#i could talk for three million years about my own shit don't tempt me like this

[cubeswhump]

Will Not be a Victim for my character, Blondie.

The neglected Blondie. I need to get back to my Powers Verse too. And the immortal bitches. I have a Sweetie and Michelle story drafted though.

Warnings for mentions of violence, referenced torture, bit of ableism. Pretty tame compared to what I usually write.

The phone rang from her nightstand, and again, and again. Then it started pinging with texts: Terry-Ellen has spoken to me but my own daughter won’t answer her phone.

I’ll be arriving at your house at 6PM.

Blondiw growled and dialled the number. The phone rang only twice before the deep voice came on the other line: “Oh, so you’ve decided to stop ignoring me?”

“Fucking hell, Dad. I’m twenty-three,” Blondie reminded him. “Chill.’

"Language, Melinda,” he scolded lightly. “I don’t care of you’re eighty-three. You’re still my daughter and we just got you back. I need to be sure that you’re okay.”

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Are you really?"

Blondie pinched the bridge of her nose. Don't call him a nosy twat, don't call your dad a nosy twat. She breathed out. "You hired a fucking bodyguard for me. "That's humiliating enough, and now you're prying into my life like I'm a child."

"Language. Good lord, you take after your mother," he sighed. "Who are you embarrassed in front of? You haven't left your house in more than two weeks." His voice was so even and annoyingly calm. Blondie swallowed back the snarl crawling up her throat. "Is it really prying to be concerned about my daughter? I just want to know that you're okay. I haven't seen you since-"

"Okay, okay, I'll stop by tomorrow. No need to stop by." She knew her father would have some words if she saw the state her house was in. Tej wasn't hired to clean after the slob, and no one had patched up the hole Blondie punched in the living room.

"Are you sure? If I come over you can stay home and rest," he offered.

"You just got on my ass for staying in my house!"

"You know that is not what happened, Melinda."

"I'll be there at eleven in the morning, okay?"

"I'll expect you by twelve."

Blondie huffed and hung up as he chuckled.

***

Tej was prodding her. "Get up. We've gotta go soon."

Blondie lifted her head abd ahot rhe other wonan a glare. "There's no we. You're staying home."

"You know that's not how it works," she said, unfazed. "I'll make you coffee."

"Don't." Blondie pyr one foot on the floor and grabbed one crutch. The other must have fallen over at some point in the night, and Blondie whacked Tej with the crutch in her hand when the thin woman tried to help her retrieve the fallen one. "Scram, bitch."

"Very nice, " Tej said sarcastically, handing her the crutch anyway. She caught the crutch Blondie swung at her. "Have you ever considered treating the help like people?"

"Go on, call me a bitch. There's nothing in your contract that says you can't insult me, yeah?"

"I'll leave you to get dreased," Tej said dryly. "Your hair looks nice. Did you wash it?"

She shut the door behind her just in time for the television remote to crash into the wood.

Blondie had only worn bath robes and undergarments for the last few weeks and she hadn't gotten to modifying any pants to her new body. Skirts? No, fighting in a skirt wasn't a great idea - if she needed to fight. Fights were always possible.

Shorts. A pair of shorts, one sock, one combat boot. The left bood sat all alone and sad. She kicked it over. Hair in a bun.

"Your coffee, Blondie." Tej shoved the steaming mug right in her face while Blondie was trying to sneak out the front door.

"I told you not to make me coffee," Blondie grumbled.

"Coconut creamer and one Sweet-N-Low," Tej tempted her, voice sing-song.

"I'm getting coffee on the way to my dad's, shithead." And she was out tje door, slamming it behind her - or trying to. Tej caught it just before it closed and slipped out after her.

"Want me to drive? You can relax," Tej offered, reaching for the keyring in Blondie's hand. Blondie jerked it away.

"I'll relax when you're dead. It's my fucking car."

"Cool, cool."

Tej was in the passenger's seat before Blondie had even opened her door so she couldn't even lock her out. Tej smiled at her knowingly. Blondie gripped the steering wheel sp hard her fingers turned white.

