobs)

You can even specialize in things like album covers and book covers, you can cross train into photography if you're good with people. It is much harder to find steady work when you're picky about the ethical impact of your job, I won't lie to you. But keep in mind if you give up your convictions for a paycheck it WILL reflect in your performance and it will wear you down much quicker.

[devildomwriter]

had you obtained the latest solomon card? if so, could you post any spoilers or tell me where i could get them? like omg ive tried sooo hard but no good :')...i love your blog by the way, i feel like an idiot because i only recently found it since i wasnt active and had been searching for devildomqueen this entire time...kill me...

Haha. Well my old blog was Devildomqueen but that was deleted…kill me (if you find any old posts please let me know)

Unfortunately I haven’t gotten the Solomon card yet but hopefully in the future. Currently my last few paychecks have been going toward trying to get my fav Diavolo’s birthday card and dear God the 300+ I’ve spent better be worth it

But after I obtain him I will try more for Solomon and Leviathan. I did get Luke.

A lot of times most blogs will kindly let you know about the cards if you ask.

If anyone who sees this has the Solomon card please DM me the details or reblog the post with them so we can see :D

[simply-hyacinth]

Two Months Later

A sequel of sorts to the last one. It's kind of a series? I don't want them to be too connected to the point where you'd need to read everything to understand, but they're joined in ways.

Not edited! Not well written! Not super great! But here it is! I might edit/change it later lmfao

It had been two months since you had given your number to the mysterious cake-lover, and you had not heard a word from him since. On top of that, the aforementioned cake orders ceased, much to your disappointment. 

“Don’t give him another second of thought,” Eva huffed, sharing in your annoyance at him. “Two months? What a dick. I don’t know why you’re still hung up on him. You should take that other guy up on his offer for dinner. What was his name again?”

“I’m not hung up on him, he was just…incredibly interesting.” You sighed, thinking back to the curious way he sat and how he looked at you. “And he seemed really smart too.”

Eva rolled her eyes. “You can’t be in love with someone just for their intelligence.”

“I’m not in love with him!” You protested. 

“You bring him up almost daily.”

“Because he was one of our best customers for a solid week,” You tried to reason. “Of course I’m upset over the loss of such a massive source of income. Admit it, you enjoyed that overtime paycheck too.”

She snorted at you before turning her attention to help a new customer. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Not that you would ever admit it. It was pathetic of you to be so upset over a boy you had talked to for less than an hour, and whose name you hadn’t even gotten, but you were just so enamored with him. His bluntness, his intelligence, and his skin crawling ability to see through your words despite not commenting on it. He never had to say it, but you could tell he was always one step ahead of your own thoughts. It was those traits that you rarely saw in a person, and it made him unforgettable.

So when you got the message, it was not panic that ran through your mind, but rather, excitement. It was a simple address and a stated time that most people would deem the creepiest of first texts, but what you focused on was the way it had been signed off.

102 Harvest St.

Room 244.

8:00 PM tonight.

- L

L. 

The first initial of his name? Last name? Simply the letter he used to sign off on things in general? Regardless of what it meant, you now knew what you would be doing in the next four hours.

“What is - “ Eva looked over your shoulder and at the text, eyes wide. “Oh my god. He’s going to murder you.”

“What? Of course he isn’t.”

“Yes! This is exactly how it happens. Creepy guy leads the unsuspecting girl to an abandoned hotel and then stabs her to death. I’m going with you.” Her words planted a seed of doubt in your mind, but your overall curiosity of the boy defeated your common sense. 

You shook your head at her. “Here, let’s at least check where this even is. If it is an abandoned hotel, then maybe I won’t go.”

In a few quick minutes you and Eva had located the address that the text specified, but something seemed very off about it. Contrary to the perfect place for murder as Eva had suggested, it appeared to be one of the nicest hotels in your city, one you had passed many times but had never even dreamt of going near.

“Isn’t this where that one singer stayed when she was doing events here?” Eva murmured, examining the name of the hotel closer. “Jesus, this guy really is rich.”

“And the unnecessary amount of cake orders and tips never clued you in on that?” You responded dryly. “Good god, I think this is one of the most expensive hotels I know of. We almost catered an event here, remember? It fell through, but I remember the number I quoted them on…and it probably would’ve allowed us to renovate the kitchen like I’ve always wanted to.”

