#person: virginia dare

[runilaisanerd]

Fan Cast: Marvel 1602 (2005-2006), 5

The Spider/Peter Parquagh - Griffin Gluck

Virginia Dare - Lizzy Greene

Hulk/David Banner - Brian Dietzen

Jonah Jameson - Hugh Laurie

Dougan - Kevin McKidd

Lord Iron/Anthony Stark - Jake Gyllenhaal

Rupert Rhodes - Dayo Okeniyi

Norman Osborne - Richard Armitage

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Virginia O'Brien (Panama Hattie, Til the Clouds Roll By, The Harvey Girls)—oh god I love a sarcastic deadpan bitch. She shows up in a lot of not-very-good 1940s/50s movies as a side character who Sings One Song and then Leaves, but it always brightens up the proceedings to have her come in looking like she wants to kill everybody before fucking off and doing it again somewhere else. She would absolutely do numbers in a modern sitcom.  

Dorothy Dandridge (Carmen Jones, Porgy and Bess, Island in the Sun)— The first Black actress to ever be nominated for best actress, Dorothy Dandridge was a groundbreaking actress who deserved better. She started her career as a singer, being put in a song-and-dance duo with her sister by their stage mother, and singing in soundies (I highly recommend cow cow boogie, it's adorable), proto-music videos. She started appearing as a featured singer in films. Her star was on the rise and she soon became a star solo performer. She continued acting, but had limited options because she refused to do stereotypical roles. She finally landed a starring role in Bright Road in 1953, but it was the movie Carmen Jones that truly cemented her as a star and sex symbol. Not to sound cheesy, but she literally sizzles on screen. You can't help but understand how poor Harry Belafonte gets caught in her trap, just look at her. This is the role that got her that Oscar nom. She didn't win cause I mean #OscarsSoWhite, but she was a sensation and continued starring in films, despite troubles in her life (including a shitty director bf who fucked with her career and a traumatizing pregnancy/delivery). Outside of her filmwork, she was also an activist, fighting against racism. She left behind an amazing legacy, and continues to inspire many actresses to this day (including also very hot first (and only) black woman to win best actress, Halle Berry).

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Virginia O'Brien:

Dorothy Dandridge propaganda:

Beautiful actress and hand-working and talented singer, she's especially notable for the number of firsts she accomplished such as the first African-American woman to receive a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Actress and the first African-American woman to appear on the cover of Life magazine.

Dorothy Dandridge was a classic Hollywood triple threat, singing, dancing, and acting with the best of them. She was the first African American nominated for an academy award for Best Actress for her role in Carmen Jones and she was just jaw-droppingly beautiful.

this og of black film needs no introduction (star on the hollywood walk of fame anyone?), voice of an angel, heavenly features, just an overall stunning lady :)

Look at her!!! She is so unbelievably charismatic in Carmen, it’s insane. Her chemistry with Harry Belafonte is off the charts, and every time she puts another outdoor [sic] on it’s like ‘oh god this is a whole new level of stunning’ 🥵. She was so so talented, when she’s on screen I genuinely dare you to tear your eyes away from her. Deserves to be known so much better but due to Hollywood racism and a tough personal life she didn’t make it as big as she should have done. She’s incredible.

First Black actress to be nominated for the Oscar for Best Actress! Was the first choice for the role of Cleopatra that went to Elizabeth Taylor (we were ROBBED).

[rafaelaaron]

𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 | 𝘼𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙃𝙤𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙚𝙧

AN: Is it too early for first snow fic? No because it snowed where I live...English is not my first language, sorry in advance for any grammatical mistake!

Summary: Hotch is thinking about reader while watching the first snow, wondering if she would come back after protection.

Warning: none

The park was quiet, too quiet for the fist snow of the year. The team had just closed a case in Virginia, but it felt like they went to the opposite side of the earth, simply because the case was personal. Personal to the one Aaron Hotchner himself, and that's why it took so long for the team to have a well-deserved break even after making sure that the unsub will never see the daylight again. The bureau had to gather a commitee to question the team's decision, and most importantly, the protection detail had to be cleared.

Protection detail for you.

He hated the idea, of course, considering how Haley's protection ended, but there was no other choice. He didn't want you to be terrified of a serial killer without any security detail. He couldn't bear another loss.

It was a terrible year.

He missed you badly, so he worked extra hard to get the closure. Now that the unsub is gone, he should be happily waiting for your return, but he couldn't. It felt weird. He had an uncomfortable feeling that you might not want to be with him anymore. What kind of a boyfriend he is, he thought, to put his lover in danger and take away her freedom? Of course you said that you aren't scared of his job, but there's a high chance that you are now. Hell, you can even be afraid of him.

The park was quiet, and he was watching the snow falling down gently. The day when it snowed for the first time last year was the day the both of you saw each other for the last time. That fact didn't help his complicated mind and it didn't help to make him hear the sound of an SVU stopping and a small sound of a footstep.

“First snow always feels weird, you know.“

His heart dropped and skipped a beat at the same time.

He had heard that a year ago. That same comment with that same voice. Slowly, he turned his head around and found you, standing right beside him wearing a long black coat. All he could see was you.

His hand twitched in his coat pocket, but he could not dare reach out. He was afraid that one touch might hurt you and one hug might make you disappear. You sensed his hesitance and brushed snowflakes off his head on tiptoes.

"Haven't you missed me?"

You asked with a brilliant smile, and he snapped into reality seeing your smile. He pulled you toward him and wrapped his arms around you so tight that you thought you might suffocate.

“Of course I missed you.”

Hotch's big cold hands cupped your slightly flushed cheek lovingly. His lips instantly found yours, licking its way in. You happily opened your lips to let him explore your mouth that he missed so much. He pulled away first, playfully biting your lower lip.

"My love,"

He murmured with a smile, just as you promised each other to greet with a smile when you meet again. All of his worries melt away while slowly walking hand in hand.

"So, Aaron, there's this new bakery down the street—"

"Do you want to go?"

"I've waited so long to go with you."

[hugthesquids]

So I made a family tree over the DeMayo lineage from Steven's family, since I thought it could be interesting. Here's what we know:

Greg’s family

There are Greg's parents (Mr. and Mrs. DeMayo).

There's Andy DeMayo who is Greg's cousin/Steven's cousin, once removed (the Uncle Andy thing is just a nickname).

There’s Greg's aunt and uncle who owned the barn and loved aviation.

There is also a person that Greg and Andy call "Aunt Deb", however, whether she's actually their aunt or perhaps another cousin situation where her nickname is "Aunt Deb" much like "Uncle Andy" is unknown.

Andy's reveals that the aviation loving pair were his parents in "Gem Harvest", which makes sense given his own love for aviation and affinity for the barn, and the fact that he is one of the only of the DeMayos who thinks highly of the barn and still visits it after everyone split off, and also the fact that he's upset when the gems purposely destroy a plane which his parents taught him how to fly.

Given that both Greg and Andy talk about them in past tense and the fact that Greg just allowed the gems to take over the barn, it's highly likely that Andy's parents are dead.

Andy revealed that his parents were called the Daring DeMayos, meaning that like Greg's parents, one of the pairs of the couple had their last name changed to DeMayo. Given that it had been tradition for women to change their name to their husband's in the US, it's likely that the DeMayo line has been patrilineal so far.

Greg’s mansion-owning uncle

Greg also mentions having an uncle that owned a mansion. It's unknown whether it's the aviation loving uncle or another, but given that Greg was supposed to own the deed to the mansion and Andy who is the direct child to the aviation uncle, it's likely that the mansion-owning uncle is another person. It’s possible that they’re from Greg’s mom’s side of the family (not DeMayos) and not related to Andy and perhaps have a smaller family if the deed would fall to Greg of all people.

However, the context that he mentioned the deed in (ep. Maximum Capacity), it might’ve been a joke. So it’s possible his uncle didn’t sign a deed for him to have, but something Greg jokingly wishes he had.

It’s also possible he doesn’t even have a mansion-owning uncle in the first place if it was just a complete joke based on the context.

Greg’s extended family

Greg seems to have a huge extended family from the DeMayo side, but not only did he fall out with his parents (who he did send a few letters to afterwards), he seems to not make an effort with keeping touch with anyone else in the family given how Andy was surprised with Greg’s new life since he never told him or kept in touch.

Greg mentioned in The Return that if Steven dies, he'll "run fresh out of family" which means he doesn't consider his extended family as "family". Though after Steven makes amends with Andy, he does get involved in Steven’s life.

Andy is proud of the DeMayo name, so it is likely that the core of the family did carry that last name.

DeMayo name origin / ancestry

The name itself, DeMayo, is of Italian origin with other variations being spelled De Majo, De Maio, Di Maio or Di Maggio depending on region and dialects/languages and non-standardization when transcribing names in the past.

So it is possible that the DeMayos are of Italian origin. Given the geographical area where Greg and Greg’s parents live, it seems to align even further.

While the states in SU's world are different, they're still based on their real life counterparts. Steven and Greg live in Delmarva (a state based on the Delmarva peninsula which is comprised of Delaware, Maryland and Virginia), they're close to Empire City (based on New York City), while Greg's parents live in West Keystone (which is likely the equivalent to Pennsylvania which is also known as the Keystone state).

Most Italian immigration into the US happened around the East Coast and mainly concentrated in around New York and surrounding states. And Pennsylvania is one of those states with a high number of people with Italian ancestry.

Also, this is highly speculative, but I wanted to mention it since I found it interesting.

Greg comments that he and his family have a hoarding problem that runs in the family (ep. Space Race). We see this both in himself with his storage, his aviation aunt and uncle who he made that comment about with all the stuff they have in the barn, and his parents that have loads of items in his house and even hold onto Greg's items.

Again, this is highly speculative, but hoarding can come from a poor family background or having having lost a great amount of possessions before.

Since both Greg's parents and his uncle and aunt have this problem, it might stem from Greg and Andy's grandparents’ generation or great grandparents’ generation (or further).

This could possibly hint at when the DeMayo line immigrated to the US, since immigrants often fled from poverty and also often had to give up their possessions back home when making the journey to America.

From the Italian immigration mentioned before, many of them were Southern Italians who were fleeing poverty at the time. While there were different waves of immigration, the great Italian diaspora happened between 1880–1914. This would line up with the speculation I've made.

The surname, DeMayo and its variations, is also more common in Southern Italy, which further lines up with the rest.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Down The Rabbit Hole

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: angst, murder by magic, MoC!angst

Summary: If you’re going to have to feed the Mark, may as well use people no one is going to miss. Bad people. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean go to Dr. Strange in hopes that they have a plan to remove the Mark from you sooner rather than later.

Past, Present, and Future Masterlist

Square Filled: bargain (mcuxspn crossover) for @fandombingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

When Dean bore the curse of the Mark, he suppressed everything he was feeling until it got too much for him. It’s what killed him. He let his anger get the better of him which was his downfall. The Mark turned him into a ruthless monster that needed to be stopped. Even after he was free of it, the aftereffects lingered for years to come.

Not you. You’re different.

You can’t die so the Mark can’t function how it’s supposed to. You have to feed it if you don’t want it to corrupt you, but you still have what you call your humanity. You’re not human but you like to think by spending time with humans, you have grown to think and be like them. It’s killing you to think about hurting people, but the Mark has a hold over your mind.

It’s like you're locked inside your mind and forced to watch yourself consume energy which kills the humans you take it from. There’s nothing you can do to stop it, so you have a choice to make. You can allow it to go after everyone it sees, or you can control the kind of people it wants you to kill. If you’re going to be consuming souls, may as well consume bad ones.

There’s one person you know that deals with the most evil kinds of humans, so that’s where you go. You leave New York through a portal and step right into Virginia where the BAU is. You walk into the BAU and straight to the elevators, causing the receptionist to jump into action.

“Ma’am! You can’t go back there without an appointment.” You keep walking and ignore her words. “Ma’am! Stop!”

You look at her and narrow your eyes at her computer. You don’t want to hurt her even though everything in your body is telling you to. No, only bad people! Instead of hurting her, you use your powers on her desk computer. It shorts out and explodes in a cloud of smoke. She screams at the noise and jumps back from the desk but the damage is done. She’s scared and she doesn’t dare stand in your way.

“Do not get in my way.”