Tej tried to make conversation throughout the drive and Blondie turned the volume up a few notches every time she opened her mouth. After a million years, she pulled up in front of the coffee shop.

"I'll get you an iced mocha cappuccino," Blondie said as she got out of the car. Tej was stepping out too.

"Nah, I wanna look at the menu," she replied. Blondie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, reciting the "calming phrases" from her counseling sessions as a teenager.

When was this place ever this busy? Blondie sighed as she joined the line, Tej at her side. "You know, you're paying for your own shit."

"That's fair," Tej shrugged. "Your daddy pays me weekly."

Blondie sneered at her.

The line inched forward. A woman and her child joined. Seriously, did the entire fucking town want coffee right now?

"Wow..." the woman said, her voice hushed. "What happened?"

Blondie didn't realize the woman was talking to her until she felt a tap on her shoulder.she turned around, finding the woman's wide eyes on her still-bandaged stump. The little girl stared too, reaching for Blondie's crutch. Blondie jerked it away from her sticky hand and scowled, but neither noticed.

"What happened?" the woman asled again. "Why don't you get a prosthetic leg?"

"I pesteres someone with intrusive questions and she pulled out a machete," Blondie snapped. The woman recoiled.

"Ma'am, you're being very insensitive, and you should teach your child not to touch anyone's mobility aids." Tej launched right into a lecture. "Please treat my friend as you would treat-"

Blondie's temper boiled over. She raised one crutch and bashed it into the woman's knee. Tej's hand clamped over her own mouth as the woman fell over with a screech, dragging her daughter down with her.

"Oops. My bad." Blondie turned her back on the pair.

"Did you see that?" the woman cried as she got back to her feet. The cashier looked over from the customer he was dealing with, frowning.

"I'll be out fast," Blondie promised the cashier. "No trouble."

They walked out with their coffees and gluten-filled breakfast, Blondie's coffee spouting steam that smelled of coconut... Something she could have gotten at home. Tej predictably got a mocha cappuccino.

"I mean," Tej finally said during their resumed drive, mouth full of bagel, "not that I blame you much, but public battery isn't a food luck."

Blondie turned the radio up higher.

The guard let them into the gated, cookie cutter community. Towering houses were identical, painted a cream not a shade lighter or darker than the house nextdoor. Perfect gardens, no blade of grass even a centimeter overgrown. One house had flowers a different shade of pink than the rest. Blondie might have struggled to differentiate the houses if Chase weren't waving frantically at the end of one driveway.

"Melinda, love, how are you?" The large man was coming at her with open arms as she stepped out of the car. She was too slow thinking of an excuse to get out of hugging her stepdad, and he squeezed her tight.

"Peachy," she told him.

He hugged Tej too before letting both women into the house. He was talking a mile a minute and Blondie let Tej handle the conversation.

"I see you brought beverages. No tea then?" he asked. Blondie shook her head. "Oliver's in his study."

"Tell him hi for me," Tej chirped, and Blondie decided she would not do that. She hurried away when the other two started discussing how much they lift at the gym.

115 pounds? Unimpressive, Tej.

She didn't bother knocking on the mahogany door, throwing it right open. "Yo."

Oliver swiveled around in his chair like a James Bond villain. He even looked the part with his coiffed grey hair and serious expression. "Good morning, Melinda. You were almost on time. Have a seat."

"Nice to see you too," Blondie said sarcastically, falling back ontp the plump sofa.

"Oh, no, you're covered in crumbs! Why didn't you brush yourself off outside?"

"Just vacuum later. I had a muffin."

Oliver sighed, turning back to his laptop. "Depending on your recovery time, we'll get you fitted for prosthesis." He flicked through images. Some were very realistic and even matching her skin color, others clunky and robotic, some abstract and hardly resembling a limb. "We should find a design that fits your activity level, preferably a more realistic one. No one has to know. At that point we'll get you to that physical therapist I've been talking to, and-"

"Whoa, hold on a minure. Don't I get a say?" Blondie snapped. "And who said I want a realiatic one? Maybe I don't want to pretend I'm fucking normal."