“Well, at the very least you should bring pepper spray.” Eva said firmly, clearly still on her he’s-a-serial-killer train of thought.

You smiled, staring at the message one more time before you silently resolved to go, if only for the chance of seeing him again and talking to him.

Three and a half hours later you were on your way to the hotel, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt nervously. Eva’s words ran through your head again, and you wondered if you really were about to die. If you were, at least you knew you would go out looking good.

Just as she had suggested, pepper spray was carefully tucked away into your bag, along with a very sharp pair of scissors and your wallet.

“It’s okay, you wouldn’t go out with a serial killer. You have a better gut instinct than that.” You told yourself, shaking as you knocked on the door to room 244. Your fingers wrapped around your scissors, and you held them tight by your side.

No one answered, and so you knocked again. This time, you heard the latch hitting the door and the gentle click of the handle as it turned. Taking a small step back, you watched as the door opened to a room of darkness and a tired face appeared in the shadows. 

His eyes immediately darted to the scissors in your hand. “I don’t suppose you’re here to kill me, are you?”

You shoved them back into your bag and loosed a breath. “Sorry, it was just for precautions.”

He nodded, leaning against the doorway. “I was not entirely sure you would come.”

“Well when a strange and unnamed boy messages me after two months of initially meeting and tells me to come to a very nice, but very strange hotel at night, who am I to say no?” You rolled your eyes as if you were talking to Eva. When he didn’t respond, your shoulders sank and you merely said, “So, can I come in?”

He opened the door further at that, which you took as a yes. The hotel room was even nicer than you had expected; ornate rugs and a floor-to-ceiling window that had thick curtains pulled all the way to cover every inch of the glass. 

He scratched his head and observed your reaction carefully. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Should I even ask?”

“I would prefer you not.”

“Perfect. I’m not sure I want to know.” God forbid he was involved in the mafia or some other illegal activity. Best to not stick your nose in anything which you may regret later. “What were you planning to do when I got here?” You spoke as if you didn’t notice the stacks of files and open laptops that filled up the table. 

“Again, I was not entirely sure you would come.”

You fixed him with a stare. “So, even on the rare chance that I did, you had nothing planned for my arrival? This may be the worst first date I have ever been on.”

“Date.” He echoed. It wasn’t a question, but he said it as if the word was foreign on his tongue.

You nod. “You invite a cute stranger over to your place - well, hotel in your case, knowing damn well they’re interested in you. Of course that’s a date.” Waving off whatever he was planning to say next, you pick up the remote next to the couch and turn on the TV. “We can watch a movie. Do you like movies?”

“I can’t say I watch them often.” He answered, amused at your initiative. “But I do have experience in observing footage of sorts.”

You blink at him, and chart that up to yet another thing you did not think wise to ask him about. “Oh! Look at the selection of movies they have. God, it must be nice to have money.” You pause. “Speaking of which, why did you stop ordering the cakes?”

He met your eyes, and you could see the signs of lack of sleep and proper nutrition that seemed to have gotten worse in the last two months. “I was not in town anymore.”

“I see,” You flipped through more movie options until you landed on a nostalgic Christmas movie, one that you had watched when you were younger almost every night leading up to the holiday. “This one. This is the one.”

He was standing near you now, slouched over with his hands at his side. “It’s almost March.”

You scowled at him. “Is it, isn’t it? And what month was it when we first met?”

There was silence, and then, “December. Never mind, I know what you’re getting at. And I sincerely apologize for the two month wait.”

You beckoned towards the space next to you, inviting him to sit. “Good, then we can watch this movie with no objections then?”

“You don’t ask questions.” He stated bluntly, not answering your question as he sat down in that same odd way you had noticed about him before.

“Hmm?”

“I know you see these things. I know you want to ask. But you don’t.”

With a wry smile, you answered, “Do you want me to ask? Do you want me to pry into your deepest darkest secrets with no hesitation? Is that what you want?”

He blinked. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then I think we’re good here.” You laugh, pulling your knees to your chest as the movie starts. He was right, of course. You noticed everything about him that you knew most people would want to ask about, but you felt as if the air was heavy with expectation, and you didn’t want to fulfill them by questioning him. Not now, at least.

The movie was comforting, and it eased your nerves about being there with him. He truly did make you nervous, wish was not a feat many could accomplish.

Few words were exchanged as you started watching, but soon commentary was flying around from both of you. 