You step onto the elevator and head to the third floor where the BAU offices are. The place is busy for a Friday but you don’t care about anyone in that office except for one. Spencer is the only person you have ever been in contact with at this place, so he’s the only one who will be able to help you. Spencer is talking to JJ when you walk through the glass double doors but he hasn’t noticed you yet. 

In fact, no one has.

He laughs at something she said and looks around the room until he locks eyes with you. His smile immediately drops and his entire body goes rigid. The last time you two talked, it didn’t exactly go well. He was scared of you when you asked him to look into where Sam was and he’s scared now. You walk over to him and ignore the looks you’re getting from JJ.

“I need bad guys.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“Spence, who is this?” JJ asks.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, ignoring his friend.

“I came across something powerful and I decided to embrace it instead of running from it. However, I need to keep it satisfied which means I need souls, bad souls, like the ones you hunt. So, give me what I want and I won’t hurt you.”

“Seriously, Spence, who is she?” JJ asks. “Should I get Hotch?”

You look at JJ with a deadly glare.

“Take one step and I’ll kill you without blinking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Y/N, stop it,” Spencer says.

“Give me a list of everyone you’re hunting. I will take care of it for you. Think of me as your personal maid. I’ll take out the trash for you,” you smile not-so-sweetly.

“Should I call Dean or Dr. Strange?”

To show just how much you’re not joking, you grab JJ and put her in front of you like a human shield. She tries to move but you grip her arms tightly and allow your powers to suck out some energy, de-aging her by two years. By now, other people have noticed you three and have stopped to stare but you don’t care about them. You’ll kill every last one of them if you have to.

“All it takes is one touch from me and she turns to dust. Do you want that? Her death will be on your hands.”

“Spencer,” she whimpers.

“Fine. I’ll get it for you. Just don’t hurt her.”

“I’m waiting. I’ll keep her company until you return.”

Spencer has no choice but to leave you two alone and goes to Hotch to get that information.

“I have a husband and a son. Please don’t kill me,” she begs.

You want to cry. You want to let her go. You want to hide away from everyone so you don’t have to hurt them but the Mark won’t let you. Spencer comes back with papers in his hands which he hands over to you. You shove JJ into Spencer now that you’ve got what you want. Hotch comes out of his office and is about to order everyone to turn their weapons on you, but you create a portal right in the middle of the bullpen. You smirk at Hotch before stepping through it, entering another state in a different timezone.

The first person on your list is hiding out in an abandoned town not far from where you landed, and you walk all the way over there. Nothing this man does will stop you from entering this place and taking his life. He stole a portable grill to cook some food which is what he’s doing when you bust the door down.

“Hey! What the fuck?!”

You walk over to him and grab a rusted knife that’s sitting on a table. The man doesn’t have any time to get away before you’re plunging the knife into his gut. He cries out and shoves you away, stumbling back into the rotting stove.

“Who the fuck… What…?”

“It really isn’t personal,” you say.

Your powers cause his wound to fester and get an infection, and he cries out in pain. You don’t stop until the flesh around it rotting away with the wound until there is no life left in the man. You soak up every bit of energy and trauma you’ve just caused before turning and leaving the house.

Onto the next.

The more you kill, the more you feel better, and that’s all you want. You just want to feel better.

You might have said you can handle it but Dean has been worried since you told him to go back to Lebanon. He tried to focus on hunting but you’re all that he can think about, especially when he got a call from Spencer Reid with the BAU. Hunting will have to wait since you need his help now before you get past the part of no saving.

“Come again?” Stephen asks after hearing what Sam and Dean said.

“Look, you need to help her. She might say she’s fine and can handle it but I know the Mark personally. She’s not fine.”

“Thank you for your concern but I can take it from here.”

“Sir?” All three men look at one of the sorcerer’s apprentices. “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“The glass is shattered. She’s gone.”

“Shit,” Stephen curses.

“Look, we all need this off her but the second you remove it, God and Amara will be released. It’ll be the end of the world as you know it, like a Thanos-level threat. Maybe worse,” Dean sighs.

“I’ve been working on a spell to contain the mark, but it’s at Kamar Taj. Wong is helping me.”

“Will it save her?”

“Let’s hope it does. A corrupted Time Stone won‘t be good for anyone.”

x

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[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 4

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t consider himself a particularly irrational person, but when faced with the irrationality of others it brings out the side of him that usually sleeps soundly. He wonders exactly what’s gotten him to this point as he drives home, dried blood still in his face from his throbbing nose. Garcia packs a mean punch. He knows that Seresin was watching from outside the office, letting Garcia get in a hit before he intervened but Bradley tries not to think too hard about that.

He’s too busy thinking about the look on Coach Mitchell’s face as she told him to leave. She’s been watching him, he knows it. He’s not quite sure why but somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if he’s seen her before or if his mind is just playing tricks on him. When he does think back to the days when his mother was alive he remembers a woman, always around but always just that, around. She was a friend of his mother’s, he thinks. Dutifully present at every single one of his bustling birthday parties and occasionally he thinks he caught sight of her at some of his hockey games. If she ever spoke a word to him, however, he doesn’t remember. Regardless, the day he met Coach Dare Mitchell he couldn’t help but be filled with this odd sense of nostalgia that covered him like a familiar blanket. She’s made no indication that she knows him, but every now and then there’s something about the cadence of her voice or the way she moves that brings him back to that kitchen in Virginia and he can almost smell his mother’s perfume and hear her laugh. He thought it would hurt, remembering her but instead, it fills him with a sense of peace that he’s not sure he’s ever felt.

It’s hard to focus on, however, when Maverick’s always her shadow, bringing out every irrational impulse in Bradley. Pete Mitchell is a person that Bradley barely knows. He’s heard the stories, of course. His mother spoke highly of Maverick, his father’s best friend, Bradley’s godfather. The NHL legend, who couldn’t be bothered to show his face in their corner of Virginia until the day they finally laid his mother to rest. The face he’d seen for years on TV finally showed up.

The text chimes through the Bronco and Bradley checks his phone when he’s stopped at a light, barely a block from his apartment. Coach Dare’s name flashes across the screen and he swallows thickly as he reads the message. “Bradley, I think it’s time we had a chat. How does dinner sound?” The next message is an address and he hesitates. She could have easily called him into her office instead of sending him home and now she wants to talk to him over dinner. It’s not lost on him that earlier she called him Bradshaw. Coach Dare takes the unconventional approach of calling all her players by their first names and that’s the first time she’s ever referred to him as Bradshaw instead of Bradley. There was something in her eyes as she said it, beyond the cold anger at seeing him and Garcia fighting. Pain? A flash of a memory lost to time? Almost like she was looking at someone else, or perhaps seeing someone else. He hesitates as he pulls into his apartment complex. Normally he’d park his car himself, preferring not to trust the Bronco with another driver but going to have to be quick if he wants to make dinner. He tosses his keys to the valet and heads straight for the door. As he gets there, he locks eyes with the older doorman. Tony’s eyes are full of sadness and a tinge of disappointment as he takes in the blood on Bradley’s face and shirt. Bradley breaks contact quickly, shame climbing up his neck as he pushes his way through the doors, beelining for the elevator. He’s had enough of letting people down today.

As the elevator doors shut behind him, he thinks about you, letting out a groan of frustration. He fucked up. He’s fucked up so royally that he’s not sure he’s going to be able to dig himself out of the hole he’s in with you. He remembers pieces of last night but mostly before you must have arrived. He has no idea how he got home but judging by the fact that the Bronco got left in the parking lot overnight, you must have driven him home. He grimaces at the thought of you coming to that dive bar. He hopes you didn’t come alone, it’s not the best place. That’s why he’d chosen it. He thought he’d be safe from the press for once but according to you, they’d found him anyway.

He pulls out his phone, shooting off a positive reply to Coach Dare and ignoring the reflection of his face in the screen, before he pulls up the web browser, hesitating before he types his name into the search bar. He grimaces as the articles pop up. Photos of him entering the bar last night, a few bad shots clearly taken through the open door of the fight that he barely remembers the reason behind. Then there are photos of you. Dressed in a powder pink suit, you have your hands on your hips as you stand on the pavement outside the bar, glaring at the cameras, that infamous no-nonsense look on your face. You did come alone. His heart squeezes at the idea of you alone in that part of town after dark, especially dressed like that. Just because he knows that you can dish as well as you can take doesn’t mean that everyone does. He closes the tab, leaning his head back against the wall of the elevator as he forces himself to think back to your office. He’d come in guns blazing after Tony informed him that a lovely young lady in pink brought him home last night and he’d spent the morning tracking down the Bronco and paying a hefty towing fee. He winces as he remembers the look on your face when he slammed his hands on your desk. He hadn’t meant to scare you, he was just angry, which he seems to be more often than usual these days, and unfortunately especially when you’re around. He’d seen the fight-or-flight trigger in your expression and had moved immediately, not wanting to make you feel threatened. He’s a big guy, his mother always used to remind him, that women could get the wrong idea. And then he saw the bruise on your jaw. You said he hit you, accidentally, but he hit you all the same. His mother would be so ashamed of him. Sure he’s thrown his fair share of punches being a hockey player but he’s never hit a girl. He never wants to, and yet you were nursing that painful-looking mark on your face. It had taken all of his self-control not to reach out and touch it, to try and soothe the dull ache he knows must have been throbbing through your jaw. Instead, he’d apologized, or at least attempted to. He’d done a piss-poor job of it, he knows that. And then you’d said something he doesn’t even remember anymore and he’d lashed out because of course he had. He just remembers you calling him that. BIG GUY. All at once he was in the kitchen in the Virginia house again, and his mother was trying to get past where his hulking form was taking up too much space as he rooted through the cupboards looking for a snack while she finished dinner. Reeling from the Deja Vu, he’d snapped, going from brusque to cruel with a flip to the switch as he tried to protect the wound you’d unsuspectingly opened. In doing so he’d flung the information he’d gathered about you after a lazy Google search after meeting you and done more damage than he intended.

He’d heard your screams as he was making his way from the gym to the showers, turning instantly to find the source of the sound. He can’t get the image of you curled in Garcia’s arms, the raw pain on your face as you watched soundlessly as Garcia rounded on him. He could have blocked the hit but he deserved it. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the punch to the gut at his next words, “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Bradley squeezes his eyes shut as the elevator reaches the twentieth floor. He gets out and heads toward his apartment, Garcia’s voice bouncing around in his head as he unlocks his door.

“Hey Mom, I’m home.” He calls just like he does every day. He enters the living room, giving a tired and grim smile to the framed photo of his mom on the side table. The daisies in the vase behind it are starting to brown and he makes a mental note to get more on his way home from dinner. He heads straight to the bathroom, stripping off his bloodstained shirt and sweats, dropping them into the hamper on his way to the shower. He knows he should try and wash the blood out while it’s still relatively fresh but he can’t be bothered right now as he climbs under the hot stream. He feels the water smatter on his injured nose. It's not broken, he’s broken it enough times to know what that feels like but it’s still swollen, something fierce. He wonders if it feels anything like the bruise on your jaw before he shakes his head to clear you out of it. Water droplets flying left and right off his soaked curls.

He needs to stop thinking about you. You’re nothing but trouble for him. He should know better than to trust you after he got so brutally blindsided in Philadelphia when the Flyers traded him. He didn’t even find out until he opened his phone that morning to numerous missed calls from his friends and teammates and hundreds of texts from everyone who’d heard the news before him. The Flyers staff was like family to him after over a decade of working with them, and yet they hadn’t even given him the courtesy of telling him that he was being traded let alone asked for his opinion on the matter. So he couldn’t let himself trust you. Plus, you seemed to get along with Maverick which meant that you wouldn’t be any help to him. Just another person blinded by his charisma and smile. He doesn’t have any room in his life for any more hurt.

***

When Bradley pulls into the driveway of the sleepy little bungalow, he’s surprised. He’d expected the address to take him to some nice restaurant tucked into a hidden corner of San Diego that was safe from the prying eyes of the press, not his coach’s house. He makes his way up the path to the door, shifting awkwardly as he rings the bell. The woman who opens the door scratches Bradley’s brain with Deja Vu. At work, Coach Dare has her hair in a tight bun most days, but now it’s pulled into a ponytail behind her, the gray-streaked strands a comfortable kind of messy. She’s wearing a pair of loose-fitting pants and a simple top with bare feet.