"Whatever you want, darling. But I'm not going to let you hold yourself back."

"You tell me to take it easy abd slow down and then you get on my ass for being behind the curve. The fuck is that?"

Oliver sighed. He turned back tp his daughter, choosing his next words carefully. "I know how much you enjoy your hobbies. I think it'll be better for your mental health if you get back into dance and martial arts soon."

Back into dance. She was already the largest girl in the studio, dwarfing the tiny instructor even when she was twelve. Skilled as she was, she never had a ballerina's body and her instructor's main complaints were her thundering footsteps and "unladylike gait". Well, at least pointe shoes wouldn't hurt a prosthetic leg.

"It's my body and my life," Blondie reminded him.

"And it's my money that pqid your medical bills," he shot back. She rolled her eyes. "Melinda, you know I just want what's best for you. I want to help you. I need to help you."

"Help yourself first," Blondie snarled. "How's your boytoy?"

"I've been married to Chase since you were eight. Stop calling him my boytoy," Oliver sighed. Any other time, Blondie might have laughed at how annoyed her dad got when she mocked his husband. "And fifteen years isn't such a significant age difference when you're out of your twenties."

"He's a gold-digger."

"He's well worth what he costs, and he loves you like his own daughter. Come on, stop changing the subject. You mean so much to me. You were the victim of such a-"

"I'm not a victim," she hissed, leaning forward in her seat. Her eyes narrowed. "If anyone's a victim, it's that bitch Camilla. You know, queen of the cabbage patch."

Oliver's eyebrows knit together. "Cabbage patch?"

"Because she's a vegetable," Blondie said, and her father sighed heavily.

"I'm not denying that she's a bad person, but you don't need to be discriminatory. Other, much nicer people live with brain damage."

"Dad, shut the fuck up and listen to me," Blondie demanded. "I fought my way out. I'm not a victim!"

"Yes, yes, you're a survivor," he said in a voice like he was placating a toddler.

"No, I'm Melinda fucking Van Doren."

He lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Before anything, you're my daughter and I want what's best for you."

"I actually know what's best for me because I am me."

"I'm your father. I know you pretty damn well."

"Yeah, okay. I'll keep in tough." Blondie started to stand, but Oliver held a hand up.

"Stay for lunch. Samantha made two extra plates."

It still weirded her out that her father had a cook. Her mother missed having servants after the divorce, but Blondie tried her best to keep her home free of employees. And she got stuck with Tej, the most intrusive Van Doren employee.

Chase brought two plates of chicken parmesan to the damn study.

"Workaholic," he said and rolled his eyes, kissing Oliver on the cheek. Blondie rolled her eyes. "Well, I've been having a lovely chat with Miss Tej while you two have been bonding."

Bonding. Sure.

Blondie stabbed into her chicken. She imagined it was the Queen - no, Camilla - that she was stabbing over and over, making sure she never recovered. Because she wasn't the Queen's victim.

She was Melinda "Blondie" Van Doren. She was a fucking hero and people would know that soon.

[spectrumscribe]

I live for Twin!Donnie and Raph. Everytime I see them pop up in any of your fic it makes me so excited! Do you have any headcannons specifically about the twon thing (for any of your stories)?

*SLAMS ENORMOUS STACK OF SHITTY PERSONAL HEADCANONS ON THE TABLE*

I’M GLAD YOU ASKED MY FRIEND

currently speaking, I’ve got two au’s that have them set up as twins, so i’ll just blab about them here a bunch.

for my older fic series, my Wands In Hand au (HPverse version of things, they’re smol and human and just here to get into trouble learn about magic):

-Raph is usually Donnie’s self-control withhighly ill-advisable magical experiments, but can be tempted into things byreally cool explosions or fluffy small animals.

-alternatively, Donnie is usually Raph’sself-control to avoid unnecessary fights, but can and usually is drawn intothings willingly if it’s regarding one of their siblings or friends. (the twoof them alone are scary, but them plus their brothers plus their two friends plus theircousin and her girlfriend best friend? *megalovaniaintensifies*)

-no one can ever tell they’re twins, but they still do thewhole ‘finishing each other’s sentences’ thing, just for kicks.