“This is a very unrealistic movie.” He noted.

You snorted. “Was it the singing elves that gave it away? Or the flying reindeer?”

“It’s the political system of the North Pole and that there would be such a hierarchy for the brothers in the first place. You would think it would matter less about blood and more about the passion one has for gift giving.”

“But they have all this new technology, which is why the older brother is the one considered for the new Santa.” You explained, a little grin playing on the corners of your lips.

“Ridiculous.”

“It’s a Christmas movie,” You smiled at him, pulling the blanket he had brought for you closer. “There really isn’t supposed to be much logic to it.”

He regarded you with a new look. “You said earlier you would not ask me questions.”

“Indeed I did. Unless you become comfortable with me asking them.”

His fingers pinched his bottom lip for a second and he looked back between you and the now paused movie. “I have a proposition.”

You shifted until you were facing him. “Go on…”

“I ask you a question and you answer, and then you may ask me a question that I will answer to the best of my ability.” He nodded slightly, as if pleased with this arrangement. 

You stared at him blankly for a moment. “Do you mean…getting to know each other?”

“The other terms for it are irrelevant.”

Another laugh escaped your lips as you crossed your legs and leaned forward. “Alright then, ask away.”

“Is this a movie you watched with your mother?”

The smile faded, which did not go unnoticed by him. “Interesting first question.”

“What would you rather have me ask?” He sounded genuine.

You shrugged at him. “I don’t know, maybe what my favorite color is? Or my hobbies?” You quickly shake your head and exhale, knowing very well that would have never happened. “Yes, it is a movie I watched with my mother. You know, she made similar comments as you about the whole brother-rivalry thing.”

He hummed as he absorbed your answer, and then looked expectantly at you. “You may ask me something now.”

It took you a moment to think of a question; one that would not be too personal, but would also give you further insight into the type of person he was. He gave you plenty of time to think about it, and reminded you that you had more than one question to ask him - as many questions to ask as ones you answered.

“Why didn’t you order another cake?” You finally settle on. “You come back into town, and instead of doing the proper mysterious-strange-character thing, which would be to order another one of my cakes and have your pickup man leave me a little sticky note as I did to you, you just texted me. Do you not like my cakes anymore?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that your question? Whether or not I like your cakes still?”

You felt your cheeks turn red and you turned away so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Well, no! But, I was just wondering. I mean, you originally met me through my bakery. To be honest, I’m not sure why you would want me here unless it was because you wanted more sweets.” 

“That’s a very good point. There was no reason for me to have invited you here.” He agreed with you, much to your surprise. “However, I feel as if I should be able to do things without needing much reason for it. Don’t you?”

“Not if it implies that I’m only here because you wanted to do something spontaneous and with no real prompting.” You laugh dryly. 

He asked his next question. “Then why did you come?”

You were waiting for this one. “Because you’re cute. And it’s evident you’re fairly smart, which has always been something I’ve found attractive in people. Not to mention, you bought a couple thousand dollars in cakes, so there’s obvious intrigue in that. Maybe I felt like I owed it to you, considering how much money you brought in for that week.”

And for the first time this night, you felt as if you had the upper hand on him. He was blunt with his words, yes, but your ridiculous transparency was not quite what he was expecting, even if he had an inclination that it was coming.

“Those are…very good reasons.”

“I would hope so. I came all the way here following the instructions of the shadiest message I’ve ever received. I needed a good damn reason to.” You smiled brightly. “My turn now?”

“I - yes.” He still seemed slightly unsettled by the words you unleashed on him prior, which was truly entertaining to watch.

You took another minute to think, looking around for more things to become curious about. “Are you a spy?”

“No.” He answered quickly. “Although, I can see why you may think I am.”

The game continued for almost two more hours, and you managed to squeeze out a bit more information from him, while he seemed to extract your entire life story. You learned that the man who came to pick up the cakes was called Watari, and that he was L’s ‘assistant’ of sorts. You also learned that L was the name he went by, and was not just a weird nickname as you had previously assumed.

By the end of it, you were tired from explaining and talking so much, your head sinking into the soft plush of the couch cushion. 

Eventually, L suggested that you leave to get some rest, as you would have to open the bakery tomorrow.

“Will you be there?” You asked in between yawns. “You should come by, even if just for a second. I promise I’ll give you something for free.”