“Bradley, glad you could make it.” She leads him inside and he toes off his shoes, self-conscious as he follows her toward the kitchen. The smell hits him as he enters and almost sends him to his knees with the familiarity. Dare stirs a pot on the stove giving him a soft look.

“It’s my favorite of hers. I figured you might enjoy having it. It’s not exact, I’ve never been able to make it taste as good as hers but I try.”

“You knew my mom.” It's not a question, not anymore. Dare nods gently as she continues to stir.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t remember me.”

“You were at my birthday parties.” He states, still in shock at the confirmation that she’s who he thought she was. She looks surprised at that before she nods slowly.

“I was, yes.”

“And you came to some of my hockey games.” He presses and she nods again.

“I didn’t know you noticed.” She says carefully.

“I recognized you.” He says with a shrug as he shifts uncomfortably, opting to lean on the counter across from her. “So, you’re one of my mom’s friends?” She chuckles at that, a distant look in her eyes as she smiles sadly at him.

“Carole was my best friend, but in regards to you,” she pauses like she’s deciding whether to tell him something. “In official terms, I’m your godmother.”

Bradley frowns in confusion. “That can’t be true. It can’t be because-“ He stops as the pieces fall together in his mind. Pete Mitchell. Dare Mitchell. “Oh my god, you’re his WIFE?” He’s reeling at all this information. Dare nods, looking as uncomfortable at the title as he feels giving it to her.

“Well only really from a legal standpoint.” She says and he thinks he hears bitterness in her voice.

“I thought he was married to Penny.” He blurts. He’s seen Mav and the brunette nutritionist looking cozy whenever she’s at the arena.

“He may as well be.” She says with a shrug. “We’ve been separated for thirty years.”

“But not divorced?” She shakes her head.

“He never pushed for it, so we never did it.”

“But he’s basically married to Penny Benjamin.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes.” She says it like she’s so numb to it that it sounds sane to her.

“But he’s still married to you.” Bradley still can’t get his mind around it. “Why did you separate?” He knows he shouldn't be asking but she’s his godmother after all, and he knows he can’t ask Mav for the answers that he’s after. He watches the pain flash across her eyes and instantly regrets asking. She turns back to the pot that she’s stirring, adding some spices, not looking at him as she finally speaks.

“After your dad died, Pete was so consumed by grief. He told me he needed space so he left for Anaheim and asked me not to come with him. He never came back.” Bradley’s hands tighten into fists even as the breath punches out of his chest as he whispers.

“You knew my dad?” Dare looks up at him again at that, her eyes swimming with tears as she gives him the most gentle smile full of love that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Yes I knew your dad, Bradley, and he would be proud of you.” His heart squeezes with guilt at the words.

“I doubt that.” He says, averting his eyes to the floor. Dare snorts and he looks back up to see the older woman giving him a rueful smile.

“Pete was his best friend, his bar was exceptionally low.” Bradley chuckles at that. “He’d be proud of you, and your mother would be too. A little disappointed in your recent behavior but that’s fixable.” Her eyes are gentle as Bradley shifts uncomfortably.

“Is… is Zam okay?” He asks. Dare’s eyes soften as she gives him a tired smile.

“I’m not sure, but Bugs took her home so she’s not alone.” Bradley tries to let that information comfort him but it doesn’t.

“I didn’t know.” He whispers. “About her mom, I mean. I didn’t know she was dead.” Dare shakes her head.

“No one did, Bradley. Only Mickey, and he only knows because he knew Zam when it happened.”

“I don’t know what to do to fix it.” He mumbles, hating that he’s saying all this aloud but clearly, he can’t seem to figure this out on his own and something about Dare puts him at ease. He feels like he can trust her. Maybe it’s because she reminds him of his mother, maybe it’s just the familiar smell of her cooking filling the kitchen that’s filling him with a sense of calm and stability.

“You could start with an apology. A real one.” She fixes him with a firm look as she turns off the stove, nodding to the cabinet behind Bradley. “Get me two plates.” He scrambles to do as he’s told and watches as Dare serves up the familiar-looking pasta.

When they sit at the table, Bradley’s hand is shaking as he scoops up the first bite and when he takes the first bite he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the tears. For all her complaints that it didn’t taste the same as his mother’s, Bradley can’t taste anything less. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels arms wrap around his shoulders and then he’s being pulled into a smaller frame as a soothing hand rubs up and down his back. Combined with the taste of his mother’s cooking on his tongue for the first time in twenty years, he’s almost convinced that she’s here and this is the kitchen in Virginia and everything’s alright with the world. His shoulders are shaking with sobs that he hasn’t let out in years and she just holds him as he falls apart.

The food is cold when Bradley finally pulls away, red cheeks soaked with tears that mirror the dampness on Dare’s. She cradles his face with her hands and shakes her head slowly. “I’m so sorry, Bradley. I’m so so sorry.”

“For what?” His voice is a croak.

“For not being there. For being so damn afraid of letting you know me. After,” she chokes and has to swallow before she continues. “After Nick died, I tried to be there but I was trying to be there for Pete until he left and then I didn’t think you needed me. You needed a father, not a mother, and Carole was so perfect. I didn’t want to take any of that away in any way, so I kept my distance. I should have been there more often, I should have been there for you. And then when she died,” she has to stop again, her shoulders shaking. “When she died I should have stepped up but you didn’t seem to need it and I don’t think I could have dealt with you not needing me.”

“The way he didn’t need you.” Bradley’s voice is still rough from crying but the anger in his words is still there as he watches this strong woman fall to pieces before him, blaming herself for something that’s not her fault. “He had no right. No right to just leave you like that.”

“I should be telling you that.” She says, stroking his cheek fondly. “You were just a kid. Carole told me he never visited, just sent money to pay for school and hockey.” Bradley’s jaw hardened.

“I didn’t even know about that until her funeral. He actually had the balls to show up there after abandoning her for sixteen years.” His fists tighten at his sides. “That’s when he decided he wanted to be involved. He talked to me like we were old friends like I’d just accept him with open arms after he pretended we didn’t exist for my entire life. Just because he’s my godfather.” Bradley scoffs. “I didn’t want anything to do with him.” He pauses. “I don’t want anything to do with him.” His voice is hard and determined.

“Then why come to San Diego?” She asks and he realizes that she doesn’t know. He barks out an exhausted laugh at her question.

“I didn’t COME to San Diego, not willingly. Maverick negotiated the trade without telling me and the Flyers never told me either. I found out when everyone else did. Well, actually, I found out after everyone else when they called me to ask what happened. It’s not every day you leave the team you’ve called home for the last twelve years.” He watches her eyes harden.

“He had no right.” She growls and he thinks it’s the first time he’s ever truly seen her angry. Cross yes, irritated definitely, but not angry. Bradley shrugs, exhausted.

“But he did it anyway.” It feels good, he thinks. To have someone else feel just as angry about his situation. Someone who understands, not just the truth behind his anger but someone who truly understands what it’s like to be abandoned by Pete Mitchell and have to live with the consequences.

***

After dinner, Dare tells him more about his parents, promising to dig some old photo albums out of storage since she’s still unpacking and Bradley finds himself offering to come back and help if she needs to move any of the larger furniture. The evening had been a surprise, to say the least. Bradley chances a glance at the Tupperware full of the leftover pasta on his passenger seat. Dare had insisted that he take it and offered to teach him how to make it. He still couldn’t believe that he’d had it for the first time in twenty years.

He needs a drink. Not the copious amounts that he’s been indulging in for the past few months, trying to drown out his days, because today he wants to remember. He wants to remember the taste of his mother’s cooking and the feeling of his godmother’s arms. It’s weird. He has a godmother now. He’s always known about Maverick but Dare is completely new to him despite her being present for most of his life compared to Maverick. He knows he should be careful who he trusts but some deep part of him where he’s sure his mother resides tells him that he can trust her and right now he needs someone he can trust.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the bar it’s already fairly busy for a weeknight. This place is in a nicer part of town, more made for social drinking than the wallowing kind. Music pours out of the door as he swings it open. Thursday night karaoke is in full swing. Some nights he participates but tonight he just orders a beer before retreating to his usual booth. He has a decent view of the stage as patrons in various stages of drunkenness belt out horrendously out-of-tune hits. He’s still thinking about Dare’s so-called marriage to Maverick and it makes his blood boil. While she plays it off nonchalantly enough, he can tell that she’s been irrecoverably hurt by his godfather and it makes his heart ache. He feels oddly protective of the older woman, probably due to the admission that she was so close to his mother even if she wasn’t able to visit her very often.

The opening riff of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” meets his ears and Bradley groans audibly. He’s really not in the mood to hear some middle-aged dad desecrate the timeless hit tonight. He hopes they're at least a decent singer instead of one of the types that simply screams the words into the microphone with no regard for the tune.

When the singer starts, however, he pauses. The voice is clear, sweet, and feminine as it croons the opening lines. “Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere!” Bradley lets his eyes fall shut as her voice washes over him. She really is a fantastic singer. He opens his eyes again when she hits the pre-chorus, as her voice builds. “Strangers waitin’ up and down the boulevard. Their shadows searchin' in the night. Streetlights, people, livin' just to find emotion hidin', somewhere in the night!” As she belts the last note he turns, desperate to get a look at the girl who’s singing. There’s no one on the small karaoke stage and he frowns in confusion until he follows the sound of the chorus to where the singer is standing on the bar itself, her back to Bradley.

Bradley can’t take his eyes off her back as he watches her sing. She’s wearing an acid-washed black t-shirt over a pair of downright sinful cutoff denim shorts despite the faint chill in the November air. It’s California, after all. They’re dangerously short and accentuate her curvy hips and hug the swell of her ass, barely brushing the bottom of it. He’s lost to his ogling when she turns and suddenly his face flushes bright red as he finally recognizes you.

You look so different. He’s so used to your over-the-top pastel suits and your tight ponytail that seeing you now in your faded Queen t-shirt that’s been hand-cropped to just barely brush the top of your shorts with your hair down feels like seeing you for the first time. Your cheeks are bright from alcohol and the joy that spreads across your face in a wide smile as you sing. You’ve never smiled at him, not really. He’s seen your sickly saccharine smile that you’ve cultivated over the years of having a job like yours but he’s never seen this. The pure joy on your face is so diametrically opposed to the grief on your face just a few hours ago. He feels a part of his heart that he didn’t know was squeezing ease at the sight of you alright. The light is back in your eyes and you seem to be enjoying yourself. He shifts, making sure his back is to you and slouches slightly in his seat. You don’t need to see him. He doesn’t want to ruin your night after he always ruined your day. For now, he's just content to watch and listen.

[riality-check]

even more daisy jones-adjacent things. parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. tw mentions of substance abuse, talks of blacking out. part 6. part 7.

ao3

It hits number five.

The song about losing, the song Steve helped write, the song with Steve's vocals, hits number five. It's the highest Corroded Coffin has ever gotten on a chart, and it's the highest Steve Harrington has, too.

They're ecstatic, Chrissy is smug, and the record company offers an album.

If, and only if, Steve Harrington continues to work with Corroded Coffin.

Eddie scared himself by saying "yes" first and scared himself even more by agreeing with Steve. But, he reasons, if they're going to be writing an album together, he needs to get the hell over himself.

Easier said than done, but Eddie has always had an "A for effort" kind of mindset.

He's always been the one writing most of the songs. He's always been the one with too many words in his head, always itching for a pen, always thinking in terms of guitar tabs and staff notation when Archie is feeling especially pretentious. Eddie has always done most of it, which has always worked. Jeff helps with lyrics because "I need to make sure you won't make me say anything stupid," Gareth has no interest beyond writing his own drum parts, and Archie, despite knowing the most formal music theory of any of them, doesn't care beyond cleaning it up.

But Eddie needs to write with someone now, and he realizes very quickly that he can't work with someone he hates, or, worse, barely knows.

"Let's play a game," he says, setting down his guitar and kicking his feet up on the couch. He and Steve have long since abandoned writing in the studio and instead decided that Steve's house - a little stucco bungalow with a pool and other cars always in the driveway - would make for a better venue.

Steve scowls when he sees Eddie's feet on the couch, but he stops humming to himself and starts paying attention. "What kind of game?"