-they’re not actually sure who the older twin is, sincetheir original parents aren’t around to tell them who came first. (they werekilled during the whole dark lord fiasco in the nineties, poor sots)

-they ended up defaulting with Raph being the older twin,since he actually wanted to be, and kept on with it as they got older.

-they are actually the snarkiest people to have everexisted, and feed off each other’s snarky attitudes to boost their own whenthey share a space together. Master Shit-Talkers above all else.

-Raph never admits it, but he worries just as much as Leodoes when Donnie starts doing illegal things with magic. one of these days he’sgoing to go grey from the shit his twin pulls.

-Donnie is the only reason Raph bathes regularly. mostlybecause he physically shoves his brother into the shower and holds him at wandpoint until he’s done.

and on the other hand, I’ve got my Voltron au, again with red and purple twins, because yes:

-Raph was the first person Donnie confided in about wanting to transition, and while it took a day or so for him to get his head around things, Raph has been completely supportive of his brother ever since.

-they often joke about how Raph stole all of Donnie’s width in the womb, and how Donnie stole all of Raph’s height.

-they know for sure who the older twin is, (Raph), because their documents said so. but there is question thrown onto this fact later on in the series, because of questionable truth to their origins

-actually the closest set of siblings ever. first person they confide in, complain to, or just go hang out with? their twin. it’s always their twin, even though they sometimes get on each other’s nerves. (but that’s rare, now that they’ve grown out of most of their teenage years.)

-shortly after Donnie came out at their school as a trans-boy, Raph swore that he’d punch every single person who bugged him about it, straight in the face and everything. he continues to fulfill this promise even now. talk shit get hit

-neither of them are afraid to go for hugs from the other. after all, they shared a tight space for a full nine months before they were even born. what’s a few hundred hugs?

-Donnie might not have ever been able to stand up in a physical fight for Raph as kids, but he certainly could ruin the person’s online life. forever.

-Raph isn’t on Donnie’s level with techno-geek speak, but he’s no slack with engineering. their siblings have nicknamed them the tech-twins for this fact.

-Donnie coached Raph through school to keep his grades up, and Raph helped Donnie with martial arts at home. it worked out nicely, since Donnie can now kick just as much ass as his siblings, and Raph’s grade average never fell below 89%. 

this is really long as is, so I’ll cut it off there.

hope you all enjoyed my rambling about twins!Donnie and Raph, because aaaaaaaaaah I have so many dumb headcanons. god.

feel free to ask more specifically about any of them, I love getting to talk about my own works!

[disasterjones]

Jarrett. Give us the tea my dude

Jarett: Describe your worst boss or teacher you've ever had.

my time has come,, 

this is obscenely long, apologies

okay so I used to work at a credit union (it’s basically a bank but they push this concept of “community” and “we’re not like the banks” except that they are, do not be tempted by their honeycomb claims, they’re as fragile as they are sweet) and I worked in the quality assurance department

we were tasked with everything from balance inquiries to opening accounts to being the equivalent of loan servicers (without the capacity to actually craft the loan agreement for underwriting, because then what would the loan officers do)

my boss, we’ll call him Bob, had two assistant managers, we’ll call them Jenny and August, who were probably the pacific northwest equivalent of Stepford Wives, with Bob being the superficially-agreeable gentleman that welcomes the unaware into the compound for assimilation

so anyway I joined this job through a temp-to-hire position and it was great for the first six months or so (as it turns out, even jobs have honeymoon periods), I made friends with coworkers, I established a presence and something of a reputation for being the friendly-and-decently-quick-learner, which I would later find out was to my detriment, because they took the “quick learner” concept and thought that translated perfectly to “teacher,” and about a year in they gave me a temp to train

the temp was never a problem, although she did sometimes like to be on her phone when we were in the middle of a call, but I’m just an employee that’s giving pointers, I’m not a boss nor am I her mother, so I don’t bother to give her too much hassle about it. she still manages to keep decent call times for a newbie and is able to navigate our systems after a little bit of repetition

this was the beginning of my issues with Bob, as he wanted me to be more strict and adhere as closely his own inflexible schedule as possible. problem is I can’t force a person to learn faster, nor had I asked for the responsibility of training someone in the first place. why hadn’t they asked someone with more experience? sure I’d learned the ins and outs of the programs okay, but i hadn’t developed the tools to quickly de-escalate angry callers yet, hadn’t even been given access to several systems I was expected to use to train this temp, but being behind was my fault no matter what I said