L considered it for a moment. “Perhaps. I wouldn’t wait for me, however.”

You beamed at him, drowsy and entirely drained. “No, I will. You seem like the type of person I would want to wait for.”

As you slumped off the couch and bid him farewell, the thought echoed around in your head. He was the type of person you would wait for. And you knew it was something you would end up doing if you pursued this relationship.

But nothing about that thought seemed to bother you. You honestly felt like you had a wonderful first date, despite the odd circumstances. You didn’t know if L would agree, but you left the hotel wanting to see him again, even if it was just a brief interaction at the bakery later.

And as you would find out seventeen hours and one free cookie later, he felt the same.

[thisweekinfandomhistory]

Hello, I’ve been really enjoying your podcast and thinking about various incidents that might make for good episode topics and how they could be approached, and since you seem rather receptive to random suggestions, I figured I’d send some in.

The Black Sails vs OFMD tumblr poll, a recent incident where a tumblr poll pitting two pirated against each other caused mountains of drama, a massive unhinged rant from the op of the poll, and a sort of fandom rivalry. Could be useful as a jumping off point to talk about the way comedy and dramas are perceived in fandom spaces and the ethical issues that spring up around media that whitewashes (in the moral sense, but the other definition could play into the discussion too), completely fictionalizes, and glamorizes real historical figures.

More Star Trek stuff than I can recall in one sitting, but Die Seven Die! was a pretty crazy happening, where a bunch of shippers decided to write fanfic of a certain character dying because she got in the way of their ship (she got randomly paired up with a character she didn’t interact with much, and the rumor is it’s because the actor who played him made a joke about it while negotiating his paycheck). The 1982 Con of Wrath, just a classic convention fuck up. And really, just any given thing happening with Spock’s love life at any given time. I know people got extremely nasty regarding the Kelvin Timeline’s Spock/Uhura stuff and more recently with Spock/Chapel.

I think the release date of the first Big Finish audiodrama could make for a good starting point for an episode about the dr who wilderness years, which could focus on the role fan activity can have in rebooting or reviving a dead series. Or, on a crazier note to reach the same point, the release of the music video for Doctor in Distress, which is something I really can’t describe beyond “a compellingly awful charity song made to get Doctor Who back on the air”, and Hans Zimmer was involved in making it.

I’m sure you’ve gotten suggestions for Thanfiction and the Hamilton AIDS incident a thousand times, but how about the time Voltron fans tried to reinvent the concept of original fiction through the lens of fanfiction. As I understand it they were so upset by the ending of the show that they decided to collectively file the serial numbers off of their fandom. Sort of replacing the actual show with a invented goncharov-thing and writing fanfic for the fake fandom they made. Not sure what ultimate point could be derived from that, but it’s sure fascinating from a sociological point of view.

Thank you for writing in!! Sorry it's taken a little while to reply; we didn't want to spoil too many of our own upcoming episodes in our answer, but it's rude to leave you hanging, so here we go... :)

The Black Sails versus OFMD poll is a great suggestion! And I love your take on how comedy and drama are totally perceived differently in fannish spaces and have such, like, essentially different modes of fandom. It would also definitely have to touch on how OFMD in particular whitewashes real-world slaveowners -- although if we do a Hamilton episode, we'd probably talk about that a lot there, too.

Thank you for sending in some new Star Trek stuff! I (V) hadn't heard of any of those particular events, so I'm excited to dig in and take a look. :)

And I love that suggestion for a Doctor Who event! It's been surprisingly hard to find a good record of fannish history, rather than show history, for DW, which is insane considering what a huge fandom it's had for so many decades.

Thanfiction and the HIVliving Scandal are already on the 2023 schedule, have no fear!

But this Voltron thing sounds nutty. ::pencils it in::

[spacelazarwolf]

ok tldr it’s my birthday month and i’m poor so if you wanna toss a couple bucks my way so i can buy groceries i would be eternally grateful.

the tl is i’ve only been able to work about half my hours for the month of october because of the jewish high holidays, followed by a hospital stay, and then a visit to my family who i haven’t gotten to see since before the pandemic, so my checks are half as much as they normally are. i’m getting groceries today after work, but i’m worried i won’t have enough for both groceries and gas plus enough to last until next paycheck.

if you are in a good place and feel comfortable donating, my venmo is avimazz. if you can’t donate but still want to reblog that is also much appreciated!