"Truth or truth."

"Don't you mean truth or dare?"

"Nope," Eddie says. "Truth or truth. I ask a question, you answer it honestly, then I have to answer my own question. Then you ask, I answer, you answer. Rinse repeat, you get the drill."

"How do you win?" Steve asks, looking up at Eddie from where he sits on the floor.

"You win if you ask a question the other person refuses to answer."

"Sounds like I can just give up as soon as you ask."

"You could," Eddie admits. "But where's the fun in that?"

A tiny, barely-there smile pops up on Steve's face, and that's how Eddie knows he's starting to get somewhere.

Yeah. He's on edge around Steve. He thinks that anyone in his position would be. But Steve is admittedly impressive and mysterious and pretty, and all of that calls to Eddie's lesser instinct to push.

So, the game starts. They exhaust the run of the mill questions fairly quickly; Eddie learns that Steve's favorite color is sapphire, that he used to babysit and lifeguard, that he's from some podunk town in Indiana that he doesn't seem too keen on sharing more about. Eddie, in turn, says that his favorite color is ruby, that he used to work as a mechanic and thought about doing tattoos, that he's from a lot of different places all around Appalachia but the simpler answer is "born in West Virginia, raised in Kentucky."

"Shouldn't you make country music or something, then?" Steve asks.

"Folk's more applicable," Eddie says. "And I grew up listening to it, but I need to make something a little more... all-encompassing."

"I wouldn't say metal's very general."

"No, but when you listen to it, you can't think of anything else but the sound, can you?"

Steve considers for a moment, then nods wordlessly. "Your question."

Eddie thinks. He stares at Steve's twitchy hands, his exhausted face, his slumped posture. And he asks, in direct opposition to his better judgement, "When's the last time you slept?"

He watches, in real time, as Steve's face completely shutters.

But that only lasts an instant. The complete fall, the shut-down, lasts a fraction of a second before Steve completely shifts. He sits up taller, brushes his hair back from his forehead, and looks more alert, less fidgety.

He sobers up, right there in front of Eddie, or at least he pretends to.

"That's a boring question," he says. "Last night."

"You're supposed to answer honestly," Eddie reminds him.

"I am. I slept last night. Seven hours."

Eddie bites his tongue to stave off his instinctual, No, you didn't.

"You're supposed to answer your question now," Steve says once the silence has stretched too long.

"Same as you," Eddie says. "Last night."

Steve scoots closer toward the couch. There's a smug smile on his face, one that Eddie doesn't particularly like.

He thinks he might need a cigarette.

Then, Steve asks, "When's the last time you drank?"

Yeah. Eddie's definitely going to need a cigarette by the time this conversation ends.

"Two years ago," he says because if Steve won't be honest, he will. "August. Indianapolis. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything until halfway through the show the next day. Gareth says he thought about dragging my ass offstage because I was too far gone to tune my guitar until after the first three songs."

The smile melts off Steve's face the more Eddie talks. If Eddie were a better person, he wouldn't find such joy in that.

Eddie isn't a better person. Steve isn't, either.

"Eddie, I-"

"Answer your own question."

"A week ago," Steve says. "I was out celebrating Robin's birthday. Honest."

Eddie believes him. Really, he does. But he's a little bit vindictive, and because Steve shoved him, he has to shove back harder.

"What are you running from?" he asks.

Steve goes completely still. "What?"

Eddie doesn't bother explaining. He knows that if he brings up the way Steve is always a little not here, the way he's fidgety and always too warm, the way he always wears something with pockets that he sticks his hands in, that Steve won't say anything at all.

So, he says again, "What are you running from?"

"I'm not running from anything," Steve says.

"I think I win the game."

Steve scrubs a hand down his face. "Sure. Whatever. But answer your own question."

"Monsters," Eddie says because he's honest.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "You have no idea what monsters are, Eddie."

"Is that what you're running from?"

Steve stares at him again. Eddie watches his hands move in his pockets.

"I need a cigarette," he says, standing up. "You want one?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't smoke. It stains my teeth."

Eddie walks outside before he pushes further, says something about the fact that Steve is doing way worse than cigarettes and cares more about his teeth than staying alive.

What the hell is he running from?

Eddie hates himself for wanting to find out.

[treacheryinblue]

Chapter 1/?

× Elysium (noun) : a place or condition of ideal happiness. type of: fictitious place, imaginary place, mythical place.

Word Count: 4.1k

An introduction of sorts.

A Noah Sebastian x OC Series

Masterlist

× Summary: Noah and his new found (sort of) friend, Persephone, battle the trivial ins and outs of being teenagers in a world that doesn't accept you. They survive together all the way into adulthood - with bouts of loneliness included - where the world is still a fickle bitch.

× Warnings!: language, violence, slowburn, friends to lovers to enemies back to friends, rinse and repeat (not even in that order), eventual smut, sexual themes, etc. Each chapter will have its own set of separate warnings.

× Author Notes: ( 1 ) Any time within the story before 2016, Persephone is still a minor, therefor sexual mentions will be kept brief and to a minimum. Nothing crude will be mentioned in a descriptive manner until she is 18+ in the story. ( 2 ) Piggybacking off of that, Noah is only two years older than her. ( 3 ) Since most personal facts about the guys are not widely known, I will be adding my own background info to them, as well as switching up/deleting real life facts we may already be aware of.

× Chapter Warnings!: language, brief sexual themes

SUMMER OF 2014

SUNDAY JUNE 22nd

PERSEPHONE

Summers in Virginia could be brutal, but this one in particular felt especially heinous. The sun was a vile orb that beat down on her skin, leaving it hot to the touch and also faintly shining with perspiration. Typically she loved the sun and the way it would make her feel, but today? Well, not so much. Despite this, she tried her best to ignore her own minuscule issues and instead focus on the words being spoken to not only her, but also the friends she surrounded herself with. They all sat around one of the outside tables at Ruffilo’s, a casual diner-like restaurant they enjoyed frequenting in the afternoons. The food was decent, and it was also one of the only establishments that wouldn't kick out teenagers who lingered too long. 

“Seph? Earth to, Seph! Come in, Seph!”

“Huh?” She was quick to snap out of her little daze, her head turning towards the voice echoing her name. Maisie Linwood, her best friend since first grade, stared back at her with an arched brow and an annoyed expression. One thing to know about Maisie, she could out bitch anyone with just a cut of her eyes. Persephone figured that's probably who she picked up the same habit from years ago. 

“Sorry, it's just really hot out here.” A hand was then shoved into her now empty glass to retrieve a piece of ice, that of which she began to drag along the back of her neck. 

Ahhh, yes, that was nice. 

“Okay, well, I need you to, like, be here with us. We're trying to figure out the details of Mason’s birthday.” 

Mason being Maisie’s twin brother, and this was quite obvious when you were to look at them. Same eyes, same nose, same little beauty mark right off to the side of their cheek. Same godforsaken ‘better than thou’ attitude. And yes, they were fully aware of how horrible being named Maise and Mason was. 

“Oh, right, I won't be able to go. I told you that. My parents are making me go with them to the lake that weekend.” 

The ice continued to drag along her overheated skin, now shifting to the front of her neck and down her chest. Could she at least get a breeze or something? Fuck.

“Or…you can tell them you don't want to and then we can have the party at your place.” Maisie challenged with a smug smirk, as if daring anyone to tell her otherwise. “Your house does have the best pool.” 

There it was. Maisie’s way of getting the things she wanted by catering to people’s egos. She wanted to say that it never worked on her, but then she would be lying. 

“What the fuck are you staring at, freak? Are you seriously checkin’ out my girl?” 

Thankfully, the topic was abruptly changed by Mason’s sudden outburst of anger. By the way, she was dating Mason. Kind of. It wasn't technically official…but whatever. Honestly, she didn't care one way or the other. 

“I…uh…no! I was just-”

Seph squinted from the bright glare of the sun off the side of the restaurant when she turned to see what all the fuss was about. She could make out the tall figure of the guy who had been serving them, a dumbfounded look currently overtaking his narrow features. It seemed as if she wasn't the only one surprised by Mason’s show of aggression. 

“Wait, what's happening?” She sat forward a bit, a hand lifting to shield over her eyes to get a better look at the commotion. Mason was now standing a couple of feet from the guy, obviously ready to go if the moment called for it. Seph could only heavily sigh, eyes rolling at his embarrassing and rather annoying reaction to…whatever had happened. That was something she still hadn't caught. 

“Scrawny little freak here was just staring at you, Seph. Watching you with that fucking ice!”

Ah, so that's what the problem was? Seriously? 

“I was just coming out to get the glass for a refill…” he tried to defend, but there was no knocking any sense into Mason when he got started. Just another trait him and Maisie shared, and one that she truly disliked. 

“Leave him alone, Mason. Can you just let him do his job?” 

Her intrusion of the conversation had given the guy a spare moment to scurry away, jaw clenched and head shaking as he did. She felt bad for him because she knew how aggravating it could be to be on the receiving end of Mason’s teenage rage, even more so when it came to his possessive nature over something that wasn't his. 

“You're really going to defend him, Seph?” 

Mason was now looking at her, hands thrown out to his sides in a stance of disbelief. She merely shrugged, giving him a ‘who cares?’ look before settling back in her seat. It didn't seem as if he was as capable of dropping the topic as she was, so he continued to stand there…just staring in anger. She could almost see the fumes radiating off his head like he was a furious little cartoon character. 

Hilarious. 

With a heavy sigh, Seph snatched her glass from the table and stood up, free hand simultaneously adjusting the hem of her shorts. “I'm going to get my refill and no, I don't need your help.” She spat at Mason, earning a scoff from Maisie and another girl within their friend group. It didn't bother her in the slightest. 

Inside Ruffilo’s was at least twenty degrees cooler, and it felt so nice that she actually sighed in relief. The lack of sun now beating down on her had given her the opportunity to clear the haze from her mind and really take note of the situation. She realized that she recognized the guy as she approached the counter…but from where? With his back to her, Seph began to silently rack her brain. He was talking in hushed tones to another guy that appeared to be about the same age, but shorter and with darker hair. Something was telling her that it was his family who owned the restaurant, though she wasn’t entirely sure as to how she knew that. 

The shorter guy looked at her from over the other guy’s shoulder, quickly nodding in her direction to signal her presence to him. As he turned, she adjusted her attention and their eyes locked with ease. 

“Hey…” she softly spoke, a slight smile pulling at her lips. “I'm sorry about Mason…he can be a real dick sometimes.” 

“Yeah…I kind of gathered that.”

Seph slowly nodded, unsure of what to say now. She tore her gaze from his, allowing it to fall down to the glass she still held. Did she even want a refill? Or had this been some ploy against herself to give the guy an apology? 

The clearing of his throat garnered her attention again, and she looked up just in time to see him motioning towards the glass. “Did you want a refill?” 

Once more nodding, she pulled the straw from the glass before extending it out to him. Her arms crossed over her chest now, the end of the straw being held to her lips for her to absentmindedly chew on as she waited. Seph could feel eyes on her, the weight of them rather obvious. Glancing up, she noticed the other guy eying her, as if trying to size her up. 

Where did she know them from? 

Then, like a light switch being turned on, it finally clicked. 

“Noah,” she pointed the end of her straw to the taller guy, nodding. “We used to go to school together, right?” 

It was all finally starting to come back to her. She knew she had recognized him from somewhere, though putting her finger on it took longer than she would've thought. Seph had left their public high school after freshmen year, her parents instead deciding to enroll her into a new private school that had been built. ‘It’s where all your friends will be going' they tried to explain to her, like she really needed convincing when she knew she didn't have a choice in the matter to begin with. 

“Uh, yeah, I think I was a year ahead of you.”

Noah nodded as he passed her now full glass of water back her way, fresh ice included. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was quickly cut off by the other guy. 

“Two years…we were two years ahead of her.” 

“Dude…” Noah sighed, giving his friend a look that she wasn't quite sure how to explain. 

Persephone softly chuckled, brows raised while looking back and forth between the two guys. As much as she wanted to stand there within the air conditioning, watching the two of them bicker, she knew she couldn't linger for much longer. It was only a matter of time before one of her friends came looking for her and the last thing she wanted was for another scene to break out. 