I’d already been dealing with some subtle snideness and condescension from Jenny and August on top of that, and it took me ages to realize it’s because I was the only person that didn’t engage in makeup culture (partially bc I can’t afford that shit lol) and that was literally the reason why: I wasn’t “put together” or “company ready,” even though I never personally interacted with members or anyone on site beyond people in my immediate department

so a year and a half of this, of subtle underhanded remarks and difficult demands, of having constant rising expectations and quotas, told at every turn that our goal is to have as many new members as possible, all the while a broken record of lie, just repeating constantly that “sales don’t matter, it’s about the community” 

(EXCEPT GET ALL THE ACCOUNTS DON'T LET THEM SLIP THROUGH YOUR FINGERS YOU FUCKING FAILURE YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM 3 ACCOUNTS YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM A GOOD RATE ON THE NEW CREDIT CARD IF THEY JUST SIGNED UP BUT REMEMBER WE DON’T WANT TO SELL THEM ANYTHING)

finally it’s Christmas time and I’ve been busting my hump for the whole year and it’s my second year so I’m eligible for a bonus and I’m literally gonna burst I’m so happy... until Bob and Co. announce that, despite all our stellar efforts this year, despite that we are ahead of company projections by a 15% margin across all departments, despite that I personally (and by proxy our department) was responsible for the acquisition of an account worth over 1.3 million, we were told our Christmas bonuses were actually going to be a bit sparser than they were the year prior, my first year, the year I got a $75 Fred Meyer gift card in

I had been looking forward to a cash bonus and had worked my ass off for it, had been damn near guaranteed it during a number of team/personal reviews with the managers, but surprise! three days before christmas, all I have to look forward to is $50 to a place that I can reasonably get a single pair of shoes from (and maybe some socks)

it’s a month or so later that the Big Change happens, and the entire building of employees moves across town to a new location. some people get let go in the shuffle, including one of my close friends I’d met there. financially stressed though she was, I could see how much happier she was to be out of that place, and I started to get inklings of leaving as my mental health began to deteriorate. another result of this change is that the parking availability for employees is cut down to a third of what we used to have, except it’s even less because most of the spots at the new building are intended for members, so everybody’s carpooling or riding bikes or bussing

side note: carpooling is all well and good in a green initiative, but do you have any idea how difficult it is to coordinate more than two people for a carpool? either you can make us carpool or you can have us in on time, you can’t have both

a bit of advice for anybody new to the job circuit or who might have trouble deciphering “appropriate” social gestures: no matter how open they say you can be, no matter how friendly or amenable they appear to be to mental health struggles, don’t fall for that trap and think you can show any moment of weakness. it’s true that not everyone will react the way my managers did, but don’t take the chance if you can help it. on the surface, they understood. on the surface they said they were with me.

i would go on to walk in on those same people mocking my symptoms and talking about how it can’t be that bad, that I must be trying to get attention.I was labeled unprofessional, and no matter how much they encouraged open communication and preached how “life happens and things get rough for people,” I was still an acceptable target. 

so I took my complaint to HR, who at first seemed taken aback at the notion that, of anybody, BOB could be engaging in such careless and callous behavior. “Oh, he’s such a nice man! I’m sure he didn’t mean those things.” and because he wasn’t the one saying them, but rather laughing along with them, and because it was my word against theirs, it was unlikely to go anywhere

time crawls on and it’s about march or so when everything finally snaps in my brain. getting out of bed feels like selling my soul and going to work feels more like torture than a paycheck. on The Dawn Of The Day That Broke My Back, I was up and ready, out in front of my apartment and chain smoking to keep myself awake, when I realized that no matter when my carpool shows up now, we’re going to be late