[death-in-a-handbasket]

Ooo definitely! I totally agree with you, and beast really does do a good job showcasing his personality In a more casual setting. I like how his eyes/sharp uncomfortable stare is referenced a few times too. He seems like the type to make uncomfortable eye contact and I love that for him tbh. Do you have any headcannons for him per chance? I have a few if you want me to send them in!

I absolutely love his eyes, I wish the manga carried over into the anime more because I like how solidly dark they look, I love his big unsettling eyes and piercing stare so much man

chefs kiss character design I love characters that have unnerving eyes by nature and he most definitely makes uncomfortable eye contact, I feel like it comfortably affirms his viciousness when he sees the way people get uncomfortable, but I think if someone were to make eye contact with him with such ardent genuineness he’d probably want to look away, like that’s what personally makes him uncomfortable

also I always have hcs in the back of my brain, in fact I’ve been meaning to make a series of powerpoint slides listing off all my thoughts and feelings on him

for one, I feel like his house is not only quite clean but also really underwhelming, like chuuya probably has luxury running through his home even if he still is kind of a ratty street kid at heart, but akutagawa has a relatively simplistic house. nothing that indicates a huge paycheck or the fact that he’s mafia affiliated, just some antique dark stain furniture and maybe a few small art pieces on the walls but he doesn’t strike me as someone who lives lavishly or makes big purchases, if anything he’s probably quite frugal

aside from that, I feel like he’d probably have one home in the city for work convenience but in reality I think the home that he feels more comfortable would be located more rurally?? like I see him living more on the outskirts of the city in a wooded area when he has time off

now this hc stems from something in beast but I think he would have plant and herb knowledge, not only from being homeless and learning what is and isn’t edible, but also from taking care of his illness and enjoying tea, he has a surprisingly high level of knowledge on plant shit, to the point where he could probably tell you the medicinal and poisonous properties of everything growing in the area

I also feel like he prefers not to enter hospitals or be patched up by professionals, he takes care of himself and by proxy has a decent understanding of the human body, it also helps that he’s been killing for so long he’s just gotten to know which parts of the body do what

this is my evidence and I’m citing it 🤌

I also have a playlist for him and bunch of nsfw stuff in mind as well but we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it (I’ll sit down and make some proper powerpoint slides for him LMAO)

also yes I would absolutely love to hear your hcs :D I feel like for a character that is the narrative foil to the main character he should get studied way more, send away 🙏

[fitgothgirl]

I feel like my blog is becoming more so random stuff than fitness/health stuff. I used to try to keep it strictly about health, but in recent years I’ve let it get some random stuff in. It partially started because when I say “health,” I include mental health stuff in that, and basically everything about life can affect mental health lol. Plus just all the fun/weird/interesting stuff you want to reblog just to reblog. And I’m not against all that for my blog but it’s just gotten a wee bit too much for what I want here. So I’m going to try to rein the randomness in a little, and/or try to have more health/fitness stuff in between.

This may include a few more body posts, but I’ll start tagging those with “body” for anyone who wants to block it. For me, it’s not that I want my body to look exactly like someone else’s, it’s just the image of health/strength that’s motivating- someone else being (or at least appearing) their healthiest/strongest makes me want to be my best, whatever that may be. But of course grain of salt with all that - someone’s body doesn’t tell you their health or happiness.

Been so blah since vacation. I’ve also been having insomnia problems as I mentioned a few days ago and it’s taking some effort to get back to normal. But just got wrung out from the lake house overall - I’m not 21 anymore, as they say. But after that vacation and also feeling crappy most of June, I really want to get some healthy habits going again. I went for a walk on Friday evening at least, which was very pleasant and refreshing. I’m still feeling blah today but at this point I know I need movement more than rest. (And caffeine would help too...)

-

I’ve been thinking about money stuff lately too. Of course I need to budget better and control my spending better and all that, but I’ve also been thinking about how I eventually just need to make more money... Even if I wasn’t in debt, I don’t think I can chill around this wage for too much longer if I want to ever be able to retire or just live comfortably. I’m painfully paycheck-to-paycheck right now (hence the ever increasing debt). So last night I was starting to look into what path I could go down next in life where I could make a good 50-75% more at least (and obviously something I enjoy doing for the most part). Right now I proofread medico-legal reports, but I don’t think I want to get into editing, and there’s not really any sort of growth here. I was looking into medical coding and healthcare data analysis and even healthcare recruiting. I feel like these things have too much dealing with other people though lmao. 😂 I really just want to be left alone, by both any sort of customer/patient and other employees. I know I can’t have it super easy though if I want a decent pay bump.