“Okay, well, I'm going to go and leave you guys to it.” She took a sip from her water, though her smile lingered. “Sorry again about…”

Noah shook his head, waving it off in a nonchalant manner. “Dicks will forever be dicks.” 

“I'll see you around, yeah?” After taking a couple of steps backwards, Seph then turned on her heel to make a beeline for the side door she had previously entered from. 

“I'm Nick, by the way!” 

Another laugh easily flowed from her, a hand lifting to wave back. “Bye, Nick!”

NOAH

“Persephone Hill, Noah? Really?” 

“What?”

“Dude, she's like fucking royalty of Richmond. Her dad is some big real estate guy, owns half the buildings on this street alone.” 

“And?” Noah looked to his best friend after having passed a receipt to another patron of the restaurant and wishing them a good day. “Just because her dad is some big shot, that means I can't talk to her?” 

“No, but it does mean you can't fucking ogle her goodies out in public.” 

He grimaced at Nick’s choice of words but tried his best to laugh it off, head shaking. “I wasn't…doing that!” Noah tossed the balled up unwanted receipt at Nick with enough force that it hit him square in the forehead, but bounced off to roll along the floor. “Who the hell says it like that anyway?”

Okay, maybe he had been doing that. Who could blame him, though? He took in a sharp breath as he tried to think of anything but the way the melted ice had dripped down her neck, getting lost behind her tank top as it slid into her cleavage. Fuck. Noah did a discreet tug of his jeans when the memory caused a stirring within, instead opting to focus on the hot plates of food that were being slid his way for distribution to tables. 

“I'm just saying, okay? My dad had done business with him a couple of years back and said he's a major asshole. Never say I didn't warn you.” 

THURSDAY JUNE 26th

PERSEPHONE 

“You look like you could use a sugar rush.”

A set of long fingers set down a stereotypical milkshake glass in front of her, the contents of it a deep pink color. Her brows furrowed in slight confusion for a split second, before she finally looked up to see Noah standing there. He appeared to be just as tired as she felt, though she decided to not call him out for it. Instead, she offered a slight smile of appreciation. 

“How could you tell?” She joked while ripping the paper from the straw before shoving it into the milkshake. “And how did you know strawberry was my favorite?” 

“Well, you see…” he rubbed at the back of his neck after glancing at where Nick stood behind the counter. “Nick used all the chocolate syrup earlier for some little kids, so I couldn't do chocolate. Vanilla seemed too basic, which left strawberry as the only option. I guess you could say…I just got lucky?” 

Seph gave him a single thumbs up, her mouth now occupied with the sugary treat she was happily sipping. “This might just be the pick-me-up I needed to get through this work, so thanks.” 

“Yeah, I thought it was kind of late for you to be here.” 

“Shit, sorry. Are you guys about to close? I can totally pack things up if so.” She licked over her lips to rid them of any milkshake remnants before she began to reach for her things. Noah held his hands out, motioning for her to stop, chuckling to himself as he did. 

“You're good, you're good. I promise. Still got about an hour.”

That was when Nick came sauntering over, a basket of fries in his hand that he was digging through. He leaned against the side of the booth, bright eyes glancing back and forth between herself and Noah. 

“It typically dies down around eight on weekdays, so there isn't shit to do for a bit.” Nick then nodded towards the math equations she had written out on her notebook, still chomping away at his fries. “Calculus? Wouldn't a library be better for homework?” 

Noah sighed, an elbow angling out just a bit to nudge at his friend. Again the two shared a silent look, almost like they were having a conversation within their minds that she wasn't privy to. 

“You would think, but the private rooms are always booked and most people don't know that you're supposed to be quiet in libraries. Shocking, right?” 

“I bet your house has a grand ol' study area.”

What was Nick getting at? She couldn't really tell if he was genuinely asking or if he was somehow mocking her in his own sly way. Considering Noah's silence, Seph was going to assume it was the latter. 

“Uh…” her hands rubbed along the top of her thighs, eyes glancing along her math work that was all beginning to jumble together. “It's too quiet there…makes it just as hard to focus.”

Also, the change of scenery was nice. She was tired of seeing the same walls everyday in her house, and trying to study at any of her friends’ homes would've been just as impossible.  They would've become too distracted with gossip and mindless chatter. 

“Hey, Nick,” she began as the end of her pencil lightly tapped against her notebook. “Can I get an order of fries too? Thanks.” If he wanted to throw a bit of mockery her way, then she would gladly do the same with her own style of attitude. The bittersweet kind where she was smiling, but her words held a slight hint of venom. Nick paused, his chewing beginning to slow as they merely stared at one another. Without another word, he nodded, and then went off to get her order prepared. 

“He's sensitive, you know,” Noah joked, pointing in the direction his friend had wandered off. 

“Oh, I'm sure he can manage to get what he gives.” 

Persephone adjusted the pencil in her hand, now beginning to continue her work. She didn't know why she was even attempting to because there was no way she’d be able to focus. Her attention span had run out at least an hour ago, and not even a strawberry milkshake could bring it back. As she pretended to work, Noah was doing the same. He began to clean the tables in her surrounding area, his lanky tattooed arms drawing her attention in ways she never thought possible. Seph remained silent, though she found herself watching him. Why? She had no idea. Noah was far from her type, or at least what she assumed her type was, but it wasn't like she was interested to begin with. Maybe he would make a decent friendly acquaintance — someone she could say ‘hi’ to on the street in passing. 

“Did those hurt?” Seph motioned with her pencil to his arm, his tattoos being the topic of her curiosity. 

Noah glanced to the limb, his shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. “Nah, not too bad. Nothing I wouldn't be able to handle again.” 

She slowly nodded, the end of her pencil now tucked between her teeth. She continued to allow her gaze to travel along the designs before taking in a deep breath and lowering her attention back down to her dreaded calculus. Ugh, this was almost like she was torturing herself. 

“Do you have any?”

“Hm?” Seph glanced up through her lashes at him. 

“Tattoos. Do you have any?” 

This inquiry caused her to snort out a laugh, now fully looking across at Noah in disbelief. He must not know anything about her family, and she was actually thankful for this. It was so annoying to have to talk to people who thought they already knew everything about you, when really, they knew nothing. 

“No,” she finally replied, shaking her head. “My parents are very old school. They said that my body is a temple and if I desecrate it in any way then I'm not allowed my trust fund or inheritance.” 

“Well…shit. That's brutal.” 

Persephone shrugged, the notebook before her now being closed since she figured she wasn't going to be getting any more work done. Not that she was complaining. “Yeah, it's a little fucked. I mean, my mom won't even let me have more than two holes in my ears.” 

“Sounds like some high standards to live up to.”

Noah's words caught her a little off guard. Her lips pursed as she carefully slipped her belongings into her bag, situating everything just right so they'd sit correctly. She didn't say anything in regards to the statement, mostly because she wasn't sure how to respond, but also because Nick had dropped the basket of fries in front of her. Persephone flashed him a wide grin, her fingers picking up one of the crispy fries to bite the end off. 

“You're a peach, truly.” 

FRIDAY JULY 4th

NOAH

This was not how he saw the night going. It had been change up after change up, until his plans had been ruined and he was forced to work another shift at Ruffilo’s. He didn't complain, though, at least not to anyone but himself. The last thing he wanted was to seem ungrateful for what Nick’s family had done for him, and what they continued to do everyday. He knew you'd never find another family as giving as Nick’s, so he did all he could to help them out, even if it meant canceling his plans. Nick offered to work with him, but Noah refused. It wasn't going to be busy since they didn't serve alcohol, so with it being Independence Day, the majority of Richmond would be out at the fireworks and then partying with a beer. Just as their forefathers would've wanted. 

And just as he had predicted, it was dead by seven that night. Fireworks started around eight, waiting just long enough for the sky to get mostly dark. Noah could see the flashes of light from over the buildings, which he stood and stared at for much longer than anticipated. There was a pressure building within his chest, though. He could feel his hands becoming clammy and the rapid beating of his heart picking up more and more. He had to force himself to look away from the fireworks and start doing something else — anything to occupy his mind. Ever since the accident, bright lights and loud noises had been a trigger for him. He was working through it with his therapist weekly, but the progression was slow. Much slower than he would've liked. 

Phone in hand, Noah stood in the kitchen of the restaurant, now mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. It helped calm his mind to see senseless things that people posted on their socials, and the things he was interested in, did well as a distraction. There was one distraction in particular he hadn't seen coming, though. Only a day or so previous, Persephone had insisted they follow each other. She had thousands of followers, while he only had a couple hundred, so he figured it was no big deal. Maybe she liked having a huge audience studying and judging her social life. But because of their mutual following, he was now graced with her presence on his Instagram timeline. 

Noah swallowed as he came across the picture. She appeared happy, wearing a wide smile that took up most of her face, clad in the typical red, white, and blue colors for this particular holiday. In her hands, she held sparklers, both of which were situated up towards the sky with the pose she took in front of a pool. Others were seen behind her, one of which he recognized as Mason, the asshole from before. This was when Noah closed out of the app, his phone then being tucked away in his back pocket. 

The next couple of hours went by rather slowly. He had maybe three patrons come in, but none that lingered for longer than necessary. Still, he took his time cleaning up and closing, even opting to tell the cook he could leave and he’d finish up. Nick had called him a couple of times, the voices of their friends obvious in the background, and he of course promised to drop by once he was off. Despite this, he didn't rush. After his near panic attack earlier, Noah just wanted to go home and lay in bed. 

Unfortunately, he would have to wait a bit longer before being able to. 

It was nearly eleven when he heard knocking on the front door of the restaurant. All the lights were off except those over the kitchen, so he had no idea why someone would think they were open. Did that stop him from poking his head out to see who it was? No. And this is why people die in horror movies. He was a walking cliché. 

There was another knock, this one slightly louder than the last. Heavily sighing, Noah took a couple of slow steps towards the kitchen opening that led out into the main area, his upper body leaning over just enough for him to see straight forward. Standing outside was a rather familiar shape, the white dress being the first thing that caught his eye. He remembered it from his Instagram scroll hours prior. 

Seph? 

Noah rushed towards the front and wasted no time in unlocking the door for her, which he then held open. In walked the young blonde, her arms hugging herself. She no longer wore the smile from the picture earlier, but instead her cheeks were stained with glittery tears due to the festive makeup she had applied. 

“Shit, Noah, I'm sorry. I- I didn't know where else to go or who I could talk to and I just- I saw your car and-”

Shaking his head, he placed his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to soothe and calm her ramblings. She tried a deep breath, but the hiccups from her tears prevented her from fully doing so. 

“Hey, no, it's okay. What's wrong? What happened?” 

The fact that Persephone had come to him was shocking, to say the least. Were they friends? He wasn't sure if he would label them as such, but maybe it was different for her. They did have long conversations every time she came to the diner, which just so happened to be picking up in frequency ever since the ice incident. 

“Mason and I…we got into a fight…” she sniffed, further fighting back her tears just so she could properly breathe. 

What was it about this asshole type that girls seemed to flock to? He would never understand it. 

“He, um…he was just really mean, yeah? He blew up at me…caused this huge scene in front of everyone. It was so fucking embarrassing.” 

Noah could tell she was holding something back, but he wasn't going to pry. If Seph didn't want to tell him the full story, then she didn't have to. Either way, he would be there for her as much as she would allow. 

Nodding, his thumbs rubbed slowly along the bare skin of her shoulders that he still grasped. He eventually led her to a booth and brought her a glass of water, giving her as much time as she needed to gather herself. Although he wanted to know what actually happened, he knew this wasn't the time for it. 

“Are you okay?” Noah finally asked after a few minutes. Her tears had ceased, but he noticed how she was still absentmindedly scratching at the side of her thigh. He knew an anxiety tick when he saw one. After all, he had plenty of his own. 

Without answering, Seph finally looked at him. “Would you be able to take me home? Please?”

CHAPTER TWO JUMP

[crazycurly-77]

Bob (11/24)

This is written in the style of the series 24.

Events occur in real time.

Hour 11 of 24: 08:00 am - 09:00 am

08:16:34 a.m.

Somewhere on the open sea:

The food and the drinks on the yacht were unique. Only the finest and just to Chris' taste, who was enjoying himself.