I try to keep myself in decent spirits, not be a grumposaurus on the way in. I feel prepared for the day, got my coffee and my lunch in a bag and a nice outfit and I feel like maybe today won’t be as bad as the rest of the month has been, even though we’ll be late

we arrive about 10 after, but I’ve got Jenny and August’s numbers in my phone, so I’ve sent them messages ahead of time to let them know that the carpool was a bit late because traffic has been troublesome. I don’t remember how true it was, but the point is I did my part to let them know ahead of time that we weren’t no-shows, just a bit delayed. as I’m walking in (mind you, following and followed by a number of other individuals just as late as me), Bob singles me out, pointing first at me and then another aggressive point in the direction of a closed office space 

fun fact: with the new change in locations, he no longer has his own office, in fact he now sits directly adjacent to me and close enough to hear me speak under my breath, something I had to be constantly aware of

he ignores the confusion on my face as soon as we’re inside and immediately begins to accuse me of slacking off, saying I’ve been skipping out on and coming late into work constantly, and I need to “get it together” or I’ll be out of a job. I try to express that I’m not trying to shirk my responsibilities, just that I’ve been dealing with a lot of personal stuff and it’s affecting my focus. He doesn’t care, his frustration continuing to escalate, and every time I offer a response or rebuttal to an unfair statement, he gets angrier and changes what he’s upset about.

Finally it happens. 

“You were late! 10 minutes late! You need to be in your chair at your desk and ready to sign in and be ready to take calls BY 8:00!!” 

I have grown tired of him yelling for no reason, and the backbone that had crumbled away over the last two and a half years suddenly snaps back into place hard as steel. 

“I would like to know why this is all aimed at me specifically, when you saw me enter with the remainder of my carpool, the carpool that you all made us set up in the middle of construction season, which of course is happening on the only road that leads here. 

“I would like to know how I’m supposed to control the environment or lives of the other people I am stuck riding with every day for this job that supposedly cares about us, even though it doesn’t seem to care about the extra expenses or time  crunch we now have to endure as a result of this change that miraculously doesn’t affect you. 

“I would like to know who put that stick so far up your ass that you thought it was necessary to yell at your employee about 10 damn minutes. If you don’t mind, I have a job to get to.”

And I go and sit at my desk. He fumes quietly in the office for a while before coming out to his desk, returning to whatever he was doing before he pulled me aside to treat me like a child.

Not a few hours later, I get a call from a member that had been working directly with Bob (big ordeal that needed a manager a few days prior, so he was the go-to for this particular account), and they wanted to speak with him, claiming it was urgent. I hold the call and stand up, trying to get Bob’s attention quietly since there’s other calls happening around me. I call his name quietly, saying “phone for you, it’s [member’s name]” but he doesn’t seem to hear me because he doesn’t respond. So again, I whisper his name, this time leaning more towards him to hopefully catch his eye with the movement, but he cuts me off before I can get the member’s name out

He starts yelling. Like, at the top of his voice, yelling. In a small room, to a person less than 5 feet away, audible to everyone both on a call and not (I would later find out it was also audible over the phone! a member asked what the yelling was about. but I’m the unprofessional one)

“CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY? WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO BOTHER ME WITH CAN WAIT. GET BACK TO WORK.”

The resolve I’d summoned earlier didn’t stay with me, and this was the final straw. It’s one thing to be berated to and humiliated one on one, it’s another to be on the receiving end of it in the presence of 20 other people. I get back on the phone and tell the member, “I’m very sorry, he’ll have to return your call. He’s unavailable at the present.” and hung up, because I was about to cry and I needed to get out. I log out of everything, lock my computer, pick up my belongings and wave to one of my carpoolmates as I walk out and down to HR

they wound up convincing me to stay for a few more weeks, especially after they fired Bob (who it would turn out was going through a divorce, his second in four years, and I just happened to be the punching bag he needed that day), but eventually I left and never went back

[ Critical Role Ask Meme ]