I feel like whatever I land on, if it’s significantly more money then it’s probably going to take at least some sort of certificate program before I can pursue it, if not a master’s... We’ll see about the master’s though lol. Obviously this is a big decision and needs to be thought through. It’s funny though, I got my bachelor’s 6 years ago and was so done with school at that time lol. When I was asked by others about a master’s or whatever, I was like “I can’t speak for the more distant future, but for now, NO MORE SCHOOL.” And here I am, over half a decade later, where I would consider “the more distant future” to be in that regard. Time is crazy...

Obviously I want to stop making my debt worse and *gasp* even get out of debt eventually. But the stuff I would do after that is even more important and has been getting to me lately. Like at this point, I feel like I’m holding my bf back from travelling. He makes decent money and can budget himself unlike me, so it’s always been a thing about whenever I could plan to get together the money for anything. And I recently realized that after over 11 years together, we’ve haven’t done any of the travelling we want to do (as in like, more than a road trip or a quick flight to SoCal or something lol). And I can’t make any of the more “adult” purchases, like I’m sure I won’t be able to drive the same car forever... Or even fun purchases that you think DINKs can make, like my bf and I have always really wanted a hot tub and even somehow have the perfect spot for it in our small backyard haha. But the DINK lifestyle is only as good as the couple’s earning/spending habits allow. (I don’t even put purchasing a house on this list since that’s just laughable no matter what for me IMO.)

Aight I’m going to cut off the money rambles. 🙃

[aproxm]

on better days

i write these words in circumstances certainly far different than those penned beneath my colored trees previously. i wrote the first blog post with hands strained from fibromyalgia, though ignorant of that actual diagnosis. today, i write with hands... still strained from fibromyalgia, but with months of medicine under my belt (and medicine that mostly works, too). such medicine--a cocktail of cymbalta, meloxicam and, currently, lyrica, have all contributed to making living more manageable, making waking up not the beginning of a day of torment but more like the beginning of a day of just a little torment--manageable torment. i’ve been able to play video games again, which... to deny a gamer his games is to strip the astronaut of his suit. i’ve been able to draw much, much more, which... to deny an artist his art is to strip the astronaut of his helmet. and, very recently, i’ve even been able to secure comfortable employment, my days now spent at a workplace pretty damned cozy for someone like me. and that’s good, because to deny a man his wages is to deny an astronaut... his wages.

anyway, with wages comes actual income--honest to god income. and it is brain frying to comprehend... i’ve made more money in a week than i’ve had in my bank account for the past year. and that sucked straight plain dick considering the medical debt i incurred throughout that past year--debt i still have, and debt that’s certainly snowballed, but debt that’s no longer insurmountable. in other words... i am slowly gaining the means to take my life back.

but i could not have gotten to this point without the assistance of friends and loved ones and those who have found value in my art and supported me on here, twitter, elsewhere. i find it imperative to express how dicey things had gotten before i ended up having to pack up and move back home--with the money earned on kofi, i paid for one of three things: food, gas, and bills. and that’s all i could manage: no clothes shopping, no art supplies, no video games (not that i was in any condition to be able to play them, but still...). it’s... beyond relieving to know this chapter comes to a close the day i receive my first paycheck.

it is because income is now coming my way that i’ve decided to close commissions indefinitely and switch back to perpetually accepting requests again. comms are stressful, requests aren’t--that’s it at its simplest. but, ah...

... well, let’s set the cut off date to be the end of the month. so, in other words, the final day to commission me for art will be october 31st. after that point, i will not be accepting any more commissions on kofi. until that point, i am still operating on a pay-what-you-want model starting at a minimum of $25. and of course, business commissions will still stay open perpetually as well, like designing album covers, because designing album covers is badass.

thanks for reading. and thanks for supporting me, those who have, and those who’ve retweeted and reblogged my e-begging and e-advertising and played my silly romhack and so forth and so forth and man i’m just ready to end this chapter of my life and start the next one. i’m still not entirely sure how best to show my appreciation... but i do know i’ll be ordering some commissions myself very, very soon.