Don and the others would have preferred a cold beer, but you can't have everything.

It was actually quite comfortable, but Chris was fed up with waiting and came to the realization that this was THE opportunity for him to finally get rich.

He carefully leaned towards Holding and whispered conspiratorially: "If we hijack the helicopter again and sell it, all the money will be ours, not just a small share...what do you say?"

08:18:12 a.m.

Quantico, Hospital:

John was lying in his bed, depressed and full of doubt. If he was honest, he had already made a lot of crap, but this beat everything.

“I wonder what will happen to us?” he asked Jack.

The latter snorted contemptuously and replied: “Nothing to YOU, but to me... I have no idea. I just hope that someone puts a stop to that scumbag Fuller.”

These words were so full of hate and contempt that John slumped down and didn't dare ask any more questions.

But inside he was wondering. Where did the hatred towards the Colonel come from?

The medication slowly took effect and he fell asleep, so he didn't notice Jack sneaking out of the room.

08:23:54 a.m.

On the way to Quantico:

On the drive to Quantico, Tony sat in the passenger seat, Gibbs drove and you sat in the back seat.

You allowed yourself some sleep and he wished he could sleep a little too, but he doubted that the boss would be happy about it.

How does Gibbs manage to stay so fit? He asked himself. Very simple: huge amounts of coffee. The cups were piling up in his wastepaper basket in the office.

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by Gibbs, who angrily hit the steering wheel and thought out loud in annoyance:

“Where’s the helicopter? Who kidnapped it and what does that person want to do with it? Sell it, probably. Or fly an attack with it. And where is the admiral's body anyway and who took it away?”

Tony looked at him and was unsure whether he was thinking out loud or actually expecting an answer. He remained silent as a precaution.

They spent the rest of the journey in silence. DiNozzo would have loved to sleep or at least turn on the radio, but oh well.

As they had done on their last visit, they drove up to the main gate, Gibbs identified himself and drove onto the base grounds.

Amazingly, he even kept somewhat within the speed limit, so you arrived at your destination within a few minutes rather than seconds.

You got out of the car and went into Colonel Fuller's office to ask him more questions - in particular, why he had called off the reinforcements.

But as you three entered the premises, acrid smoke filled your noses. As you quickly found out, the smell came from the embers of the burnt papers in the trash can. The rest of the desk was empty.

"Where did Fuller go?" you wondered.

"He ran away," Gibbs replied sullenly.

08:51:46 a.m.

On the coast of Virginia:

Fuller drove slowly towards the meeting point. The plan was going well. So far, everything had gone correctly.

As agreed, he parked in the parking lot on the beach and walked towards the small speedboat that was there.

Next to the boat, a person dressed all in black was waiting.

“On time, as always,” said the figure.

Fuller rolled his eyes. Of course he was on time, he always was.

“Were there any problems?” he was asked again.

Sullen and quite annoyed, the Colonel replied: “The NCIS are snooping around the base. They are led by a silver-haired guy who asks too many questions.”

The figure nodded: “Yes, I expected that.” He paused, then looked critically at Fuller and asked him: “Did you reveal anything about our plan? Did they get suspicious?”

The Colonel straightened up, puffed out his chest proudly and replied: “No, of course not. Neither.”

The darkly dressed person nodded again slowly and then said with a devilish grin: “Well, that won’t happen.”

Fuller’s eyes widened in horror: “What do you mean…”

He didn’t get any further because a shot was fired and he fell into the sand and lay there motionless.

08:59:23 a.m. …the clock was ticking….

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

Here you will find the other chapters of this story.

Masterlist stories - Part 1 (finished ones)

Masterlist stories - Part 2 (finished/ongoing)

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

Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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[runilaisanerd]

Fan Cast: Marvel 1602: New World (2005-2006), 4

The Spider/Peter Parker - Griffin Gluck

Virginia Dare - Lizzy Greene

David Banner - Brian Dietzen

Rupert Rhodes - Dayo Okeniyi

Lord Iron/Anthony Stark - Jake Gyllenhaal

Norman Osborne - Richard Armitage

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“America, I gave my best to you.”

August 20, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

Watching the Democratic National Convention was an out-of-body experience—on many levels. The presentations before President Biden’s keynote speech plumbed a deep well of political experience, raw talent, future leaders, unbridled joy, and personal pain. The stories by hopeful couples and rape survivors devastated by Trump’s abortion bans were powerful and moving—unlike anything previously attempted at a national political convention.

There is much to discuss, but let’s skip to the end: Through the selfless act of President Biden, the Democratic Party is more energized and unified than anyone could have imagined or dared hope. If Democrats can defeat Trump a second time—and we have every reason to believe we will—it will be Joe Biden’s victory along with Kamala Harris’s.

President Joe Biden’s speech

In a wonderful speech with many great moments, Joe Biden’s valedictory statement will be the most remembered and quoted. He recited a verse from American Anthem by Norah Jones,

Let them say of me I was one who believed In sharing the blessings I received Let me know in my heart When my days are through America, America I gave my best to you.

And he acknowledged that he put the interests of the nation before his own in giving his best to America to the very last:

It has been the honor of a lifetime. I love my job, but I love my country more.

In a speech that could have rightly been only about himself, Joe Biden was gracious and generous in his support for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. President Biden said,

I promise I will be the best volunteer that the Kamala and Walz campaign have ever seen.

He praised Kamala Harris effusively, saying,

Selecting Kamala was the best decision I made in my career. She’s tough and has enormous integrity. She will be respected by world leaders because she already is. She will be a president who puts her stamp on America’s future.

When cheers of “Thank you, Joe” erupted from the floor, Joe Biden re-directed those chants to “Thank you, Kamala.”

Joe Biden is a mensch. He could not have acted more honorably or selflessly. Even in his valedictory speech, he did his best to ensure that Kamala Harris will defeat Trump.

President’s Biden’s speech was fiery, passionate and—at times—righteously angry. (A few readers worried that he was “strident” or “just angry.”) But in his righteous anger, Biden was speaking hard truths that must never be forgotten:

This is the first presidential election since January 6—a day on which we almost lost everything. Trump says he will be a dictator on day one. He means it. No commander in chief should bow down to a dictator. Trump is a liar. When Trump left office NATO was in tatters. Trump demonizes immigrants, saying that they will poison the blood of our nation.

President Biden reminded us what is at stake in in 2024 and beyond:

All of us carry a special obligation. We saved democracy in 2020 and now we must save it again in 2024. In 2024, we need you to vote; we need you to keep the Senate, flip the House of Representatives, and need you to elect Kamala and Tim. They will continue to lead America forward. Our best days are not behind us they are in front of us. And on this hot August night, democracy has prevailed and must be preserved.

Biden recounted the story of his decision to run in 2020 because of Trump's handling of the white supremacist march in Charlottesville, Virginia. Biden said,

Hate was on the march in America. Old ghosts in new garments. Giving oxygen to old forces that had long sought to destroy America — “there are very fine people on both sides” was the response from their president — but in an America where honesty, dignity, decency and hate has no safe harbor, I knew I had to run.

But Biden said that he also ran “to rebuild the middle class”—which he did through the most far-reaching legislative agenda in sixty-years. He gave Kamala due credit for her assistance in achieving success.

In touting his own accomplishments, Biden took several large swings at Trump, saying,

Donald Trump promised infrastructure week every week for four years and he never built a damn thing!

Trump killed the strongest bipartisan border security bill in the history of the nation. He asked for Republican Senators to kill the bill in order to help Trump politically. He put Trump first and America last. Border encounters have dropped by 50% in the last few months--fewer than when Trump left office.

Biden also predicted that Trump would regret the words of Justice Alito in the Dobbs decision, saying,

Justice Alito wrote, “Women are not without electoral or political power.” No kidding! Donald Trump is going to find out the power of women in 2024.

I am running out of time to get this edition out the door, I will simply highlight additional notable comments:

More children die of gun violence than any other cause. It is time to ban assault weapons and demand universal background checks. Americans should have the freedom to love who you love. Women should have the freedom to choose. We must surge food assistance into Gaza now. We must deliver a ceasefire and end this war! Those protestors out in the street have a point—a lot of innocent people are being killed on both sides.

The program before Joe Biden’s speech

The choreography of speakers and pre-recorded stories in the run-up to Joe Biden’s speech was brilliant. I wish I could give credit to everyone who spoke because every speaker is deserving of recognition. Of particular note:

A surprise appearance by Kamala Harris to acknowledge Joe Biden’s speech on Monday. Her brief appearance gave us a prelude of the absolute joy and positivity she will exude when she gives her acceptance speech.

Jill Biden was genuine, generous in her praise of Kamala Harris, and loving in comments about Joe.

Ashley Biden was a revelation. Joe Biden’s daughter gave a moving tribute to the genuine love in the Biden family. She said she was confident Democrats will defeat Trump because “my father has shown us the way.” Beautiful!

Raphael Warnock is a force of nature. His speech was exhilarating.

Hillary Clinton—I had to step away from Hillary’s speech to attend an emergency Board meeting, but my wife and Managing Editor watched Hillary’s speech and writes,

Hillary’s speech at the Democratic National Convention was inspiring, emotional, and stirring. She made me proud to be a Democrat, and proud to be a woman. She convinced me that now is our time. Soon there will be a woman in the office of the President of the United States. And we will finally have broken through that glass ceiling. Thank you, Hillary. For everything. We will "keep on going!"

Other outstanding speeches included:

Shawn Fain, President of the UAW, who gave a rousing,  profane, in-your-face speech that called Trump a “scab” for laughing at Elon Musk’s firing of workers who tried to unionize at Tesla.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez continued her transformation into a party leader who is a team player while pushing the party to more progressive positions.

Rep. Jasmine Crockett was particularly effective in humanizing Kamala Harris. Crockett told a touching story in which Kamala Harris sensed Crockett’s emotional distress and asked, “What’s wrong.” Crockett broke down in tears as Kamala hugged her. It was their first meeting!

Steve Kerr, the coach of the NBA Warrior and USA Men’s Basketball Team was earnest, effective, plain spoken, and positive.

[three-two-six]

120 SINF facts I collected while rereading the series

Behold, my magnum opus.

Josh likes Shrek

Dee has The X-Files theme song as his ringtone

Scatty doesn’t blink. Ever.

Dee gave Mary Shelley the idea for Frankenstein

Scatty can’t enter your room if you don’t invite her in

Scatty is a vegetarian

Perry needed to teach Nicholas English at some point because he forgot it

Ghosts love bathrooms

Josh is 5 cm taller than Sophie

Dee has always been fascinated by the idea of flying

Josh hates snakes, spiders, rats, and scorpions

Scatty hates rain, and it is one of the reasons she left Ireland

Scatty is allergic to feathers and fur

Scatty easily burns in the sun

According to the Codex, apples are poisonous and frogs can turn into princes, both of which Zephaniah confirms are incorrect claims

Zephaniah tried to marry off Scatty to king Nabukodonosor when she was 15

Dee prefers living in bigger cities

Scatty gets sick from using leygates

Josh is incredibly susceptible to seasickness

Nicholas helped create the French sign language

Machiavelli desecrated Nicholas’ and Perenelle’s graves more than three centuries ago and broke their gravestone. The Flamels saw everything

Zephaniah is an Elvis Presley fan

Sophie thinks European chocolate is too bitter

Scatty hates flying

Scatty speaks 6-7 HUNDRED languages

Machiavelli is the type of guy to punch a hole in the wall when he’s angry

Francis speaks ALL languages. ALL of them.

Scatty bites her nails when she’s nervous

Vampyres don’t sweat (this includes Scatty and Aoife)

Francis is terrible at tending to plants

Nicholas pulled off the first blood transfusion in history

Joan is also a vegetarian

Dee has a habit of cutting the phone call before the other person just so that his word can be last. Machiavelli is the most prominent victim of this

Dee doesn’t like flying

The Sphynx is afraid of dark

The pyramids in Egypt were built for the Danu Talis survivors

Josh collects fossilized feces

Joan loves cooking and grows spices on her rooftop

Machiavelli has manicured nails

Dagon often has nightmares about the fall of Danu Talis

Machiavelli knows how to program in five different programming languages

Machiavelli's one of the few world experts on quantum physics

Aerop-Enap tends to sleep off large chunks of human history

Sophie can run really fast

Machiavelli is a vegetarian

Machiavelli has stamina problems

Gilgamesh doesn't have an aura

Perry's aura doesn't have a smell

William cooks when he's nervous

Bastet can tolerate iron better than most Elders

Both Josh and Mars carry swords in their left hand

Machiavelli was the brain behind Napoleon

Francis is the only known person in the SINF universe that was born with the ability to see where leygates are

Scatty was told that she'd die in an exotic place

Billy speaks French

The Flamels worked on the first atomic bomb ever

Gilgamesh once requested to have the world’s first atomic bomb be detonated right above him. The Flamels placed him in a mental institution for 10 years because of it

Sophie doesn't like onions

Francis taught Aoife how to see leygates

Machiavelli thinks about his death unusually often

Niten is the only humani who defeated Scatty in a one-on-one fight

Virginia has a very expensive taste

Virginia lives in a tent

Canonically the reason Machiavelli and Dee keep underestimating Perenelle is that they're misogynists (at least according to Virginia Dare)

Niten collects classic cars

Dee is terrible at tending to plants

Aoife once crashed a vimana and blamed it on Scatty

Odin sacrificed his eye to an Archon in exchange for eldritch knowledge

Abraham has an extra finger on each hand

Krakens are actually only about an inch large. Apparently, sailors overestimated their size a little…

The Morrigan’s tears turn into small feathers

Dee is very susceptible to seasicknes

Nereus is responsible for the Bermuda Triangle dissappearances

Scatty and Aoife were the first of the Next Generation

The Codex has twenty-one pages

Hel imprisoned Joan in her shadowrealm once

Virginia and her flute are bonded

Billy has cold hands

Virginia doesn’t speak Latin, and neither does Billy

Mars has a coal black tongue

Sophie is afraid of spiders

Aten is a history nerd

Isis is older than Osiris

Virginia Dare is a Vegetarian

Virginia didn’t know how to speak until she was ten or eleven

Billy read Machiavelli’s The Prince

Josh looks up to Billy as a legend

Black Hawk dislikes spicy food

It’s possible to summon Elders by praying to them

Virginia was besties with Albert Einstein and her tales about shadowrealms inspired his theory of relativity

Prometheus is the self-proclaimed finest vimana flier in Danu Talis

Will abhors weapons and has never fired a gun in his life

The first humani created by Prometheus all had his facial features

Perenelle hates coffee

Tsagaglalal has no fingerprints

Josh suffers from claustrophobia

Perenelle once knocked out one of Quetzalcoatl’s back molars

Prometheus hates parrots

Prometheus read Niten’s book

Mars disagrees with just about everything in Niten’s book

There are rumors that Leonardo da Vinci was immortal

Hel loves raw pork

The only place in the world Dee hasn’t been to is Denmark

Aoife considers Khutulun, a prominent immortal warrior and niece of Kublai Khan as the “daughter she always wanted”. She is currently breeding horses in Kentucky

Isis and Osiris paint their nails black

Quetzalcoatl is a loner

Quetzalcoatl is responsible for The great Northeast blackout

Billy and Black Hawk are Star Trek fans

Machiavelli is a Star Wars fan

Machiavelli actually liked Napoleon

Tor Ri in which lives Abraham has exactly 248 steps

Marethyu doesn’t breathe or have a heartbeat

Isis and Osiris have dark purple tongues

One of the reasons Elders don’t like congregating in the same place is the risk that their auras could cause a natural disaster

Zephaniah is allergic to cats

Cookie-dough ice cream gives Virginia a rash

Dee’s favorite ice cream flavor is cookie-dough

Billy loves eating crab legs

Scathach and Aoife were trained by Tsagaglalal

Prometheus doesn’t have a pulse

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi! I really love your writing!

I've stumbled upon your account accidentally - I've never read anything with Sevika before (when I first watched Arcane I didn't really appreciate her, and I didn't read any arcane x reader anyway), and I'm very glad I did.

Your reader feels real. The way you write her speech, actions and reactions is liberating for me in a sense that your reader is her own person with agency, desires and common fucking sense. She feels like an adult, stable, secure in herself and grounded in reality. I also appreciate that in smut your reader still has her agency and her enthusiasm is not some filling of a stereotype (not a brat or a domme or something else), but a genuine depiction of confidence and comfort in her own skin.

I usually see the reader as a character, and the way your voice as a writer shines through every one of the readers creates a picture of the reader in my head (I usually think she has a pony tail and a very stubborn mouth).

After reading your works I saw Sevika in a different light (I rewatched scenes with her to refresh my memories): she is caring and passionate and loyal, exactly like you depict her. (She also gives me tired grandpa energy) She feels real too, with her own personality, and honestly, you pulled off some of your reqs I'd never even think about being possible to write, dare I say, authentically? with the way you write Sevika, but you did it and I enjoyed every bullet point. (stuffie one broke my heart even though when I saw the title I wasn't really sure I'd like it).

So thank you again for your writing, it really brightens up my day!

(I'm currently reading Middlemarch and Virginia Wolf called it a novel for adults and I feel like your writing is x reader for adults 😂)

jesus this ask took my fucking breath away. thank you so fucking much for such a sweet, thoughtful ask holy fuck. oh my god. i'm so fucking glad i could shed a new light on sevika, and i'm SO fucking glad you like the way i write reader! i try so hard for her to be someone we can all aspire to be like-- someone relatable and flawed but still confident in herself and kind and unafraid to speak her mind. the fact that my reader has helped you feel a bit more liberated and brightens your day?? that's like the best fucking thing i've ever heard. i'm crying major happy tears right now, thank you so much. also, sevika is the tiredest grumpiest grandpa ever you're so fucking right!

you have no idea how encouraging, uplifting, and sweet this was to read, thank you so much for taking the time to give me such a lovely message, i'll be thinking about this forever and ever and ever. so many kisses for you babe (consensual of course) and a hug if you don't want them <3333333333

[theteasetwrites]

Auld Lang Syne

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: language ❧ Word Count: 2.7k

❧ Summary: It's New Year's Eve at the Commonwealth, and the festivities are in full swing, but you're not so sure you belong at this party, until someone makes you feel more welcome.

❧ A/N: Here is the last oneshot of 2022! It's been such a wild year. I will probably make a separate post thanking everyone for such a great year, but in the meantime, here's this little guy. I wanted to give 2022 the proper sendoff, and what better way than with a little NYE fic? Just some mutual pining kind of stuff. Two shy bbies dancing around their obvious attraction for each other. Also Daryl being a little bit of a dork. Oh, and I tried to kind of hint at a tragic backstory for the reader without going too in-depth because I wanted this to be a happy, simple oneshot, but I hope I got across the fact that there's actually more going on there. Anyway, happy new year!

The small apartment was roaring with the intermingling sounds of raucous laughter and the discordant choir of voices from twenty or so different conversations overlapping each other. Music blared from some unknown corner of the room, and though the voices and laughter mostly drowned it out, you could faintly hear the tune of some radio friendly pop song that you recalled being played mercilessly on repeat just a few months before the world ended.

Funny how music and films and clothing had all stayed the same, frozen in time. All the glamorous singers and pretty, smooth-skinned actors had either been killed and turned into flesh-eating monsters, or were now just trying to get by like everyone else, somewhere in some part of the world where humans hadn’t been eradicated by the walking dead. 

The end had often been called the “great equalizer,” destroying the idea of any supremacy or hierarchy that had once existed among humans, but that wasn’t the case here, in the Commonwealth. Even you knew that, and you didn’t know much, except that you could trust the greedy politicians who ran this place about as far as you could throw them. 

At least they weren’t here, you supposed. At least they were in their lofty homes, unburdened by the rabble as they partook in their own New Year’s festivities. Here in a new woman’s apartment, you stood in the corner, taking small sips of the cranberry and ginger ale punch you’d served yourself. It kept you occupied, swirling the ruby red concoction in your glass as people seemed to partner up, talking and laughing without a care in the world, for the moment.

You still were unsure why you’d been invited. After all, the woman, Carol, didn’t know you very well—you only worked together at the bakery, you having been the person in charge of training her. Still, she’d shown more, dare you say, kindness, towards you than anyone else here had. 

You’d engaged in brief conversation with her, receiving introductions to several of the new people who’d arrived from the settlement in Virginia called Alexandria. Some of them you knew vaguely—the priest called Gabriel was already well-known for his inspiring sermons; Rosita, one of the new soldiers, was always present at any big event put on by the Miltons; Eugene was an odd one, but he’d struck up awkward conversation with you when you were both in line for an ice cream cone. 

Aaron you knew best, as he’d asked you to babysit his daughter, Gracie, a handful of times when he went outside the walls. All of them were nice people, as far as you could tell, though you knew not to trust too easily, even in the Commonwealth. Especially in the Commonwealth. 

There was one man you’d yet to officially meet, however. 

He arrived later than you did, sidestepping around the crowd to get to Carol, who greeted him with open arms and a kiss upon his cheek. His hand cupped her cheek as he smiled bashfully, then stepped away to shake hands with Aaron and Gabriel. 

You’d seen him before, coming to visit Carol in the bakery. He seemed close to her, as they spoke like they knew each and every aspect of each other’s lives. You hadn’t known anyone to that extent in years. You kept it like that on purpose, of course. Opening up to people like that could be dangerous. Bad things had happened before. 

But Daryl, the man with gentle waves of chestnut hair that reached to his shoulders, and eyes of blue that were only occasionally visible between loose strands of those unruly locks, seemed kind. Brusque, but kind. 

She was lucky to have a man like that, you thought. Every time that thought came to mind, though, you shook yourself out of it. 

Daryl caught your curious eyes for just a moment, until he averted them, as did you. Still, he raised them slowly, getting a glimpse of your dress. It covered you to just above your knees, with a turtleneck collar and long sleeves. The soft, velveteen fabric shifted between dark blue and black, with a smattering of tiny sparkles embedded to catch reflections of the various colored lights that hung loosely on the walls. The small black heels strapped delicately around your ankles made your legs look longer, and he’d never seen them before, exposed in this way. It didn’t help him. He was already fond of you, from a distance. A great distance. 

Pretty, sweet, cute, nice smile, nice legs… 

Shut the fuck up. 

He’d hardly spoken a word to you, of course. He was shy, and you were perhaps even shyer. Still, he’d catch glimpses of you out of the corner of his eye, hear your voice when you’d say something to Carol during his visits… He had to admit, at first he did come to the bakery to see Carol, but after a while, it wasn’t really her he was there to see.

“You should talk to her,” Carol said, nudging his shoulder to break his trance. “She looks lonely.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed before taking a deep sip of his wine. He’d need it if he was going to get through this party. “M’sure she don’t wanna talk to me.”

Carol narrowed her eyes at the frustratingly self-deprecating man. It was so maddening to think that such a good person could think so little of himself. “But you like her, don’t you?” she prodded.

“I, uh… I don’t know ‘er.”

“Well, New Year’s Eve is about new beginnings,” she said. “You should get to know her tonight.”

“Talking about (Y/N)?” Aaron’s voice came from behind Daryl as he inserted himself into the conversation. “She’s nice. Shy, but nice. You should make a move.”

“Make a move?” Daryl repeated in confusion. 

“I mean, just… You know, talk to her.”

It suddenly occurred to Daryl that his feelings must’ve been more obvious to his friends than he’d thought. 

“Here,” said Carol, turning to grab one of the sheets of paper she’d lovingly written out by hand. “Hand her one of these. Strike up a conversation, yeah?”

He squinted his eyes at the painstakingly neat writing. The biggest three words at the top of the sheet were almost unintelligible, though, as they seemed like gibberish to him. 

“What the hell is this?”

Carol rolled her eyes. “It’s the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne.” He stared at her in confusion. “You know, the song people used to sing at New Year’s Eve, when the clock strikes twelve?”

He still had no idea what she was talking about. He’d never even been to a New Year’s Eve party, let alone cared enough to familiarize himself with the traditions.

“Just give it to her,” added Aaron, gently pushing Daryl in your direction via the hand on his shoulder. “It’s almost midnight. Fireworks are gonna start soon.”

He gently pushed his way through the small crowds that separated you from him, and when you eyed the figure of the broad-shouldered man coming your way, you quickly looked away, terrified of making eye contact, in case he hadn’t really set his eyes on you. It was hard to believe anyone would want anything to do with you here, and yet, he stopped right in front of you, holding out a white sheet of paper that caught your attention.

“H-here,” he stuttered, clearing his throat at the end of the one-word sentence. He cursed himself for being so abrupt, and not nearly as smooth and debonair as he’d hoped.

You tilted your head as you looked at him, eyes a little wide. “What?”

“Uh, here,” he repeated. “This is for you.”

“Oh.” You took the paper hesitantly, examining it cautiously. “Auld Lang Syne. Right.”

“You know what that is?”

“Yeah, just because… I was in choir for a while. We sang it at winter shows.”

He shuffled his feet nervously, chewing on his lip as he nodded his head. “What’s, uh… What’s that mean, anyway?” There was a slight chuckle to his voice. You were surprised that you caught it amidst the cacophony of noise all around you. That made you notice that, strangely, his voice reverberated above the rest. How was that possible? He was soft-spoken, despite the gruff, gravelly texture. That voice was quiet, but strong to you. 

“It means ‘times gone by,’ or something. It’s like… It’s about not forgetting the past, but looking forward to the future. That’s why they sing it at New Year’s Eve parties, you know?”

You could’ve sworn that was the most you’d spoken all night, and a part of you was terrified you’d spoken too much.

And then, it occurred to him that he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m Daryl.” He cleared his throat again. “Seen ya at the bakery.”

“I’m (Y/N)... You always come in to see Carol.” You weren’t sure where you were going with this conversation. 

“Yeah, uh… Yeah.”

“So… you two been together long?” Wow, that’s a stupid question. You weren’t even sure why you asked that, knowing that the answer would just make the sinking feeling in your stomach that you had when you saw them together reach new lows. 

His eyes widened. “We ain’t… Nah, we’re friends.”

The relief you felt was almost shameful. The sinking feeling in your stomach was gone. “Oh,” you laughed under your breath, trying to ease the tension. “Sorry, I thought…”

Damn, he thought. Gotta stop spendin’ so much time with Carol. 

“S’fine. Anyway, I, uh, I like your dress.” He cursed himself for his conversational skills, but you smiled as a blush blossomed onto your cheeks. 

“Thanks. I like your… hair.” You shook your head immediately, letting out a deep sigh of embarrassment. “Wow, I suck at this.”

“Suck at what?” he asked, himself now blushing a little. You liked his hair, the careless mop of deep caramel locks that sprouted unceremoniously from his scalp. He’d spent a whole thirty lackluster seconds grooming his hair. Now he’d think about that all night, how you’d found his low effort hairstyle to be, dare he assume, attractive. Perhaps even… handsome?

“Conversations. Especially at parties. I’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve party before.”

“Me neither.”

You smiled again. You almost hated how easily he elicited that expression out of you. “Do you think it means anything?”

You continued to surprise yourself. Just the man’s presence seemed to make you want to talk, to open your mouth and just let whatever words were floating around in your head pour out. It was dangerous to be around him, you concluded, but it was a good kind of dangerous. It felt good.

“What?” he asked.

“The new year. Do you believe in new beginnings, stuff like that? I’m not sure if I do. That’s why I ask.”

He looked around for a moment, examining the empty air as if the answer would be there. “Well, I dunno if it all… happens at once. Just ‘cause it’s a new year don’t mean everything is gonna be different all of a sudden.” Hell, he barely even cared about what year it was going to be in a few minutes. “But I guess they can happen, if ya want it to. If ya make it happen.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I think so, too.” 

He seemed to open his mouth for a moment, as if to speak, but Carol’s voice interrupted. She had calmed down the party, announcing, “We’re going to start the countdown! Everyone get ready to sing!”

You exchanged a look with Daryl, somewhere between slight annoyance and amusement. “You ready?” he asked, slightly fixated on your eyes. He simply couldn’t look away, so much so that he hadn’t noticed the countdown had already begun. 

For your part, you held his gaze, mouth slightly agape as the others chanted eight… seven… six… 

“Five,” you finally started chanting along, still entranced by the stranger beside you. “Four…”

“Three,” Daryl joined in. 

Two, one… 

“Happy new year!”

A raucous cheer erupted from the party, with glasses clinking and couples exchanging kisses and the sound of fireworks exploding in the midnight sky. You turned excitedly, always entranced by the firework display the Commonwealth put on. 

“Look!” you said, turning to Daryl with the most enthusiasm he’d ever seen on your usually demure face. “I love the fireworks.”

He nodded. “I ain’t seen fireworks in… ten years,” he said, speaking loudly over the roar of the crowd as they celebrated the first few seconds of the new year. 

You turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “Really?” 

“Mhm.”

The vibrant colors played like stained glass over his face. Shades of red and blue danced harmoniously to form a pinkish purple, each new color that came with each new firework launched into the sky adding another layer to the painting on his face. 

You smiled so wide your cheeks began to ache, and you had no idea why. What was there to smile about? Another year in a cruel world, in a place where wealth and power and prestige reigned over all else? Whatever was beyond that wasn’t much better, you would know. You’d seen the world out there, too. You’d lived in it, done things you wished you hadn’t, seen things that still haunted your dreams and replayed in your mind every time you had to face the quiet of your life all on your own. 

But Daryl made you smile. Just feeling him beside you, knowing he thought that anyone could start over. Maybe you could, too. 

You were both lost in the air between you, heavy with anticipation and excitement. You were smiling, and he smiled, too, happy to have finally known why New Year’s Eve was such a joyous occasion, for once in his life. It never meant anything before, but now it did. He couldn’t explain it, it just did. Something good was going to happen this year, he could feel it. 

“All right, all right,” Carol’s laughing voice called out over the celebration. “Let’s sing!”

You panicked for a moment, looking between Daryl and the paper you still shakily held in your hands. “Do you have one?” you asked. 

His eyes widened, and he realized that Carol hadn’t given him a sheet of paper. Now, Carol was known for her meddling, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if maybe, just maybe, she’d purposefully given Daryl just one paper, so you and he would have no choice but to share it. 

“Uh, nah.”

You sidestepped awkwardly, clearing your throat as your shoulder touched his. You held the lyrics out before the both of you, and he caught a whiff of your perfume. Floral and woody notes combined to drown him in a momentary lapse of bliss. He hadn’t even noticed the singing had begun, and your voice triumphed over the rest. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot? 

And never brought to mind?

He followed your finger as you guided him along the words, your laugh rolling under your singing voice, as you found his confusion quite amusing. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

And the days of auld lang syne?

Voices clashed as he attempted to sing, quietly and with hardly any idea of how he was to match the melody. You could hear his voice, despite how quiet he was. Again, to you it was the loudest thing, only competing with the fireworks. 

For auld lang syne, my dear

For auld lang syne

Still, he tried to concentrate, while you knew the words by heart, so you could take the opportunity to glimpse over at the clueless man, clumsily trying to get the words right, and stumbling over them with his endearingly off-key singing.

We'll drink a cup of kindness yet

For the sake of auld lang syne

Between the spaces of people crammed into the tiny apartment, there was a sense of hope. It was small, and uncertain, but it was hopeful, nevertheless. Whatever the new year would bring, it would be a chance to start over, to think fondly of the past while welcoming the future. 

In that moment, you felt at peace, and happier than you’d been in a very long time. When the night was over, you knew that it wasn’t really over. It was just the beginning. 

~

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Masterlist

[mezzopieno-news]

A 105 ANNI SI LAUREA DAVANTI A NIPOTI E PRONIPOTI

La cerimonia di laurea del 2024 dell’Università di Stanford (USA) ha celebrato il raggiungimento del diploma universitario per una studentessa di 105 anni, Virginia Hislop.

L’anziana donna americana ha portato a termine il master in educazione, 83 anni dopo aver iniziato il suo percorso di studi, abbandonato per poter stare con il marito e i figli nel 1940 quando gli Stati Uniti entrarono nella Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Il suo fidanzato, George, fu chiamato a combattere al fronte e i due si sposarono rapidamente. Virginia divenne un’attivista nelle retrovie. Dopo la fine dei combattimenti, divenne un’insegnante e lavorò per dare l’opportunità di studiare a più persone possibili seguendo le orme di sua nonna, che insegnava in Kansas prima della guerra civile e di sua zia Nora che era la preside di una scuola a West Los Angeles.

“Pensavo che fosse una delle cose che avrei potuto imparare lungo la strada se ne avessi avuto bisogno e mi è sempre piaciuto studiare, quindi non era una grande preoccupazione per me – mentre sposarsi lo era”, dichiara. 8 decenni dopo aver lasciato il campus e aver vissuto al servizio dell’apprendimento, Hislop è tornata a Stanford per finire ciò che aveva iniziato e conseguire la laurea magistrale, davanti agli occhi dei suoi nipoti e pronipoti. Gli amici la descrivono come una donna “sotto i cui piedi non cresce il muschio” per il suo stile di vita attivo fatto di volontariato, lettura vorace e passeggiate nel suo giardino.

___________________

Fonte: Stanford University; foto di NBC News

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[izzy-art-879]

KND Swap AU: Part 1

A swap/role-reversal AU! I've seen that most swap AUs have Sector V switch roles with the Delightful Children/Sector Z but I decided to do something a little different!

Numbuh 362 - Numbuh 1

Numbuh 86 - Numbuh 2

Numbuh 35 - Numbuh 3

Numbuh 23 - Numbuh 4

Numbuh 60 - Numbuh 5

Sector V is now called Sector VI.

Numbuh 1 (Nigel Uno) is the Supreme Leader of the Kids Next Door and still retains his workaholic personality but is friendly and supportive. Although he loves his job, the pressure does sometimes gets to him.

Numbuh 2 (Hoagie P. Gilligan) is the Head of Decommissioning. He still tells bad jokes but is bossy, stubborn and loud at times. He doesn't hate girls but doesn't want to put them in harm's way, so he can come off as sexist to others.

Numbuh 3 (Kuki Sanban) is a Moonbase Scout and the Sooper-Stealthy Communications Officer. She still retains her cheerful personality but is a bit of a nerd and loves Yipper.

Numbuh 4 (Wally Beetles) is the Incendiary Confectionary Munitions Agent. He's a pretty cheerful but can be pretty crazy at times with his candy weapons. He's also a fan of Rainbow Monkeys.

Numbuh 5 (Abby Lincoln) is the Drill Sergeant at the Kids Next Door Arctic Base. She is strict and stern when training the cadets and has a serious personality. Despite that, she is loyal to the KND and has a laid-back side. She is a close friend of Numbuh 1 and her sister is the formerly Supreme Leader Numbuh 11.

As for Sector VI...

Numbuh 362 (Rachel T. McKenzie) is the workaholic leader of Sector VI and would rather go on missions than hang out and play at the park. She tends to be paranoid and is quick to jump into action. She puts her team before herself and cares deeply about them.

Numbuh 86 (Fanny Fulbright) is the 2x4 Technology Officer of Sector VI. She is a nerd and enjoys eating food. She enjoys cracking bad jokes and puns much to the annoyance of her team. She is also known to play detective whenever there's a mystery.

Numbuh 35 (Bartie Storks) is the Diversionary Tactics Expert and Medical Specialist of Sector VI. He is optimistic, clueless and loves Rainbow Monkeys. He has an aggressive side when someone insults Rainbow Monkeys and takes great care of the hamsters of the Sector VI treehouse.

Numbuh 23 (Virginia Sims) is the Hand-to-Hand Combat Expert and Brawler Weaponry Expert of Sector VI. She is the team's muscle and is the strongest, toughest and wildest member of the team. While she's not very smart, she makes up for it using her fists. She is impulsive and hates Rainbow Monkeys because of how girly they are (Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she has to like Rainbow Monkeys!). She has a crush on Numbuh 35 (but don't you dare tell anyone!).

Numbuh 60 (Patton Drilovsky) is the Second-in-Command and Spy of Sector VI. He is intelligent, calm and book-smart. He is seen as the cool one and usually refers to himself as "Numbuh 60" in the third person. He loves candy and is a candy hunter. He usually goes on candy adventures alone and has a fatherly side. He has a secret crush on Numbuh 86 (despite her bad jokes) and has a fierce rivalry with his older brother Chad.